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Celestina was clueless. There had been no scream, no crash, no warning of an intruder. Yet and still, her six-year-old niece stumbled forward, blood cascading from the firmly-planted knife in her chest and suffusing through the cotton ruffles of her dress. "Angel...what did you do?"
"I'm sorry, Auntie."
"Wha-What?" Still nothing. The horror trembling before her couldn't be reconciled with the soft music from the radio, or the smell of cheese sandwiches grilling in the oven. It made no sense.
"I killed Mommy."
The image of her sister's horribly lopsided face, twisted by pain, replaced that of her niece. Sweet, innocent Phimie, who had by no fault of her own been robbed of her purity and implanted with the legacy of a monster. Celestina remembered recoiling from that legacy. She remembered the hatred that shocked even her, lowered on the tiny, wailing, cancer that had taken her sister away. The hatred had scoffed at her when she had taken in the only thing her little sister had left to the world, named it "Angel" in its mother's wishes, and harbored it in her own home like a recurring nightmare. Now it was directly in front of her, blood raining down past its waistband to the pluming skirt, legs failing beneath it as the life oozed from them, gray eyes filling with tears that begged--
"I...I didn't want this!" Celestina choked, terrorized by the little girl kneeling now before her, clinging to her slacks to stay upright.
"But it's okay, right?" The pitiful lamb pleaded, blood bubbling and sputtering at the corners of her mouth. "Mommy can come back now, right?"
Horror gripped Celestina like an icy wave, and suddenly it all made sense. But Angel saw, and in her watery gray eyes bloomed puzzlement, then shock, then understanding.
"Right?" she coughed, the blood rising in her throat competing with her plea.
Celestina wanted desperately to turn away from those eyes, those eyes imploring Auntie to nod in agreement, to reassure the child that her payment would be returned. Her father's eyes. But Celestina could not, and somehow, beyond the pain and grief that had wracked her infantile features, the tiny girl's face broke, and a single sob escaped her reddened mouth. Her eyes became empty, and a violent shudder freed Celestina from her appealing grip. Angel fell to her side, her eyes still locked on Celestina's, but no more did they cradle the hope that her mommy, dear Phimie, could ever come back. Now neither could she.
Celestina crumpled next to the still form of her niece. Her knees rested in a slowly blooming flower of blood on the living room carpet. With a tenderness that shocked even her, she finally reached across the child's face and closed her eyes. Standing slowly, Celestina scanned the room for something to cover the child. Red-handed.
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