Chapter 9 - Blood on My Sleeve
The hall was gray that afternoon, not warm the way it had been. The lamps were off and the light came thin through the tall window at the far end, and I could hear the house settling over my head.
Milo had his hand tight around my wrist. He didn't pull me. He just kept me close while we walked past the double doors. They were still closed. The brass handles caught a little of that gray light.
I stopped before he told me to. I knew where the tear was without looking straight at it. I had tried all morning not to think about it, but my feet knew.
Someone had put tape over it. A wide strip of clear packing tape, the kind with the lines in it. It went from above the flowers to below them, right over the split. Underneath, the paper bulged out a little. The bottom corner had curled back and was hanging in the air.
Milo let go of my wrist and crouched down so his face was level with mine. "You said you saw where she keeps it," he whispered.
I nodded. My throat felt too tight to talk loud. "In the closet. By the towels. The little hook."
"Good." He glanced down the hall toward the stairs. No footsteps. No maroon dress. "Did she say anything to you after?"
"She said stay out of the hall." My voice shook. "She said I made it up."
He pressed his mouth flat. That was the way he looked when he was trying not to get mad. He put his hand on the back of my neck for a second, light, and then he looked up at the tape.
The loose corner moved. Just a little. There was air coming from behind it, cold. I could smell dust and something iron, like when I got a bloody nose in winter.
Milo stood up and reached for it. "Don't," I whispered.
"I have to check if it held," he said. "If she sees it open more, she'll know."
He touched the curled corner with two fingers and pressed it back down. It didn't stick. It lifted again right away, slower this time. A dark line showed under it where the paper had split.
Then I heard it. A small wet click.
A drop came from inside the tear and hit the tape and slid down the sticky side. It was dark red, almost brown. It hung at the bottom edge of the tape for a second and then fell.
It landed on my sleeve.
I looked down. Right on the cuff of my light shirt, just above my wrist bone, there was a spot. Round and bright at first, then it spread into the weave. I stared at it because my brain wouldn't catch up. I moved my arm back without thinking and another drop hit the same place, bigger.
"Milo," I said. I couldn't get the rest out.
He saw it. His eyes went to my cuff and stayed there. He grabbed my elbow and pulled my arm out straight, away from the wall, like he thought more would fall.
"It got on me," I whispered. My hand started shaking. "It got on me."
"Shh. I know. Don't rub it." He kept his voice low, but his breathing got fast. He looked from my sleeve to the tear and back. "Don't touch it, okay? Leave it."
Tears came up hot behind my eyes. I didn't make a sound. I had learned how to cry that way in that house, with my mouth closed and my shoulders shaking. The spot on my cuff got darker around the edges while I watched.
Milo turned back to the wall. He took the loose corner of tape between his thumb and forefinger and peeled it up, just an inch. The tape made a soft ripping sound.
Underneath, the split had opened wider than before. The edges of the floral paper curled inward. And in the dark gap, there was hair.
Not one strand this time. A clump, matted together, blonde like mine but duller, stuck with something dark. It moved a little when the air moved. Below it, the inside of the wall glistened wet.
Milo went still. I saw his jaw work. He didn't look away for a long time.
He laid the tape back down gently, trying to cover it again, but the hair pushed against it and the blood had made the sticky side loose. The tape wouldn't hold flat anymore.
He looked at my sleeve again. "That's proof," he whispered. "You didn't make that up."
I nodded, crying without noise. My cuff felt cold and stiff where the blood was drying.
He wiped his hands on his dark top and grabbed my good hand hard. "Listen to me, Nora. Tonight at dinner. When she's in the kitchen. I'll get the key from the closet."
I shook my head. My lips trembled. "She'll catch you."
"She won't." His fingers squeezed mine. "I promise. I'll get it and we'll see for sure. You just don't wash that shirt. You hear me? Don't let her change you."
May you like
I looked down at the stain. I didn't want to wear it. I didn't want to look at it. But I nodded.
Behind the tape, something shifted faintly in the wall, like weight settling. Milo pulled me back from it.
