It was the anniversary that pushed her over the edge. 10 July, every year, the day Lulu went missing; that day is always a black hole for Dee. It’s all she can do not to get sucked down into the dark. Sometimes she isn’t strong enough to resist. That was what happened in Oregon. Loss had Dee in its black grip and someone had to be punished.

She had been watching Ted for some days before she moved in. She saw his eyes in the hole in the plywood, every morning at first light, watching as the birds descended. She saw the care he took with the feeders, the water. There’s a lot Dee doesn’t know but she knows what love looks like. So she knew what to do.

She needed Ted to feel something of her savage grief. That was why she killed the birds. She didn’t like doing it. She retched as she put out the traps. But she couldn’t stop. She kept thinking, Eleven years today. Eleven years that Lulu never had.

Afterward she watched as Ted cried over the birds. His bent back, his hands covering his face. She felt the sorrow deeply in herself. It was awful, what she had been forced to do.

Now, Dee stumbles on after Lulu. She grabs at the slender sappy branches, pulling herself along.

“Stop,” she calls. “Come on, Lulu. No need to be afraid. It’s Dee Dee.”

The sky turns red and the sun becomes a burning ball, sinking into the horizon. Dee’s breath comes short and her fingers are swollen where they grip the branch. She blinks to clear her vision of the black edges.

Come on, Dee Dee.

She vomits but there is no time to stop. Instead Dee starts to run again, even faster this time, careening gracefully through the trees, speeding so smoothly over the uneven ground, the fallen branches that her feet leave the earth. She flies silent and fast, piercing the air like an arrow. All she can hear is wind and the tapestry of forest sound: cicadas, doves, leaves. Why didn’t I know I could fly? she thinks. I’ll teach Lulu how and we can fly all over, never landing. We can be together and they won’t catch me. I’ll have time to explain to her why I did what I did.

Dee sees Lulu at the top of the next rise, silhouetted against the low sun. The little figure, the sun hat. Dee can just make out the white flip-flops on her feet. Dee hurtles through the air toward her. She comes to rest lightly on the grassy rise.

Lulu turns and Dee sees that she has no face. Red birds explode from her head in a cloud. Dee shrieks and covers her eyes with her hand.