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Teresa woke when the temperature dropped. The clock read 3:12. She climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Derrick, and slid her feet into a pair of plush slippers. She pulled on a micro-fleece robe and shuffled into the hallway to check the thermostat.
Before she could touch the screen, Tiffany’s giggle came from downstairs. Teresa followed the disembodied voice to the front room.
“Hello, Mommy,” Tiffany said in the caramelly sweet voice she always used. “Are you ready to begin our journey?”
“Journey?” Teresa pulled her robe tighter around her. Tiffany gave her an exasperated expression.
“The one that will bring us together again.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Teresa shivered and wondered if the thermostat was malfunctioning. She’d have Derrick check it in the morning. “What do we need to do?”
Tiffany grinned and presented an oversized hypodermic needle from behind her back. The barrel lay across both of her hands like an offering. Teresa took the syringe. The needle was as big around as a pencil and longer than one used to administer an epidural by about five centimeters. She’d never seen a needle this big in her entire medical career. The barrel, cold and heavy in her hands, was made of crystal-clear glass, the plunger stainless steel.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” She winced at the thought of finding a vein with the thick point. She looked at Tiffany.
Tiffany grinned. “We’re going to play a game.”
“What kind of game?”
“A doctor game.”
Teresa gulped. “What are we going to use this for?”
“We are going to collect souls.”
The hypo dropped from Teresa’s hand and landed with a heavy thud on the rug. “Souls? You didn’t say anything about collecting . . .” She couldn’t even fathom what Tiffany meant. What the task entailed, how this massive hypo would factor in.
“You said you’d do anything to have me back.” Tiffany stomped her foot. “You made a deal.”
Teresa thought back to the abandoned funeral home. It felt like so long ago. Was it only yesterday? Did she make a deal?
“What are they for?” she asked. “The souls, I mean.”
“Payment to bring me back.”
Teresa picked up the syringe. “What do I do with this?”
“You’ll see,” Tiffany said. “Let’s go. I can’t be gone for too long, remember?”
Teresa followed Tiffany to the front door, flipped the deadbolt, and opened it. On the front porch lay the end of a glowing milky-red rope the size of the lines they used to tether cruise ships to docks.
“What is that?” Teresa crouched and poked it with the syringe’s plunger before picking it up. It pulsed like a carotid artery. The glow brightened and dimmed with each throb. She dropped it and wiped her hand on her robe, though the rope wasn’t slimy like she thought it might be. It was so smooth, like healing skin after a bad burn.
“Follow it,” Tiffany said.
Teresa followed the line out of the neighborhood to the diner and then behind to a small house. Her chest tightened when the line disappeared through the front door. The stainless-steel plunger rattled in her shaking hand.
“Doctor Mommy,” Tiffany said in a PA system voice. “Paging Doctor Mommy.” She laughed.
“What do I do?” Teresa asked.
Tiffany pointed to the oversized vein and used a sing-song voice. “Follow the glowing red zoe.”
Nausea swirled in Teresa’s stomach. She lurched to the bushes and dry-heaved. Tiffany’s cold essence touched her shoulder.
“I know you can do this. I know how badly you want to be with me.”
Teresa nodded and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her robe. She stood and went to the front door, took a deep breath, and tried the knob. Unlocked. Of course. No one locked their doors in Harmony. Everyone was family. Except her. That’s why she did lock her doors. Even when she was home by herself.
The line, the zoe as Tiffany called it, trailed inside. Teresa stepped into the house. Warmth washed over her, and her skin prickled with the blood rushing to its surface. A small table near the door held a stack of mail. Most of it was addressed to the diner, but one had a name on it.
“Ruth Gill,” Teresa whispered. “Ruthie. Oh God, not her.” Ruthie was always kind to Teresa. She was the only one in town who still welcomed her after the baby died.
Ruthie is nice to everyone, not just you.
It was true. She had to be, otherwise her diner wouldn’t do such great business. Or maybe since it was the only restaurant in town, it would still do well, but still. There was some measure of niceness Ruthie showed all her customers, even Mr. Proast, the most despicable man in town.
“I can’t do this,” Teresa said. “I can’t take Ruthie’s . . .” She couldn’t say soul.
“Follow the zoe. It’s easy.” Tiffany pranced into the house. She leaped back and forth over the line, almost like she couldn’t touch it herself. She came back to Teresa and took her hand. “She won’t die,” Tiffany said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light. “I promise.” Her voice dripped with saccharine sincerity.
Teresa nodded and followed the line down the hallway into the single bedroom. Moonlight spilled in, casting everything in an eerie blue light. Ruthie lay on the bed on her back, the covers thrown off of her. The milky-red line led straight into her chest. Teresa gasped and gripped the door frame. She closed her eyes.
“Stick the needle in her heart,” Tiffany said. “That’s where the soul lives.”
“She won’t die?” Teresa asked incredulous.
Ruthie stirred. Teresa sucked in a breath and froze. Ruthie rolled onto her side, then onto her back again. Teresa let out her breath.
“She won’t die,” Tiffany said.
Teresa didn’t understand how someone could live without their soul, but she trusted her baby wouldn’t lead her astray. She crossed the room to the bed and stood over Ruthie, so quiet and calm in her slumber. Teresa glanced at Tiffany, her expectant face, her glittering eyes and porcelain skin.
My little dolly.
Teresa raised the needle over her head. Her arms shook. She dropped them back down.
“Do it,” Tiffany urged.
Teresa closed her eyes, raised her arms again, and plunged the needle into Ruthie’s chest up to the luer.
Ruthie’s body convulsed. Her arms and legs jackknifed together, and a gurgling gasp escaped her throat. Teresa jumped back. The arms and legs relaxed, but Ruthie’s back arched, her chest rising high off the mattress.
“Pull the thingy,” Tiffany yelled, motioning with her hands. “Quick!”
Teresa rushed forward, gripped the plunger, and pulled. A milky-red glowing substance oozed into the barrel, thick and sloggy like cold maple syrup. The farther she pulled the plunger, the more shriveled and shrunken Ruthie’s face became.
Plunger fully retracted, Teresa withdrew the needle. Ruthie’s body lay rigid on the mattress. Her papery skin hugged the bones of her face.
Teresa backed away. Something crunched under her slipper. The milky rope that had led her to Ruthie was crispy, shriveled, and black in the moonlight.
Ruthie lay still as stone. Teresa leaned over her to listen for breath. She turned her head to Tiffany.
“You said she wouldn’t die.”
“She’s not dead—look.” Tiffany pointed. Teresa turned her head back.
Ruthie’s eyes popped open. They were black and bottomless. Teresa jumped back. A tortured keening issued from Ruthie’s dry, cracked lips. Teresa stumbled backward toward the door. She stopped to look at the shell of a person that remained. Ruthie sat up.
“Mommy,” Tiffany said in a calm voice. “Time to run.”