Lori Loud hardly slept Saturday night. She lie awake in bed, clutching her phone in her hand and desperately hoping that Bobby was telling the truth about loving her and wanting the baby. She had no reason to doubt him, but the possibility of him not being there for her when she needed him the most made her sick to her stomach. They were both seventeen, for christsake...what seventeen-year-old boy wanted a baby? Not too goddamn many, that was for sure. But if anyone was an exception to the rule, it was Bobby; he was so kind and caring and sweet and responsible. She was so lucky to have him, and here she was doubting him. That made her cry. She pressed her face into her pillow and wept as silently as she could so she didn't wake Leni.

Suddenly she was angry. Why did this have to happen to them? They always used protection. If those goddamn things don't work, they shouldn't even be on the fucking market! She should sue, make them sorry their defective product ever hit the shelf.

Then she was scared. What would her mother say? She couldn't tell her now, not with her in her mood and Dad...

Cold fear filled her. Would her father be alive to meet his first grandchild? Would he ever be able to hold it and kiss it and bounce it the way he bounced her, and Lincoln, and all their sisters? She hoped he would. She wanted nothing more than for him to be okay, and for her son or daughter to have him in their life. He was such a wonderful father. She never showed her appreciation for him the way she should have, and now she might never get the chance, and that made her cry again. It wasn't fair! Why couldn't it have been someone else's father? Why did it have to be hers? Why out of all the people in this stupid, stinking town did Fate have to pick him?

Life's a bitch. A cold, hard, stupid, ugly, frumpy bitch.

Just before dawn, she slipped into a thin and fitful sleep haunted by fleeting wisps of nightmares: Bobby leaving her, Dad dying, everyone disappearing and leaving her alone and everything was dark and tilty and blood was gushing out from between her legs!

She woke up every hour, rolled over, and tried to forget the previous bad dream. She finally woke for good at 9:30, her eyes grainy and her head aching. She sat up, and a wave of nausea crashed over her. She started to wretch, and jumped out of bed, slammed into the hall, and then into the bathroom, where she knelt before the toilet just in time: Her eyes burned and her fingers gripped the porcelain rim as she spewed clear liquid into the bowl. She dazedly wished she ate something last night; she had nothing in her stomach, and each heave hurt her chest.

When her stomach was settled, she leaned back on her knees and bowed her head, taking deep, even breaths. Another wave hit her, oh no, and she bent over again, gagging loudly as strands of drool slipped over her bottom lip; the taste of bile filled her mouth, and she wretched even harder.

Again, her stomach calmed. This time she folded her arms on the rim and rested her head on them, her chest rapidly rising and falling. She hated puking.

Someone made a noise behind her, and she lifted her head miserably up. Her mother stood against the doorframe, wearing tan slacks and a dull red blouse. Her face was as hard and emotionless as stone. Her arms were folded across her chest and her lips were a tight slash. "What's wrong, Lori?" she asked. Was it Lori's imagination, or was there a mocking edge to her voice?

Lori shook her head. "Stomach flu, I think."

"Oh?" Mom asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lori's heart beat faster as she nodded. "Yeah."

"Hm. Sickness in the morning could be a lot of things, Lori."

"I guess," Lori replied evenly.

"It could be a stomach bug...or it could be what happens when a slut opens her legs one too many times and gets what she has coming."

Lori's jaw dropped.

Her mother chuckled humorlessly. "I wonder who the father is."

"No one," Lori said, looking away. Her mother's eyes were icy. She was suddenly very scared. "I-I'm not pregnant."

"Of course you're not," Mom said. She came forward and, with a quickness that belied her voluptuous form, snatched a handful of Lori's hair. The girl cried out as her mother dragged her back until her lips were pressed to her ear. "Because if you were," she whispered dangerously, "I'd cut it out and make you eat it."

She let go and stood back. Weeping, Lori struggled to her feet, brushed past her, and disappeared into her room, slamming the door.

Rita laughed all the way down the stairs.

In the dining room, her lovely daughters were gathered at the table, stuffing their stupid little faces with sugary cereal. Lana and Lola were bickering over some trifling thing, Lisa was reading from a science textbook, Leni was humming and bobbing her head from side to side, her eyes closed and a half-smile on her lips, Luan was looking at her...now looking away.

Rita balled her fist. Little Luan was going to wind up being next if she wasn't careful...did she really think Rita didn't know why she always wore skirts? Even in the dead of winter she walked around with her knobby knees showing. It was so Lincoln could have easy access. Hey, Linc, if you listen to my new routine I'll let you fuck me...

Rita shivered.

Speaking of Lincoln, he hadn't come down yet, which was just as well; she didn't want him around these little whores. She caught Lucy looking at her, and resolved she would go either after Luan or before. Probably before. Rita was barely awake this morning when Lucy came looking for Lynn. She's at the park, Rita said, then she's going to school to practice. She made sure Luna and Luan were both in earshot before she told Lucy how "cruel" it was of her to take Lynn off her sports teams, and that she was allowing Lynn to play again provided she improve her grades. Her coach said she would come out today specifically to catch Lynn up, then she's meeting with a tutor. She probably won't be back until dinner.

Lucy seemed satisfied...but Rita didn't like the way she was looking at her. It was obvious that Lucy pined after her older sister because she was still too young and stupid to go for Lincoln. But one day...oh, one day...she should head it off at the pass...kill her before she can grow up and start doing things for Lincoln the way Luan and Lynn did. If you listen to my new poem you can put it in my ass, Lincoln. I'll let you fuck me until I bleed because bleeding is dark and I like dark.

In the sunwashed kitchen, Rita went to make herself a cup of instant coffee. There was a jar of Folgers in the pantry, but try as she might, she couldn't find it, and finally she put her hands on her hips, her chest throbbing with anger. Which one of these little cunts drank all the coffee?

Then she remembered, and demonic laughter welled up from deep in the pit of her stomach. She started brewing a pot of the good stuff as she remembered Lynn's pupils contracting as she died. Please, mom, don't kill me! You should have thought about that before you took Lincoln under the back porch and sucked him off.

Lincoln is mine.

She grinned as she remembered making love to her son, her loins tingling at the memory of his hot seed shooting against her walls.

She couldn't wait to do it again.

It was 9:30 in the morning. Thirty minutes past nine 'o'clock. Thirty minutes until ten 'o'clock. Luna sat on the couch with her legs and arms crossed, her stomach twinging with the first stirrings of concern. 9:30 wasn't all that late, though. Right? Sundays are for sleeping in, and that's all Lincoln was doing. No reason to get all mother hen.

The thing was: Lincoln never slept this late. The latest Luna could ever remember him sleeping was nine; even if he was groggy and headachy, he was up and moving around.

Maybe it wouldn't have bothered Luna on a normal day, but today wasn't a normal day, and neither was yesterday. Their father was fighting for his life in the hospital and everyone was upset...you could tell that by how subdued breakfast was. Lana and Lola bickered half-heartedly, but that was it: No jokes, no sibling banter, no making plans or teasing, just uncomfortable silence. Out of all of them, Lincoln was the most sensitive; it was probably hitting him the hardest. She imagined him crying into his pillow, alone and afraid, and it broke her heart. She started to get up, but stopped herself. She didn't want to bother him, and running up to his room all worried because he wasn't downstairs at an exact time was bothersome.

Still...what if he needed her?

Come to think of it, Lori wasn't up either. That was really strange, because Lori was a total morning person. She was up at 6am every day. Luna didn't get it. Why wake up so early on a Sunday, or even a Saturday? She suspected Lori did it mostly so she would get the first shower of the day, but she didn't know. She liked hot showers too, but she'd deal with lukewarm water if it meant getting sleep. Of course, she was more laidback than Lori. Lori could be really high-strung sometimes.

Where was she?

Luna tapped her fingers on her elbow. She didn't want to be annoying, but she didn't like that neither Lincoln nor Lori were downstairs yet.

She finally sighed and got up. She'd rather be annoying than be absent when one of her siblings needed her. She climbed the stairs and went to Lincoln's room first, since it was closer. She paused, cocked her head, and listened. She didn't hear anything. She knocked and waited a few moments, then knocked again.

Lincoln didn't answer.

"Linc? You up?"

He still didn't respond, and wings of dread fluttered against the inside of her stomach. She took the knob in her hand, hesitated, then turned it and pushed the door open.

Bright morning sunshine spilled through the window, dappling the floor. Lincoln was humped under the covers: All she could see was his little cowlick sticking up. "Linc?"

He didn't move, and her heart bounced. "You okay, Linc?"

When he still didn't stir, she went into the room and crossed to the bed, her heart suddenly pounding a crazy tempo against her ribcage. He's probably asleep. That's all. He was up all night worrying and he's tired. Makes sense. He's the type to worry all night.

When she reached the side of the bed, she stopped. Lincoln lie on his side, staring at the wall with wide, unblinking eyes. The flesh around them was pink and puffy as though he had been crying. His flesh was the color of dough and his lips quivered. Luna shifted, and a ray of sunlight sparkled on the moisture coating his cheek.

"Linc," she said, barely above a whisper, and reached her hand out. When her fingertips brushed his bare shoulder, he jerked and scooted closer to the wall like a skittish dog. "Hey, Linc," she said softly and sat on the bed. "You alright?"

He didn't move, didn't reply.

She laid her hand on his forehead, and he shook fearfully under her touch: His skin was clammy. He must be sick.

"You feel bad?"

He didn't reply. That concerned her. Why wasn't he talking? And why was he quivering like he thought she was going to hurt him? She loved him. She would never hurt him.

"Hey, Luna..."

Luna looked up. Luan was standing in the doorway, her arms pressing against the frame and her head slightly bowed: Luna was crazily reminded of Jesus Christ.

When she saw the look on Luna's face, her brow fell. "What's wrong?" she asked seriously.

Luna looked down at Lincoln. "I don't know. I think he's sick. He's not talking."

"Not talking?" Luan came to the bed and craned her neck. "Hey, Linc," she said cautiously, "how you feeling?"

He made no sign that he heard her. Luna and Luan looked at each other. Fear was rising in her like bile, but she fought it down. She stroked her brother's head and studied his face for any sort of reaction, but she saw none.

"Go get Mom," Luna said.

Lincoln jerked. "No! Please, don't get Mom, please don't get Mom!" He burst out crying, his teeth clenched and his brows angled down. "Please! P-P-Please!" He moved frantically closer to the wall as if trying to escape.

"Hey, hey," Luna said, reaching out: The fear was rising again, and this time she couldn't fight it back. "What's wrong? Lincoln?"

She looked at Luan with miserable eyes. Her sister looked as lost and stricken as she felt. Lincoln sobbed so hard his tiny body shook. Luna didn't know what to do. She swallowed and ran a hand through her hair. "Go get Lori," she said.

Luan nodded and rushed off. While they waited, Luna scooted fully onto the bed and took Lincoln in her arms, dragging him onto her lap like an overgrown baby. She barely registered the fact that he was naked, and that he held Bun-Bun's severed arm in his hand like a magic talisman. He curled up like a small animal facing a much larger predator, and pity swept through Luna. "Shhhh," she said, rocking him back and forth, tears coming to her own eyes, "it's okay, I'm here. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He cried harder, and Luna cried too. She didn't know what was wrong with him, but it was clear he was in a tremendous amount of pain. Not physical pain, but spiritual pain.

What happened to you, bro?

No! Please, don't get Mom, please don't get Mom! Please! P-P-Please!

Did she do something to him?

Her mind flashed back to the previous afternoon: Her mother kneeling over Lynn's soccer ball and stabbing it with a knife.

No, that was crazy. She couldn't explain the thing with the ball, but there mother would never hurt one of them, bad mood or not.

Lincoln wept, and she held him tighter, rocked him faster. "Shhhhh, it's okay, Linc. I swear, you're okay."

Luan knocked on Lori's door. "What?" Lori called. She sounded like she was crying.

"Something's wrong with Lincoln," Luan replied, her voice breaking; she was not Luna, she could not hide her fear. "W-We need you."

"I'm not coming out there! Take Leni!"

A moment later, the door opened and Leni appeared. There was a troubled expression on her face. Luan looked past her; Lori was sitting on her bed, a pillow clutched tightly to her chest and her face buried in it. She rocked gently back and forth.

Leni pulled the door shut.

"What's wrong with her?" Luan asked, her fear intensifying.

"I don't know," Leni said, "when I came upstairs she was crying and she wouldn't tell me why. What's wrong with Lincoln?"

"I-I-I don't know," Luan stammered. "Just...come on."

Luan led Leni to Lincoln's room. When they got there, Luan blinked at the sight of her older sister holding their bother's naked body to her chest and rocking from side-to-side. Lincoln's tears had tapered off, and he was silent. He looked so small and fragile.

"Lincy?" Leni asked, walking over and kneeling next to the bed. "You okay?"

Luna swallowed and said, "I don't know what's wrong with him." The fearful quality of her voice frightened Luan.

"What happened, Lincy?" Leni asked. "Is it about Dad?"

Lincoln didn't acknowledge her presence.

"He got really upset when Luna told me to get Mom," Luan said.

"Don't get Mom," Lincoln moaned. "Please."

"Did Mom hurt you?" Luan asked. The image of her mother stabbing Lynn's ball was clear in her mind. The violence, the hate...

Lincoln didn't reply.

"Mom wouldn't hurt him," Leni said.

"She hurt Lynn's ball," Luan said.

Leni looked over her shoulder, her brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

Luan told her what she and Luna had witnessed the day before. When she was done talking, Leni's eyes were muddled with bafflement. "Like, why would she do that?"

"I don't know," Luan said, "but she must have done something to him."

"That's crazy," Luna said. Her voice was unconvincing even to her own ears. "Mom wouldn't hurt him."

"Linc," Luan said, kneeling next to Leni, "what happened? You have to tell us what happened."

Lincoln didn't reply.

"Please, Lincoln."

He turned his head and buried it in Luna's chest. Luna shot daggers at Luan. "Leave him alone, okay? He'll tell us when he's ready."

"We have to..."

"Drop it," Luna said tightly.

"What about Lori?" Luan asked Leni.

"What about Lori?" Luna asked.

Leni explained, and a shadow crossed Luna's face. Instead of speaking, she clutched Lincoln tighter. "Something strange is going on," Luan said.

"I don't know what's going on," Luna said, and that wasn't a lie, "but you need to chill. Go...play or something. And Leni...go back to Lori. I got this."

"You sure?" Leni asked.

"Yeah."

Luan sighed and got up. "Whatever."

Before Luna could stop her, she stormed out of the room and disappeared.

For a long moment, Leni stood over Luna and Lincoln, worry written across her beautiful face. She reached out, rubbed Lincoln's head, and sighed. "If you need me, come get me, okay?"

"Yeah," Luna said. "Shut the door on your way out, please."

Leni nodded. She looked at her brother one more time, then left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Alone with Lincoln, Luna took a deep, shuddery breath and looked down at him. His eyes were squeezed closed.

Could their mother have done something to him? On the surface, the thought was ludicrous. Their mother loved them and would never hurt them. But there was the ball...and her guitar...and the way she doted on Lincoln...didn't she herself think it was "gross"? Almost like a...

She closed that thought out. It was gross because she treated him like a little boy, not because she treated him like a boyfriend.

But...but didn't she? When she was in her moods, she was always touching Lincoln, always looking at him, always kissing his face and head and making him watch TV with her.

No, no, no, that was innocent. He was her son, after all. Why shouldn't a mother kiss and touch and look at her son?

She looked down at her brother's upturned face again. "Lincoln?" she asked softly.

His eyelids fluttered.

"Linc?"

One red eye tentatively opened.

"What happened?" she asked pointedly.

He closed his eye again.

"Lincoln, please, we need to know what happened."

"I don't want to."

Luna sighed. Fine. If he didn't want to say, he didn't have to. She didn't mind staying with him.

"You're safe now, okay? I swear to God, Lincoln, I won't let anything happen to you."

As she said this, a face popped into her mind.

And it was the face of her mother.