The people step gingerly as they go about their business. So as not to break the silence. They scurry heavily. The cold is bone deep.

They avert their eyes from the caution tape. Caution is in their blood.

WITNESS

You wake, and it’s already in your bones. The memory of what you’ve seen. You can’t shake it.

You pour coffee, and it looks like pavement. You crisp some toast and it looks like skin. You make the bed and it looks like that moment when they pull a sheet over the body.

You can’t shake it. The house is full of things that speak of girlhood.

Your daughters’ pink socks.

Their dolls.

The glitter explosion of art magnetted to the fridge.

A robot dressed like a princess sits in the middle of the dining room table, its neck cocked like it’s ready to listen.

These things make you inexplicably angry.

Well, not inexplicably. You understand where it comes from and that understanding only amplifies the anger.

Things of innocence should not spark rage. Things of innocence should not spark fear. Things of innocence should go on and on and on, until they end in something poignant, beautiful. Should go on and on, until they grow.

JENNICA

“Hey,” Kimberly is saying. “Do you want to sleep some more here, or move to your bed?”

Groan. Stretch. The couch blanket feels thin and the chill of the night has already reached my bones. “What time is it?”

Her warm weight settles beside me. Her hip fills the arc between my chest, stomach, and thighs. My knees curl up, as if I can tuck her into me. A reflex. She runs her hand softly over my back. When I shiver, she strengthens her touch.

“You okay?”

My brain is fuzzy. Half-sleepy. “I guess.”

“You’re cold. Come on into your bed.” She tugs. I moan. This is familiar. Sometimes we fall asleep on the couch, trying to watch one more episode of whatever we’re into. Then one of us wakes up in the middle of the night and has to drag the other one up. My sleep brain would rather stay in this semi-warm spot that is really not warm enough.

My bedsheets will be cold at first. Kimberly pulls me down the hall anyway. She folds back the bedding and I crawl in.

Pale light streams in through the blinds.

“It’s almost morning.”

“Yeah,” she says. “It just got clear enough to come home.”

I’ve slept through some crazy, is what it sounds like.

“What’s going on out there?” I split the blinds’ slats. The street looks like the street usually does. “You only just got home?”

“Yeah. It was … bad. For a while.” Her voice is strained.

I’m awake now. “Did you get any sleep?” I grasp her hand, and she slides into the bed beside me. She’s warm.