Black Wings

by Megan Hart

It sounded practical to Marian. Then again, she wasn’t going to shed a single tear when her former mother-in-law kicked the bucket, whether she went fast or lingered on. “And then what?”

  “I told her she needed to apologize, and she wouldn’t. And then I said…” Tommy struggled again to speak.

  Marian leaned forward. “What did you say, Tommy? Jesus, stop dragging this out.”

  “I told her that kids who talked like that got sent away to a place where they locked you up until you could behave like a normal person. That’s when she started to flip out. She wouldn’t stop screaming until I got her back here.” He hung his head, looking ashamed, but Marian had seen that look on him too many times to feel even the tiniest scrap of forgiveness.

  A white-hot rage swept over her. Shaking, she lifted the beer bottle but couldn’t drink from it because the glass chattered against her teeth hard enough to hurt. She set it down and gripped her hands together. Dean put a hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t shrug it off. The look she gave him made him take it away, though.

  “You told my daughter that you were going to lock her up in a psych ward?” The words came out calmer than she thought they would.

  She knew Tommy, and he still knew her. At her calm tone, he blanched and looked even more miserable. “She can’t talk to people like that, Mare. It’s not…right. She’s not right.”

  “Are you saying there’s something wrong with her?” Marian demanded through gritted teeth. “You waltz in and out of her life and you think you can figure her out? She’s smart. She’s…Briella’s just smart. Sometimes really smart people have a hard time relating or dealing with other people. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with her!”

  Dean reached for her hand. “Babe, you know that what she said isn’t okay.”

  “Being rude,” Marian replied with a sneer directed toward Tommy, “doesn’t mean she’s crazy. Seems to me that your mother was rude as hell to me more than once. Does that mean she’s not right in the head?”

  “Look, I just thought it was a better idea if I brought her home,” Tommy began.

  Marian cut him off. “You said you wanted to do more. You wanted to try to be a real father to her. Well, guess what, that means dealing with her even when you don’t want to.”

  He looked caught and awkward, his gaze shifting from hers to the empty bottle and then to Dean, who shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not cut out for it.”

  “I let you take my kid to see your dying mother, who’s been nothing but an asshole to me for as long as I’ve known you. She decided years ago to write off my kid and has never asked to see her when you weren’t around. Once,” Marian began and stopped herself so she could get her voice to stop trembling, “once we passed her in the grocery store aisle and she pretended she didn’t see me, Tommy. I agreed to let you take Briella against my better judgment, because I felt like, yeah, maybe it was time for you to get to spend some time with your kid. Maybe it would be a good idea for your mother to have a chance to realize what she’s been missing out on. I trusted you to take care of my kid!”

  “Our kid,” he put in.

  Marian waved a dismissive hand at him and leaned forward, her jaw clenched. “Mine. My kid. You don’t get to claim her, not when you can’t put in the fucking effort.”

  “Maybe you should tell that to the judge next time you try to come after me for support,” Tommy said, but looked instantly embarrassed.

  She did not point out that the minuscule amount of support he did provide was not something to brag about. “I trusted you to take care of her. Not tell her you were going to send her away and lock her up.”

  Tommy stood. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  “It must run in the family,” she said coldly. “Saying things you should know better than to say.”

  Marian fought tears of fury and guilt because she’d been complicit in allowing him to put her daughter in a bad place. She clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into the skin. Tommy couldn’t meet her gaze, but she kept hers steady and staring on him, waiting for him to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally repeated, at last looking at her. “But seriously, Marian, the kid has changed. There’s something going on with her, and you should get someone to talk to her. Hell, even someone at that freaking school should be able to tell you that she might be smart, but she’s not…normal.”

  Dean stood at that. “You should go.”

  “I am sorry, man. I know that doesn’t mean much—”

  “It means shit,” Marian said flatly. “Get out.”

  When he’d gone, she gathered the empty bottles and put them in the recycling bin. She rinsed her hands at the sink, blinking away tears and the bitterness of fury. Behind her, in silence, Dean went about cleaning up the dinner they’d left on the table in their haste to get to the bedroom. At the sound of a fork scraping the uneaten spaghetti into the trash, Marian turned.

  “It’s my fault. I knew better. I let him talk me into it, I knew better but I still let him….”

  Dean set the dirty dishes in the sink. “Baby, he’s her father. His mother is dying. You were trying to do the right thing. Sometimes, when we try to do the right thing, we make mistakes. Why don’t you go up and check on her? I’ll finish cleaning up.”

  Marian nodded and hugged him hard, pressing her face to his chest while she took in his comforting scent. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, babe. We’re going to make sure this all works out. Okay?” He squeezed her. “We’ll get Briella help, if she needs it.…”

  Marian froze, then looked up at him. “You think she needs help?”

  For a long moment, Dean said nothing. Then he shook his head. “I’m just saying that if she does, we’ll make sure she gets it. Okay?”

  “She’s so smart. She’s so scary smart,” Marian whispered, not wanting there to be even the slightest chance Briella overheard her. “But she’s my child, Dean. I have to protect her.”

  “I know you do.”

  You don’t understand, Marian wanted to say, but stopped herself just short of that cruelty. Dean didn’t understand, because although he’d been a parent to Briella, she was still not ‘his’ no matter how hard Marian had tried to make that be true. He loved her. He loved Briella. She knew that. But it was not the same.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Briella was not asleep when Marian went upstairs. The girl turned a tear-streaked face toward her mother and sat up in bed when Marian came in. She clutched an old stuffed toy Marian hadn’t seen her play with in ages.

  “Hey, Bean.” Marian sat on the edge of the bed to cuddle her close. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry I made Daddy mad.”

  For the first time in a long time, the girl sounded sincerely apologetic. Another pang of jealousy pricked at Marian’s heart, that Briella could show remorse about Tommy and not her or Dean. She couldn’t shake it off, but she wasn’t going to let it affect her.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, kiddo.”

  “He was really mad because I made Gramma cry. I didn’t mean to. I was trying to make her feel better about dying. I told her I could help her fly up to heaven.” Briella sniffled loudly.

  Marian stopped looking in the nightstand for a tissue. Tommy had told her that Briella had asked his mother if she wanted someone to help her die faster. Hearing that Briella had offered to be the one to do it was even worse. She tried to tell herself she’d heard the girl wrong. “What?”

  “I told her, if she didn’t want to take a long time and hurt the whole time, that I could help her get to heaven sooner.”

  “Briella, why would you say that?”

  “He’s a…” She mumbled something that sounded like “psycho.”

  Marian took the girl’s face in her hands and looked at her steadily. “Who’s a psycho? Your dad?”


  Briella shook her head, bursting into another round of hysterical sobs. “No, no, no! He could help her. But please, Mama, please, promise me that you won’t send me away and lock me up in a cage! Please!”

  “Nobody will lock you up in a cage, I promise you, Briella. I promise, I will never, never let anyone do that to you.” Marian gathered her close.

  “I don’t want to go over there again,” Briella said.

  “You never have to.”

  Briella sniffled and burrowed closer. “Daddy doesn’t love me.”

  “Of course he does, Bean.”

  “Not like you do.” Briella’s voice was muffled against her mother’s chest.

  Marian pressed her face into the kid’s mess of hair. “Nobody will ever love you like I do.”

  By the time Briella’s sobs had faded and she slept, an exhausted, snotty lump in her mother’s arms, Marian’s back and arms ached. She eased herself free of the sleeping child and went downstairs. Dean had cleaned the kitchen and left a glass of wine on the counter for her, the last of the bottle. From down the hall, she heard the faintest sound of his snoring.

  She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with him, but sleep would be a long time coming. Instead, Marian sipped the wine and shot off a text to Tommy. It was probably a mistake, but she’d run out of fucks at this point.

  Did you really call my daughter a psycho?

  His answer came within the minute. I didn’t say she was a psycho. She told me he was a psycho-something.

  Marian typed quickly. Who? A what?

  I don’t remember, came Tommy’s reply. But she said the psycho would help my mother when she died. Get the kid some help.

  Marian didn’t answer him. She didn’t finish her wine, either. Angry again, she paced in the kitchen until she went outside with her cigarettes to sit on the back porch. She smoked fiercely until her head rushed, but too fast, because her stomach curdled too. Phone in hand, she scrolled through her limited social media and found nothing to hold her interest or to get her mind off the night’s shitshow.

  Crushing out the cigarette, she idly typed ‘psycho’ into the phone’s search browser, not sure what the hell she thought she was hoping to see. A photo of a young and handsome Anthony Perkins, maybe, or a link to a local shrink. In the long list of suggested search results, one stood out.

  She dialed Tommy’s number with a shaking hand, and when he answered, she spoke without even a greeting. “Psychopomp? Is that what she said?”

  “Shit, Marian.” Tommy sounded like he’d been asleep.

  She didn’t care. “Is that what she said, Tommy?”

  “Psychopomp. Yeah. That’s it, I couldn’t remember. How did you know?”

  She hung up without answering him and used her fingers to enlarge the photo on the screen. There was a single word, along with a brief definition.

  PSYCHOPOMP

  A guide of souls to the place of the dead

  Below it, there was a line drawing of a raven.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Because Briella caught the van earlier than she had the school bus, this gave Marian more time in the morning before Dean came home. She could have spent it exercising or menu planning or maybe doing some sort of self-improvement. Or a craft. Or hell, looking for that job she kept telling herself she wanted but never got around to finding. Today, all she wanted to do was go back to bed. She’d been sleeping like shit lately. Tossing and turning, waking with stiff and aching muscles.

  With a jaw-cracking yawn she took her mug of coffee and her single smoke out to the back porch. One puff turned her stomach, so she stubbed it out and settled for the caffeine. The leaves had all fallen off the trees along the street out front, but here in the back most of the forest she could see was pine and evergreen. The chill in the air promised snow, if not today, then soon. They’d probably have a white Christmas this year.

  Marian had never loved this rural setting. She’d grown up in town, close enough to walk at least to the small local market, or with a little more effort, to catch a bus to the mall or other stores. This house had come along with marrying Dean, and she supposed it hadn’t been an awful trade. Her father had always said it was better to be heart-rich than house-poor, and while she agreed, there were still times when she longed to be able to stroll to grab a muffin or coffee, or to even have a pizza delivered.

  It was pretty out here, she had to admit that. And quiet, with little noise beyond the soft sigh of the wind through the forest. In the fall, deer often wandered into the backyard, along with squirrels and rabbits and plenty of birds that enjoyed the feeders Dean made sure to keep filled. Coyotes yipped sometimes from a few miles off in the woods, but they never came close enough to be a worry. Marian might never love the forest, but she could appreciate the beauty of it.

  Now a few squirrels chittered at each other from out in the grass. The low hooting of what she thought was a dove curled from the trees. She couldn’t see any birds, but the edge of the forest just below the tree line was dark with shadow. She would have no idea what lurked there. Watching.

  “Onyx,” Marian called, startling herself. She waited for the bird to fly out of the trees, but it didn’t. She laughed, self-conscious, aware of how her voice had rung out into the early morning stillness. Of course it wouldn’t come when she called it.

  She hadn’t seen the bird since the day Briella had gone with Tommy to his parents’ house, but today was the first time she’d actively noticed its absence. Now, Marian stood to shade her eyes and stare toward the tree line. She didn’t call out the bird’s name again. Names, she thought, had power, and she didn’t want to give the bird any.

  Idly, Marian sat again on the porch steps and pulled out her phone to scroll through the search results for psychopomp. Ravens, as it turned out, were far from the only creatures that had been listed in the role of death assistant. Other birds, too, as well as wolves and even deer and dogs had been thought of as able to lead the dying to the afterlife.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the whispering shuffle of the evergreen trees. Was that a far-off caw? Marian leaned forward, intent, but at last had to open her eyes to find no big black bird. Maybe it was gone for good. She could hope, right?

  Briella had not said a word about Onyx’s absence. That meant something, although Marian could not decide what. She took a long, slow breath of the cool autumn air, relishing it and the silence and the solitude. This was her life, in this moment, and it was a good one. A simple life. Nothing fancy. But it was hers, and the thought of it pushed her lips into a smile.

  She’d make slow-cooker lasagna for dinner, Marian thought as she got to her feet. A small flutter of dizziness had her reaching for the railing to steady herself, but it passed so quickly that she could hardly be sure it had happened at all. Again, she thought she might have heard a distant squawk, something that might or might not have been the voice of a raven from the trees, but when she swung around to look, again there was nothing.

  Dinner took only a few minutes to put together, and the clock told her she still had twenty minutes before Dean would be home. When another yawn threatened to take the top off her head, Marian decided to stop fighting her exhaustion. She snuggled down beneath the comforter and dozed until she heard Dean come in.

  She smiled without opening her eyes and wiggled under the covers. “Hey, handsome, come on in.”

  The sound of an embarrassed cough had her startling to full awareness. She sat up in bed, clutching the blankets. “Tommy, what the hell?”

  “Oh shit, Mare. Sorry.” He covered his eyes and turned away dramatically. “I’m not looking. The front door was unlocked. I knocked but you weren’t answering.”

  “So you just let yourself in? Again? What the hell is the matter with you? God, Tommy, you scared the shit out of me!” Marian flipped the covers back, glad she wore a T-shirt and legg
ings instead of something more revealing. “I’m not naked this time, so you can look.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, still not looking.

  Marian pulled on a hoodie and zipped it up. “Kitchen.”

  There she tested the coffee carafe and found it cold, so she poured them each a mug and put them in the microwave. Tommy took a seat at the table, tapping his fingers rapidly while a sudden hunger had Marian rummaging for some bread to make toast.

  “You want some?” When he shook his head she gave him a mug of warmed coffee instead, then popped the bread in the toaster. She leaned on the counter with her own mug. “What’s going on?”

  “I just felt like shit after what happened with Briella,” Tommy said. “I wanted to come talk to you about it.”

  “It’s been three weeks.”

  “Yeah, well, I felt like shit for three weeks, okay?”

  “You could have texted me,” she said.

  “This is the sort of thing that’s better said in person.”

  Marian’s brows lifted. “It’s not even eight in the morning.”

  “Yeah, I know. You look like shit, by the way.”

  “Well, you should feel like shit. That kid, for whatever reason, worships you.” She scowled.

  “You know I’m an asshole, Marian. If the kid thinks I’m a good father, where’d she get that idea from? Not me.” Tommy shrugged and swigged coffee. “Your toast is burning.”

  “Shit.” She pulled it out and tossed it on a plate with a sigh, then grabbed a butter knife from the drawer to scrape off the burned bits. She added butter and some cinnamon sugar while she said, “I have no idea where she got that idea. From TV, for all I know, where the kid’s supposed to hate their step-parent. Or maybe it’s because you’ve swept in and out of her life since she was born, always the guy taking her to the fun places, never the one making her eat her lima beans.”

  “Lima beans are fucking noxious.”

  Marian cut back her smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “That is not the point.”