One Bloody Thing After Another by Joey Comeau

food for Margaret. Their mother is bigger. She needs more food. And when will it end? How long will she have to go on hunting for them?
    While Ann watches, Margaret nuzzles her torn, jagged face into their mother contentedly, and makes a sound almost like a cat purring. Something inside Ann flips like a switch.
    She takes the kitten upstairs, and she opens the front door and sets him outside.
    â€œYou should go,” she tells him, and he just sits there. “Go,” she says again. But it’s not her problem. She closes the door. He’ll leave eventually. And if he doesn’t, well, he’s small enough that he might go unnoticed.
    Ann goes back downstairs, into her sister’s room. She unlocks Margaret’s chains while her sister and her mother sleeping. The window is still open, and when night falls, there’ll be nothing keeping anyone locked inside. They look peaceful. Ann doesn’t know why she’s so angry. Fear?
    She kicks her sister in the ribs.
    â€œHey Margaret,” she says.
    She kicks her again, and the eyes open.
    â€œHungry?” Ann says.

37
    The display windows of the department store are amazing, but so is the rest of the building. There are big rock gargoyles up high, looking down at everyone like they’re food. The stone front of the building is carved into whirls and waves and spirals. It’s so smooth and round, Jackie wants to put her ear against it and hear the ocean. There’s a man in a bright red uniform with shiny buttons; he’s right inside the front door and he wants to know how he can help.
    â€œCan you direct me to ladies’ gloves, fine sir?” Jackie says. He smiles and steps away from the wall. He pulls open the second inside door with a clean, white-gloved hand, and there is a rush of sweet-smelling air from inside. He bows. Jackie curtsies. It’s all very civilized.
    â€œFirst floor, miss,” he says. “Just through here.” Big double doors and then six red-carpeted steps leading up into the department store. The ceiling plays quiet piano music. This is the soundtrack to her mother’s old life. Or maybe they had actual piano music, a man in a tuxedo, playing gently all day long. In Jackie’s head, her mother lived in a golden age.
    And she can’t help it: she imagines that she is her mother, walking to work. She’s thinking her thoughts.
    â€œOh, I hate coming here,” Jackie’s mother thinks. “Work work work, selling ladies’ gloves to rich old women. At least I have a beautiful daughter at home. Oh so pretty. She could use a gift. Today I will buy her something beautiful. Today I will quit smoking.”
    The gloves are on display in long glass cases. They’re beautiful, but Jackie does not care to look at them. She likes the weird wallpaper pattern here. The brown colors they use. It looks ancient, but elegant. She likes the low-hanging light fixtures. She doesn’t like the woman behind the counter, though. The woman behind the counter has long teeth.
    â€œDid you know Patricia?” Jackie asks, and nobody answers her. “She used to work here.” She steps forward, pretends to trip, and she slams a fist into glass. It doesn’t break, and pain shoots up her arm. Before she thinks about what she’s doing, she slams the fist into the case again. Again and again.
    This isn’t what Jackie had in mind when she decided to come here today.
    She pounds the case as hard as she can with her fist. Then someone has their arms around Jackie from behind, pulling her back from the case that won’t break. The woman behind the counter has her hand over her mouth in shock. Someone, old and strong beside her, walks Jackie back toward the entrance.
    â€œI don’t normally . . .” Jackie says.
    â€œYou don’t normally what?” the stranger asks. She has a quiet voice, and Jackie is afraid to look directly at her. She feels certain that it’s