Ashley nodded, mute. She was grateful for those two and a half words.

“Come here,” her mother said. “Look at you.”

Ashley crawled to get nearer. Her mother’s face was barely recognizable, but the expression on it was very much her mom.

“How special is that?” her mother said, touching Ashley’s hair where it was white.

“Mom,” Ashley said. She sounded like a little kid again and she didn’t even care, now.

“Shhh, Ashlet. It’s okay. Okay?”

Her dad’s mockery from earlier rang in her ears, so vivid she had to check to see that he was there.

Seeing the mess was—it wasn’t better than seeing him looming behind her would have been.

“Shhh,” her mom said. “You’re going to get a phone, okay? We’re going to call for help.”

Ashley shook her head.

“We’re going to call me an ambulance, okay, because I don’t think I can stand up. My leg hurts. Then we’re going to call the police, and we’re going to explain—”

“No,” Ashley said. “No!”

“It’s okay, Ashlet. This is not your fault. We’ll explain and we’ll get everything figured out.”

“No,” Ashley said, plaintive. “Cops only mean trouble. They’re out to get you. Dad says.”

“Ashlet, Ashley, shhh. It’s okay,” her mother said, reaching for Ashley’s hands.

Her mom’s fingers worked their way into Ashley’s palms. One of her fingers moved, and she felt the snapping. The flood of twisting nothingness came out with enough force that Ashley was flung backward. She landed in an awkward position, her hurt hand under her, and her power came out again, brushing against her body like a breeze and tearing up the floor under her.

Minutes passed where she was afraid to move, afraid to look. A car passed on the road outside. Then there was silence.

One breath after another, she used elbows and forearms to work her way up the part of the floor that had broken under her. She kept her back to the dining room.

The only noises in the house was of broken things breaking down more, and the noises she made herself.

Her room was in the back corner of the house. It felt like it wasn’t really her room, everything a fake replica of things she’d owned. Carefully, slowly, and insistently, she gathered the things she’d need. Clothes for warm and cold weather. An extra set of shoes. Socks. Personal things. Everything went into her school bag.

Here and there, darkness crackled around and through her fingers. Sometimes it danced back to her elbow. Other times it gathered in shapes in front of her fingers, inches away or arcing out to ten feet away. Here and there, parts of her room were grazed and destroyed. It only made it feel more false.

She went to the bathroom. Soap, acne cream, tampon, toothbrush, hairbr—