Page 65 of A Foster Fling
“Maybe no one should have this hair,” she says, venom spewing from her words. “Maybe if I cut it all off, there will be no more issues.”
“Do it,” I tell her. “Cut it off. I don’t care.”
My heart is broken, sitting so heavy in my chest, and each breath I take into my lungs burns. I miss Abbe.
Pearl begins to saw through her second handful of hair, when I hear a loud, grunting noise. I look up to find John storming up the stairs with a large, pointed branch. Pearl turns at the sound, but she doesn’t have a chance to protect herself because her son rams the branch through her torso.
I scream at the sight of blood pouring out of her stomach as she grabs onto the branch, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Pearl drops to her knees as dark blood coats the floor, and her eyes roll into the back of her head.
John grabs my hands, throws me over his shoulder, and runs for the door. I lift my head to look and I find Pearl still there on her knees, watching me, a small smile on her mouth.
I’m tossed into the cart attached to the back of the horse, and John jumps onto the saddle, urging it to run off into the woods. I try to lean up to look for Abbe’s head, to get one more look at the man I love, but I’m jostled and knocked back down in the cart.
The sky is a crystal blue, the clouds like white wisps floating across the cerulean surface, and the trees move with blurring speed in my peripherals. The carriage rocks under my back, and the horse’s hooves hit the earth like pounding drums.
I’ve been rescued.
Or have I?
My hands are bound in front of me, my ankles tied tightly together, and my hair—the long, tangled strands—fly out around me, like taunting tentacles. They’re the reason I’m in this mess, and she’ll never let me go as long as I have them.
“She’ll find us,” I yell out to John, his frantic gaze meeting mine over his shoulder. Then his body molds to his horse as he pushes it harder. “She’ll always find me.”
“No, I killed her.”
“She can’t be killed.” I roll my eyes. “Not as long as her essence is alive.”
“What essence?” he curses as a wayward branch hits his shoulder.
“Me... It means me. She can’t die if I’m alive.”
“That can’t be true,” he huffs. “I would know if I killed her or not, trust me. I saved you.”
“Fool,” I mutter as I close my eyes. “There’s no saving me.”
We pull up to a dark cabin in the woods, the roof sinking in, the walls dark with age, and vines creeping around the wooden planks. John dismounts off the horse, then comes around to the cart, and slowly cuts away the ropes around my wrists and legs. He helps me out, and I stand there, my heart heavy, and my stomach like a block of ice.
“You can stay here, Zelinda,” he tells me. “This is the cabin where my mother grew up.”
“She will find me here,” I tell him.
“She is dead. I killed her.”
He guides me inside. The smell of mold and mildew hits my nose, but at least I’m no longer a prisoner.
“I can stay with you for a bit,” he says. “I can fix it up, clean it up a little. It’ll be a home.”
I don’t know how long I’ll stay here for, but I do know eventually Pearl will come back for me. She’s not dead, not as long as I’m alive.
——
I rock in the chair on my front porch, watching as she runs and giggles across the yard. She looks like him.
“Abby,” I call out. “Be careful of those sticks.”
“Yes, Mama,” she giggles as she continues to chase the butterflies. I run my fingers through my hair, but then my hand falls away, just at my shoulders. No longer do I have the long tresses that touch the ground. I chopped all my hair off, and it was liberating. I am no longer a prisoner.
I don’t know if Pearl survived, or if she actually did perish that day. John still visits, but we don’t speak of his mother. He’s been living in town, where he enjoys people, but sometimes he has to get away because his bad blood overrides his humanity.