Silence filled the house. The TV sat dormant, pots and pans did not clang, and there was no bickering over the remote. Just Marla alone on the couch.

The peace and quiet she had always prayed for.

It was 6 o'clock on a Sunday. Normally, dinner would be takeout from the steakhouse downtown as Marla had always maintained that a day of rest meant no cooking. She would force the kids to eat dinner at the table, and Kendra would stress out about an assignment she had due the next day while Seth flung peas at her. Inevitably, someone would yell and the other would storm out of the room.

Marla would be pulling her hair out trying to get them to settle down and wishing that, for just once, their house could be peaceful and quiet and not full of bickering and loud noises.

She had gotten her wish.

Her house was silent.

It only took burying her baby girl under six feet of muddy dirt, and shipping her son off to her in-laws.

Great. Amazing. This was exactly what she had prayed for.

No tears fell. She just stared at the floor.

Scott was somewhere. She didn't know. Probably grief counseling or the grocery store. Either way, Marla couldn't seem to care enough to remember.

She was a passive participant in life at the moment. It was better that way. If she had to go back in the stream of things—back to "normal"—she'd have to have quiet Sunday dinners.

No, it was better when nothing happened at all.

The train horn interrupted her line of thoughts. It was a faithful thing that she disliked. It came every night at eleven pm. She could never get to sleep when she wanted because the blasted horn would wake her up.

While in some crevice of Marla's brain, she registered the oddness of Scott staying out past eleven, she couldn't stop the onslaught of grief that prevented her from thinking about anything but her baby girl. It wouldn't be right to go about her day without Kendra on her mind. To Marla, that was the final goodbye she dreaded. The point when she forgot about her baby girl.

Ironically, the funeral had offered the briefest reprieve in her thoughts as she had to sort money around and calculate coffin costs—monotonous, mindless things.

But, the funeral had already occurred a few days ago. Well, at least Marla thought it was a few days ago. Not much recently had been cataloged in her memory.

All she knew was that there was a new headstone in the cemetery and that her baby girl was under it.

Parents weren't supposed to grieve for their kids. That wasn't the deal Marla had made with God when she conceived.

Motherhood was supposed to be the most amazing thing in the world. God-given. And it was, at times. But, this was never supposed to be part of it.

Why did God take her baby girl?

The priest had tried to explain to her. Euphemisms ran into mantras ran into the most meaningless crap she'd ever heard.

Their family went to church every Sunday. They praised God. They said grace before every meal. Marla had sat on her knees every night like a good girl and prayed for her family.

Her baby girl taken from her. Who did it?

The private detective didn't know. She didn't know. Her son didn't know. The coroner had sent a report with confusing details, but then the next day, sent a clean bill of death.

A stroke.

Marla guessed that was it. A stroke of luck. Something no one could predict but God. Bad karma.

Scott tried to pull her to the grief-counseling meetings. It didn't work. She didn't want to feel these feelings and live with them. She wanted them gone!

She wanted Kendra back. She wanted her children.

Pain constricted her chest and she couldn't breathe anymore.

It was like this now. She got sudden pains and constrictions she had used to associate with sadness and anger, but she no longer felt those feelings.

It was all nothing.

There was a knock at the door.

How late was it? Eleven? Well, who cared. Time didn't matter anymore.

Obligated, Marla approached and peeked through the peep-hole.

There was a skinny looking man holding tupperware. He looked around and then knocked again.

Oh, well. As Marla sighed and opened the door, she was faintly aware of the consternation she would have had a week ago if she had answered the door with unwashed hair, pajamas, and days-old makeup. She couldn't imagine ever thinking those thoughts again.

"What do you want?"

The man smiled understandingly at her and held out his container. "I'm sorry for your loss. Kendra was an amazing student. I brought a home-cooked meal for you and your husband."

Marla squinted at him. He must've been one of Kendra's teachers, but she didn't recognize him. But, that didn't mean much. Kendra had had six teachers. This could be the one Marla could never remember the name of.

She took the Tupperware and nodded her head in thanks. It was the most she could do, because she didn't want to talk to him at all.

"Have a good night. If you need anything, I can have the school organize a drive."

"That's alright. Take care."

Marla closed the door and opened the container. It smelled good.

A week ago, if Marla had suddenly received an influx of meals from the community, she would have kept meticulous count and ate them in the order she had received them as to avoid spoilage.

But, Marla was different now so she slid down the door frame to a seated position and used her hands to eat the chicken wings.

As she tore off the skin with her teeth, she tried to place the flavor. She liked Buffalo, but this wasn't that. It wasn't bad, it was just different.

Before she began eating, she hadn't realized how hungry she was. It made sense, though. She hadn't eaten since she had woken up, and that had been a long time ago.

Her original intention to share with her husband faded as she finished the last of the wings. Her fingers were sticky and she simply licked the sauce off, another thing she would never have done a week ago.

As she set the container aside, she resumed her meaningless staring. Exhaustion began to tug at her eyelids, and she had no will to deny it. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes.

There was a knock at the door and then another, but by then, she was too tired to move. And by the time the door opened and the skinny man stepped in, Marla was gone to the world.

──────

Recently, Marla had spent a lot of her time sleeping ten, twelve, even fourteen hours a night, so with that experience and practice, when she opened her eyes to a surreal environment, she had assumed that she had finally cracked the code for lucid dreaming.

At least, that was the only explanation she could fathom for what she perceived in front of her.

The room Marla found herself in had four walls of solid rock with a thick wooden door. There was a bolted slat on the bottom of the far wall like what some doors have for mail. She sat up on a delapidated cot.

Her husband layed on his side, facing away, in the corner. Water dripped steadily from the roof on to the stone floor beside him.

It was some sick dream. It was weird to know she was in a dream though. Of course, if she had ever dreamed a dream consciously she would have forgotten the experience when she woke up. So, this one might be gone soon too. It was comforting in a way.

But, boredom in a dream was the same as in reality, and Marla soon found herself looking for diversion.

"Scott?" Marla whispered.

He turned over at the sound of her voice.

Marla grabbed her stomach and retched. Blood was congealed in his hair and little dried rivers framed his face. She had never had too strong of a stomach, and Scott's bloody head repulsed her.

"Is it that bad?"

"What happened to you?" Marla crossed the room and cradled his head. The blood stuck to her fingers. Maybe this wasn't a dream.

"I think I've forgotten. All I remember before waking up here was walking to my car in the church parking lot."

"Who did this?"

"Marla, I don't know. Are you alright?"

Marla ran her sticky fingers through her hair and patted down her torso. "I think so. I'm sorry."

Scott nodded and tried for a smile. "Don't be. It just means I was the bigger target. They had to subdue me. It's a compliment in some ways."

Marla didn't offer him the courtesy of laughing at his attempt at humor. "What are we going to do?"

Silence stretched until Scott began to sob. That answer summed up their situation.

Marla placed his head in her lap and patted the matted hair, careful not to think of the sticky stuff touching her fingers. "Shh. Shh." She looked around again at the stone confines and then bent towards his ear. "Is this real?"

He sobbed louder. Marla held that that affirmed her question. This amount of stress would have forced her awake from a dream by now.

They had both been kidnapped and imprisoned, but for what reason?

Marla knew nothing that could fit.

She sighed in exhaustion. At least Seth was safe with her in-laws.

Scott's sobs quieted as he fell asleep. In the dim light, it was hard to make out the wound on his head but it still felt sticky.

At her job, Marla edited news articles but never those dealing with crime. She never wanted to read about the grisly details of things that happened in her community. But, she remembered something her co-worker had told her when Marla, concerned at peering at the article he was writing, had asked if the bloody man in a picture had lived after his assault. He had assured her that head wounds bled far more than their severity suggested they should, and that the victim was fine and dandy.

Scott's eye was dark and raised under her touch. Marla held those words close to her heart because Scott needed to get better.

She couldn't do this alone.

──────

The next time she woke, Scott was still asleep. After she checked his pulse (it was strong), she disentangled herself from his body and inspected the stone wall with the door and mail flap.

Nothing had changed since before their sleep, except that her appetite had increased ten-fold. It felt like it had been a day since she had last eaten and Marla felt that that timeline probably held true.

She knocked on the wall. It hurt her knuckles but made enough sound that she could hear it.

Her grief trapped her, these walls trapped her, and sometimes it felt like her job trapped her.

Marla took a deep breath. The walls felt like they were closing in on her.

She banged against the wooden door. "Let us out!"

Scott stirred in the corner and lifted his head.

"I'm hungry," Marla said in explanation. He nodded and laid back down.

Marla kicked the wood and banged her fists repeatedly. "We need food! You can't starve us like this. We have children."

Her beating of the door paused.

"We have a child. He needs us. Let us out!"

Nothing happened. The word slip-up drained her energy as her grief bared it's teeth once again. She curled up with Scott.

Some time later, the bolts on the slat unwound and the iron lifted. Two plates slid through.

Marla crawled over and poked at the meat. It was hard. Cheese pockmarked with mold sat on one side and a purple slop the consistency of mashed potatoes slurped off the corner of the other.

There were no utensils.

"Scott," Marla said. She pulled the trays over to their corner. "Scott."

He didn't stir.

"Scott?" Panic rose and choked her throat. He can't leave her. He's fine. His head is fine! "Scott!"

She hit his shoulder twice. She was not going to do this alone! "Scott?"

His eyes blinked open blearily. "Marla?"

"Goddamn it, Scott."

"Sorry," he said. He looked at the trays. "Yum."

Marla ran her fingers through her hair. She was too on edge, and she hated it. She wanted to take back her words and tell him he didn't need to say sorry, but her throat felt all stopped up. "Lay your head back and let me feed you."

"If I knew I was going to have to eat it, I wish I hadn't seen what it looks like."

"Shh." Marla scooped off some of the purple mush with her fingers and gently led it to his lips. "Eat."

"So romantic, honey," Scott said. He tried to waggle his eyebrows at her.

"Goddamn you. Open your mouth."

He did. She shoved the rest of it in and he began to choke. Coughing, he pushed her hand away.

"I would rather starve," he declared.

"Not an option. Not allowed." She scooped up more with two hands. "Open."

His mouth twisted in disgust. "Just be gentle this time."

"I am gentle." Marla fed him more. "What does it taste like?"

"Sweaty gym socks."

"You're sassy for an invalid with a head injury."

"Live by the sword, die by the sword."

Marla picked up the meat brick and tried to tear off a chunk with her teeth. If her eyes were closed, she would have thought she was gnawing on a shoe.

"You look crazy trying to chew that. You'd have better luck biting off a chunk of obsidian," Scott said.

"You can talk when you can sit up without getting dizzy." Marla findly found purchase and swallowed a salty piece of the meat brick.

"Ouch. I'm hurt."

Marla licked her cracked lips. "We need water."

"Tell our captors that. I'm sure they care."

Scott was being sarcastic, but Marla figured her entreaties had worked before. Unless the trays naturally came at this time anyway. But, Marla liked the idea of her yelling and banging and ruckus working.

She walked over to the iron slat where the food had come from and crouched down. The bolts had stayed unscrewed and she could still get a finger or two out. Marla had to lay on her stomach but she positioned her mouth at the opening.

"We need water!" She could hear a slight echo of her words down the hallway. "Scott also needs a doctor. Please."

Marla waited until the last of the echos died out and then retreated to the corner with Scott.

"The 'please' was a nice touch."

"Thank you. My parents taught me good manners."

A tremor passed through the ground and the trays rattled. That couldn't be good. Or, it could be perfect and her pleas had been answered. And, really could their situation get any worse?

Scott laid his head back down and closed his eyes. Marla laid down beside him and followed suit.

The wooden door scraped the floor as it was hauled open. Footsteps entered the room.

"They're asleep."

"No, they're not." The voice got louder. "Get up before you get your first taste of magic."

Magic? What in the world was he talking about?

If a crazy cult kidnapped them, that would be Marla's last straw. How are you supposed to recover from the one two punch sequence of dead daughter and then crazy kidnapper?

Marla and Scott didn't move an inch.

"The boss said to be gentle."

"Do you know who they are? Better question: do you know who I am? Exactly. Shut up. Bring in the wraith."

Fear pricked at Marla's heart and then completely enveloped it. She was frozen. Her mind, her body, her everything.

"Alright, now pick them up. You take the guy—he's going to the infirmary. You take the woman—she's meeting with the boss."

Someone reached over and tied a cloth around her eyes. Marla was lifted and carried. All she could hear was the footsteps of multiple people on stone. She didn't hear Scott at all, but presumably he was suffering from the same paralysis as her.

Minutes later, she was sat down on a comfy surface and cold hands removed her blindfold.

A black man with short locs sat on the beanbag opposite her and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the large, shadowy figure that had hovered in the corner.

As the figure left, her senses began to return to her. As soon as she could speak again, she wanted to scream at the man in front of her. But the more rational part of her told her to be quiet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Marla," said the man.

So, he knows her name. Maybe he's a stalker as well as a kidnapper. Which made sense. Those kind of go hand-in-hand.

Marla nodded slowly and glanced around the room adorned with gauzy curtains and plush pillows. "Sorry, I don't know your name."

"No one does. But they tend to call me the Sphinx." The Sphinx watched her, waiting for a reaction. Marla didn't give one. "Do you know why you're here?"

Marla pursed her lips and debated the value of withholding her answer. Ultimately, she decided it wasn't terribly valuable to keep silent. What did she have to lose? "No. Will you tell me why?"

"In a moment. I want to know how much you've been told, first. What did your parents do for a living?"

"They were zoo-keepers. Met and fell in love at the Chicago Zoo," Marla said. She couldn't help adding the last part. It always made her feel warm and fuzzy. Their occupations could be found in their obituaries, so it wasn't like she was divulging state secrets. Really, she could not possibly guess at this man's motive. Her and her husband weren't some important political people or secret royals or anything as salacious as to prompt a kidnapping.

The Sphinx nodded. "Interesting. Where are your children right now?"

"Child. I recently lost my daughter. I don't want to tell you anything about my other child. Who are you?"

"I'm a leader of a group fighting for the emancipation of all magical creatures. Your parents, your in-laws, and your children are all involved. Did you know any of this?"

Marla rubbed her forehead. So, he was crazy. Her parents had been dead for a couple years. Could she ever catch a break?

He steepled his hands. "I'm assuming you do not."

"Look, I know reality. I also know craziness when I hear it. Please, you must be having some schizo break, and I don't need to be caught up in this. My husband either—who your goonies hurt and busted his head open. If you release us, I promise we won't say anything because, to be honest, I don't believe a word you are saying."

The Sphinx leaned back and smiled. "When I heard how the knowledge of the preserves had skipped a generation, I was astounded that they were able to pull the wool over you two. But now I understand."

"Great, that's good for you. Where's Scott?" Marla didn't feel like playing his dumb game anymore.

"Your husband is being treated by my medics. Don't worry, I do not want to hurt you both. I apologize for the prison-like treatment. I was away from the office and my orders were carried out somewhat shoddily in my absence."

"No worries. Whenever I'm on vacation, my coworkers also accidentally imprison random civilians. I get it."

The Sphinx laughed heartily. "Now, I know where your children get it from."

"Stop talking about my children." It was creepy the way he implied that he knew them. Had Marla seen him in passing in Rochester before? Was he a local who directed his target to some random, grieving family?

"My apologies. However, we find ourselves in a unique situation. The war I have fought is nearing an end, and your only place in it is as a hostage. I'm willing to tell you all for your peace of mind and to test how the world will respond to a reintroduction of magic. But, first, I have something to show you."

The Sphinx knelt down and placed a photo face down on the table.

She ran her fingers through her hair. Maybe through the craziness, there was a grain of truth. Although, she could just be susceptible to brainwashing at the moment. She was sleep-deprived and starving. Curiosity won out.

"What is it?"

The Sphinx turned it over.

Marla gasped. Tears sprung to her eyes.

It was her baby girl.

In the photo, Kendra frowned with a newspaper held next to her face. The date was at the top. December 21st.

Days after Kendra's stroke.

After.

This had to be some cruel joke. Marla snatched the picture from the Sphinx and flipped it over.

There was nothing on the back. She flipped it back and scrutinized every detail. Kendra looked just like she had just two weeks ago.

Hope ignited. Was Kendra...?

No. They had a body. It was buried.

Marla threw the photo down.

"You sick bastard!" Tears ran down her face. This was cruel. This was some psychological torture. Why, God? Why was this happening to her?

The Sphinx held up his hands. "This isn't a forgery. Your daughter is alive, and I can prove it. We used a magical fruit called a sting bulb. It clones people. The Kendra you buried was fake. It was a clone."

"Stop it." Marla didn't want to hear such insensitive nonsense telling her that she had buried a clone. That she didn't know her own baby girl. That she was liable to gain hope and crash back down. "This is cruel. Don't make me go through this all over again."

"Look. What if I show you that it can be done?"

Marla stayed silent and cried. She didn't want to be here with this guy while he exploited her emotions for his own sick amusement.

He grabbed a handkerchief before reaching under the table and bringing out a spiky fruit. "Prick your finger on this. In a few hours, you will have a fully formed clone. I'll let you bring it to your new quarters. Once it grows, you'll see that not only is magic real, but your daughter is alive. Maybe if I have more time, we can talk later."

The Sphinx handed her the handkerchief and fruit. Marla handled it delicately. She was Pandora with a new box that she thought was just as fake as the man was convinced her daughter's dead body was.

He rose and walked to the door.

"Your husband will rejoin you once he has recuperated." The Sphinx opened the door and leaned out. "Minhaul, please lead Mrs. Sorenson to her new quarters."

And so began her formerly imprisoned existence yet again.