Page 49 of You Weren’t Meant to Be Human

Thirty-Six

It’s dark. It’s stopped snowing. The only illumination in the parking lot is the emergency light, a flickering yellow bulb that’s always given Crane a headache.

But the clouds are low, and the snow is undisturbed, and the night is almost bright enough to read by.

Everything has that unreal orange-gold tinge, as if he’d walked out of the gas station and into another world.

Maybe he should check the news, see if the articles line up with what he remembers.

See if he doesn’t recognize the name of the president.

The cigarette is down to a nub. Despite the blanket’s best efforts, his baby’s corpse against his chest is getting colder.

He really should feel something by now, he thinks.

Besides a little sick. Raw meat on an empty stomach is making him queasy.

But there’s nothing. His brain has shut that off.

If he feels everything now, all at once, he’ll rip back into the gas station and find a way to unjam that shotgun and put a slug between his teeth. He’d rather not do that.

He has Levi’s phone, though. Took it off his body. And he has Mom’s number, too. It’s there, in the pocket.

It takes a few tries to get the passcode through, with his fingers so cold and shaky against the touchscreen. In the meantime, Crane can’t decide between naming his daughter Jess or Sophie. Sophie is a pretty name. It deserves a better fate.

Finally, the passcode works. He types in Mom’s phone number.

Hits video call.

Holds Sophie against his chest, her face pressed safely into his coat, and lifts the phone just enough to hide the blood.

It’s Dad who answers. His face appears with an electronic ding , grainy video quality and bleary eyes and all. It takes him a second to realize what he’s looking at. Crane’s own face appears in the small rectangle at the bottom of the screen: a blur of shadows and blood and dark, sweaty hair.

Off-screen, Mom says, “Is that—”

“Crane?” Dad says.

END.