Dazzled

by Maxine Nunes

Darla’s smile was as strange as her eyes. “That was the hardest part. Taking the ring off, slipping it on that dead girl’s finger.” She told me what the dead girl’s hand felt like. Cool. Rubbery. And about the weight of the head on her knee when she unclasped the girl’s locket, a tiny gold heart someone must have given her when she was a child. Darla told me how safe she felt as she did this, and how powerful, because life’s rules were for the weak. The fire died down and the room grew chilly again. I wanted to be anywhere but here, yet I didn’t move. “Her eyes were open, staring like a doll’s eyes,” Darla said, “and they were green, like my eyes. In an ordinary pretty face, like mine. But, of course, it wasn’t my face.” I told her I’d heard enough, but her words ran over mine. “I got Johnny’s gun. I had to do it. I had to be strong. I slammed it down on her face. A rush of air came out of her mouth.” “Stop,” I said.