Jazz Funeral

a heavy thing sucking desperately downward, roiling and circling endlessly upon itself, gathering black, ugly energy as it circled.
    Her mother spoke calmly. “You’re a child. You don’t know anything about the world.”
    “I’m a child! I’m a child and I don’t know anything about the world! And you’re fucking kicking me out.” She was trying to grasp it, that her mother could do this. She was conscious of an odd ringing in her ears, as if she were falling through space so fast the pressure kept changing.
    “Watch your mouth, Melody.” Her mother’s own mouth curled in annoyance, and that was the only emotion Melody could see on her face. There was something else there, but it was not a feeling, not anger or self-pity or love for her child, nothing so human as any of these. It was a terrifying determination, a steeliness, an adamacy so unyielding it made Melody think of pictures she had seen of New York, of the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building. This thing, this obduracy, this force, seemed as solid, as impossible to move, as one of those.
    It frightened Melody, but it fueled the rage.
    It’s not right. This isn’t a mother!
    She knew that. She might be a child with a child’s knowledge of the world, but she knew she had been cheated, she deserved better.
    “Watch my mouth? Watch my fucking mouth! You kill my brother and try to buy me off and all you can say is don’t say fuck? Well, fuck, Mother!” She was screaming now, the whirlpool had worked its way past the block of fear and grief in her throat. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Fuck you, Mother!”
    “I swear to God I don’t know why I don’t just leave you here to kill yourself. That’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it? Why don’t you do it. Melody?” She plugged the piano in again. “We’d all be better off.”
    “You want me dead.” She said the words slowly. It took a moment to sink in. And then she flew off the piano stool, knocking off the carefully placed vase of water as she did it, but she had moved too fast, she wasn’t touching the piano now. She was pummeling her mother, tearing her hair out, kicking her. Yelling,
    “Die, you bitch! Die!” Even when Patty fell over and hit her head on the concrete floor of the garage, Melody didn’t stop. Simply jumped on top and beat her all the more. Even when she heard a command that brooked no argument: “Stop! Melody, stop!”
    She didn’t. But then she felt strong arms grab hers, pud her off, and by then it was too late to face the intruder, to turn around. It was all over anyway. Her energy was spent, the maelstrom dissolved. She felt hot and ashamed, couldn’t believe what she’d done. The sight of her mother crumpled on the floor made her want to cry. But it didn’t stop her from fighting.

CHAPTER THIRTY
    The girl writhed and twisted in Skip’s arms like some species of giant worm. Skip heard herself saying over and over: “It’s okay. It’s okay, Melody,” as if the girl were listening, or cared. She might as well have been in a coma for all she probably heard. And meanwhile she was dragging Skip around the garage like a teddy bear.
    Finally she changed her tactic and shouted, “Melody, be still!” and the girl came out of it. Quit fighting, twisted, and looked up at her. “Who the hell are you?”
    “Detective Skip Langdon, NOPD.”
    Melody went limp. “Oh. It’s over.”
    “No, it isn’t.” It was Patty. Skip had nearly forgotten about her. She whirled, still holding Melody.
    Patty was holding a gun in both hands. Skip’s heart leapt to her throat. How had Patty gotten her gun?
    But it wasn’t hers. It was probably one she’d pulled from her purse, one of the little gifts from a doting husband. Uptown ladies wouldn’t be caught dead without. In New Orleans, people didn’t just complain about crime, they all thought they were Dirty Harry.
    “Patty, it’s okay. Put the gun down.”
    “Let her go.”
    “Drop the gun first and we’ll talk.”
    “Let her go or I’ll shoot.” Her voice had risen.
    Gingerly, Skip let Melody loose, but the girl didn’t move.
    Patty said, “Melody, step to Skip’s right.”
    She obeyed, rubbing her elbows as if she were cold.
    “Patty, everything’s under control now. Give me the gun.”
    “Shut up!”
    “She’s going to kill us,” said Melody. “There’s nothing else she can do now. She tried to buy me off, but I didn’t go for it. So she has to loll me.”
    “Shut up!”
    Skip said,