Henry

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked as soon as they were alone in the hall.

“That’s the statue, Henry.”

“What statue?”

“The statue you killed Mr. Miller with,” Claudine said.

He had no memory of it. Claudine was the one who had told him it was a statue of a cowboy. The paper had only stated Miller had been bludgeoned to death. They never said what with or printed a picture. He wondered why seeing the cowboy statue unwrapped tonight hadn’t made him think of it. It was a lot smaller than the statue he had pictured. He imagined it was something big enough to have crushed the old man’s head like a cantaloupe in one swift strike. The Secret Santa statue wasn’t that big, a little larger than his hand. No way Miller had gone down with one blow. How many times did he have to hit him? Two? Three? Which end did he use: the square base or the cowboy? Had the sharp little rifle gotten lodged in Miller’s skull? Did he have to struggle to pry it out? But the main reason this cowboy statue hadn’t immediately reminded him of that cowboy statue was because that was never an option. There wasn’t a reality where it could be that statue. Claudine had said they would never be able to trace it to them. Locked away in an evidence room for eternity. She had promised him.

He leaned against the wall, dizzy. His breathing jagged.

“Are you sure it’s the same one?” he said. “Maybe the sculptor did a series of them and this is another one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claudine said.

“Well, maybe it’s a big coincidence. What if the statue ended up in some secondhand store and somebody bought it to bring tonight, having no idea?”

“That’s even more preposterous than your first idea,” Claudine said. “It was a murder weapon. It was part of a police investigation. How would it end up in some secondhand store?”

“So then how?” Henry said.

“I don’t know,” Claudine snapped.

His fingers were numb. Hadn’t the doctor said to call if his fingers went numb? Or was it his arm? No, this wasn’t a coincidence. Here they were in this house. The blood house. Here they were on this land. The blood land. It knew they were there. How very dumb they’d been to think they could just walk through the door and throw a goddamn party. Why had Claudine insisted on tempting fate?

“We deserve this,” Henry said.

He was cracking open.

“Look at me,” ordered Claudine. She physically turned him to face her. “Stop it. Do not spiral.”

Her voice sounded different now, her usual collectedness and unflappability returned.