Page 73 of The Locked Ward

On the night of Annabelle’s last birthday party, you argued with her. That wasn’t new; you’d fought countless times before. But this time, the tenor of your discussion was different.

“I’m so sick of how Honey treats you!” she yelled. “It’s disgusting!”

Annabelle was finally seeing old dynamics in a fresh light—the family photograph meant to exclude you; the excesses of her party versus the ones your parents never threw for you; the way Honey introduced her to a new neighbor as “my daughter,” as if there were only the one.

“I’m going to confront her. And if she doesn’t start being kinder to you, she’s going to lose me, too,” Annabelle snapped.

You felt a forgotten old flicker ignite inside you. It was the stirrings of hope. No matter how old you were, it still hurt to have your mother show she didn’t love you. You extinguished the flicker before you spoke so your voice would remain steady.

“Don’t bother. She’s your mother, not mine.”

“That’s bullshit! You deserve better!”

Annabelle’s outrage was probably partially fueled by shame for the way she’d colluded with Honey. But back then, she was a child, just doing what was expected of her. You weren’t bitter about it anymore. Besides, whenever she’d come at you, you’d given it right back to her.

“It’s going to make things worse for me if you get everyone riled up,” you’d shot back. “Just leave it alone.”

She’d stared at you for a long moment, breathing hard. In a gentler voice, she said, “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“Look, it’s late and we’ve both had a few drinks,” you began.

A chime sounded on Annabelle’s phone then, the same bright note that alerted you whenever you had a new text or email from a sender you’d flagged as important.

She looked down at the screen and her body language shifted.

Became more rigid and alert. You could tell she was distracted.

The message on her phone was far more pressing than anything else to her.

“Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?” she suggested. “How about brunch?”

“You’re going to be too hungover for that,” you told her, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s have dinner. Come to my place. I’ll order us something yummy.”

“See you then.” She started to hug you goodbye, then said, “Wait, I didn’t open your gift yet.”

“It isn’t anything much…” you began, but she was tearing through the wrapping paper and opening the lid of the box to look at the bookends.

She lifted out the A , admiring the hammered silver. “They’re so beautiful,” she murmured. “Like a work of art.”

“Happy birthday, sis,” you replied. It was the first time you’d called her that. A big smile erupted across her face.

She hugged you and whispered something into your ear that took your breath away. You couldn’t respond because you were on the verge of tears.

Then Annabelle glanced down at her phone again. You could tell she was eager to get back to the message. It had knocked everything else out of the forefront of her mind.

You walked down the hallway to the powder room, where you took a few minutes to steady yourself, splashing cold water on your face and blowing your nose.

You had to retrace your steps past the dining room to reach the front door. Your silver purse was in your hand, and you were counting the moments until you could slip off your heels in an Uber.

The dining room was empty; Annabelle must’ve left.

Then your peripheral vision registered something odd. Your head jerked around reflexively.

You were staring at the soles of Annabelle’s bare feet sticking out at an angle into the open doorway.

“Annabelle?” you cried out, your voice high and strangled.

You hurried into the room. She was lying down, motionless. Her shoes were off, like she’d been knocked out of them.

You nearly slipped in the fresh blood puddling around her head as you rushed to her side. Had she passed out? Fallen and hit her head? There was a gaping wound on her right temple.

She stared up at you with empty eyes. A few minutes ago, your sister had been vibrant and whole. Now Annabelle was dead.

Time shuddered to a stop. You opened your mouth to scream for help.

But Honey beat you to it, her voice rising to a shriek as she rushed to Annabelle’s side: “Georgia, what have you done!”

Then Honey launched herself at you, clawing at you and screaming in rage.