Melissa parked her car in the gravel lot Callie's house shared with her three neighbors, the house Melissa had grown up in; from childhood, she had been sure that she would be far away by now, but here she was living in town ten years after moving out of that house. She went to college in California, got her graduate degree in Chicago, but after all that preparation, the best job she could find was right back here in Santa Fe. At least it meant that she could be closer to Callie, better able to take care of her if she needed help with money or if she got into trouble. Now, after all that, had she failed?

Her chest tightened as she stepped out of the car, despite her attempts to reassure herself that Callie had just forgotten and hadn't come by her apartment because she was preoccupied inspecting the trees for signs of faeries, or whatever it was Callie did when she was alone these days. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that Callie flaked out on her. She looked at the house and tried to picture Callie sitting in the living room or on her bed, trying to cast a spell or something. Surely she was fine, this lump in her throat meant nothing, and she would soon be laughing about it. She should be calm because Callie would hear her knocking on the door, and in just a minute she would let her in with all her flutter and bustle, and explain what had kept her from their appointment.

Melissa knocked again and waited. Then, trembling just a little, she took out the spare key she'd told Callie was so that she could let her into the house when she forgot her own copy; the key that she'd actually wanted in case Callie made another attempt at suicide and locked herself in. Callie's unnamed brown tabby was sitting in front of the door looking up at her, making a disturbing trill with her throat. She ran into the bathroom when Melissa stepped inside the house.

"Callie?" she called. "I came to wait for the meteor with you. You were supposed to come over, remember?" She scanned the living room, and saw only the spare futon and ugly little coffee table. "You were supposed to meet me after work." She wasn't in the kitchen either. "Callie, are you there?" The bedroom they'd occupied together as children was bare and dusty. The bathroom in the hallway was dark, and she flicked the light on just to make sure; it was empty except for the cat, which looked at her plaintively and mewed. "Come on, Callie, don't do this to me." Finally she came to the closed door at the end of the hall, the bedroom that once belonged to their mother. Maybe Callie had just gone out, and Melissa would open the door and just see another empty room. Maybe she shouldn't even open the door, just leave the house and go looking for her sister in town. What was she so worried about? Why were tears welling up in her eyes?

"Goddammit, Callie, don't do this to me again," she whispered. Putting images of blood out of her head, she pushed open the door. The bed was empty, its frilly curtains and poofy pillows swirling in the wind, the whole thing bathed in a patch of direct sunlight. Melissa's eyes widened, and despite herself she let out a bark of a laugh that was almost a scream as she saw a gaping hole in the ceiling. Then she knew, Callie was gone, but not at all in the way she had expected.