Her Remains of Him

The room had not always been like this. Once, it was alive.

Three children used to play here. They ran between chairs, turned furniture into goalposts, and argued over rules that never stayed the same. Jay was always the weakest. He could never keep up. Ruddy would shove past him, laughing, stronger and faster. Samantha would sit on the bed, keeping score and mocking both. Sometimes she still heard the ball hit the wall. Sometimes she turned to look. There was never anything there.

Samantha lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her skin burned. It peeled in thin, sticky layers, clinging to the sheets as if her body was trying to leave itself behind. She pressed her lips together, but the pain still broke through her breathing. A scream came from within the walls. Ruddy... Or maybe not. Sometimes she heard it before it happened. Sometimes she heard it when everything was silent.

The door opened. Mr. Igaram entered, carrying a tray of purple vials. “Time,” he said. Samantha closed her eyes and slowed her breath. He stood there longer than usual. “I am fixing him,” he whispered. “She said he can be better. She said we can be a family again.” His voice trembled. “If I make him right, she will look at me again.” After he left, Samantha opened her eyes and poured the liquid beneath the bed.

The next day, the pain did not lessen. It deepened. Days lost their order. She forgot which screams were real. She counted footsteps, then lost track halfway. Sometimes she whispered to herself just to hear a voice. Sometimes she laughed without knowing why. Mrs. Igaram appeared often now. She stood at the doorway, watching. Not with concern. With attention. Another scream echoed. Samantha covered her ears. It did not help.

One night, she forced herself to stand. Her legs trembled. Skin stretched, split, and tore as she moved. She felt something warm slide down her leg but refused to look. The room tilted. For a moment, she saw three children again, running and laughing, then nothing. She reached the cupboard and fumbled through its contents until a photograph slipped out. A man. Perfect. His face resembled Jay. His build resembled Ruddy. His presence felt overwhelming even on paper. Another photograph showed Mrs. Igaram beside him. Her hand hovered near his face. Her expression was not love, it was devotion. “He is still here,” Samantha whispered. She did not know why she said it.

The door opened. She dropped the photograph. “Back in bed,” Mr. Igaram said. His eyes looked tired. Hopeful. Broken. The next morning, Samantha screamed. “I want to see Jay,” she cried. “Please... I miss him.” Mr. Igaram hesitated. “She asked me to keep you safe,” he muttered. “Not like before.” He glanced toward the door, then nodded to himself. He opened a hidden section of the wall. Cold air poured into the room. Jay lay inside. Still, perfect and stitched as if reconstructed. Samantha stepped back. “They are not treating us,” she whispered. “They are preparing us.”

That night, she waited. Or maybe she did not sleep. She could not tell anymore. When the door opened, the old butler slipped in behind Mr. Igaram. Weaker, but real. She hoped he was real. “Sir, please,” he said. “She is not saving your son. She is replacing him.” Mr. Igaram turned. Behind him stood Mrs. Igaram, calm and certain. “You said if you fixed him, she would love you,” the butler continued. “But look at him. This is not your son.” Mr. Igaram’s voice cracked. “She said he was weak. She said he got that from me. If I corrected it, she would not look at me with disappointment.” He looked at her again, waiting. She did not look back. Her eyes were on Jay.

“Dad…” Jay’s voice broke the silence. “I knew,” he whispered. “I heard everything.” A tear slipped down. “I thought if I stayed quiet, I would still exist.” Mrs. Igaram stepped forward. “You were never meant to exist,” she said. “You were only a beginning.” Samantha spoke. “You are building him again,” she said. “The man in those pictures.” Mrs. Igaram smiled faintly. “I am restoring what was taken,” she said. “He was perfection. This world did not deserve him.” Her gaze did not waver. “You three were fortunate. You matched him.” Samantha’s chest tightened. “You are feeding us his disease,” she said. “So we break into what you need.” Mrs. Igaram did not deny it.

A crash shattered the moment. Ruddy stumbled forward from the darkness. He had been there all along. Watching. Rotting. His body barely held together. He knocked over the vials. Purple liquid spread across the floor. The room fell into chaos. Samantha dragged herself toward him. The butler held Mr. Igaram back. Mrs. Igaram did not move. She watched. Jay fell from the table. He dragged himself forward, tearing with each movement. Still, he did not stop. His hand found a surgical instrument. He looked at her. “For once,” he said, “see me.” Then he drove it into her. She collapsed. The faint smile on her face faded slowly.

Silence filled the room. Mr. Igaram fell to his knees. Not beside his son, beside her. No one spoke. Because no one knew what had died, the mother, the obsession or the lover she had tried to bring back. Jay lay on the floor. Broken but breathing. Samantha stared ahead.

Somewhere in the room, a ball hit the wall again. She smiled faintly. This time, she did not turn.