Chains of Two

1149 ADI

Silence hangs heavy in the air, eating at my thoughts. I know you wanna ask, but you know what I’m gonna say. I stare at the ground as I walk, watching the dry, dusty earth push up from between my toes and cover my feet. I glance back at Mr. Jotham, and he gives me a sad smile; a request hides behind his brown eyes. He says one word. “Please?”

I raise an eyebrow. “She comin’ too?”

He lowers his head. “She is not yet ready, Crystal.”

Same thing you said last time. That’s what I thought. He told me a while ago that Mama would follow me if I left first. He said that she’d eventually hate her life too much to stay around here. But I don’t want “eventually.” He doesn’t have to look at her up close every day. He doesn’t see the marks and the bruises all over her arms and her face. 

I kick at the dirt. I can’t just leave her with him. Besides, Daddy’s a little nicer when I’m around. 

“Please stop askin’,” I say.

Mr. Jotham sighs and adjusts his grip on the two giant water buckets he carries. Sweat glistens on his dark skin, and his tall, lanky form bends from the burden. His breaths have been short and rapid for most of the way, but he hasn’t spilled a drop of water. He never does. I can’t haul these buckets far when they’re this full. I think that’s why he always fills them to the brim; that way, he has to carry them for me. 

Shouting voices from up ahead pierce the quiet evening. We both stop and exchange a knowing look. Mama and Daddy are yelling about something. “I’ll take ‘em from here,” I say. He nods and gently lowers both buckets to the ground. “Thank you, sir,” I add, doing my best to smile.

He bows slightly. “You are most welcome.” He watches me for a moment. “And Crystal?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Even if you never care for my questions, I ask that you remember this. The Lord is with you. He will not abandon you, and neither will I.”

He says stuff like that a lot.

I nod quickly, then peek over my shoulder. The shouting has died down somewhat. “You should get out of here,” I whisper, “Daddy’ll beat you up if he sees you.”

“Will he now,” Mr. Jotham chuckles. I glare at him and put my hands on my hips. He isn’t taking this seriously enough. “You don’t understand! He’s a real good fighter, and he’s a lot bigger than you.” An image of Daddy slamming Mr. Jotham to the ground flashes in my mind, and I shudder. “Please don’t let him see you,” I beg.

“He will not, unless I wish him to.” I catch a twinkle in his eye.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” I watch him closely. He seems really confident. “Just be safe.”

“I will, you have my word,” he says, “and the same to you.”

“Yes, sir.” I wave at him; he waves back and starts to walk away. Then, he stops abruptly, like he just heard something scary in the distance. He turns back and stares at me.

“What’s wrong,” I say. “Are you okay?” He looks sick. He blinks a few times and takes a deep breath. “I … yes.”

“Did you carry too much water? I’m sorry, you don’t have to do it after this.”

Mr. Jotham holds up a hand. “No, no. It has nothing to do with the water.” Tears form in the corners of his eyes and his right hand balls into a white-knuckled fist. He stares at the sky for a moment, then looks back at me. “Please, Crystal … would you come back with me?” Desperation drives his tone. “We will return for your mother. I will personally go with you when the time is right. But please, I beg you … come with me now.” His voice shakes. Other than Mama, I’ve never seen a grown-up cry or get this close to it.

I shake my head and throw him a confused look. I don’t know why he’s suddenly so upset, but we talked about this already. “I’m real sorry, but I ain’t gonna leave her. I can’t.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then stops himself. His shoulders slump. “Alright,” he says, his voice hoarse and husky. “Please … just … remember what I told you. You are not alone.”

“Yes, sir.”

He blinks a few more times and walks away.

I drag the buckets, one at a time, to our little camp. Daddy kneels in the dirt, working on a cooking fire. He nods in greeting when he sees me. Mama just lies on her back on her gray blanket, staring at the sky. Her left eye looks more swollen than usual. I resist the urge to step closer to try to get a better look.

“Took you long enough,” Daddy says.

“Yes, sir.”

Daddy holds up three freshly skinned rabbits. “That’s all we got. Stretch ‘em in a stew or somethin’. The boys are comin’ over tonight, so you be sure not to bother us none.”

“Yes, sir,” I say again, and my heart sinks. Mama and I don’t like Daddy’s friends. When he’s around them, he gets worse. Probably what he and Mama were shoutin’ about.

I drag our old, black, three-legged pot over to the fire and get to work. The sun crawls toward the hills as I put everything together. The air starts to chill. The stew starts to boil. It isn’t much, but I can make it work if I stretch it thin enough.

I squint at the steaming liquid as it bubbles. Little pieces of rabbit meat float to the top as I stir, and smoke from the fire fills the dry, evening air. I roll my shoulders and switch my grip on the wooden ladle. My arms ache like they want to fall off. I’d ask Mama to help, but Daddy would notice that she’s not doing anything. Right now, he seems content to leave her where she is.

I peer at her through the smoke and steam; she’s lying on her side now, facing me, staring blankly. She smiles in my vague direction, emptiness in her tired eyes, drool trickling from her cracked lips.

She must have taken more of the powder.

I sigh. That stuff has almost killed her before. I wish she’d stop, but at least she seems happy for a little while after she takes it. I get a better look at her face. The skin around her left eye swells with splotches of blue, purple, and a weird, ugly yellow. That has to be new. It wasn’t there this morning. 

Sometimes, when I watch her, I wonder if she just can’t feel it anymore when she gets hit. And then, I remember. That’s what the powder’s for.

I make myself smile back and I give her a little wave before I steal a glance in Daddy’s direction. He isn’t paying any attention to us. A grin lights up his face, and he moves toward the edge of the camp as two figures walk toward him. They’re here.

I recognize one of them, Mr. Jeb, Daddy’s best friend. The other man looks new. Maybe he’s one of Mr. Jeb’s friends instead. They all start talking and laughing, and Daddy brings them over to another, bigger blanket on the opposite side of the camp from Mama. Mr. Jeb pulls some little, glass jars full of clear liquid out of his bag, and Daddy launches into a story about some crazy animal that he killed with his bare hands. In this version, it’s a wolf. Doesn’t matter. It’s not like any of it’s true.

If he killed a wolf, I wouldn’t be stretching three little rabbits into stew for five people. I roll my eyes. Daddy grabs one of the jars and takes a swig. I don’t know why he likes it so much. The stuff is awful. Every time Mr. Jeb comes, he brings it, and he forces me to try some. Daddy says it’s made out of corn, but I don’t think it tastes like corn at all. It burns my throat going down, and I feel really weird afterward. The first time I drank it, I threw up.

The wind changes, blowing smoke straight at my face. I cough and step around to the other side of the pot as the ashy air stings my eyes and lungs. As I begin to stir again, I realize that Daddy and his friends aren’t talking anymore. A breath catches in my throat.

I’ve interrupted them.

I turn to face him; his gaze is locked on me, his jaw clenched, his eyes angry. My legs begin to wobble and fear squeezes my insides. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please don’t mind me.” Please don’t get up. If Mama were the one standing here, he’d have smacked her by now, but he doesn’t move.

I return my focus to the boiling stew, forcing myself not to check if he’s moving. At the edge of my vision, I see him lean forward to stand and my heart jumps in my chest. I grip the ladle, commanding my arms to continue the circular motion of stirring, commanding my breaths to remain even and quiet. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’, Crystal. He’s not gonna hurt you none. You ain’t Mama. You don’t usually mess stuff up. I close my eyes as tears form, and I beg them not to fall. Daddy doesn’t like it when I cry, or when I look afraid. He says it’s manipulative.

“Oh, don’t bust her up none. I’m enjoyin’ the view,” I hear Mr. Jeb say.

I peek over at him nervously. I don’t know what view he’s talking about. It’s just a bunch of broken-down old buildings behind me. I watch the group, waiting for Daddy’s response. He doesn’t usually take too well to being contradicted, but it looks like Mr. Jeb’s comment might have worked. Daddy relaxes again and observes me. Mr. Jeb leans back on the stack of furs he brought, with his arms behind his head. His large-brimmed hat casts a shadow over his eyes, keeping me from seeing them, but I can feel him watching me. He waves and flashes me a gap-toothed grin. He still has most of his teeth, so it’s not too bad.

I give him a little wave back and a subtle nod of appreciation. He might’ve just saved me from a bloody lip. That corn drink makes Daddy do some crazy stuff sometimes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he mistakes me for Mama someday and swings at me. I return to my stirring. The stew is nearly done.

Mr. Jeb tips his hat at me. “You’re quite a little lady, you know that?”

I don’t know how to respond, but it’s a nice thing for him to say. “Thank you, sir.” I make sure to emphasize that last part. Daddy says it’s important to be respectful to his friends.

He nods. “You’re most welcome. You’re growing up real quick.”

“Thank you again,” I manage. Something about the way he says those words makes my stomach turn; I don’t know why.

Daddy turns to Mr. Jeb. “What’re you doin’?” There’s a sharpness to his tone.

“Oh nothin’, just havin’ a good time’s all.”

Daddy’s face gets serious. “You lower your voice when you’re talkin’ like that. You think they ain’t gonna hear?” He glances around at the hills and buildings, a twinge of nervousness in his gaze.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Jeb retorts. “I don’t see nothin’ but the little lady.” He puts his arm around Daddy’s shoulder. “Why, just look at that, and you tell me you don’t see what I see. Don’t you worry none. Just the other day, I caved in a fella’s kneecaps, and nothin’ came of it.” He pauses for effect. “Absolutely nothin’.”

Mr. Jeb glances at Daddy like he’s waiting for him to agree. Daddy looks at me with a strange gleam in his eye, and his gaze slowly wanders up and down my body. The hair stands up on the back of my neck as discomfort crawls up my spine. I cross my arms over my chest. The feeling in my stomach gets worse. 

He’s never looked at me that way before.

“Sweetie, why don’t you, uh, get on over here and show your ol’ Pa how grown up you are,” Mr. Jeb says.

Daddy nods and wiggles a finger, beckoning me. “Yeah … yeah, come here, Crystal.”

My mouth suddenly feels too dry. I stare at the three men. Daddy glares at me. “What do you say, Crystal?”

“Yes, sir.” I swallow hard and take a hesitant step toward him. My stomach is tying itself in a knot. I want to throw up. I hear movement behind me as Mr. Jeb sits forward and reaches for my arm. I turn around. Mama pushes herself to her feet, the dazed stupor gone. She clears her throat.

“I’m sure you boys’ll have plenty of time tonight, but dinner’s just about ready. Crystal, why don’t you help me finish up?” She motions for me to come to her. I look back and forth between her and Daddy. He throws her a poisonous look.

“We’ll eat when we’re good and ready. Go finish it up yourself, woman. You ain’t done nothin’ all day.” He spits on the ground. “We’re busy right now.”

I wait for Mama to look down at her feet and scurry away like she always does. Instead, she marches right up to me and grabs my wrist. “Come on, I need your help,” she says, nearly dragging me back to the pot. I glance over my shoulder at Daddy. He’s still watching me with that new expression.

When we make it to the pot, Mama pulls me close to herself and whispers in my ear. “Crystal, I need you to listen to what I’m about to say, and I need you to listen real close.” I blink at her, confused. Her tone is desperate and lucid—too lucid.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” I whisper back.

“You’re gonna act like I sent you to go get somethin’. You’re gonna act like it’s over there.” She nods subtly at a couple of dilapidated buildings nearby. “You get behind one of those, and once they can’t see you no more, you run. You run and you don’t stop, do you hear me?”

I stare at her, grasping for a response. I don’t understand. Are you telling me to run away? “Why?” I breathe. “Can you just tell me what’s goin’ on? Mama, please.”

Her grip on my wrist tightens. “He’s gonna hurt you,” she hisses. “He’s gonna hurt you worse than he’s ever hurt me. They all wanna hurt you. Do you understand?” Her voice is like iron.

I nod quickly. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” The edge in her voice dies. “You get outta here, alright? Go.”

I blink at her. “What about you? I ain’t goin’ without you.”

“Yes you are,” she retorts. “This is where I belong.” She walks back to the pot.

They’ll know this was her idea. They’ll punish her. They’ll punish her because of me. I’m sorry, Mama. I’m not gonna let that happen. I take a second to push the fear out of my voice, then I turn back to the pot. “Mama, I think I forgot the last part of what you said. Where did you say you put ‘em again?” I walk up to her and add in a low tone, “I’m not goin’ unless you come with me.”

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head in short, small bursts of movement. I stick out my chin and meet her eyes. She needs to know that I mean this. I remember a phrase Daddy uses when he’s selling stuff to people. “Take it or leave it,” I say.

She says nothing.

I stare at the bruise around her eye and the dried blood around her split lip and defiance rises in my chest. “He’ll just keep hurtin’ you.”

“No, you don’t understand. We love each other.”

I shake my head. I don’t think he loves you at all. I clench my jaw and hold eye contact. “It’s him, or me.”

Her lower lip trembles. “Fine.”

“So are y’all servin’ this tomorrow or what?” Daddy’s voice pierces the moment. Mama straightens her back and turns to face him.

“Don’t you worry. We’re about done. We just have to get one more thing.”

Mama’s eyes meet mine, and I nod. She grabs our metal pan, and we walk as calmly as we can toward the far corner of the nearest building. I do my best to match Mama’s pace, but her gait is wobbly and uneven. The instant we clear the corner, Mama mouths the word “run,” and we both break into a sprint.

I follow her lead. She pushes ahead, stumbling forward, throwing her whole body into every step. Time after time, I’m sure she’s going to fall, but she never does. Sprinting quickly turns to jogging, and Mama’s breaths become raspy and shallow.

“Maybe we should just walk,” I say. She stops and leans down with her hands on her knees. Sweat drips from her face; she’s more pale than she should be. Her matted hair soaks up some of the moisture and sticks to her sunburned face.

“No, I can run,” she coughs out. I shake my head. 

“You should go on…” she pauses, wheezing for air, “go on without me. I’ll catch up.”

“No.” I take in my surroundings. The sun sinks low behind one of the taller buildings; it catches the dusty air and surrounds us in muted, smoky, golden light. “It’ll be night soon. They wouldn’t follow us out here after dark, would they?”

Mama closes her eyes. “I hope not, sweetie. I hope not.”

“Which way should we go? River’s over there.” I point to my right.

We didn’t bring water. We can’t afford to avoid the river for long.

Mama sighs. “Not that way, not yet. They’ll expect it. We’ll keep doing what we’re doing.”

Why are you so sure they’ll follow us? I don’t think we’d be worth the trouble.

We keep pushing as the sky turns dark. Mama sways while she walks and her eyes start to look glassy and empty. She stumbles a few times, and I suspect that she’s barely awake. My eyelids feel heavier and heavier, but I want to keep moving. I can’t shake the sense that we’re being watched.

Ruins loom on every side, broken scaffolding buried in piles of glorified rubble. A few shapes rise above the formless piles of rock and metal, but all of them are cracked and incomplete. Deep agonizing thirst creeps up on me, and I realize that I’ve been walking and running for hours with nothing to drink. A dry cough forces its way from my lips, and I decide that I will change course tomorrow and aim for the river if Mama isn’t aware enough to stop me.

We pass into a more open space as the moon reaches the middle of the sky. Fewer buildings mean fewer shadows, and I’m grateful for the light. Far out in front of me, a lonely golden glow suddenly comes to life. Near its center, I can make out the silhouette of a person, seemingly walking toward us. 

“Hello,” I call out, my dry throat cracking the word. The figure says nothing and continues to move in my direction. I step forward to meet them.

Mama squints. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s a person,” I croak. “I’m hopin’ they have some water.”

Mama shakes herself awake, raises the pan, and steps in front of me. “Who are you?” she says. She gets no response. “If you ain’t gonna tell us, then don’t get any closer.”

Whoever they are, they ignore her demands and wordlessly continue to approach. I can tell now that it’s a man.

“I’m warnin’ you,'' Mama raises her voice to a shout, “I will use this.” She points the pan in the man’s direction.

He steps close enough so that I can see his eyes reflect the light he holds. I gasp. It’s Mr. Jeb’s friend. Mama clearly recognizes him, too. She crouches, pan ready to swing. “Don’t you come any closer,” she spits.

The glow catches the scuzz in his grin and filth stuck in his long, red beard. He peeks around Mama to get a good look at me. “I don’t think we ever got properly acquainted.”

Mama points the pan at his face. “Go to hell. You ain’t layin’ a finger on her.”

“Oh, well, pardon me. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind” he says, leaning down and gently dropping the light on the ground. He relaxes for a moment, then he lunges at Mama. She tries to swing the pan, but he neatly knocks it out of the way with one hand and grabs her neck with the other. I scream as he lifts her into the air and slams her, head first, into the dirt.

I hold my breath as I watch her lie motionless on the ground. Hot, angry tears full of helpless rage stream down my cheeks. He stands over her, satisfied, and his gaze moves to me. I don’t move. I can’t. I need to hear her breathing. I need to hear something. I need to know she’s still alive.

My legs are stone as he steps in front of me, mere inches away. He takes a few strands of my hair and rubs them between his fingers. I stare at him, my mind unwilling to sort out my thoughts. Mama would want me to run, but I can’t run. I can’t leave her.

“Now, I sure hope you’re not going to try anything stupid.”

His eyes search for something in mine, and I see hunger in his gaze. I shake my head. He raises an eyebrow. “Good girl.”

A vague shape rises behind him, and the dull ring of metal on bone clashes in my ears. He lurches forward, and I barely step out of the way in time as he sinks to his knees, his face stuck in a confused expression.

I glance in the direction of the sound, and I see Mama standing over him, blood trickling down the side of her face, pan clutched in both hands. “I told you,” she says in jagged, shaky breaths, “not a finger!” She brings the pan down on the back of his head and he falls, face first, onto the dirt.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Mama takes a few wobbly steps around the man and puts her hand on my cheek. She brushes a tear away and tucks the loose strands of hair back into place behind my ear.

I try to tell her “Yes,” but my voice catches in my throat. Maybe it’s the softness of her hand. Maybe it’s the way her eyes are full of love. Maybe it’s the gentleness of her voice. I don’t know. The tears start all over again. I cry until I can’t anymore, and she holds me.

We start walking again, but we aren’t able to push for long. Mama stumbles with every step, and I make her stop. “I think,” she says, slurring her words, “I think I may need a nap.”

I eye her wound. Dried blood and dirt smear and stick around its edges, and I think the shape of that part of her head looks wrong. She catches me staring. “What is it?”

“Nothin’,” I say. “Nothin’ at all. I think a nap is a great idea.”

I lead Mama to the first suitable building I can find: a massive warehouse with all of its walls and most of its roof intact. Ancient tools and machines litter the floor, giant hooks stick to the walls, and the holes in the ceiling let the light leak in from outside. I rummage through all the junk lying around in the place. There isn’t really anything soft, but I do my best to make her comfortable. She falls asleep in seconds.

I watch her for a while, but my thoughts soon become muddy, and sleep takes me. The sound of someone vomiting forces me awake, and I sit up to find Mama curled up on her side, pure misery etched on her face. She tries to push herself to her hands and knees, but another round of vomiting cuts her attempt short.

“We… have to keep moving.” She rasps.

I crouch behind her and gently pull her away from the acidic puddle nearby.

“You… need to go,” she adds.

I shake my head. That seems to agitate her. “My head. I can’t walk. You’d best… go alone. It’s… okay.” She turns her head to make peripheral eye contact with me. “I… love you.” And she falls asleep again.

I sit in the darkness, staring up at the metal beams stretching from one end of the building to the other. A small ray of moonlight leaks through a hole right above me. I watch Mama sleep, and I think of my conversation with Mr. Jotham. Is this why he wanted me to leave? Did he know this was gonna happen? How would he know? I gently pull a bit of Mama’s loose hair away from her wound. He wanted me to leave you. Maybe if I had, this wouldn’t have happened to you. I told him I wasn’t goin’ without you, and I won’t. You hear me? I’m goin’ wherever you’re goin’. We’re gonna make it. I promise.

The floor feels colder and harder as the night passes. Mama doesn’t stir. The moon moves across the sky, shining through the roof at an angle and making little shapes out of light on the wall. My legs start to cramp, so I stand and walk quietly around the place, perusing everything I can distinguish in the dim light. I don’t see much beyond rope and tools, but one particular contraption catches my eye—a person-sized metal box on four wheels with a little handle. It’s small enough that I can pull it. I can make out specks of red paint still clinging to it. I wish it was bigger, but I think she can fit if she scrunches up a little. If she can’t walk tomorrow, then she won’t have to. I pull it to the side to make sure I can find it again when we leave.

I grab one of the bigger ladders and then slip outside the warehouse and climb to the roof. I stay close to the edge as I survey my surroundings. The roof looks thin, and I don’t want to walk in the middle and cause a cave-in.

The moon hangs low in the sky now, resting directly behind the ruined, scaffolded, top section of one of the taller buildings. Its light peeks through the small holes and around the thin lines. The night drags on. There isn’t enough light for me to see anything below, but I feel better now that I’ve tried. I scan the tops of buildings that I can see from here, just in case. There’s nothing.

I catch a glimpse of movement in the distance—a tiny section of moonlight around the scaffolding’s silhouette flickers and returns to normal as a small shadow passes in front of it for a second. I train my eyes on the moon and the scaffolding. Something moved for sure.

Motionless, I wait.

The flicker appears again, and I track the shadow’s movement from beginning to end, long enough to recognize—it’s a person. It fades from view before I can get a better look. I squint and focus entirely on the scaffolding and the light. The shadow moves in front of the moon again, but this time, it remains. As I continue to stare, I place more details until I’m able to make out the distinct silhouette of a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. A wide-brimmed hat? Panic jolts up my back and squeezes my lungs, but I keep looking. I need to know. I need to know if it’s him. The figure faces me and tips his hat in my direction. Then he waves. At me.

He saw me. He knows I’m here.

My stomach lurches and I almost lose my balance on the roof and fall forward. I force a breath in and out. Cold wind cuts through the thin cloth of my dress, and I shiver. His silhouette sinks back into the shadows and I lose sight of him. I have to go. I have to move. Now. Move, Crystal. Move!

I slap my own face and force my stubborn legs into action, scrambling back down to the ground and rushing inside. In a frenzy, I pull the metal box on wheels from its resting place, but a sudden realization stops me. There’s no way I can outrun him if I’m pulling this, and he’ll expect me to leave. Deep breath. He’ll expect me to panic. I glance at Mama sleeping; her pallid skin contrasts with her wound’s dark color. Even in mere moonlight, it doesn’t look red anymore. I can’t run and hide. I can’t wait this out. Mama needs help as soon as I can get it for her. I’ll have to trick him. I’ll have to surprise him.

I examine the walls, the ceiling, the ropes, the piles of ancient tools, and I see something promising. A huge axe sticks out of one of the nearer piles, like the one Daddy uses to chop wood. Only, this one is much bigger. I glance up at one of the hooks near the ceiling. I know what I wanna do. If I could swing the axe from one of the beams and use a hook on the far side to hold the rope in place, I could hit him from behind. I’d just need to keep him looking at me and make him walk where I want him to walk.

Wait, never mind; I’m gonna have to climb up there. That’s awful high. My legs shake and my knees suddenly feel weak. Maybe that’s too much. Probably won’t even work anyway. Mama moans in her sleep, and I remember. I made a promise. I’ll do whatever I’ve gotta do. Hang in there, Mama.

I finish my preparations just as the first bit of blue light touches the sky. Mr. Jeb can’t be far away. When the sun spills over the hills, I peek outside and I see him leaning on another building, watching me, no attempt to hide. He smiles and tips his hat. 

“Mornin’, little lady. And here I thought you mighta’ wandered off. But then, I didn’t see no footprints, so I figured you’d be right here waitin’ for me.” He steps closer.

I gulp and nod. “Yes, sir, you sure figured right.” The slimy feeling returns; he seems to look at all of me at once. “Mind if I come in,” he says, taking his hat off and holding it in one hand. I attempt my best smile, and beckon for him to follow me through the door. He obliges. Keep it together. Stick to the plan. You just have to get him to the spot. “So, Mr. Jeb,” I start out, “I have somethin’ I really need your help with.”

His face betrays surprise for a second, but he quickly readjusts. “Well, anything for you, and I’ll bet there’s somethin’ you could help me out with too. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds nice,” I say over my shoulder, begging my voice not to shake. “Problem is, Mama’s gone and hit her head real bad, and I don’t know what to do.”

His pace slows. I sense skepticism replacing some of his initial friendliness. “So now, is that why you ran away, or was that somethin’ else?” He’s clearly trying to trick me into saying something stupid.

I motion for him to keep following me and I take a few seconds to think of a response. Slowly I make my way toward the little mark I put on the floor. “Oh no, sir! That wasn’t my idea at all,” I say. Then I add, “Mama said I needed to, but I wanted to come right back.” I slip between the rows of stacked boxes that I set up to hide the rope and the pan, and he follows, keeping a few paces away.

“So, where is your mama?” he asks. His tone is harsher. He doesn’t believe me. I’m running out of time. He takes a step toward me, then another. He’s only two steps away from the mark now. “She best not be hidin’ around somewhere.”

“Oh no, sir, she’s right back here. I promise.” I point at Mama’s sleeping form just a few paces behind me. He looks from me to her, then back to me, shock taking over his expression.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“I don’t think she’s okay,” I say. I let some of my real fear leak into my voice. I think he believes me now. I’m glad I moved her over here. Daddy taught me something a long time ago. He told me that the best way to lie to someone is to tell them the truth about something else at the same time. Then, they won’t notice the lie quite as easily.

Mr. Jeb takes another step forward. “That’s, well… I’m real sorry about that. That’s not how we wanted it to be.”

Come on, just one more.

“If you could help me move her, we could go right back, and,” my insides squirm as I prepare to say the next words, “I could show you how grown up I am.” I step a little farther behind one of the boxes, enough that he can’t see my hands move. I pull the rope as quietly as I can and watch as the hook high on the wall behind Mr. Jeb turns to the side just like it’s supposed to and releases the rope connected to the axe.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he says and starts to turn around. Okay, I’m out of time. I grab the pan, yell as loud as I can, and run straight at him. His gaze jerks back to me before he has time to look at the wall. I swing the pan at his face, but he stops the impact and catches the blow without much effort.

“Really now,” he snarls. “You thought you could pull one over on me? Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll get what I came for.” He yanks the pan from my grasp and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me off the ground.

At that exact moment, the axe finishes its arc and embeds itself in his back with a nasty chunking noise. He drops me, and the air rushes from his lungs. He falls sideways, struggling for breath, and I watch, frozen in place. The axe dangles from its rope, dripping with Mr. Jeb’s blood. I wait for him to start moving, or to get up and try to grab me again. But he just lies on his side, gasping.

I turn back to Mama, and I feel my legs buckle underneath me. I catch myself on one of the boxes, suddenly feeling dizzy and light-headed. I take a few breaths and wait until the world stops spinning. “We need to get out of here, Mama. You ready?”

She half opens her eyes but she doesn’t respond. I find the metal box on wheels and bring it to her. “I need you to help me a little,” I say, putting her legs at one end. “I don’t think I can lift you by myself. I’ve just gotta get you in here.” She nods slowly and closes her eyes. She doesn’t do much, but I’m able to lift her upper body into the box. I bend her legs at the knees to make more room; then I roll her onto her side.

“Sorry, this might be a little bumpy.” I pull the box through the door and step into the early morning. The sunlight confirms what I already feared: Mama’s wound is turning black. I kiss her forehead and begin my trek. I drag her behind me all morning, steadily making my way toward the green in the distance. I check periodically for signs that we’re being followed. Sometimes I leave the metal box and circle back around a building or two to check for any footprints, but I never find anything. Morning melts into afternoon. My throat screams for water and my tongue feels crusty and dry in my mouth.

As I continue, little black spots start to swim in my vision. The sun beats down on us overhead, but for some reason, everything still seems dim. Mama wheezes when she breathes, and I stop after every few buildings we pass to swat the flies away from her. I don’t circle back anymore. I’m just too tired.

She moans in her sleep. Sometimes I can understand what she’s saying. Sometimes I can’t. The day wears on, and I find myself stopping at every building to catch my breath. I have to think really hard just to make my legs move, and the world seems to spin when I move my head too much. Mama’s breaths are raspier. She doesn’t moan or make other noises anymore.

The sun starts to hide behind the buildings. Shadows stretch in front of me and the dark spots infect most of my vision. I start to think less about how thirsty I am. Water would be nice, but—I’d much rather sleep. Over and over again, I have to catch myself. I close my eyes while I walk, and I jolt myself awake just before I trip on my own feet. I know I can’t stop. If I do, they might catch us, even if they’re wounded. They could still be following us right now.

But then, if I slept just a little, I could get us there tomorrow. I’d move faster if I had some sleep. The trees aren’t that far away. No, we can’t wait. I need to do it tonight. I need to… Without my permission, my eyes close again. My legs buckle, and my breath is punched from my lungs as I smack onto the dusty ground. I lie on my back, sucking in air. What was I just thinking about? My head hurts too much. I can’t remember.

The stars are out. They’re so pretty. I try to focus on them. I know I’m supposed to stay awake, but they get too blurry. More black spots appear; they leak from the corners of my vision. Everything darkens. This ground feels so good. It wouldn't hurt if I slept for a little while.

The world goes black and drifts far away.

I wake to the feeling of someone shaking me by my shoulders. I open my eyes. The sky is dark. A hand holds a small jar of clear liquid in front of my face, and I remember my thirst. Water! Thank you! I grasp the jar in both hands and start to drink. A familiar burning sensation erupts in my mouth and throat as I swallow. Not water. My eyes widen. Something clicks into place in the back of my mind. I hold the jar up and stare at it. My arm shakes. I turn to the person who handed me the drink, dreading what I’ll see.

Daddy leers down at me. “Hey sweetheart, you miss me?” He slurs each word, and a sharp, sour odor saturates his breath. 

I gape at him, my body refusing to move. How did I get here? Where am I? I push through my shock and force myself to think. He must have found us while I was asleep. “Is Mama alright?” I croak.

He looks surprised, then amused. “Alright? Is she alright?” He slaps his knee and laughs at the question. “She’s long gone by now.”

No, she wouldn’t just leave. How did she even get away? She was too weak to walk. “Where’d you make her go?” I demand. Panic ties my stomach in a knot. I scramble to my feet.

Daddy looks at me like I’m the dumbest person alive. “She ain’t goin’ nowhere, stupid. She’s gone. She’s bird food! She’s still layin’ in that wagon you dragged her around in. What about that can’t you get through your head?”

Time stops. “…what?” What! Everything fades in my vision except Daddy’s face. “You just… left her there?” I choke on the words. He shrugs. Rage boils in my chest. My whole body trembles and I ball my hands into fists. “You just left her to die?!”

You didn’t… you couldn’t have.

I scream and throw myself in his direction. I don’t have the pan or the rope or the axe, but I don’t care. I’m gonna claw your face off. Something behind me yanks my left arm, holding it in place with a grinding, clanking noise—metal on metal. My shoulder pops. I whip around. A thick, steel cuff is clasped around my left wrist, and a heavy chain, pulled taut, connects it to a pole a few paces away.

I turn back to Daddy and swing wildly at him with my free hand, but he stands just beyond my reach, arms crossed. He laughs at me again as he watches me struggle. Pain blossoms in my left wrist as the cuff cuts into it, but I keep pulling. Neither the pole nor the chain give ground, and my energy dies.

Reality sinks in. My shoulders sag. I suck in sharp, ragged breaths, standing still, staring at my chafed wrist. No tears come. I refuse to cry where Daddy can see. He taps his booted foot on the ground behind me. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he says. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

I stay silent. There’s no point in trying to fight him. Whatever it is that he wants to do, I can’t stop him. I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay awake. I wish I hadn’t made you come with me. This is all my fault.

Daddy grabs me and spins me around; his large, rough hands dig into me. I look up at him blankly, then beyond him. A man wearing loose, white robes stands at the top of the nearest hill, looking down at us. He walks closer, and I recognize his lanky form, sharp features, and dark skin. Mr. Jotham. But, he’s different. I’ve never seen him dressed like this. I feel my mind snap to life again and I collect my thoughts. Mr. Jotham, please, help me.

“David Hawkes,” Mr. Jotham’s voice booms with power and authority. It’s like he’s an entirely different person than the Mr. Jotham who carries my buckets. Daddy whirls around to face him and almost topples to the dirt. He sways, barely keeping his balance. “What do you want, preacher-man? I know your kind. You leave us alone.”

Mr. Jotham continues to approach. The white of his clothes almost seems to cast its own light. For some reason, he doesn’t seem that much smaller than Daddy anymore. “There is much that I want from you,” he says, his tone like thunder. “The judgment of the Lord Most High is upon you.” He stops right in front of Daddy. “You will learn to fear Him or you will perish.” Mr. Jotham’s eyes blaze with fury.

Daddy glances at me and back at Mr. Jotham. “This about her?”

Mr. Jotham’s jaw clenches. “This is about you. This is about the sort of man you are in the sight of God. Tread carefully.” He leans close to Daddy’s face, and I realize—he’s actually taller than Daddy. How did I never notice?

Daddy takes a small, wobbly step backward but he sticks out his chin. “Go back to your little town, preacher-man. Keep your nose where it belongs, if you know what’s good for ya. This here’s a family matter.” He points back at me. “She’s mine.”

Mr. Jotham’s expression is like stone. “Is she?” He spits the question. If words could kill, I think Daddy would be dead right now, but he doesn’t seem to care or notice. Daddy puts up his fists and crouches in a fighting stance. “You got a problem with me, you settle it like a man,” he says.

Mr. Jotham takes a deep breath; then, quicker than my eyes can follow, he grabs Daddy by the throat and hoists him high in the air with one arm. My eyes widen. He lifts him like he weighs less than an empty water bucket. Daddy kicks around and tries to pull at the chokehold, but nothing works. Mr. Jotham’s sleeve slips down his forearm to reveal a white, scar-like mark around his wrist.

I glance down at the cut I received from the chain, and I realize—it’s the exact same mark. Mr. Jotham… who put you in chains?

He glares at Daddy. “Let me make this abundantly clear for you,” he says through gritted teeth. “She is not yours. She is not your property. Her love is not your right. If you ever lay a finger on her for the purpose of perversion, an angel of the Lord Most High will cut you down where you stand. I warn you—do not play the fool. God is not mocked.”

Daddy nods hastily, gripping the arm that holds him, clawing for breath. Mr. Jotham throws him like a doll to the ground and places his foot on Daddy’s chest, pinning him down. “Death will find you as surely as the Lord lives if you do not come to repentance.”

“Alright, alright! Just let me go!” Daddy’s voice cracks. He squirms on the ground until Mr. Jotham releases him. Then, he scrambles to his feet and runs away like a spooked animal, disappearing into the night.

I sink to the ground. Exhaustion crashes over me. He’s gone. It’s over. I hug my knees to my chest and lie down on my side. Mama, I… I peer up at Mr. Jotham standing over me and I fight to force out the words that I want to say. “Was he... Was he tellin’ the truth?”

Mr. Jotham leans down next to me and takes my chained wrist in both his hands. The cuff crumbles to dust at his touch. “No,” he says softly. “She is perfectly safe and far away from all of this. Would you like me to bring you to her?”

I try to say, “Yes, sir,” but the world swims again, and I can’t push the words out. I close my eyes, and everything grows distant. Strong hands lift me from the dirt, and I hear Mr. Jotham’s voice again. “You can rest now,” he says.

I nod and let sleep overtake me.

I wake to the gentle warmth of afternoon sunlight and the caress of a soft breeze. I open my eyes to see a familiar face smiling down at me. Mama. Mama! 

She’s wearing the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen, and all of her cuts and bruises are gone. Her hair looks soft and clean, and her eyes seem bright and happy. She looks perfect. “Hi sweetheart,” she says, and I realize that my head is resting in her lap.

“Are you real?” I breathe. “Is this real?”

She nods, as tears fill her eyes. “Yes, it’s all real. This is our home now.”

I push myself up and wrap my arms around her, and a sob rises in my throat. “I thought I lost you,” I manage. She holds my head close to hers and whispers in my ear, “No, you never lost me. You saved me.” She pulls back, pushes some of my hair away from my eyes, and cups my face in her hands. “You were so brave.” She chokes on the words. “You were so, so very brave. He told me about everything you did.” Her gaze moves to something behind me, and I turn to find Mr. Jotham watching the two of us.

He smiles my way. “Welcome to New Rock Creek.”

“Thank you very much,” I say. Then, I turn back to Mama and hug her again. We stay like that for a long, long time.

When we finish, Mr. Jotham offers me a hand, and I let him lift me to my feet. I stare breathlessly at this wonderful, new world and drink it all in—the soft grass tickling my feet, the wind rustling the trees nearby. Everything is so green, so full of life.

“Well,” Mr. Jotham says. “What would you like to do first?”

“Oh…” a giddy feeling rises in my chest, “I don’t know. How about everything?” I grin up at him.

“An excellent choice,” he laughs. “Everything, it is.”

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