The Third Eye
“Karen struggled to keep her eyes open and her mind functioning. Rob was talking to her. She could see his lips moving and was aware of the sound of his voice, but the words themselves slid past her in a meaningless jumble of disjointed syllables as though they were being spoken in a foreign tongue.
The knowledge was undeniable. Carla Sanchez was dead. Somewhere in that rushing river, there was the body of a barefoot, blue jeans–clad child. The bright new bike would go unridden; the yellow bear unhugged. The dresses in the closet of the tiny bedroom would be taken from hangers and given to Goodwill. The portrait on the television set in the living room would be enshrined forever now, no longer just a photograph, but the last school picture—the final picture—“the way Carla looked the last year of her life.”
Mrs. Sanchez would show it to everyone who entered the house. She would speak in the past tense, her pride shrouded in pain. She was so beautiful, my Carla!
“How could I do it?”
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