The Arrangement Anthology 2(176)

Maybe she was the one who did this. I think it, but I can’t say it. Not yet.

“No, her voice," he says, shaking his head. "She was here. The glass and the way the sound came through the headset. She had to be in this room. There was too much glass.”

He closes his eyes for a second, then tips his head back and looks up at the sky, before wiping the sweat off his face. His chest is glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It’s insanely hot in here. There are small fires burning all around us, mostly in little piles where I assume Constance's plants caught fire. Sean puts his hands on his trim hips and looks over at me. His stomach is ripped, tense, and ready to do whatever needed. I manage to make my way over to him and put a hand on his arm.

“Sean, she’s not here.”

“She has to be. She wouldn’t have…” Sean shakes his head as his words die in his mouth. He works his jaw and looks like he’s about to scream when we both hear a faint sound. We twist toward the noise and then look back at each other.

“Did you hear that?”

Sean nods and puts a finger to his lips. He waits, and we hear it again. It sounds like someone is crying, softly, weakly. Sean crouches and peers through the debris. I copy him and scan the room. That’s when I see it--a broken teacup in the rubble. The handle is missing, but the base is intact. I stiffen when my eyes notice the other part.

“Sean.” I grip his bare arm and crouch toward it. “That’s? Is it?”

Sean is still. I don’t know if he doesn’t see it or can’t believe what he’s seeing. A few feet in front of us, hidden between shards of pottery and under a fallen pane of glass, is the handle of the cup, a single finger wrapped around it. The finger is thin and feminine, its nail polished blood red.

I gasp and stare, as my stomach twists, threatening to spew any contents on the floor. This isn't happening. It can’t be. Trembling, I scan the room for the rest of the body. Sean still hasn’t moved; his eyes lock on a spot to my left, not far from the first piece of the teacup. Under a massive metal beam, once belonging high in the rafters and now resting uselessly on the floor, is a pale arm. Blood covers the palm, pooling in the center like a liquid gemstone.

“Mom.” He says the word like he’s conjuring a ghost and rushes toward her. Sean touches his mother’s arm, telling her she’ll be all right, as I watch in horror.

Constance's body is under that beam. The only parts sticking out are her forearm and wrist. Sean tries to push the beam off of her, but it doesn’t move. He tries again and again to get it to budge, but there’s no way it will budge without a crane.

He tells her again, “I’ll get you out. You’ll be all right.” Sean pushes his shoulder to the metal and tries to lift it again. He grits his teeth and veins pop up all over his neck and chest as he does it. The beam begins to shift. Snapping out of my shock, I drop to my knees and take her limp hand.

“Constance! I’ll pull you out! Hold on!”

Sean’s face is dripping with sweat. His body is strained and shaking as he tries to lift the beam higher, but he does it. Every muscle in his body quivers as he manages to lift it off the ground.

I don’t hesitate. I take hold of Constance's wrist and pull. The opening is small, but it provides enough to get her out.

Sean screams in pain as he tries to hold the beam up for another second. I pull on her arm expecting her to shift, but she doesn’t. The beam must be on her shoulder or something because it takes a lot more force to get her to move. Tears prick my eyes, and I try to blink them away, but it just clouds my vision.

Sean’s yell makes me try harder. I dig in my heels and lean back, giving it everything. Broken shoulder or not, there’s no way she should be this stuck. When the beam lifts that final bit, her arm breaks free. I fall back expecting to see a rumpled Constance Ferro on the floor in front of me, her face bloodied, her gown torn. I expect broken bones and a face that will need stitches.

But it’s not what I expected to see at all.

Sean drops the rafter and falls to the ground, shaking with anger and tears flooding from his eyes, and screams. The sound rips my soul in two.

On the floor, in the debris, is a severed arm with a gold ring still on one of her fingers. The pattern is unmistakable--it’s the Ferro family crest.

It’s his mother’s ring. The one she wears every day and never takes off.

Constance Ferro is dead.





CHAPTER 3





My throat tightens as I hear Sean cry out. I know he didn’t get along with his mother, hell she hated him--she hated everyone--so the extent of his reaction surprises me a little bit. I had no idea how much he cared for her despite her evilness.