Page 112 of Requiem

Trudy 43

There’s a principle in physics called the ‘Tipping Point.’ It’s the point at which an object is no longer balanced, and adding a small amount of weight can cause it to topple. There’s a more philosophical definition of the principle, which is the point in a situation at which a minor development precipitates a crisis. Both of these principles are in play at this very moment, as I stand at the bottom of the stairs watching, helplessly.

It started when I screamed Jeremy’s name to divert his attention away from Julia. That action caused him to reflexively turn his head toward me, twisting his body slightly as he did. And, although he didn’t realize it, with that single movement, he sealed his fate. In this instance, Jeremy is the object, and he is no longer balanced. It would only take a small amount of weight to topple him, e.g. Julia. But, this is where I am inclined to switch to the secondary definition. The minor development of Julia pushing herself into Jeremy’s arms, precipitates the crisis of the two of them tumbling violently down the stairs.

For a brief time, they appear to be intertwined – so enmeshed that I cannot tell where one begins and the other ends. But then, by the grace of God, I see Julia’s frail, bruised arm snake out and grab hold of a wooden spindle on her way down the stairs. It’s enough to stop her violent descent and peel Jeremy’s weight from hers. Gravity is not on Jeremy’s side as it draws him down the stairs with increasing velocity to his inevitable collision with the immovable flagstone floor.

I gasp as Julia loses her grip a few seconds later and continues to slide down the staircase until she, too, is a heap at my feet. She is to my left, he is to my right and they are both perfectly still. I fall to my knees next to Julia, my fingers searching for a pulse in her neck. Yes, she’s alive, though barely.

Her face is so swollen that I’m not sure I’d have recognized her had I not known it was she. And one of her arms is bent back at an unnatural angle. There’s a large gash in her forehead that I think she may have gotten on the way down, judging from the freshness of the blood there versus the dried and caked smears around her nose and mouth.

I continue my downward inventory and redness and swelling from her ribcage to her toes. My eyes pass quickly over her thighs, which are wet and slick with red warmth. I allow myself the small luxury of not speculating on what else my son has done to her.

Getting to my feet, I run quickly from room to room, looking for something to cover her. Finally, I find a large, soft throw and bring it back to where Julia is lying so I can drape the blanket over her naked, battered body and lift her head just enough to slip the pillow under her neck for support. I don’t have much time, so I turn my attention to Jeremy.

He is in considerably better condition, with no blood to speak of. Though, he could easily have internal injuries that I can’t see. His left leg is clearly broken. I feel for his pulse, and find it to be strong. Of course it is. It takes more than a fall down the stairs to kill Satan.