We sit next to each other like we are both twins ourselves.
I see blood on the carpet on the stairway.
“Where’s Jessica?” I ask.
“Son…”
“Jessica?” I hold up flowers to no one in particular. I walk towards my bedroom, past the small spot on the carpet, and knock on the door. “Honey?” I smell the closed air. Around and around we go on this absurd Ferris wheel.
I open the door.
Her body is splayed across the bed in multiple pieces, blood forayed, arms in complimentary mayhem, her legs torn apart, clothes in a bundle of bloodied weightiness, her head mouthing innocent, innocent words.
Mother has turned her into an invalid vampire.
“Kill me,” Jessica mouths. “Kill me, please, Epstein. If you love me, kill me.”
“Oh my God!” I scream. “No! Why her? This is turning yourself toward God? Mo
