A little girl drowns in a river, the corrupted water muffling her screams. Her blood runs cold as cutting arctic air, her arms thrash rabidly against the smacks of the tide. Visions corrode at the corners of her fading mind, along the sharp array of rocks and dirt. Along the array of death. Mother’s smile. Father’s blows. The smell of summer in New England. But the unfamiliar faces of children are what choke her. Children dressed in white. Children with blanched faces. Children with halos of charcoal. They catch her breath, shoot novacaine through her limbs. They drain her blood until it becomes the face of hell looking down at her. A little girl drowns in a river, and that little girl dies.