Chapter Three: The Deleted Screenwriter

She had never remembered a sister. Yet she knew someone slept in the upper bunk. She knew the cherries had to be divided in two. She knew that when their mother called “Little Mo,” another girl answered, “I’m here.” Ownerless gestures had found a body. Qiao Lu was her sister. The director’s phone was off. Xu said Qiao had left the celebration carrying a master reel labeled SEVEN. Page seven of the script had changed. Wet pencil appeared in its margin: GO HOME. TAKE THE KEY FROM BENEATH THE BED. The apartment where Lin had lived after age ten awaited demolition. In its powerless stairwell drifted the film’s smell of wet wood. The walls became Number Thirteen’s dark green. With each floor, the apartment numbers decreased.