Seattle, Washington – February

 

The air hung heavy with the damp scent of wet bark and fungus. February in Seattle meant drizzle, low clouds, and slippery playground equipment. Roxhill Park was quiet this morning—just a handful of parents and toddlers milling around near the play structure, which still glistened from an early morning shower.

 

Kate stood beneath the covered picnic area, her stainless-steel coffee tumbler warming her hands. Elizabeth darted in and out of view behind the blue slide. She was acting so oddly. Had been, since late December. Elizabeth moved with an almost eerie calm and precision. She didn’t shriek like the other children. Didn’t laugh, didn’t rush.

 

Kate watched her daughter as she stood there. It felt as if Elizabeth was studying the others, and not in a nice way. Her stomach churned a little.

 

Maybe from the coffee, but likely from how fraught the past two months had been. Longer, actually. Fall had brought with it another name change, this time to Elsa. And now she insisted her name was Elizabeth. And it was, of course.

 

Kate wanted to believe Nichole was right, that this was all just a weird, complicated response to the adoption and that things would settle soon. It felt like night and day, though. They had all been so happy for the adoption, especially Elizabeth. But then fall had arrived, and with it the nightmares, and then, well, the cold, dreary winter weather didn’t help. Not at all.

 

Across the play area, Marjorie chased after Edy, a bubbly four-year-old with wild black curls and a love for pink everything. Sharon, whose daughter Mia toddled beside her with a cookie in hand, sidled up next to Kate.

 

“Edy’s got enough energy to power the West Coast,” Sharon laughed. “Meanwhile, Mia’s biggest ambition today is finishing that graham cracker.”

 

Kate smiled faintly. She tried to keep her tone light. “Elizabeth’s been off lately.”

 

Sharon frowned. “She was so exuberant this summer. And then fall hit and she’s different, isn’t she?” she said. “Like… not herself. Do you think she might have Seasonal Affective Disorder?”

 

Kate felt foolish. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Perhaps she needed to take Elizabeth into the doctor and see what they had to say. She’d noticed too the way Elizabeth lingered behind other children, how her gaze locked onto them when they weren’t looking. If the bright, cheery preschooler from the summer hadn’t been so present in her memories she would have worried more. But Lizzie, as she had preferred to be called in the summer, had been such a joy, and Kate was sure this was just a phase. One she prayed would be over soon.

 

A shriek shattered the morning stillness.

 

Kate’s head whipped around.

 

Edy lay crumpled at the base of the play structure, her arm twisted under her.

 

Marjorie screamed in alarm and sprinted towards her daughter across the mulch.

 

“Edy! Oh God—baby, what happened?!”

 

“I saw it,” Sharon said. “She was behind her. Elizabeth was right behind her. And it looked like she pushed Edy.” She said the last bit in a whisper, as if saying it aloud held power.

 

Kate’s breath caught as she hurried toward them. Edy was sobbing, holding her forearm, which had already started to swell beneath the damp sleeve of her jacket.

 

“She pushed me!” Edy wailed. “She said it was her turn and I told her I was almost done and then she pushed me!”

 

Kate turned to Elizabeth, who stood a few feet away, her red curls slightly mussed, face blank.

 

“Elizabeth… did you push Edy?”

 

“She didn’t listen,” Elizabeth replied, unperturbed by the screams of pain. "And she wouldn’t move.”

 

“That’s not a reason to hurt someone,” Kate said, her voice trembling.

 

Elizabeth shrugged and turned away.

 

Marjorie’s face paled.

 

“Her arm—look at it—oh my God.”

 

A wave of nausea hit Kate. She knelt beside Edy, gently pulling back the jacket sleeve. The arm was misshapen, already purpling.

 

“It looks broken,” Sharon muttered, her phone to her ear. “Ambulance is on the way.”

 

Elizabeth stood off to the side now, her hands tucked neatly into her My Little Pony jacket pockets, watching the scene unfold as if she were watching ants crawl in a jar. Unmoved. Disinterested.

 

As the sirens approached, Kate turned toward her daughter.

 

“This is serious, Elizabeth.”Elizabeth blinked. “She should have let me swing. It was my turn.”

 

Kate’s blood ran cold.

 

After the ambulance left, Sharon pulled Kate aside. “This isn’t a tantrum. This is something very different, Kate. Almost… almost dangerous. You know that, right?”

 

And Sharon would know. She’d worked on a psych unit for the criminally insane. She’d told Kate stories that had turned Kate’s blood to ice.

 

“Remember, those murderers were kids once too, Kate. Please, get her to an expert. Do it now, before it’s too late.”

 

Kate stared out over Roxhill’s foggy playground. The voices of other parents murmured behind her—low and wary.

 

And Elizabeth?

 

Elizabeth was already climbing back onto the play structure, her face serene, her eyes empty, unfazed by the fact that she was alone on the play structure.