The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson [131]
Annie sat on her bed in her tiny room, nothing but the uncomfortable bed, a small nightstand, a desk, and a cheap, unsteady chair. There was a single window, but it was too high for her to look out of it. She pulled open the nightstand drawer and removed a small packet of wooden matches. Opening the box, retrieving a single, sturdy match, she struck the head of the match against the flint and watched the tiny, flared flame spark into existence. She stared at it until her eye held nothing but the dancing flame, always threatening to drown itself in the cramped air of the room. She held the match even as the flame inched further and further down the wood, leaving a brittle, black ash still struggling to retain its previous shape. The match crept closer to the soft pads of her fingertips until, just as she felt the kiss of the flame, she extinguished the match with her own breath.
“That’s great, Annie,” Lucy said. “I think we got it.”
“One more time,” Annie said. Lucy considered it and then nodded her assent. The crew reset the scene and then Annie performed the same task, another match sizzling awake. Annie let the flame burn down until it was at the same point as the previous take. She did not allow a single spasm within her own body to disrupt the tiny fire that she held in her hand. The heat of the flame bit into her fingertips, the skin turning the softest shade of pink, and then, unable to resist any longer, she extinguished the match.
“That’s even better,” Lucy said. “We’ll use that one.”
“One more time,” Annie said. She felt like she could do this forever, inviting the flame closer and closer until it made a home beneath her skin, traveled throughout her entire body, and lit her up from the inside.
Isabel was painting her nails, even though she would have to remove the polish as soon as it dried in order to film the next scene. “Lucy is in love with you,” she said to Annie, who was sharing a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels with Jake as they watched a cartoon where aliens had entered a skateboard contest. “What makes you say that?” Annie asked her. “I can tell,” she said. “She’s really nice to you.” Annie said, “But she’s nice to everyone. That’s just how she is.” Isabel smiled, as though she had already deciphered the code that the adults had constructed to keep her in the dark about important things. “She is extra, extra nice to you, though,” Isabel said.
“If the two of you get married,” Jake said, his mouth filled with a paste of pretzel, “you should have four children and name them after us.”
Annie stood at the desk of Mr. Marbury, the father of the afflicted children, and stared at the numerous drafts of strange architecture, seemingly unrelated to the laws of physics. He had once been a distinguished architect, had designed this very house, but now he spent hours upon hours in this room conjuring up structures that could only exist in another realm. When Marbury and his wife entered the study, the door slamming shut behind them, Annie stiffened and then quickly backed away from the materials.
“Please sit down, Ms. Wells,” he said to Annie, who obeyed his request. The only other time she had been in this room was when they had interviewed her for the position. Mr. Marbury had the same countenance as he did then, the disgusted air of having to deal with such an unbecoming situation and the smug certainty that, even with the utter lowliness of the task, Annie was not worthy of the position. Mrs. Marbury, silent as ever, simply stood at her husband’s side.
“We no longer require your services,” he informed Annie.
“Why?”
“I’m sure you can imagine. There have been far too many incidents in recent months. You have proven incapable of restricting the children’s impulses.”
“I don’t think