The Paper Swan(19)

Esteban smiled at me. He flexed his fingers because they were numb from holding the scissors for so long. I smiled back. Casa Paloma meant House of Doves. Trust MaMaLu to throw in a swan. We both knew there were no magic swans, but we liked the sound of MaMaLu’s voice.

“Sing us the lullaby,” I said, when she finished the story.

Esteban scooted over and knelt by the bed. MaMaLu turned her face away from him. She was still mad at him for punching Gidiot, but she let him put his head in her lap.



De la Sierra Morena,

Cielito lindo, vienen bajando . . .



It was Esteban’s lullaby, from when he was a baby, but I was their cielito lindo—their little piece of sky. I snuggled closer as she sang about birds that leave nests, and arrows, and wounds. Esteban and I lay with MaMaLu between us. We didn’t move when it was done because it was soft and quiet, and we wanted to stay there forever.

“Come, Esteban,” said MaMaLu. “It’s time we said goodnight.”

“Wait.” I wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet. It had been the best birthday ever, in spite of Esteban’s punishment. Tomorrow, he would go to class with me and not have to hide in the hutch anymore. “I haven’t said my prayer.”

We closed our eyes and held hands in a circle.

“Dear Lord, bless my soul. And watch over Dad. And MaMaLu and Esteban.” My voice quivered with laughter because Esteban peeked and caught me peeking, and MaMaLu opened her eyes and rapped her knuckles on our heads.



It was the prayer that had saved me. Or doomed me. I couldn’t decide which.

Damian had gone back to watching his line, supremely confident that I wouldn’t do something as stupid as try to drown myself. His gaze was focused on some invisible spot on the horizon.

I looked through the railing and followed the flight of sea gulls as they caught an air current and rode it to the shore.

The shore.

I blinked.

For the first time in days, I could see land. We weren’t heading towards it, we were running parallel to it, but I could make out trees and small structures and the glint of glass.

What do you do, Skye?

My eyes searched the deck.

I grab the fire extinguisher and bash his brains out.

I stood up slowly and made my way towards the shiny red cylinder.

Damian had his back to me so he didn’t see it coming. I swung at him and felt an odd thrill at the sound of metal colliding against bone as it slammed into his jaw. KLUNK. His head flopped to one side and the fishing rod clattered to the floor. I hit him again, attacking the other side, and knocked him clean off the chair. He toppled over, back curled, limbs drawn to his chest, nursing his head between his hands.

That’s right, *. How does it feel to be on the other side?

I was ready to whack him again when he went limp. His hands fell away and his face turned expressionless. I kicked him a few times, disappointed when he didn’t respond. My hands were shaking and there was a wild beast within, a beast that wanted to pound and pound and pound the fire extinguisher into his face until his eyes and nose and lips turned into a bloody, scrambled mess. I didn’t want him to go so easily. I wanted him to suffer.

I stopped, realizing that’s exactly what he’d said about my father:

I just want him to feel it. I want him to suffer.

I was caught up in the same cycle, feeding the same monster. I was turning into Damian, thinking like him, acting like him, becoming a slave to the same dark, powerful emotions. It scared the hell out of me because even knowing that, I still held the fire extinguisher high over my head, wanting nothing more than to bring it down on Damian, again and again.

Vengeance only begets more vengeance, more chaos, more darkness. Vengeance abducts us and imprisons us and mutilates us, and we suffer and suffer until we unravel its probing parasitic suckers from around us.

I took a deep, steadying breath and let go of the fire extinguisher. When I could think clearly, I searched Damian. I knew he had a phone, but it wasn’t on him. I ran to the deckhouse and started rifling through it. There was a steering station with panels for electronics and engine instrumentation, a chart table, seating area, and a mahogany entertainment center. I pulled all the drawers open. Roasted peanuts rolled around. Snacks, papers, maps, life jackets, a flashlight. No phone. I stared at the one drawer that was locked. It had to be there. It had to.

“Looking for this?” Damian staggered in, dangling the key before me.

Fuck.