He clears his throat and swallows a dry mouthful, gagging as though forcing down a bucketful of razor blades. He grimaces, then his lips slowly curl into an almost-smile before he closes his eyes and lets out a stuttered breath.

Debbie sits across from him. Her gaze cuts straight through him. He turns and looks behind himself, hoping to spy something unusual. But there’s nothing of significance to warrant such intense viewing.

He turns back to her and smiles. She sighs and looks away. His lips fall flat, curling the wrong way.

“You could say something,” he hisses through clenched teeth. His words vanish like they never happened, failing to spark beneath even the dullest of suns. He thumps the table three times, reckless and final. The room’s chatter drowns into silence, cold and complete.

A sneer trembles across his lips. His eyes fall on every set staring at him, ending with her.

Her smile widens, and she laughs.

“Well?” she asks after a few silent moments, splaying her hands. “You’ve got our attention. Clearly, you’ve got something to say, so say it. Bore us. Thrill us. Make us regret listening. But don’t waste our time just to give us nothing.”

He swallows nervously as a sea of sweat breaks out across his brow.

“I-I-I…” he stammers, panic tightening its grip until even the words are strangled into silence.

She shakes her head and sighs. “Take his plate away. Take it all. Show him his true position in this family. Show him where he truly belongs, in-”

Her words are cut short as he throws himself to his feet, sending his chair tumbling to the floor before pounding the table three more times. No more, no less.

Her smile grows, and she laughs.

“There you are,” she coos, staring into his void-filled eyes.

The room gasps. Several bodies collapse to the floor. Another two scramble away screaming. William wets himself and sobs. Sarah stiffens, her face twisting in a grotesque fashion as her body seizes with something resembling a stroke. Debbie sits opposite him, her smile growing.

“W-W-What’s happening? W-What did you d-do to me?” he stammers through distorted, disembodied lips.

“I did nothing but bring you home for Christmas, like I told you I would. Remember? No matter what,” she scoffs.

“B-B-But it feels wrong. I-I-I… I feel wrong. W-What have you done?”

“Oh, honey,” she says, an awkward frown painted across lips still stretched into an unrelenting grin. “I did nothing. But you… you did it all,” she adds, slipping a hand into her jacket pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. She holds it there for a moment, then slowly unfolds it and lays it flat on the table. A trembling tear tumbles down his cheek. He knows the words written on it, every one of them in his own hand.

He falls back into his seat, his eyes transfixed on the piece of paper.

Its corners curl, worn from too many readings. But he doesn’t need to read it again. He knows every line. They’re already there, tattooed somewhere on the inside of his skull. He’d written them more times than he could count. They were carved into his flesh before they ever became words on paper.

At first, he thought of them as an apology. Later, as a list of regrets. But in their finality, his finality, they were just words. A plea. A cry. A demand to be left alone. Something that, even now, in death, he cannot have.

“P-P-Please,” he stammers.

“I told you. I promised you that you’d never be alone, and not even death will break that promise. You’re mine until I decide you’re allowed to be free,” she purrs, the corners of her lips slowly curling into a cruel smile. She holds out the bonbon and waits for him to take it.