Maanik and her mother stood bundled in their winter coats, watching the morning sun from the penthouse balcony. As the golden rays warmed their faces, the young woman said, “It feels almost like summer.”
Hansa, shivering, hugged her daughter close, happy that she was feeling anything. This was an unexpected blessing after the difficulties of the last two days. Her husband had barely been home since the attack at Jammu. This morning when Hansa woke, he had already left again. Maanik had awakened early as well. Hansa found her lying on her side, absently stroking Jack London, and she had readily agreed to come outside.
“What do you think?” Hansa asked, looking across the long balcony, wanting to savor the time with her. “We could do some homeschooling out here, catch up on some of your homework.”
Her daughter seemed to be smiling, her head tilted toward the sun, her eyes shut.
“Maanik?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think about that?”
Maanik moved slowly in her natural spotlight. “I’m sorry?”
“I like it,” she replied.
Hansa gave her a little squeeze and began to rearrange the chairs, pulling a couple of large potted plants out of the way. She was startled to see how weak she had become and resolved to start her walking routine again.
“Maanik, how do you think I would do on your father’s NordicTrack?”
Maanik laughed.
“Do you think that’s funny?” her mother asked, smiling. “Maybe when you’re feeling better, you can teach me.”
“It makes me tired.”
“That machine? You can outrun your father.”
“I’m going back to bed,” Maanik said.
“Don’t you want to stay out here a little longer? You look so happy here.”
“I want to lie down.” Suddenly, she sounded frail.
Hansa walked toward her. “Let me help—”
“I can do it.”
The woman watched as Maanik disappeared behind the shining glass of the terrace door. Then she continued rearranging the furniture, in case Maanik missed the fresh air and chose to return.
From inside, Jack London howled. Hansa dropped the chair she was moving and ran toward Maanik’s bedroom. The girl was still in the hallway, blocked by the barking dog, who, facing the open bedroom door, was making short, tentative bounds forward, then skittering backward as if trying both to attack the entry and avoid it.
“Jack London, quiet!” Hansa yelled.
He partly obeyed, his yelps becoming low growls. Hansa turned toward her daughter.
“No!” she cried.
Maanik’s left arm had stiffened and her right hand had extended.
“Maanik, stay with me,” she implored.
“Quiet!” Hansa yelled.
Kamala arrived, roused by the commotion.
“Take him away!” Hansa snapped.
Kamala edged around them, reaching for the beagle. Maanik made a swift, sweeping motion with her right hand in the air and without being touched, Jack London flew across the floor and hit the wall to their right. His howling turned into tiny frightened yips and he cowered low by the wall where he’d been thrown.
“Maanik!” Hansa grabbed at her daughter’s left shoulder and spun her around.
Maanik’s eyes were shut, her expression relaxed. She slipped from her mother’s grip, heading toward the bedroom door.
“Don’t go in there!” Hansa shrieked, and tried to pull her back, tried to turn her to face away from the bedroom. Maanik stiffened and shook her off. Hansa gasped as blood dripped down her daughter’s wrists and along her fingers, even though her arms were still bandaged under her coat. Maanik’s eyes opened and she began walking backward, lifting her hands and rubbing her forearms as she gazed stonily at her mother. Hansa followed her into the bedroom, reaching toward her child’s ear, but Maanik jerked away.
“Stop!” Hansa cried, and again reached for Maanik’s ear.
“You cannot take me back,” Maanik said.
“From where? Please talk to me!”
“When she burns, I burn,” Maanik said. “I have to go so it will stop.”
“Go where?” Hansa pleaded. She was trying to think like Dr. O’Hara, trying to get information.
“Up,” Maanik said. “That is the only escape.”
“Up where?” Hansa asked, trembling as they moved farther into the foul air of the bedroom.
“Beyond . . . fera-cazh.”
“Where . . . what is ‘fera-cazh’?”
Maanik’s answer was a full-throated scream followed by the ritual clawing at her arms. Hansa tried to hug her but once again Maanik twisted out of reach, backing against the bed. Making a concerted effort to reach her ear, Hansa practically yanked her daughter’s arm to her side—and was thrown back. Staggering, she saw a plume of smoke rising from the bed. Hansa circled, frantic, and only then saw that it was coming not from the bed but from the bottom of Maanik’s nightdress, under her coat. With a hiss, another plume rose from near one of the girl’s pockets. Maanik’s hair was lifting into the air, rising not unlike the smoke trails—and Hansa realized she smelled burning hair. She violently slapped her daughter’s hands aside, plunged her fingers toward Maanik’s ear, and shouted, “Blackberries!”
Maanik wobbled on her feet but did not stop screaming or slapping at her arms. “Let—me—burn!” she choked out, before the seeming anguish of physical pain took over her voice again and she wailed.
Smoke rose from Maanik’s left hand as a black spot spread across her skin. Hansa was trying to reach for it when suddenly Maanik spun and ran for the tall bedroom window. She slammed up the latch, flung open the sash, and with her bare hands struck and clawed at the screen beyond in an effort to shred it. Hansa shouted at her, grabbed at her, and struggled to keep a hold on her, but she didn’t stop. Maanik punctured the black mesh and pulled at the ragged hole with both hands, making a large opening. Hansa screamed for Kamala’s help as five black patches opened on the back of Maanik’s coat, smoke coiling toward the ceiling. Then just as suddenly, Maanik thrust her hand onto the upper frame of the window and, searching with her foot for the lower frame, hoisted herself up.
Hansa felt a surge of power and adrenaline unlike anything she had ever experienced. Vaulting forward, she grabbed Maanik around the waist and wrenched her from the open window. They tumbled to the floor. She quickly pulled the lower edge of Maanik’s coat up over her daughter’s back and head and yanked it down so that her head and arms were encased. Hugging Maanik firmly, she dragged her across the bedroom to the doorway. Maanik struggled and kicked and Hansa could hear her screaming—once more in the language she did not understand. The woman wanted to vomit from fear but the noxious odor from her daughter’s hair and the impossible heat of her body kept her focused. Kamala finally arrived in the room with scratches evident from a struggle with the dog. Together they manhandled Maanik down the hall to the small bathroom with a stand-up shower. Dragging the young woman into the tiny cubicle, Hansa slammed her hand on the water lever and cold water flooded down on them. While Kamala peeled the girl’s clothes from her struggling body, Hansa maneuvered a hand into the mêlée, pinched the girl’s ear, and shouted, “Blackberries!”
Maanik went limp.