BLOOD
Chandler stepped out of the bathroom, "Children! I trust that you've all been surviving and managing without me, while I've been away for a whole five minutes!" Chandler teased.
Chandler looked at Jack and Erica, who were seated on the play mat banging the fronts of two toy trucks violently into each other.
"Bang Bang Boom! Boom Bang Boom!" Jack and Erica yelled mirthfully.
"Good God. Reckless driving, already. Clearly your mother and I have failed you both as parents. I see you're not playing with your God-sister. Clearly she disapproves of on-road violence," Chandler joked.
Chandler glanced around the house, "Speaking of which, where is your God-sister? Emma, Emma! I know you're not fond of babies, but I'm here now, so it's safe to come out of hiding now!" Chandler jokingly called out.
Chandler wandered from room to room, "Emma! Emma! Seriously, Em, where are you hiding? Emma!" Chandler chuckled uncomfortably, "This is so not funny anymore."
Feeling the beginnings of anxiety, Chandler called her name out louder, "Emma! Emma! Answer me, please! Where are you? I'm not joking around anymore!"
Wandering into the kitchen, Chandler felt something warm and sticky soaking through his bedroom slippers. Glancing down at his feet, he saw a burgundy liquid ooze across the kitchen floor.
"What the hell? What… what is this?" he muttered to himself. Suddenly the realization hit him. His face grew pale. He opened his mouth to call Emma's name once more, but no sound escaped his mouth. It was like a pair of cold invisible hands had wrapped themselves tightly around his throat. And then he saw her. Lying face down, on the open dishwasher, her tiny frame impaled by a large kitchen knife.
The silver tip of the knife peeked through her back, and her lavender cotton dress was almost completely stained dark red. She lay limply like a cold market fish, arms and legs drooped to the side, head resting against her chest. Her skin was deathly white and translucent. Her curly blond hair was blackened and matted from blood. Blood was steadily dripping from the wound, to the dishwasher, to the floor. Chandler could see his terrorised expression in the pool of blood spreading at his feet.
Oh God. He had left the dishwasher open with the dirty dishes, and had placed the knife he cut the pumpkin with, pointing upwards in the cutlery holder. A bloodied barbie doll lay limp like Emma, on the dishwasher. Feeling dizzy, faint, freezing cold and terrified beyond words, Chandler turned his head to the side, and retched. Partially digested mac & cheese spilled into the floor, slashing into the pool of blood beneath his feet.
With vomit dribbling down chin, and tears blurring his vision, Chandler stumbled to Emma, and lifted her off the dishwasher, knife still impaled in her. His hands shook violently, and he almost fell over, slipping on the blood-slickened floor.
"Oh God, Emma, Oh God, Emma! Please, this blood, all this blood, it's got to stop, it's pouring out of her, I've got to stop… How do I stop... Oh Christ please, stop it, stop this blood, please!" Chandler choked, his voice escaping him like a strangled scream.
But how? He didn't know how! This wasn't a limb that he could restrict blood flow via a tourniquet. The knife was lodged squarely in her stomach. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Stumbling out of the kitchen, cradling a limp bloodied Emma to his chest, blind with tears; Chandler snatched up the phone, and dialed for an ambulance. Jack and Erica dropped the trucks they were playing with, and sat frozen to the spot, staring at Emma in silent wide-eyed shock. Though they were all but one year old, they knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
"Hello this is 911, what is your emergency?" Chandler fought to get the words out, his breathing increasingly ragged and hysterical.
"Help, help me please, My God-daughter, Emma, she's... a knife, stabbing, there's blood, lots of it, oh God, so much blood, and I can't, I need to stop it, Oh God, I-I-I…" Chandler spluttered.
"I can't understand you. You need to calm down, you're hyperventilating. Take a deep breath, and start again," the operator said emphatically.
Chandler did as he was told, stating in a shaky but clear voice, his address, and the situation at hand. He placed two fingers on Emma's neck, adding breathlessly and gratefully, that he could feel a pulse.
"Don't do anything, leave the knife in. Don't even touch the wound. Stay calm, we're on our way," the Operator replied.
Hanging up the phone, Chandler knelt on the floor, cradling Emma close to him, terrified sobs racking through his body. Emma's warm sticky blood soaked through Chandler's shirt. Remnants of chewed-up mac & cheese trickled out of his nostrils.