By the third day, the Thornes' "temporary" stay
stretched on, their car repairs an excuse that frayed like tinsel. The house
changed—shadows clung to corners; the rain's patter now seemed to know
Margaret's name. Over breakfast, Minnie stirred her coffee in slow, deliberate
circles, her eyes on Sarah's basket.
Margaret said, "I dreamed of this place—a woman like
you, by dark water. Free from the pain of loving something too much."
Roman nodded, his voice smooth as oil. "The world's
cruel, Margaret. Wars, betrayal—what kind of place is this for a child?"
He tightened his shirt. "The government's got its hands in everything,
Margaret. You can't trust any of 'em."
Benjamin's fork clattered onto the plate, echoing in the
quiet room. He thinks to himself, damnit now we have ghosts in our closet we
can't get rid of.
Minnie's fingers hovered over Sarah's tiny fist, cold as
river stones. She hesitated as if weighing some unspoken cost. "We give
too much, thinking it'll save innocence from corruption."
Margaret's chest tightened. Her hand trembled as she held
Sarah, her breath shallow as a cold dread twisted inside her.
That night, she woke to whispers—Roman's voice, low and
urgent, speaking of "covenants" and "waters that wash away
suffering." She clutched Sarah closer, the baby's warmth a tether against
the growing dark.
Benjamin grew restless, his warnings cutting through the
tense air unheard.
"They're poisoning you, Margaret." "Can't you see it?"
"They understand," Margaret replied, her voice
distant, as if she were drowning. "They know what it means to protect a
child."
Benjamin sick and tired of warning Margaret said, "well if
you end up lost don't come crawling back to me."
On the seventh night, Minnie shook Margaret awake.
"It's time," she whispered. "Something to free you
both."
A motherly urge pulled Margaret from bed, Sarah in her arms.
She woke Benjamin, saying, "It's an emergency, Benjamin." He
groggily stumbled after them and followed in his car. They drove through
the rain, the road twisting until the Iowa fields dissolved into a black-sand
beach. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of unseen rituals of
blood.
"This is where love proves itself," Roman said,
his voice barely audible over the waves. "Through the right kind of
sacrifice…"
Margaret stood at the water's edge, Sarah's trusting eyes
reflecting the storm. "She's so beautiful," she whispered, tears
falling.
"Too beautiful for this world," Minnie
said, her voice a corrupting lullaby. "Do you want her to learn pain?
Betrayal? The ocean is merciful—it takes it all away."