The Weight of Blood (39)

Maddy held the lamp victoriously, glancing up at the various items orbiting her, wondering if the others sat in their homes, belongings wafting about. She grinned at the thought. There were other people in the world like her. She wasn’t alone. She just needed to find them—someday.

As the lamp drifted back to its place, she reached for one of the books and leaned back into her pillows. What else could she learn to do? The lines on the page blurred to a foggy spot. She squinted, taking her glasses off to rub her eyes. But when she opened them, her vision sharpened into perfect focus, the words crystal clear on the page. She froze, examining the glasses still in her hand. She tried them on again, and the words became a cloudy haze. She ripped them off, blinking. The dark room seemed to sparkle, a psychedelic brightness of colors, the silver handle on her brush like a new nickel.

“Oh,” she mused. She had needed glasses ever since she could remember. Now no longer.

She glanced at the lamp again. Its gold base shone as if it belonged in a palace with kings.

“Madison,” Papa called from downstairs.

A jolt hit Maddy in the spine. In an instant, the candle in the lamp flickered and a flame burst, soaring up to the ceiling. Maddy gasped, and the books fell to the floor. She dove for the lamp, the fire blackening the glass vase.

“Oh God, oh God,” she whimpered as the spot on the ceiling formed a circle.

Focus, focus. Focus.

“Stop, stop.”

The flame danced in response. She had to put it out before it burned the whole place down. She threw open the window, poked her head out to check the ground clearance below, and reached for the lamp’s base. But holding it, her hand . . . her nerves hardened. She took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Stop.

The fire put itself out as quick as it had started.

“Madison? What are you doing?”

Heart pounding, Maddy sucked in the night air. She straightened up and patted her freshly washed hair.

“Yes, Papa,” she croaked. “I’m coming!”

Maddy rushed downstairs, her mind in shambles. The books never mentioned anything about fire. Was it a sign from God?

Papa stood in his apron, behind the kitchen chair set up next to the stove. He had one hand on his hip and the other holding the hot comb.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” he hissed.

She lowered her head, slipping on the smock. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

“Hurry up,” he snapped, turning on the burner.

Maddy sat with her neck straight, eyes forward. The kitchen walls glowed, the floor pristine. She surveyed the room in awe as Papa angrily sliced parts through her hair.

“Which event triggered the Cuban missile crisis?”

Maddy forced down a groan. She was tired of the questions. Tired of reciting the same facts when there was so much more to learn. And if Papa knew so much about their country, then he must know about the people in the videos Mrs. Morgan showed her. The pain and agony. Why did he never mention how wicked humanity could be?

But she took a deep breath and answered his question. “US planes discovered Soviet nuclear missile sites being built in Cuba. The US had to respond to protect the lives of men, women, and children.”

“Who was the vice president when the US entered the war?”

“Lyndon B. Johnson.

Papa smacked the back of her head, and she whiplashed forward, ducking to block another blow.

“You know better!” Papa spat. “It was Henry Wallace!”

“But you didn’t say which war, Papa,” she cried, petting her own head.

“I know exactly what I said!”

Maddy’s eyes snapped to the burner, where the hot comb sat sizzling. She bit her lip and straightened, gripping the sides of the chair to keep from shaking, the heat from the burner roasting her cheek. If she messed up again . . .

“Which Negro radical was found to be a communist spy, threatening the security of our nation?”

Maddy blinked, and in the seconds her lids closed, an image flashed from the video Mrs. Morgan had shown her flashed. The agonizing expression on a woman’s face burned in Maddy’s mind’s eye. “Martin Luther King Junior,” Maddy replied, her voice hoarse as she fought back tears.

Papa grunted, gathering a dollop of grease.

It was just a flicker of an idea. Didn’t even realize she was already doing it until a hot thread slipped between her fingers and her eyes darted to the burner, into the blue flame.

And just as Papa reached for the hot comb, the flame shot up.

Papa jumped back. “Eh! Lord in Heaven!”

Maddy kept her head straight and perfectly still . . . with the tiniest smirk on her face.





Nine


MADDY DID IT

EPISODE 6

“Mad Mad Maddy”

Tanya: So you knew Maddy well, then?

Nina Floros: Not really. But I did see her from time to time. We were, what, five years apart? So it’s not like we were ever in school together or even had a real conversation.

Michael [narration]: This is Nina Floros. She grew up living next door to the Washingtons before leaving for college. We decided to try and find someone who might have seen or known Maddy before she turned twelve to get an idea of what she was like.

Nina: Springville was such a small town. I knew I wanted out of there ASAP. My parents moved away about two years before Prom Night, and thank God they did. I haven’t been back since.