September 1976
The van was back. Star was back. Melissa. Star. She was Star again.
They half carried, half dragged her up the kitchen steps, her bare and bleeding feet scraping the concrete edges. Blue watched
this happen but couldn’t quite connect the things she was seeing. That looked and sounded like Star, but it moved like a rag
doll. The Hermès scarf that had been in her hair earlier was covering her mouth and muffling her screams.
“Everyone inside,” Dean said. He was backlit by the kitchen light. His form was shadow, fury. Jane helped Blue into the kitchen.
Blue shielded her eyes from the brightness and the sight of Star on the floor.
Dean reached down and ripped the scarf from Star’s face, pulling some of her hair in the process. He used it to wipe sweat
from his face before throwing it into the sink. Star’s eyes were wild with terror, meeting Blue’s. Blue’s friends—her sisters—formed
a circle of judgment. The kitchen counters kept getting closer and then moving away, as if they were ghoulish spectators,
creeping in for a better look.
Dean crouched next to Star and played with the tips of her hair softly.
“Where is it, Star?” he asked.
“Where’s what?”
“Star. Star. Where is it? Just tell me and it’ll all be okay.”
“Where’s what?”
Jane was looking around the room in confusion.
“Sweet Jane and Blue don’t know what’s going on,” Dean said. “I had to explain in the van.”
Denver nodded grimly.
“Our money,” Dean said. “Sure, we give a lot away, but I was saving some for us so that we could buy a place of our own. A
place we couldn’t lose. For us. Hell, maybe even enough to buy this place. I was keeping it safe so that the money game never
caused us trouble, but it looks like Star here found it. It’s gone. You stole from us, when all we ever wanted was to love
you, Star.”
He crouched down and combed her hair with his fingers.
“We were mad,” he said softly, “but it’s okay now. You just tell us and it’s all right.”
“I don’t have any money . . .”
“Shhhh, now, Star. Star, you need to think. Did someone make you do it?”
Blue was remembering more now, though things were still all a bit loose. They had gone to town. Star was going to leave. She
had called her brother. Of course. That’s all it was. If she explained, this would all be fine.
“Her brother,” Blue said.
Dean tipped his head up to look at her.
“What’s that now, Blue?” he asked.
“Her brother . . . was coming . . . for vegetables.”
For vegetables? No. At the vegetable stand. Close enough.
Dean let out a low, hissing sigh and cupped his chin in his hand in thought.
“Was your brother coming, Star?” he asked. “Was that it?”
A heavy nod, dragging her cheek along the floor.
“You told Blue that your brother was coming to pick up some vegetables from our garden, was that it?”
“No . . .”
No, that wasn’t it. Blue had fumbled the sentence. The voice inside her said: be silent.
“Did you meet up with him?”
“No . . . he’s . . . not . . . here . . . yet . . .”
“But he’s coming?”
Another nod against the floor. Dean looked up at Denver and jerked his chin toward the counter. Denver turned, examined what
was available, and grabbed the long bread knife. The lights in the room were humming and microscopically strobing, casting
an evil glow on the floor.
Denver held the knife to Dean, but he shook his head, then tipped it in Star’s direction. Denver squatted next to Star and
put the knife to her cheek.
“Where is it?” she asked.
It was a cruel voice. Denver was not there—something wicked had taken her place.
“I don’t know—”
A slow cut from mid-cheek to the top of Star’s mouth. Star started gagging on blood, sobbing beyond the point of being able to speak. Sweet Jane squeezed Blue’s arm but made no move to help Star. Nor did Sally, or Cat, or Lacey. Star’s eyes had become marbles, impassive and glassy.
“If he’s not here yet, then you must still have it, right?” Dean said. “We can fix this. We just need to know where it is.
You understand. Denver’s upset right now. She’s upset that you betrayed us. But she’ll feel better—we’ll all feel better—if
you tell us.”
Star opened her mouth, but that caused more blood to drip onto the mustard-yellow and white squares on the floor. Blue could
smell it all—metal and sweat and salty tears. Star tried to worm her way along, a pathetic and slow attempt to move to the
door. The others twitched and crackled. There was a beast in the room. It inhabited their bodies, flashing from one to the
next, moving around the room in a ring of possession. What was coming was inevitable, Blue knew that, but she didn’t know
what form it would take when it became corporal. She wanted to close her eyes, but she had no control over the lids. Some
unseen fingers held them back. She would have to watch.
And then she saw it. The cast-iron pan. The source of so many good meals. Someone had grabbed it and brought it down on Star’s
head.
Blue heard the crack, like that of a massive egg. Then everything got quiet in the kitchen. The cicadas conferred outside.
Star was gone. Blue felt her spirit fly out the window, into the dark night, to the bright spots in the sky—the faraway ones
that no one in that room could reach.