Tag: Kate Ward ’23
Boy
by The Cowl Editor on October 21, 2021
Portfolio
by Kate Ward ’23
The painting had been sitting across from the Greek statue for the past 50 or so years, and she had never grown tired of looking at him. His body was strong but not in the ways women liked now; he was strong like a field hand or someone with a particular knack for swimming. His hair was wavy and, despite being frozen in time, she could’ve sworn it moved from time to time. It was as if he had been chained or was frozen in place and plaster was poured over him and occasionally his movements would break the plaster form. People were drawn to him like moths to a flame, maybe because he’s one of the only statues in a room full of paintings, or maybe because the whole museum was full of paintings and only a handful of statues.
She liked watching how the people “ooh”-ed and “ahh”-ed, and mothers smacking away children’s hands if they got too close to touching his smooth flesh. She was sure he wouldn’t mind if they touched him; he had a kind face, so she was sure he would be okay with a child. The family came to her painting next, the little kid pointing out the lamb that lay beside her, his head in her lap. The kid looked up at his mother and asked if she thought the lamb had a name, the mother shook her head and continued reading the panel of information next to the frame. The lamb did have a name, Kritios, in reference to the Greek sculpture “Kritios Boy.” She named him that when she discovered that the statue was Greek.
She had never heard of Greece or where it was, and she couldn’t pick up much information from the people passing by the frame and the thick coats of paint that smothered her made it difficult to hear. A lot of the time she would only understand if someone was pointing and looking to another for guidance like the child and his mother. She wondered what she could learn if the museum ever took her off the wall and transported her to that far away place. Or maybe she was there and didn’t even know.
The seasons came and went and visitors began to dwindle. She noticed the lights stayed off more than they were on, and the paintings across from her were taken down and packed into wooden crates. She looked down at Boy then back at the statue. She could’ve sworn his expression was more glum than it was normally. She hoped that wherever he was going she could come along and get to gaze at him a little while longer. The day arrived when her frame was lifted from its mounting and her vision was obscured with cloth and layer upon layer of clouded plastic…bubble wrap, she thought she heard someone say. With one last gaze, she saw that her statue was still rooted in place. Clearly there was no intention to move him. She was set inside a nest of shavings and other squiggly objects. Something slid over her, large and heavy, and then she was moving, and she knew she would never see her statue again.
Pre-K Church
by The Cowl Editor on October 7, 2021
Portfolio
by Kate Ward ’23
Over the past two years I have been engaged in a long-winded legal battle. A decision was finally made and I have lost my church building as a result. Now it’s up to me to find a new place for my congregation to meet, and even worse: It’s Saturday and I haven’t thought of anything. My phone rings—it’s one of my regulars, and I don’t have the heart to tell them I have no idea where we’re meeting. I ignore it and jump on my laptop, and head to the hub of all activity: Facebook. I troll the various groups where no one is offering up a space to worship. I close my laptop with a sigh, scoot back in my chair, and rub my face before getting up and walking to my living room where my cat, Cornelious, is watching one of my favorite films, Field of Dreams. I look at him, into his tired-looking orange eyes. “Corn, what would happen if my congregation and I chopped down a cornfield in order to worship?”
He replies with an unenthusiastic meow, so I continue, now pacing my living room. As the idea strikes me, I hurry back to my laptop and reopen Zuckerberg’s lair. I pull up a textbox and begin to type, my fingers flying furiously as the idea swells in my brain. After five long minutes I rock back and reread it:
Greetings!
I regret to inform you all that we have lost our church building and now I have had to get creative for our meeting place. As we know, we can worship anywhere, but I know a lot of you loved our church building, as did I. I am here to propose an idea. We have been talking about trying to attract new, younger members and I think I have solved that problem along with the problem of finding a new place to worship. It hit me: A Baseball League of Worship. A Field of Scripture if you will. Tomorrow we’ll be meeting at the field at the center of town. Bring sneakers and a glove if you have it. Can’t wait to see you there!
I smile and hit send, closing my laptop once more. I join Corn on the couch and scratch him behind the ears before impatiently pulling out my phone, refreshing Facebook repeatedly until the night grows dark and I get my first reply, a smile with hearty eyes. I sigh, content with my work for the day. As I got ready for bed, I packed my baseball bag and hit the hay, mind whirring.
I dressed the following morning in my usual clothes, substituting my loafers for sneakers. Driving off to the baseball field, I noted as I parked that there were many more minivans than usual. I quickly realized that there was a little league game going on, and I got out of my car, holding my text to my chest as my confused congregation moseyed alongside me like puppies following their mother. I realized I was going to have to be a lot more creative in choosing a new meeting place other than the baseball field. Maybe I could use the small outdoor part of the neighboring pre-K school? I walked to the pre-K and knocked before being let in by a kind older woman who joyously granted us 20 tiny chairs and an equally tiny table. We huddled around the small table, eating Goldfish as our knees hit the table. Before I started, I couldn’t help but laugh at my traveling band of friends.
Mammoth
by The Cowl Editor on September 23, 2021
Portfolio
by Kate Ward ’23
The ice creaked and groaned, my pickaxe clanking dully against the ice. I could barely make out the animal we were meant to be digging out from the ice. The museum needed it by morning, an impossible deadline. I looked at my coworkers who were shivering and trying to coax a fire to spark in the icy cavern.
“It isn’t going to work, man, my hands are shaking too much,” Tommy said as he gave up on the fire and decided to light a cigarette.
“I thought you gave that up,” Jennifer gestured to the cigarette as she continued to try and spark a flame.
Tommy shook his head. “Tried patches and gum, even tried those flavored things kids like but-” a long drag and a puff of smoke, “didn’t work.”
“Work will keep you busy enough so you don’t have to kill yourself,” I mentioned as I swung my pick forward into the ice.
He grunted, “I been workin’ longer than you’ve been alive, boy.”
“Good, so you should be used to it by now,” I grouched. I hated Tommy; he never pulled his weight.
“He’s right you know, just help the kid out,” Jennifer said as she dusted her hands on her pants and slowly stood up, knees cracking.
“I don’t need to do anything. I am taking a break,” Tommy argued, a frown curling his lips.
I turned towards him fully, “Yeah? Taking a break? You’ll take a permanent break once this axe finds a home in your skull!”
Jennifer lifted a hand, a soft laugh bubbling from her, “Stop, stop, boys. We don’t need to do this.”
Tommy leaned against the wall of the cavern, nursing his cigarette. “We have plenty of time. But if you want to kill me, please do the honors so I can get out of here.”
I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You are insufferable! I want to go home just as much as you do, so help me!”
Jennifer had fallen silent. I looked at her to support my point but instead, she looked petrified. Her eyes dilated, face going pale. “I don’t think you need to do any more work.”
“What do you mean?” I asked them, back turned to the ice wall I was working away at.
A foot emerged, then a tusk, as an enraged, rumbling roar shook the cavern. I dropped the pickaxe and staggered back a few steps. “I see what you mean now.”
“You two are both being dramatic,” Tommy said as he turned to face us. The cigarette dropped from his lips, hitting the ground with a light pat. “What on… God’s green Earth is that thing?”
“If you read the assignment, it’s the mammoth we are supposed to be transporting to the museum,” I whispered as the ice wall gave way and the beast emerged, slowly shaking the ice and snow from its woolly pelt.
Tommy picked up my pickaxe and held it defensively. “And why, pray tell, is it awake?”
“Why don’t you ask it?” I replied as I looked up at the looming creature in front of me.
“Why don’t we get the hell out of here?” Jennifer cried before starting to scramble across the frozen floor towards the mouth of the cavern.
The mammoth stamped its front legs, lifting its trunk as it released another mighty roar. I turned and started to move after Jennifer. Running was awful, it was a chore; it felt like when I try to run in my dreams, sluggish and lagging. I grabbed Tommy by the jacket sleeve and tried to haul him with me but the large man shook me off and ran toward the mammoth.
“Don’t!” I shouted as I slid to a stop, watching as he swung the pick at the mammoth’s tree trunk leg.
Upon impact, both Tommy and the mammoth howled and screamed. The mammoth swung its head and its tusks, catching Tommy and flinging him against the wall. Tommy hit the wall and crumpled in a heap. The mammoth grunted and charged at him, lowering his head angrily.
“Stop! Stop, no! Hey, look over here!” I picked up a chunk of ice and hurled it at the mass of fur. That only seemed to anger it further. It reared up and its front feet came down hard upon Tommy. Blood and chunks of his body splattered against the ice, then the mammoth turned on me.
“We’re out of time,” I whispered.
Timeline
by The Cowl Editor on September 16, 2021
Creative Non-Fiction
by Kate Ward ’23
Halfway through my freshman year of college, we were sent home on an extended spring break because of an outbreak of COVID-19 cases. Not long before we were sent home, my friends had been complaining of some sickness yet tested negative for strep and the flu. The school soon started telling people that, if they were able to, they should go home to recover if they were sick. Suddenly, we were back in our childhood bedrooms scrolling through our emails as we awaited a lick of news regarding our return to campus.
I live on the end of Long Island in a little town named Amagansett, where in the middle of winter, the population dwindles to the locals. We have everything we need to get on, or so we thought. People from the city began fleeing to their summer homes and soon our little town was overrun and our grocery stores were emptied out. I remember my mom talking to our relatives, saying we need to eat through our freezers. I laughed at the time and thought to myself thank God I’m going back to school so I don’t have to deal with this. Then I lost half of my freshman year. Oh, how that hurts. I remember listening to my dad’s frustration about teaching virtually; being unable to show his face or see his students was crippling because simple facial expressions are crucial to any learning experience.
I remember Tiger King and Outer Banks hitting Netflix, filling our brains with tigers and fantastic summertime adventures that would surely come once we got through the winter and spring. I remember the daily news briefings I would see as I emerged from my new classroom. I remember the TV special Alone At Home Together, a weird space in time where all of these actors and musicians came together on NBC to sing and pass on words of hope. That’s when everything started to set in, I wasn’t going back to school, I was staying at home in my Fennell-sized bedroom, with no friends to accompany me.
In deep quarantine, there was a lot of bad, but as we slowly came out of our chrysalis and blinked in the sunlight of a new era, hope shone on the horizon. I was to return to school, albeit with some (many) precautions in place, but mostly I was just happy to be back in Friartown. Being away led me to appreciate the tiniest details from campus that I had missed: the squirrels in the trash bins, the smell of the mailroom, hearing people laugh and joke. Existing in deep quarantine was like someone had turned off the lights and put a pillow over my head; everything was muffled and dark- now, in 2021, the lights are back on and things aren’t so muffled.
Tested twice a week, online classes, masks always, limited visitors, sports games cancelled. A lot of bad, but so much to be immensely grateful for. A lot of bad, but also a lot of good that came out of this crazy timeline that isn’t yet finished. For example, via Zoom, businesses and companies can now extend their reach further, making connections all around the world. Teachers can now show their students that they don’t live at school and that they have pets and kids and a life. Students can see that their teachers are more like them than they may seem in the classroom.
Since I started my junior year, I’ve been reflecting on the timeline that has unfolded since March of my freshman year. If I could change it, of course I would, but in all honesty, the timeline of COVID has taught me to observe more, to appreciate, and to be grateful for all there is. I’m sure it sounds like a cliché, but I think if we all just stop and take a breath we’ll be better off for it.
Hypothetical Imperative
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 25, 2021
Poetry
by Kate Ward ’23
My sophomore year of high school my parents gave me some advice
You can’t control how others react, you can’t control their emotions
At the time this was some pretty bad advice and I threw it to the wind
I can do whatever I want, people will listen to me
Four challenging years later I sit awake at night
The whispers of lies about me swirling through paper thin walls
She’s rude, attention seeking, a liar
I come back to the advice I had received as my heart begins to break
I can’t control how others react to my differences
I can’t control their emotions towards me
It all seems fairly narcissistic if you think of it
But then again, it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations
So I make a new hypothetical imperative
My goal: be my truest self
My command: relinquish control over others and be true, be firm in yourself
I don’t know if Kant would like me much but then again
I can’t control how others react
Hatchet
by Elizabeth McGinn on February 4, 2021
Portfolio
by Kate Ward ’23
The girl looked up and smiled. His blood ran cold. She shouldn’t be able to see him. The girl unbuckled the hatchet at her waist and brought her arm back to throw it. Isaiah pressed the small button on the inside of his uniform and phased back into his body, leaping down from his perch, narrowly avoiding the oncoming weapon. Her hatchet dematerialized with a wave of her hand and was already back in throwing position. He hadn’t seen anything like it before over the course of his training sessions. He had to find a way to disarm her and get to that button on the other side of the room.
He could tell he was losing energy by the way his breathing staggered and shuddered. He was beginning to panic, and his facade was beginning to slip. Isaiah normally had no problem keeping his cool during training, but the fact that she could see him really unnerved him. He couldn’t keep dodging her and eventually caught the hatchet in the bicep.
Isaiah cried out, looking down at it in shock as the weapon disappeared with a spurt of blood coming from his arm. He shook his head and began to sprint for the exit, hurtling over the various boxes and platforms the training center had set up. The hatchet whistled past his ear once more, and it seemed that the button grew farther and farther away with each frenzied step he took. Isaiah dared to glance backward, and she just stood about six feet away, staring at him with a small smile, a predator hunting its prey.
She knew she had him; all she had to do was finish it. If he hit that button, he would win this round and she would be sent to the gallows. She couldn’t let that happen. As desperate as she was, she wanted him to feel that sweet relief of his fingers brushing the button but the crushing doom of not quite hitting it. So she threw her axe and watched it hit him directly in the spine.
Victoria
by The Cowl Editor on October 29, 2020
Halloween
by Kate Ward ’23
Like every other house on the street, their house was modern: a sleek black exterior with a white interior and a veiny granite counter. The house was sparsely decorated and resembled an emergency room in its cleanliness. It seemed to have a permanent draft as the tan curtains always fluttered as if a pixie was shaking them. However, for the newlywed couple, this house was home, despite all of its shadowy corners and harsh lines. Saoirse and her husband Dominic married shortly after graduating college and didn’t hesitate to have children. The pair was blessed with one child, a baby girl named Ada. As Ada grew, she developed a wild imagination and didn’t hesitate to create elaborate games with her father, which involved running around the house draped in blankets, shouting made-up spells. Saoirse was a worried mother and always fretted to her husband, cautioning them to be more careful and not to trip over the blankets.
Due to Ada’s imagination, it came as no shock that as she entered elementary school, she would come home bursting with vibrant stories of a girl named Victoria who helped her through science and math. However, after consulting the teacher, the parents found out there was no girl in Ada’s grade named Victoria. In fact, there was no one in the school with the name. Saoirse began to worry, fretting to her husband each evening about their little Ada. As a precaution, the pair had Ada evaluated. The doctor assured them that Victoria was a figment of Ada’s imagination and that it was a very common occurrence in small children, especially children with no siblings. The parents were able to breathe a sigh of relief as they finally got to the root of Victoria, but the buck didn’t stop there. As Ada grew, the stories grew as well, both in detail and in sinister nature. Victoria had begun to appear in Ada’s room, however, when Dominic went to check, no one was there. Yet, Ada insisted that Victoria was there, insisted that they were just talking. Finally, after nine years of stories, Ada stopped seeing the girl.
The day Ada turned twelve, she told her mother that after three years of not seeing Victoria, she saw Victoria in her bedroom last night. And thus, the stories began again. Ada progressed in school and was acing her classes through middle and high school, excelling particularly in science and math. She began college and, like every other pair of parents, Saoirse and Dominic were proud and mostly relieved to finally be rid of the tales of Victoria.
Things were calm while Ada was away, but then they slowly began to spiral out of control. Dominic flicked through the news each morning, paying close attention to the crime reports and how murder rates had begun to climb. He and Saoirse invested in new locks on the doors and cameras, both indoors and outdoors, but it did little to ease their minds. One evening while Saoirse blew her hair dry, the bathroom door eased open.
“Dominic, what do you need, love?” she asked, shaking the blow dryer back and forth over her hair.
“Oh, nothing,” said a female voice. “Hello, Saoirse.”
Saoirse jumped out of her skin, the dryer clattering to the granite counter. She looked at the woman and asked, “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“You know exactly who I am,” she said, lifting a bloodied knife to her lips, sucking the arterial blood from it.
Cold sweat slithered down Saoirse’s spine, tears bubbling over her lash line, “Where’s Dominic?”
“You know.” She smiled and lowered the knife. “Turns out I was real all along, hm?”
“Victoria,” Saoirse whispered. A terrible squelching noise came from her stomach as the knife was rammed into it.
Dear You, Part Two
by The Cowl Editor on October 15, 2020
Creative Non-Fiction
by Kate Ward ’23
Dear Kate,
I wrote to you last year and told you everything that had happened so far in your freshman year at Providence College; however, I didn’t tell you how it ended because no one saw it coming. In March, we were sent home for spring break. COVID-19 was looming but no one thought it would hit nearly as hard as it did. Our break got extended to April, but then school shut down and classes swiftly switched to online. An abrupt end to such an electric first year; emotions ran high and a lot of the time you searched for answers no one had. You will make it through. Sure, there will be a lot of headaches and tears shed, but in the end, you do make it through the minefield. Grocery stores ran out of food and often you were eating whatever was available, city people flocked to the island and, soon, your normally quiet neighborhood was a small city of its own. In the midst of all this chaos, you and your family grew closer to your next door neighbors and their kids. Each evening at around five, the kids would come out and play in the backyard, you and Mom would sit on the back porch and listen to the pattering of feet and the screams of childhood happening just beyond the hedge. There are a lot of Zoom happy hours and awkward silences when someone asks what you’ve been up to because the answer is always, “class online and staying inside, just like you.” Soon, the happy hours fizzle out as you and everyone else accept the new reality of Governor Cuomo’s daily brief: wearing face masks, social distancing, and living in “unprecedented times.”
Over the summer you work at a horse camp. Spoiler alert: it’s awful. The summer never truly began as you were kept inside since March, so it all feels the same, like you’re stuck in an endless time loop. One good thing is you take up painting and it helps keep you grounded and feeling okay. You also make some new work friends and end up writing a lot of letters to your friend in the United States Marine Corps boot camp. You end up taking astronomy online to finally get your physics credit and, turns out, it’s really fun and your professor is awesome. Summer comes to a close and you pack all your stuff for your sophomore year at PC. You’re living in suites this year and all your roommates seem great.
Masks are mandatory and so is social distancing, but the majority of your classes are in-person, which is definitely a benefit, and it eliminates the learning curve of having to be on Zoom. Of course, as the weeks begin to pass, people begin to be more bold with their actions and throw caution to the wind. Oh, and that study abroad trip you were looking forward to in the spring—that got canceled. In the past week things have gotten really bad: off-campus housing has been placed in quarantine, cases have skyrocketed, and classes have moved online. I have to cut this letter short because I have to go do my Civ reading, good luck with that by the way.
Sincerely,
Kate
Found
by The Cowl Editor on September 17, 2020
Portfolio
by Kate Ward ’23
As he took in the city view from the 20th floor of his apartment building, the lights flickered and dimmed. Methodically, as if there was someone going through a circuit breaker, each building went from a warm glow to a cold darkness. This wasn’t something new to Thomas. In fact, it happened almost every Friday night, and things stayed like this until early Monday morning. It gave the other species their own time to come out and do their business.
The society Thomas lived in was split between humans and an animalistic human hybrid called Gorcs. Well, at least that’s what everyone called them because they were failed lab experiments. The Gorcs would occasionally have extra limbs, wings, horns, various skin tones on one body, scales—anything was possible. The odd-looking were forced to stay inside until the lights were dimmed. It was not because of humans’ distaste for the other species, but because of how sensitive the Gorcs’ bodies were to sunlight.
Thomas watched from his window as the streets began to crawl, seething with Gorcs who were slowly emerging to make deals and slip into stores that had no vendors. He turned away and walked to his kitchen, preparing a late meal. Humans were allowed to go out at night but no one wanted to disturb the fragile peace that had been achieved after the 10 Years’ War that had erupted in the olden days between the Gorcs and the humans. Tensions were still high among some factions of Gorcs and humans, especially those who were poorer.
He enjoyed knowing that there was no governing body. It had dissolved after the war since the humans did nothing but kill their own and hoard money, jewels, and property. The two species had settled their own rules directly after the war at a meeting that had been declared by the two captains of each side. The rules are as follows: no light after 7 p.m. on Fridays, no fighting in the streets, and no attempt to rise to power. After the 10 Years’ War, people had decided that these rules were reasonable. Anyone who disobeyed would be swiftly reprimanded at a town hall. It was a dodgy society, and Thomas knew he could never be found out for fear of being thrown out or verbally destroyed.
As he ate, he watched the foot traffic move in the inky darkness. It was satisfying to watch the Gorcs move about freely. He knew what it was like to be an outcast, knew what it was like to have to live inside day in and day out. Finishing up, he piled his dishes in the sink and shuffled to the bathroom, staring at the mirror. The splotches had begun to pop up more and more, this time on his neck, face, and shoulders, all spots that would be more and more difficult to hide under clothing. If he was found out to be a Gorc playing a human, it might be bad enough that another war would begin. Taking off his shirt and trousers, more and more patches of greasy, oil-slick skin appeared. No one could find out. No one. He had kept it this way since he was a child, his parents helping and teaching him how to hide, how to act normally, how to navigate society. Thomas sighed and nodded, beginning to brush his teeth. As he spit a wad of toothpaste in the sink, he heard the distinct click of a camera shutter.
He had been found.
Can You Keep a Secret?
by The Cowl Editor on September 3, 2020
Portfolio
by Kate Ward ’23
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked, looking over the edge of his coffee mug. I was surprised at the sudden question; we had been sitting in silence for an uncomfortable half hour while this coffee date dragged on.
Slowly, I looked up and dipped my chin in an anxious nod. “Yes?”
“Good.” He didn’t tell me, he just kept staring, quietly sipping his drink. I looked down at the table, the names etched in it. Cameron, Brit, Yakob, Mark, Gregory, Mariela. Were these people couples before the fall? Were these people dead or alive? Who were they? What were their stories?
“Come with me, will you?” He tapped my hand, which I quickly withdrew. “I know this is just a coffee date, but I want to show you my home.”
I shook my head. “No thank you, I need to get home and feed my…fish.” A complete and utter lie, but I needed to get out of here, away from his piercing grey eyes and platinum blond hair, his odd looking skeletal fingers and hawk-like nose.
His voice dropped into a low growl. “Come with me.”
When I turned to signal the barista for the check, my face met with one of his hands, forcing my eyes to his. “We are leaving. You will be coming with me.”
I nodded slowly, giving into his tone and his forcible motions.
He dropped my face and nodded, clearly satisfied with his coercion. “Let’s go.”
He placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and stood, wrapping an arm around my waist, guiding me from the cafe and out onto the street where his moped was parked. I should’ve taken the moped as a hint—what kind of self-respecting 30-year-old drives a moped? He set the helmet on my head and buckled it, tapping my head gently with a charming yet cruel smile. He knew he had succeeded in trapping me. “I promise once we get to my home, I’ll tell you the secret, but you have to promise you can keep it.”
“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” I swallowed tightly, feeling my chest beginning to close, growing far too tight for my liking. He got on and revved the little engine before pulling a U-turn and starting the ride back to his house. I remained silent, unable to make my lips move out of shock and anxiety. I didn’t make a sound as we crested a hill and sped down into a gravel driveway, the small pebbles kicking up and hitting my calves and ankles. The engine died and he turned, taking off the helmet and helping me off. I wanted to scream, “I don’t need the help,” but again my lips were locked.
All of this started with a drunken swipe right on Tinder and now here I was in this stranger’s immaculate home, glistening in all its silver and white glory. “It’s very…medical in here,” I commented as I looked around the living room and kitchen.
“Yes, I know, I really like the clean aesthetic despite the dirty outside,” he said, his lip curling with disgust as he mentioned the wood-panelled exterior of the home.
“Enough about the house, let’s talk about what we’re really here for—the secret. Could you tell me now?”
“Yes…yes.” He nodded and took my arm, bringing me into a side room.
On the wall laid a collection of photos, various faces all connected with a brown string. On each photo there was a scrawl of handwriting. It looked strangely familiar. “Is this your secret? Am I missing something?” I asked, peering up at him.
“Think about the table in the cafe we were sitting at” was all he said.
It came together. All the names on the table, these were them. “Who…where are they?” I touched one of the photos, my heart beginning to race.
“They’re right here.” He moved my hand from the photo and swept them all off the wall, each fluttering to the ground with their tacks. Behind the photos and the faux wall was a glass fish tank the size of the wall. Six corpses were floating in the water, chains around their hips, attaching them to the bottom of the tank. Their bodies were naked and unmarked aside from an etching of their names.
I looked back at him, mouth agape, eyes stinging with tears. “What is this?”
“That table was my list. I’m surprised you didn’t realize that I had scratched your name into the surface. You were so taken aback by my appearance and my words that you didn’t realize.” He clicked his tongue and secured his hands around my neck.