Clarke
The house was too quiet. My voice carried too far, too loudly. Aside from the sound of my boots scuffing against the hardwood floor and the slam of the front door behind me, the house was silent.
Silence wasn’t unusual in our house—but this silence was wrong. Typically, Roman or Brutus were play-fighting in the parlor, or the soft sounds of some cheesy show drifted from Melody’s room.
Melody.
My footsteps quickened as my pulse hammered beneath my skin. Melody hated the quiet, hated the sound of nothing other than her dying. Something was terribly wrong.
“Melody!” I called again, racing down the hall.
The door to her bedroom creaked open and my father stepped out, more tired and solemn than I had ever seen him.
The circles under his eyes were darker, and the soft strands of blond hair clung to his forehead like he’d fallen asleep on his arm.
He held his cream-colored hat in both hands, his fingers working the felt over and over.
“Clarke,” he croaked, the tremble in his voice unmistakable. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, and I froze.
“What’s wrong? Is it Mells?” I tried to move past him, trying to see through the small crack between the frame and the door. I could only see the faint glow of sunlight through the curtains and the pink comforter my sister loved.
“We set them free, Dad—the Hanover horses,” I said, still pushing. “I have to tell her, please.” My voice cracked, but he didn’t move.
“Clarke, listen.” His hand landed on my shoulder, and the touch shocked me. “She’s gone.”
“No.” The word was automatic, second nature. She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She wouldn’t leave shoved at him again, struggling to break free of his hold. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want him to hold me back. I didn’t want to be held by anyone.
“You have to let me go,” I pleaded, tears welling. “Daddy, please, you have to.” I shoved again—harder—and this time his grip slipped. Maybe because he let it. Maybe because he couldn’t hold me together anymore. I stumbled past him before he could change his mind.
The door swung open under my hand. The sunlight in the room was too soft. Too warm. Too normal for what was inside. Mama was on the floor beside the bed, her knees pressed into the rug, her hands cupping Melody’s arm like she could warm her back to life.
Dr. Corrin and Harris stood in the corner, their clothes wrinkled, their faces hollowed out by the kind of helplessness doctors aren’t supposed to show.
Melody lay still. Too still. Her pink comforter pulled to her waist, her hair brushed back like Mama had been smoothing it over and over, refusing to stop.
Mama’s head snapped up when she heard me. “Clarke—baby—” She rose, instinctively reaching for me. I flinched before she could touch me.
“Don’t,” I rasped, stumbling toward the bed.
Mama’s face crumpled. “Sweetheart, come here—” Her trembling fingers brushed my shoulder, but even that felt like too much.
“I said don’t.” My voice cracked, sharp and ugly. “I need — I need to be with her. Alone.”
“Clarke,” Mama whispered, reaching again. Something inside me snapped. Something raw and unwanted. Something I had tried so hard to keep hidden.
“Alone, Mama—I said… alone!” I whipped my head around, salty tears rolling down my face. I felt like one of the rabid coyotes that roamed the property outside the paddocks — teeth bared, fingers clawing at the soft duvet on my sister’s bed. Corrin shifted. Harris straightened. Mama froze.
“I said get out!” The words tore out of me, louder than I meant, louder than the room deserved. “All of you. Please. Just — go.”
Mama hesitated, torn between me and Melody, between holding on and letting me break. Dad appeared behind her, voice low and steady in a way that made everything worse.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let her… let her have this.”
“But Jason,” she whispered, her voice fracturing. “My babies—my girls.” Dad cupped her face. I turned away, eyes stinging, ears ringing. “Let her say goodbye.”
I heard her sniffle and could imagine her nodding her head, the back of her hand pressed beneath her nose. Moments later, she was by my side, still far enough to give me space by close enough to allow me comfort.
Mama pressed a trembling kiss to Melody’s forehead before she stood. She brushed her fingers over my arm as she passed—a ghost of a touch—and I jerked away. Corrin and Harris slipped out quietly, their grief tucked into their shoulders.
I heard Dad murmur something about telling Delia and Colton. Heard Mama choke out a yes. Heard the floorboards creak as they left the room. Outside, muffled voices—one feminine, one masculine—and then the opening and shutting of the door.
Only Ethan stayed behind, his silhouette lingering in the hallway, guarding Avalon, who was somewhere behind him, waiting, not knowing. The door clicked shut. And then it was just me and Melody. And the silence she always hated.