I glance at Herman, who stands in the shadows. Mrs. Green squeezes Jackson’s tongue. “Nah! NAHHHHHH!!!!” He thrashes, drool dribbling down his chin.

Mrs. Green’s shoulders hunch. She wipes her wet, saggy eyelids. “All I wanted,” she says, “was a quiet house.”

“Gnahhh,” Jackson replies, staring at those scissors.

Mrs. Green moves away from him. She shakes her head. “But now you’ve found my little secret. My little boy. He’s made such a mess of things.”

Mrs. Green lifts her head, her expression hardening. She raises the scissors back to Jackson’s tongue.

“No!” I shout.

Jackson howls and then coughs. Blood splatters the floor. I swallow back the vomit rising in my throat. Mrs. Green picks up the chisel. The hammer. Jackson squirms.

“Shhhh,” Mrs. Green says. She wades over to him. “Hold still now…”

The veins in Jackson’s neck bulge as he tries to break away.

“Please,” I say. “Stop!”

“Shhh.” Mrs. Green taps Jackson’s chin. “This part’s tricky. I’d hate to muck it up.” She aligns the chisel with Jackson’s jaw joint, just below his ear. He thrashes as she raises the hammer.

“No!” I scream.

THWACK. Chisel into bone.

Again. THWACK. And again.

Jackson screams. He makes low guttural sounds. I tear my eyes away from my brother. His flesh is now white. Twisting my arms, I manage to loosen the tape a little. Blood falls over Jackson’s chair.

Mrs. Green moves back to Jackson with a needle and thread. He tries to shake his head, to keep her away, but she brings the needle to Jackson’s lips and pricks the skin. Slowly, she sews his lopsided mouth shut.

“Shhh. It’ll all be over soon,” she coos. The needle weaves in and out. Blood drips down his lips. “Those girls. You have no idea,” Mrs. Green mutters. “I told them families have secrets. But they lied to my face. Thought I couldn’t hear the whispers. When the police came, I was ready. Herman was so easy to hide. So quiet. And Claire’s body, what he had left, so small.”

Herman stands in the corner, still as a statue. A flicker of emotion dances behind his eyes. Rage? It’s hard to tell in this light. I look to my brother’s broken face. His hazy eyes find mine.

“I’m so sorry…” I say. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

Jackson groans, the life draining out of him. My fault. This is my fault, I think. Jackson shakes his limp head. He’s looking past me now, across the room.