Mama grabbed Luna’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Luna Fiore! What are you doing out here in your underwear?”
The worm flew from Luna’s hand. She watched in horror as it landed on the gravel below.
“Mama, no … Cira …”
She wrenched her arm free and kept her eyes on the tiny worm as she moved to retrieve it.
Mama stepped toward her. “I’ve told you before, you are too old to be playing outside nearly naked.”
Luna’s eyes widened in horror as the Cira worm disappeared beneath Mama’s foot. Choking back a sob, she swung to face her mother. “You killed her. You killed Cira. I hate you!”
The blood drained from Mama’s face for a moment before hot anger crept up her neck and flushed her skin crimson. Her open hand sliced through the air and connected with Luna’s cheek, turning her head with the force of the blow. The sharp CRACK of the slap hung heavy in the air between them.
Luna put her hand to her cheek and glared at her mother, silently daring her to do it again. Why did it matter what Luna did, out here in the country with no neighbors for miles and not yet old enough to need a bra?
Papa traveled for work, and Mama spent her days tending to Cira. Why should they care if Luna sat in a puddle and played with worms? The only time it mattered—the only time she existed—was when Mama needed to vent her anger. She was beyond angry now. Luna knew by the twitch of the scar beneath her eye.
The silence stretched as they glared at one another. Luna refused to look away first. Finally, her mother turned and strode to the house.
When the sun sank below the trees and her stomach growled in hunger, Luna crept into the house and peeked into the sitting room. Mama sat at the piano, staring at a well-worn photo of Cira on the music rack. One hand rested unmoving on the keys, the other held a tumbler of scotch. The half-empty bottle rested on top of the piano.
Luna knew enough to avoid her mother when the bottle was nearby. Ignoring her hunger pangs, she snuck up the stairs and into the bathroom to fill the tub. She could only hope her mother forgot her earlier rage as she drank herself into oblivion.
The bathroom door banged open as Luna stepped into the tub. She jerked at the sound, put a hand on the wall to steady herself, and turned to see her mother slouched against the doorframe, drink still in hand. Her robe hung open, revealing a booze-stained silk negligee. Stray strands of brunette hair fell from a bun, curling around her face.
She waved her drink toward Luna. “Why did you say I killed Cira?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Mama straightened and took an unsteady step toward Luna. “You think I don’t know the stories your father fills your head with?”
“Papa doesn’t—”
“Of course he does. I see you two when he’s home, sitting with your heads together, whispering about me. He lies, Luna. He lies, and he cheats, and he blames me for being cold.” She waved her drink in the air, spilling amber liquid onto the white marble floor. “Tell me, what kind of father stays away when his daughter is dying?”
Luna shook her head. A ball of resentment coiled in her stomach. “That’s not true! Papa loves Cira. He wants to be here with her, but he has to work to pay the medical bills.”
Mama smirked. Ice clinked as she took a long swig. “You’re just a child, what do you know of it? Only what he tells you.”
Luna stood tall and locked eyes with her mother. “I know more than you think. I know you’re happy when Cira’s sick.”
Mama’s eyes widened briefly before narrowing to angry slits. “You think giving up two years of my life made me happy? I sacrificed my nursing career, my friends, my marriage—everything—to take care of Cira. My child is dying, and you think that makes me happy?” Her voice cracked on the last syllable. Tears brimmed in her eyes.
Luna had already pushed too far, and yet her mother’s emotion made her bold enough to push even further. Mama never cried. She rarely laughed either. In fact, the only emotions she seemed to possess were normally reserved for Cira. Luna had long ago learned to take anything she could get, even anger.
“I know you don’t want her to die, but you want her to be sick. You make her sick, just so she needs you.”
A flash of anger in Mama’s eyes caused Luna to step backward. She shivered as her bare skin pressed against the cold tile.
“I make her sick?” Mama slowly approached the tub, voice rising with every step. “Did I put that tumor inside her head? Tell me, Luna. How did I do that? How?” The glass slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. “It should have been you. You, not Cira!”
She charged at Luna, hand in the air, ready to strike.
Luna’s hands came up to protect her face. Her feet slipped on the bottom of the tub and she fell. She heard a CRACK. Sharp pain shot through her head, and the world faded.
Luna flew to the moon and perched atop the highest mountain peak. She sat for hours, watching Earth’s blue glow.
The others rarely came here; they were too obsessed with vengeance or finding a way to cross over to leave Earth. Luna had learned quickly to avoid them, often spending her nights curled up sleeping in a crater on the dark side of the moon, while they roamed Earth in search of peace. Their uncontrolled anger reminded her of Mama. Their mournful cries of anguish ripped her soul to shreds. Most of them had met untimely deaths, pulled violently from their bodies before they were ready, left bitter and full of rage.
Luna did not dwell in bitterness or anger. She had made a promise to her sister, and death would not stop her from fulfilling it. When the thief inside Cira’s head releases her, I’ll be there to guide her home.
Since her own death a month ago, Luna spent every waking moment exploring the spirit world and learning her capabilities and limitations. The time drew near. Soon, she would be ready.
Luna hovered high in the corner of the room, watching Cira’s chest rise and fall in the pale streaks of moonlight slanting through the blinds. The next breath never came. Cira’s frail body jerked and convulsed, consumed by a seizure.
Luna, in her panic, forgot to fade before attempting to fly from the room to somehow alert the nurse. In her semi-opaque form, she hit the wall and dropped to the floor. The monitor’s long piercing beeps brought the nurse running before Luna could recover.
Cira revived herself with a shudder and a deep gasping breath. Luna sat against the wall and watched the nurse care for her sister. Her gentle, soft-spoken ways captivated Luna, who was unused to such tenderness. She had caught glimpses of it in Mama—when she pushed a stray, dark curl from Cira’s clammy face after a seizure, or called her my sunshine—but it was rare, and never for Luna.
“You and Mama are too much alike,” Papa would say when Luna complained Mama loved Cira more. “She loves you just as much as your sister, but it’s hard for her to show it when she sees so much of herself in you.”
Luna had never understood why that should make a difference. Shouldn’t seeing herself reflected in her daughter make Mama love her more?
Speaking in low, soothing tones, the nurse took Cira’s vitals, then stroked a damp cloth across the young girl’s face to remove the sheen of sweat. She picked up a cup of ice water, held the straw to Cira’s parched lips, and smiled. “Feel better?”
Cira sipped and nodded.
The nurse set down the cup and began straightening the bed linens. “Your mother should be home soon. I’ll let her know it happened again. I’m sure she’ll want to see you before she goes to bed.”
Cira raised her hand. “She gave me a picture of Luna.”
The nurse smiled sadly, took the photo from Cira, and attempted to smooth the creases. “That’s good. I know you’ve been asking for a while.”
“Mama’s been too sad to remember.”
The woman pursed her lips and traced a finger across Luna’s image before handing back the photo. She leaned in and kissed Cira’s forehead. “I’ll be across the hall. Try to sleep.”
&
nbsp; Cira’s voice stopped her at the door. “When I die, do you think I’ll see Luna?”
The nurse closed her eyes and whispered, “Yes,” before hurrying from the room.
Less than an hour later, narrow beams of light flashed at the window. Luna crossed the room, faded, and glided through the curtain to watch Mama’s white Lexus SUV roll up and enter the garage.
Moments later, hushed voices drifted from the room across the hallway. Months earlier, when the treatments failed and Cira was discharged from the hospital, Mama turned the spare bedroom into a lounge for the visiting nurses. Luna overheard her parents arguing about it one night. Papa thought it unnecessary. Mama insisted the help should not spend too much time with Cira, as they might become too attached. As always, Papa gave Mama her way.
The voices faded as the two women descended the staircase. The front door creaked open and closed. Luna watched taillights disappear down the long, tree-lined driveway. In the following silence, the click of heels on the hard, tile floor below echoed through the house. Cold dread settled over Luna with the realization that, for the first time since her death, she was about to see Mama.
Her eyes flicked skyward, searching until they found a slice of moon peering at her from behind broken clouds. She fought the urge to fade and fly from the room into the familiar white glow. Why, she wondered, would the thought of seeing her mother frighten her so?
She cocked her head, listening carefully. Ice clinked against glass as Mama made a drink. Luna settled into the window seat, pulled her knees to her chest, and concentrated on the steady rhythm of Cira’s breathing.
Soon she heard the tap of footfalls on the steps.
Mama entered the room. Backlit by the dim light of the hallway, she appeared flawless: designer pantsuit immaculately pressed, hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck, understated diamond studs glittering at her ears. She set her drink on the nightstand and turned on the lamp.
Luna rose from her seat and hovered behind the curtains, studying her mother in the dim light. Lines that had been barely visible a month earlier now seemed etched into her face. A few stray streaks of grey hair glinted in the glow of the lamp.
Mama leaned over the bed and stroked Cira’s hair until the girl’s eyes fluttered open.
One corner of Cira’s mouth turned upward in a sleepy smile. “Hi, Mama.”
“Hello, darling. Beth told me you had another episode. How are you feeling?”
“I just want to sleep.”
Luna drifted from behind the curtains, drawn closer by her sister’s pain. Cira’s anguished thoughts swirled through Luna in a haze of blinding crimson.
At Cira’s words, Mama straightened and reached for her drink. Her face settled into an emotionless mask. She lifted the glass and took a long swallow before speaking. “I understand that Medullo tires you out, but sometimes I think you like spending time with the nurses more than with me.” Her voice suggested hurt, but the twitching scar warned of her anger.
Luna flinched at the use of the name her mother had given to the brain tumor. She floated closer, until she hovered beside the bed.
Cira’s lower lip trembled. “No, Mama. That’s not true.”
Mama’s face softened with the reassurance. She shivered and rubbed her arms. “It feels cold in here suddenly. Are you cold? Do you want another blanket?”
Cira shook her head and brought a hand to her mouth to smother a yawn.
Mama took Cira’s hands in her own. “You need your rest. Pray with me, and then I’ll leave you to sleep.”
Luna watched as her mother pleaded with God, the saints, and the Holy Mother to send forth their healing powers and cast the evil forces from within Cira. When Mama asked forgiveness for the evil sins that had allowed “Medullo” into her daughter’s body, Luna encircled her in a swirl of fury. How dare she blame the imagined sins of a little girl for causing the tumor?
Mama gasped. Her eyes snapped open and darted frantically around the room.
Luna pushed, just a little, until the shell of her soul became a muted semi-transparent shadow. She snaked upward, skimming skeletal fingers across her mother’s face.
Mama screamed, released Cira’s hands, and stumbled backward.
Luna faded instantly—unwinding like a corkscrew from around her mother’s body—and flew to the ceiling.
Cira’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Mama? What’s wrong?”
“I—didn’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
Mama shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing. My imagination, perhaps.” She reached for her drink with a trembling hand and drank deeply.
Luna waited until Mama left the room and the click of her heels receded before descending. She studied her twin. Fluids trickled through a narrow tube into Cira’s frail body. The numbers on the monitor’s display cast a soft glow across her pale features.
The sight saddened Luna, but it was not unfamiliar to her. As long as she could remember, even before the cancer, Cira had spent more time sick than not. From a young age she had been afflicted with one mysterious ailment after another.
Mama had strictly limited the twins’ time together, insisting Cira needed to rest. Luna quickly learned to stay quiet and out from underfoot, often hiding behind the curtains in the window seat so Mama didn’t know she was nearby. From within the alcove she watched and listened, and eventually her mind was able to piece together what Mama was doing.
Luna realized now that much of the resentment she felt toward her mother was not due to neglect or lack of affection. More than anything, she resented that Mama’s selfish refusal to share Cira had robbed the twins of precious time together.
Keeping Luna from her sister wouldn’t be easy now. She couldn’t be what she had been before death for Cira, but she could stay by her bedside and be her courage.
Brightly-colored ribbons of intense emotion swirled through Luna. She went inside herself and gathered them to her core. Using their energy to solidify her essence, she pushed it outward.
When Luna’s awareness returned to the room, Cira’s wide eyes stared upward at her in astonishment. “Luna?”
Luna flitted toward the bed and perched on the edge. “It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not. Are you an angel?”
Luna giggled. “No, silly.” She half turned to show Cira her back. “See? No wings.”
“Oh.”
Luna burst into laughter at the disappointed look on Cira’s face.
“But, you can fly.”
“I’m a ghost.”
Cira’s mouth gaped open. “A real, live ghost?”
“Real, but not alive. Not the way you are.”
Cira’s eyes filled with tears. “No. That’s not true.” She motioned to the IV site on her arm. “I’m tied to this bed all day, and you can fly. I’d rather be a ghost like you.”
“Don’t say that! Don’t ever wish to die.”
“Mama prays every day for a miracle, but I’m so tired, Lulu. I just want it to be over.”
“I know, Cici.”
A deep brooding silence filled the room. Finally Luna spoke. “I need your help with something.”
Luna shot across the room, materialized too soon, and hit the wall for the third time. She groaned in frustration. “Stop pushing me out! How are you even doing that?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It feels weird.” Cira’s words would have been more believable had they not been choked with laughter.
“Well, with all the noise we’re making, it’s a good thing Mama’s sleeping.”
Before beginning the experiment, Luna had visited Mama’s room to check on her and found her still clothed and passed out on top of the covers. She hadn’t told Cira; for some reason she still felt the need to protect her from their mother’s drinking.
Luna rose up and hovered beside the bed. “What do you mean it feels weird? Can you actually feel me inside your head?”
“I don’t know. Not really. I don’t fe
el you, but it’s like my mind knows you’re in there, and it knows you don’t belong there so it’s pushing you out.”
“That’s it! I need to go in when you don’t know I’m doing it.”
“Like, when I’m sleeping?”
“Exactly.”
Later, when she was sure Cira slept deeply, Luna faded fully and slipped inside her sister’s head. Slowly, she wove her way through the tangle of memories.
Pieces fit together to form the image of a sad, lonely girl craving a normal life. She longed for school and friends, for the warmth of the sun on her face, and the squish of mud between her toes. Yet Cira longed even more for her mother’s love and attention, so freely given when she was ill.
Luna emerged in the ethereal light of early dawn and sank into the window seat. Exhaustion weighed heavy, yet her mind would not rest. She had spent her childhood feeling inadequate and second best. Now she regretted the times she had resented her sister for being Mama’s favorite.
The sun inched over the scorched horizon and gradually filled the alcove with a blush of rosy light. Cira stirred and mumbled in her sleep.
Luna turned and peered through the curtains into the gloomy obscurity of the room. Her soul ached for her twin. Cira had been kept in darkness too long. Luna rose from her corner with a swirl and tore open the drapes.
Cira squinted against the light as her eyes blinked open. “How did you do that?”
Luna drifted to the bed. “It’s hard to explain. I push with my mind and think about it really hard until it happens. Same as when I appear. You see me because I want you to.”
Cira seemed satisfied with the explanation. “Did it work? Were you in my head?”
“Yes. You didn’t wake up while I was in there?”
“I don’t think so. If I did, I don’t remember.”
Perfect, thought Luna. While Mama sleeps tonight, I’ll sneak inside her head and explore her memories too. Hopefully they won’t be too muddled by alcohol to see clearly.
“Did you see it?”
Cira’s voice stirred Luna from her thoughts. “Huh?”
“Medullo. Did you see it?”
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