My sister Sarah presses the keys in the palm of my hand.
“You’re the oldest, Cass. It’s yours now.”
I look around. Overgrown weeds choke the perimeter of my mother’s home. What does one do when they’ve just inherited the neglected house of a schizophrenic who died with her life’s secrets locked within her mind?
“Sarah, do you remember when we were little, how mom grew begonias in the garden?”
“Let’s plant some behind the fence and make this place look loved again.”
She wipes away a tear, then moves her hand over mine.
The golden trill of the bells cut through the crisp March air. The woman counted them.
One. Two. Three. A baritone voice followed.
“Are you ready?”
She turned to gaze into the eyes of the man at her side. These were the same green eyes she’d looked into before; familiar and comforting. Before the bells tolled four, she would become his. She would not, could not, ever look into another’s eyes thereafter.
He took her hand firmly, confidently. She turned away to inspect the balconies of the cathedral, their ivory curvature reminiscent of a shark’s jawbone. Quaint windows framed the precipices. They were quite high.
That would be her only chance to escape.
First timer for Friday Fictioneers here. Welcome to my blog, and I hope you enjoyed what I wrote. If not, well, maybe next time, huh?