Bloody

Red splodges on the lino.

Smudged fingerprints smeared on the doors.

Marla?

She is slumped in the hallway,

hand over her nose,

face sticky with blood.

The press in the kitchen came at me, she says.

A poltergeist for all I know.

I need an ambulance.

My heart pumps hard.

How will I explain to a paramedic who I am

and why I found her?

Will they assume I did something awful?

Marla won’t remember what happened.

Let me look.

I press her head to feel for bumps.

Her hair is matted with dried blood.

Can you stand up?

I don’t feel magical.

I might need a doctor.

I get her to a chair.

I’ll run you a bath, I say.

A bath will be a distraction.