Heart of a Dove by Abbie Williams

shortly by Lisette and Mary, both white-faced beneath their make-up. It was like a carnival featuring an atrocious new attraction, and I did my best to block her from their gazes.
    One of the men knelt as though to look more closely and I screamed at him, “Get away, you son of a bitch !”
    “Well shit,” he said, sounding startled, though he only afforded me a momentary glance before his eyes went back to Deirdre, sprawled on the floor. I could tell she was trying to curl around her midsection. If I had been strong enough, I would have lifted her and carried her from sight. I shielded her head as well as I could, my voice shaking as I repeated, tipping near her ear, brushing back her dark hair, “It will be all right, it will be all right.”
    “She’s losing a child,” said Eva’s voice from her own doorway.
    I looked at her instantly, rage broiling in my blood. She was lounging against one shoulder, smoking from a slender tobacco holder, observing as though witnessing something slightly dull and not quite worth her time.
    Later I would be unable to remember exactly what happened. One moment I was kneeling and the next I leaped upon her, noticing as her eyes went wide and shone with sincere astonishment before my weight, meager though it was, knocked her to the floor. Her burning tobacco went flying. I grabbed her hair in one fist even as she fought back; she was tall and wiry, surely tougher than me, though I had the strength of fury.
    She shrieked and yelped, “Get off me, you bitch!”
    My other hand slid over her painted face, seeking a hold; I longed to smash her head against the boards of the floor. She clawed at my arms and there was so much shouting and bustling in the hallway that I could hardly hear the growling sounds coming from my throat. I was yanked from her body and shaken until my teeth clattered together. I fought the new arms, screaming now, and someone, Horace probably, as it was a hard blow, struck me across the side of the head.
    When I regained consciousness, I was alone in my bed. The rectangle of visible sky was silvering with the approach of dawn. My mind swam in dizzy waves as I blinked and then blinked again, as everything came rushing back, blindsiding me. I sat and moaned in pain, tipping inadvertently forward. But I was determined to know what had happened and forced aside the aching within my skull, creeping over the floor on bare feet. The hallway was empty but a lantern was yet lit on the main floor, and I crept to the top of the staircase to see who remained awake below.
    Ginny was seated at the bar, smoking. From above I studied her with unveiled loathing; perhaps she sensed the weight, the heat of my hatred, as her eyes lifted to mine. Though I should have known better, I couldn’t smooth the emotion from my face.
    “Lila,” she said. As there was not a soul stirring other than the two of us, the quiet word seemed to echo through the space.
    “Where is she?” I asked her, and my voice was hoarse.
    Ginny let her gaze fall back to the air before her face, drawing long on her rolled tobacco.
    “Where?” I demanded, and her fearsome eyes flashed back to mine at the defiance in my tone. Even with the yards separating us, fear seeped into my gut at the expression.
    “They took her body away,” she said at last, and I sank to the top step to bury my face into my hands. Perhaps it was selfish, but all I could think of was how I was alone, so very alone. There was no one left in the world who loved me, who I could love back. And the fear that I kept desperately coiled deep inside, the terrible and oily darkness in my soul, came surging upwards. I gasped and ran down the steps, frantic to be outside, away from this place. Through the hinged doors I bolted, into the dawning day.
    Upon the boardwalk, I stopped as though coming up against a glass wall and stared up at the sky, trying to breathe, the world reeling and rotating. I sank to my knees, vaguely aware that Ginny had come