Ted doesn’t know everything. I still fight him. And I am stronger than he thinks. Sometimes when he goes away, it is not Little Teddy who comes. It is me. When he finds himself with a knife in his hand—those times it is me, trying to do what should be done.

But I wasn’t strong enough. Ted had too good a hold on me. I had to make the cat do it. And that’s how we come to be where we are.

TED

She must have suspected that it was all about to come down around her. The police had come to the hospital, to Mommy’s old work, asking questions. The children at the kindergarten where she worked now had got so clumsy. Previously Teddy had been the clumsiest and she had saved the big stuff, the stuff that left marks, for him. But recently Teddy wasn’t enough anymore. There were too many children being stitched up who hadn’t fallen down.

Mommy had taken a long time to fix me, the night before. I was still shivering in the aftershock. I came into the kitchen for a glass of water. Mommy was standing on her tiptoes on a chair. She had a length of laundry line in her hands. On rainy days like today Mommy ran the washing line across the kitchen, to dry her stockings. Not pantyhose, she would never wear that.

“Teddy,” she said. “You are tall. Help me get this up here. The goddamn thing won’t go over the beam.” It was funny to hear her swear in that elegant, accented voice. I climbed up on the chair and threw the line over the crossbeam.

“Thank you,” she said, formally. “Now go and get some ice cream from the store.” I looked at her, startled. We had ice cream once a year, on her birthday.

“But it will rot our teeth,” I said.

“Please do not argue with me, Theodore. When you get back, there will be some chores for you. Can you remember everything I am about to say? You must not write it down. And I am going out almost immediately, so I will not be able to tell you again.”

“I think I can remember,” I said.

“There is something I need you to dispose of. I will leave it here, in the kitchen. You must take it out to the woods. You will have to wait until dark to remove it from the house, because you are not allowed to bury things in the woods.”

“Yes, Mommy,” I said. She gave me ten dollars, way too much for ice cream.

As I closed the front door behind me I heard her say, in a low voice, “Ya, ma ankou.” It was all getting weirder and weirder.