*dropping unedited

Kim swept the grease from her forehead and placed the fry basket back into its vat of oil. It'd been a long day, made longer because two of the teenaged employees had decided to quit on the spot after she'd caught them getting high in the bathroom. She'd not yelled at them, not even said she'd tell anyone—they'd just looked sheepish, sworn at her as if she'd been the one in the wrong, and stormed out. Truth was, the two of them had looked about to do more than just get high, hands up and down in each others' clothes, and Kim figured maybe they'd been embarrassed and that was why they'd really run off. If they'd only stuck around, though, they'd have realized she didn't give a damn what they did with each other or themselves so long as they got out there and took orders and heated up hamburgers.

Thankfully Carson had shown up. He was all right, a twenty-something stuck in community college and his mother's basement but reliable, solid. The two of them had held things together during the dinner rush, and now that it was nearing eight, things had calmed down. Destin had said he'd come in and help out around nine, so he could man the drive-thru for the late-night drunken snackers. In all, things were going to be okay.

At thirty-five, Kim suffered an ambivalence toward life she'd not known during her sixteen years in prison (well, really her fourteen years, as two of those had been spent at a juvenile detention center). She'd never complained about the likely fluke that'd let her out early—way too early considering her conviction all those years back. Apparently shifts in state leadership had caused someone important to take up the cause of Louisiana's overcrowded prisons, leading to the early release of well-behaved non-violent offenders, and while Kim had always been the former, axe-murdering her brother certainly hadn't been non-violent. Course, she hadn't brought that up when the whole whirlwind of paroles had blown through, and all she could figure was that her conscious efforts to keep to herself had led everyone to forget who she was and why she was there in the first place. By the time she'd been released into the wild, nonplussed and alone, Kim had begun to wonder whether she'd become a ghost. Nothing had made sense, and no one had so much as spoken to her, only about her.

Well, that'd been four years ago, almost. With much difficulty, she'd managed. Never gone back to Surette—no, no—she'd always remembered Miss Mariana's warning, the weird dream she'd had the night of the old woman's visit, the message she'd scratched to herself on her own arm. And she hadn't wanted to see her daily (or what was left of it) anyway. So she'd scraped by, spent time in a halfways home before attaining a menial job and earning just enough for a crappy apartment in an even crappier pocket of middle-of-nowhere, LA. Losing the routine and ease of prison had at first been so daunting that Kim had feared she'd need to commit some kind of crime just to go back to that comfort, but somehow she'd met Ellen.

Ellen was a woman fifteen or so years her senior whose sole mission in life seemed to be helping those down on their luck. She'd found Kim sleeping at a sheltered busstop, taken her to her own place for the night, and helped her figure things out from there.

"Someone out front, saying they're here to see you," Carson called into the kitchen.

Already? Kim checked her cell, saw that it was indeed the time her younger sister had arranged this. Sighing, the woman wiped her nose with the back of her wrist before removing the flimsy cap that kept her hair back. All Maggie had told her was that she needed to meet a boy from back in Surette; the reason had been left vague, and yet Kim had sensed the reason in Maggie's tone. Still, Kim hated talking to most people, particularly teenagers.

"Is anyone up to order?"

"Nah," Carson answered. "Dead as my grandma. You go on. I'll tell you if I need you."

Kim threaded her lips in a line, though her eyes showed sincerity. "Thanks."

Out in the restaurant proper, Tomás Flores sat wondering what the hell he was doing. He'd humored Maggie and driven the two hours to somewhere outside of Baton Rouge, mostly because he'd wanted to be alone with her in any conceivable way. Unfortunately, Maggie's designs had been entirely banal; they'd literally just driven straight, cliché pop country music and only the one stop for gas, and when they'd reached their destination, that'd been that.

Tomas had to admit bewilderment. What had he been thinking, leaving his mother behind for the night? He'd messaged her about it but not received a response (that in itself had weighed on his mind) and now was going to see some random woman just . . . because? Maggie hadn't explained that much, saying only "Kim's been through a lot of stuff like you. I think you'll be able to relate."

A thought had wheedled at the back of Tomás's mind, had him wondering whether Maggie were trying to set him up, but he brushed the notion away as farcical. They'd been chatting for a while—he deemed them friends, or at least acquaintances who'd been through something weird with that dead lamb (which she'd yet to explain)—and she had no reason to screw with him that he could figure out. Even so, he'd tried to steer conversation toward the right questions, but Maggie always avoided them. Besides that, talking in general was still awkward, as Tomás found conversing over messaging far simpler than conversing in person.

His brain ran circles trying to figure things out, and before he'd known it, they'd parked outside a Burger King.

Tomás watched Maggie interact with the heavy young man behind the register. Literally no diners were int the fast food joint, which struck Tomás as slightly odd, but then again, there were multiple establishments along this strip, plenty of options, and it was nearing eight. God, Maggie's ass looked perfect in those jeans, he thought, feeling no shame as he stared while she leaned on the counter. What he'd like to do with her in that position . . .

It'd been so, so long, it seemed, since he'd been with any girl. Back in New Orleans he'd had girlfriends since the age of eleven (much to his mother's concern); he'd lost his virginity at fourteen to a high school junior, a friend of his friend's girlfriend, at a house party. The next couple of years, he'd hooked up with a few girls, been happy with what they'd offered, and parted ways cordially. While he was a typical teenaged male in his physical pursuits, he'd always been kind, treated his girlfriends respectfully. But the move to Surette had dampened his pursuits, not only because he'd been concerned about his small family but also because no one had seemed very much to like him.

Except for Maggie. She'd been the first.

Of course, now he was debating why she'd shown interest in messaging him—seemed her aims had never been romantic.

The woman that emerged from the steaming kitchens and rounded the long counter looked nothing like Maggie at all. Tomás was in fact sure that the two women couldn't possibly be related. Tall yet shapeless, horse-faced and plain, the apparent "Kim" loped toward him, led by her tiny, curvaceous, bubbly sister. The contrast was stark: Kim's flat tannish hair versus Maggie's dark, shiny curls; Kim's small darting eyes versus Maggie's doe-ish gleaming ones; Kim's obvious hesitation in her movements versus Maggie's charming confidence . . . Tomás felt immediately disconcerted. He wished he'd stayed home, thought of his mother all alone and scolded himself for the choice he'd made.

Well, he was here, now. Best get things over with, whatever exactly they were.

"This is my sister Kim, like I told you," Maggie chirped, sliding into the booth across from Tomás and gesturing for Kim to sit down next to her. "I wanted you to meet her because—well, she remembers a lot more than I do about what happened to our other sister."

Tomás, who'd leaned his head into his left hand, scrunched his face. "Another sister?"

"Yeah," Maggie added. "Her name was Cassidy. She disappeared about twenty years ago, when she was twelve."

The boy sat up straight. Jonathan had told him other children had gone missing. "Like Eddie? Why didn't you tell me?"

Maggie rubbed her hands on her knees beneath the table. "Because I was so young—I don't really remember it. I thought it'd be best if you talked to Kim about it. She remembers it all."

For the first time, Tomás met Kim's gaze. The older woman was so serious, unsmiling. She wore no makeup, no jewlery, was as unmemorable as a person could be. He didn't know how to begin a conversation with such a person, what he could even ask, and yet Eddie's life might depend on it. Any clue, and chance he could return to his mother with some kind of hope—

"They never found Cassidy," Kim stated matter-of-factly, saving Tomás from fumbling for words. "And then everything went to hell. All my older brothers died, and my dad went missing . . . far as I know nobody ever figured out any of it." She turned to her sister. "Is that all?"

"What? No!" Maggie made some little huffing sounds as she tried to find words over her indignation. "I could've told him that."

"I don't know what else there is to say." Kim shrugged. She'd only kindled some kind of relationship with her younger sister in the last couple of years; all of the effort had been on Maggie's part. The emails, the messaging, the calling and finally driving out to see Kim—all of it had been on the younger of the two, because frankly, Kim wouldn't have cared if she'd never seen or heard from anyone left in her family ever again. The whole time after juvie she'd been incarcerated, no one had come to see her, which had been just fine by Kim. The only reason she knew what little she knew of her family back in Surette was that Maggie had told her it, how all those years ago the older boys had come home but died, how Lindell had disappeared, how her mother, Glory, had eventually been granted conservatorship of some big old house and moved up in whatever society there was in that godforsaken town. None of it mattered to Kim. She was happy with Ellen, happy to have maintained some level of peace and ease in her new life. She'd never hoped for or needed much for herself, and the last thing she wanted now was to think back on everything that had happened all those years ago.

"My little brother," Tomás interrupted her thoughts, "he's twelve. He just went missing a few weeks ago. I was supposed to get him from school, but then he was just gone, and if there's anything at all you can tell me, I—my mother—it's killing her. And someone told me this happens a lot, there, that some kid goes missing, every so many years."

Kim traded side-eye with Maggie, who shook her head as if to say she wanted no part in answering.

"I think that's probably right," Kim shook her head a bit absently, her thoughts wandering back in time to the murky memories of the murky realm beyond her home, into the forest, where the trunks of trees were difficult to distinguish against the grays and greens and gloom. A tree stood out, as it always had in her dreams, its bark scarred with deep lacerations, the remnants of weeping sap crusted thick around the wounds, and a chill in the air, a howl in the distance . . .

"Isn't there anything at all you can tell me?" Tomás was desperate, frustrated. He looked at Maggie. "Or you?"

"Do they hate you?" Kim curtly asked.

Tomás held out his hands as if looking for something to grasp. "Who?"

Kim's nose wrinkled slightly. "Everyone. Do they treat you bad?"

"Well, a little," Tomás admitted. He thought of the students at school, the ones he'd always sensed disliked him for reasons linked to his mother's past. Hurt over his isolation had been overwhelmed by recent events, but before Eduardo's disappearance, the pranks, the sneers, the avoidance—it'd all been difficult. "Yeah," he amended, his eyes frosting as he stared at the tabletop. "Not right in my face or anything, or my mother's face, but yeah. They've never really seemed to like us."

"It's because they know. Like dogs or something, they smell it on you."

Tomás looked up. "Smell what?"

"You're cursed. Your family. Just like mine. And they knew it even before your brother, I'd bet my life on it. It's why they treat you bad."

The young man turned to Maggie. "Is that true?"

"How should I know?"

"Because—because you're part of the, the whole town! I don't know. The school—you're there, aren't you? Do you ever hear anything?"

Scandalized, Maggie scoffed. "No! I have no idea what she's talking about. I mean . . ." Her shoulders slumped, and a sheepish expression crossed her features. "I knew after. After your brother. I never paid attention to any gossip, especially at the school. I hardly heard anyone talking. I was just in the library, remember? And, and I always was helping my mom. But once you came to the house and told me about Eddie, and then the lamb . . . it was what Kim had told me happened to us. Cassie, and then my dad found a lamb. And after that, the priest came."

"Priest?"

"Yeah. Kim had told me the priest was there at our house when all of it happened. So when it was happening to you, I just assumed . . ."

Tomás met Maggie's gleaming eyes. Her sincerity softened his annoyance. "It's fine. I just . . . I'm confused. It's like something is happening under a, a screen, and I can't see it, only the after-effects." The seventeen-year-old groaned. "Fuck, I don't know. I need a smoke. Can I smoke in here?" He looked to Kim, who shook her head. Tomás snorted. "Fine. I'll be outside."

From her seat, Kim watched him go, watched him exit the building, light up, lean his black against the glass wall, and start puffing away. She didn't know what to make of her sister's decision to bring this poor person to her. It wasn't as if she could offer him any help.

A hand curled around her forearm. Kim studied Maggie.

"Can you come back, Kim?"

Wincing, Kim pulled back. "To Surette? No. I'm never going back there."

"But something bad is going on, and he—we need you. Mama is changed, Kim, I promise. However you remember her, she's not like that. She misses you. We've got almost nobody, just her and me and Trent."

Kim laughed, shook her head. "What do you even think I can do? I'm fine just where I am."

"Please, Kim. I—I like him. He's a good boy, and he needs help."

"I told you, I can't help him."

"You can help more than you think. And—and Ellen can come too; I'm sure Mama would want to meet her."

Kim met her little sister's eye, narrowed her own. "Ellen and me, we're—"

"I know!" Maggie held up her hands in defense, though she smiled knowingly. "Just friends. I know. But I like her, and I think Mama and Trent would, too."

Biting her lower lip, Kim thought, then caught sight of patrons approaching from the parking lot. She slid out of the bench seat, muttering, "I'll think on it," before retreating to the kitchens.

Outside, Maggie approached Tomás, who'd just about finished his cigarette. "You ever think about vaping instead?" she asked him.

He raised his eyebrows before flicking the stub into the darkness. "Nope."

The young woman gave an adorable little laugh before pressing up against the startled boy, rising onto her tiptoes, and saying, "Then I guess I'll have to get used to the taste" before bringing her lips to Tomás's own trembling but receptive mouth.