The Witcher Chime

by Amity Green

  “I’m parked out by the road,” he answered.

  “This isn’t a delivery guy, Molly. I’ll be right back.”

  “So you know him?” Molly asked.

  “Would you hold on just a sec?” Savannah asked.

  Witcher nodded. “Of course.” He rolled his hat into a palm and turned to look out into the yard while he waited.

  She turned to shoo Molly inside. “He works at the feed store in Woodland, not for the Post Office, Molly.”

  Molly stepped back in, mouthing “He’s super gorgeous!”

  Savannah ignored her little sister’s statement of the obvious. “I just need a second, okay?”

  Molly nodded. “You’re telling me everything.”

  “Maybe if you’re a good girl and get lost,” Savannah said.

  “What's his name?”

  The word “Witcher” nearly fell out of her mouth, so she slammed her jaw closed and swallowed hard. “Val,” she said, after a moment.

  “As in, like, Kilmer?” Molly’s eyes sparked. “He’s even got a hot name!”

  “Go away,” Savannah whispered.

  “Well, this explains all the trips to town,” Molly teased.

  Savannah refused to answer, just turned and quickly pulled the door closed.

  Witcher stepped to the side so she could come out onto the porch steps. She kept walking toward the driveway with him in tow, waiting until she was sure they were out of earshot before she stopped.

  “I was starting to think you flew off into the sunset, never to be heard from again.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure her sister was still inside. “What do you want?”

  “I miss you,” he said.

  “That’s ridiculous. You could be anywhere on the planet right now, doing God knows what. If you think for one second I believe you’re back here simply because you miss me, you’re crazy. I didn’t just fall off the damned turnip truck.”

  Savannah sighed and looked past him to where a group of magpies squabbled by the driveway. Sunshine illuminated the name on the headgate, “Witcher” glinting bright.

  “I like that. Val,” he said, stepping onto the cobbles. He waited for her to join him and continued to stroll. “You’re right about all of that. Having my freedom once again gave me a reminder of what I once had.” He put the ball cap on, messing with it a moment until Savannah reached to snatch it from his head. Witcher continued, ignoring the hostility. “All I could think about was you. This is what I want. To be a man, and that is all, as long as I’m with you.”

  “Look, just because that’s what you want, doesn’t mean you’re welcome to crash my life. Things are going well here, and Molly needs me to help her with Victoria. I think you should go back to gallivanting the planet. I don’t want to be with you.”

  Witcher looked past her, watching the horses and wind in the trees. “It’s not up to you.” He looked at her with sincerity. “But I think you know that.”

  After a moment, she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, with a sigh. “I need your help with something,” she said, moving on before he caught anxiety in her voice.

  He grinned, looking more at ease. His hair brushed the collar of the jean jacket, which actually looked pretty good on him. The skin of his face was lit with life, a bit of color beneath his eyes and a smattering of laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. He looked more real than ever.

  “Of course,” he said, watching her for direction.

  She put her hands in the hip pockets of her jeans and turned back toward the barn. She walked casually with him pacing at her side.

  “Molly and Sam are watching a movie in there and I hate to pull Sam away.” She pulled the heavy barn door open wide. Witcher opened the other before she could reach for it.

  Inside, the horses erupted in fits of squeals, running in and out of their stalls. They stared at him with their ears cocked forward, pawing. Savannah walked farther inside, knowing Witcher’s presence would agitate them even more. She led the way past a small tractor with a loader bucket attached to the tack area and picked up a box of medical supplies, handing it over with purpose.

  “Hold onto this for just a minute, okay?”

  Witcher nodded, keeping an eye on the protesting horses that pawed and grew more audacious in their outcry. She milled around, digging through a milk crate of old halters and lead ropes as he watched the antics in the pens. With two hands firmly locked around the handle, Savannah hefted a pitchfork and twisted into him, driving the tines through his right arm and the top of his shoulder, straight into the wooden wall at his back.

  Confused, he let the box fall from his grip. Crimson spread along the prongs as she backed away fast. His face contorted with pain and he tried to pull the pitchfork free with his left hand.

  Encouraged by the sight of him actually bleeding, Savannah bolted for the tractor and clamored into the seat. If he bled he might actually die for good. The engine cackled to life on the first try and she popped the brake, raising the bucket and roaring the engine to get the wheels turning toward him before he broke loose from the wall.

  He yelled for help, wincing and yanking to get free, but she couldn’t hear what he screamed through the sound of the tractor’s engine. She leveled the bucket at his face, then dropped it a couple inches to the same height as his throat. One big romp on the gas and the little tractor lurched forward, right at Witcher’s struggling body.

  “Hey!” Sam’s voice cut through the din. He waved his arms to get her attention, looking from her to where Witcher cried for help, pinned to the wall.

  “Get back!” she yelled.

  “Savannah, stop!” Molly screamed. Sam jumped up onto the deck beside her and grabbed the controls.

  “You’re going to kill him, Savannah,” Sam yelled, pulling her hands free.

  “That’s the damned point,” she growled. Sam’s hands hooked into her palm, prying her grip free. The tractor rocked, the bucket lunging toward Witcher’s head. Molly ran toward him and grabbed at the hay fork, knocking it loose.

  Witcher slid down the wall, grasping his shoulder.

  “No!” Savannah yelled. Sam knocked her hands completely free of the levers and the tractor came to a sudden halt. He pushed past her and killed the motor. Dirt and straw settled in the dirt as the bottom of the tractor’s bucket bobbed, inches from Witcher’s horror-filled face.

  “Val!” Molly yelled. She hit her knees beside him. “Are you okay?” Blood ran from a neat row of four puncture wounds across his shoulder and arm. She kicked the pitchfork away.

  Savannah hopped off the other side of the seat and grabbed the wooden handle, then dove under the bucket with the tines pointed straight at Witcher’s throat.

  Witcher swallowed hard and put his hands up, palms forward. “Please—”

  “Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Savannah yelled. She leaned in, setting the two middle tines into the flesh above his Adam’s apple a little deeper without punching through his skin. “Get back, Molly.”

  “What are you doing, Savannah?” Molly asked. “Stop it!”

  “He did it all, Molly. He’s the monster. He made Dad do things. He’s the one who made Mom and Chaz go away.”

  “Savannah, there’s no way he did all that,” Molly said, her voice breaking. “I think you’re finally just cracking up a little.”

  “No, Molly!” Savannah yelled, without taking her eyes from Witcher, who did his best to feign outright fear for his life. “He did it all. He made the blankets trap you that night. He was the mountain lion that chased us, weren’t you, Witcher?” She leaned in, digging the tines in a little farther.

  Witcher shook his head, best he could. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Savannah. Please stop,” he said with a shaky voice.

  “Savannah, listen to me. That was a bad dream, is all, remember?” Molly watched her with huge, scared eyes. “We talked about it. And there really was a mountain lion that day. I saw it, too. Please, let Val go. You don’t want to hurt anybody, Va
nnie.”

  “His name is Val-Kryel. He used to be an angel, but he fucked up! Didn’t, you, ‘Val,’” she sneered. “Now you’re just a piece of shit demon.”

  “Okay,” Sam drawled. “Put the hay fork down, Savannah.” Sam was at her side. “Molly, go call my dad.”

  “No! Molly, you stay right here.”

  Molly shook her head, backing toward the door. “I’m sorry, Vannie.” She turned and bolted.

  Savannah choked up her grip on the wooden handle, screamed and jammed the fork forward, just as Sam smashed into her. Witcher grasped the base of the handle and flung himself away, nearly losing his footing. Sam tried to grasp each of Savannah’s arms but she beat at his face with her elbows and fists.

  “Get him, Sam!” she screamed. “He killed my dad. Please don’t let him get away!” She kicked her legs, trying to get free, but Sam was too wiry and strong. They fell to the ground and he rolled on top of her, pinning her face down in the dirt.

  “Don’t hurt her,” Witcher said, coming to stand beside Sam. “She needs some help. There’s no way the sweet girl I love would ever do this on purpose.”

  Savannah pushed at the ground, flailing, trying to get out from under Sam’s weight. She managed to roll to her back beneath his legs and free one arm, which she sent smashing into Sam’s temple.

  Quick as a reflex, Sam punched her in the jaw in a knee-jerk response.

  Her head rocketed back against the ground and every muscle in her body contracted, rigid and flexed.

  “No!” Witcher yelled, reaching for her.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Sam said. “I just swung when she hit me ….”

  Her eyes closed as her frame relaxed. Savannah went to sleep with Witcher’s concerned face burned into her mind’s eye.

  ***

  Chapter 25

  Antiseptic and bleach made each new breath burn like it was laced with acid. Tears pooled inside each ear canal. Her throat was stripped raw from breathing in the chemicals, so when she tried to swallow, pain rasped from the back of her mouth down into her chest. A cough broke loose knots of phlegm that caught in her lungs. She controlled her panic, taking shallow breaths to get around the way her lungs ceased on too much air. The unmistakable sound of her heartbeat pinging on a monitor behind her calmed, from staccato to metronome as she gained control.

  Savannah tried to sit up but couldn’t get started off her back. She blinked away a film of oil that clung to her eye lashes. A dim bar of fluorescent lighting came into view on the ceiling. She stared at it groggily, trying to remember which room in the house had such a hideous fixture.

  Something cold and smooth rested on the bed at the end of her fingers, but she couldn’t move her hand from the mattress. She took turns pushing and pulling at the rounded object until it finally clanked to the floor and made a racket that shot pain through her head. She stopped moving, waiting out the headache.

  Moments later when she felt like she could move without her head splitting in two, Savannah raised up just enough to look beyond her feet at a white-on-white room with a metal door that hung open. Shuffling grew loud, accompanied by the sound of wheels turning, grating against ungreased bearings. She set her head back down, wondering if more sleep would help the way she felt, which was like she’d been hit by a truck.

  “You’re awake,” a female voice lilted from the doorway. A hefty woman in a shortsleeved white shirt and matching pants walked to the bedside. “Wanda” was emblazoned in green on a black name tag on the shirt. The woman’s face was round, and sweet and her hair was twisted into a tight bun on the very top of her head. She smiled down with genuine warmth pouring from her blue eyes.

  “Your sister is going to be so relieved, sweetheart. She and that beautiful little niece of yours left just a while ago.” Wanda leaned over the bed, squinting at a long line of clear tubing leading to a hanging bag of fluid that Savannah hadn’t noticed before.

  “Water?” Savannah grated, hoping her one-word request would come out audibly.

  “Good girl,” Wanda exclaimed, a little too excitedly. “We have to get you back up and running. I’ll be right back.” She paced out the door, moving faster than Savannah expected her to go.

  Savannah conceded defeat to the throbbing in her head and closed her eyes to wait.

  “Here we go,” Wanda called, again a little too perkily. She pulled up alongside the bed with a small cup and put a fat straw to Savannah’s lips.

  Savannah pulled a few gulps then let her head fall back again. “Thank you.” She tried to pull some hair back from her forehead, but the motion was jerked to a stop. A thick, Velcro strap held her wrist close to the metal bed rail. She blinked, turning her palm up.

  “Why is this here?”

  “I never know the details, sweetie.” Wanda held the cup close. “Need a little more?”

  Savannah shook her head so Wanda set the cup down and bent to check the IV attached in the top of Savannah’s hand.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Just a mild sedative to help you rest.”

  “I want to go home,” Savannah said, trying not to let her alarm come through her in her words.

  “That’s not up to me,” Wanda said. “I’m here to keep you comfortable, fed and watered.” She beamed a grandmother’s smile all over Savannah’s face.

  “Is there anyone here I can talk to about getting out of here?” Parts of her body slowly woke up, aching from lying in the same place for too long. She winced, moving her legs the little bit allowed by a large strap across her thighs. Two matching cuffs held each bare ankle firmly against the bed. “I’m stiff here,” she said.

  “I’ll set you up.” Wanda went to work at the side of the bed, and a moment later the larger straps around her waist and hips slackened just a little. The bed burst into a hum as the back began to lift. Once Savannah was sitting up, Wanda pulled her forward and settled a new pillow behind her head.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah. So, is there any way you could call my sister for me?”

  “I need to tell the doctor you’re awake. Let’s ask him,” Wanda answered with an eager nod.

  “All right,” Savannah said, watching Wanda’s face bounce.

  “I just talked to Molly and let her know you’re awake.” Witcher appeared in the doorway with a large man in an outfit matching Wanda’s. He smiled. “She said to tell you she loves you and she’ll be here as soon as Sam picks her and Victoria up from the house.”

  Savannah watched his lips moving, wondering why he still spoke when he had to see the way the color drained from her face. She looked at Wanda, who’d managed to paste on an even bigger smile and was looking right at him.

  “Hi sweetie,” she said. “Looks who’s up.” Looking from Witcher and back to Savannah, she lowered her voice and put a hand up to cover a mock, whispered secret. “You’re a lucky girl. He is just darling.”

  All the air rushed from Savannah’s chest in a gust as she looked past Wanda to where Witcher stood talking with the other nurse. She shook her head wanting to shout a hundred protests at once. Witcher shook the nurse’s hand and came to her side.

  “Hi babe,” he smiled down at her and moved the strand of hair that had been bugging her earlier, tucking it lovingly behind her ear. Tears filled her eyes, mixing with the oily junk they’d smeared across them while she was out.

  “I’ll just give you two a minute and go fetch the doctor,” Wanda called from the doorway. The big door swooshed closed and clicked with finality.

  “Back off,” Savannah growled.

  Witcher’s smile turned to an amused grin that showed his dimples. He rested his forearms on the bedrail next to the cuffs that latched down her straps. “Did she tell you you’ll be transferred to Pueblo this afternoon?” He swiped at a tear with a freshly plucked tissue. “You’ll be right up there with Aunt Stella.”

  “I’ll tell them you’re not who you say you are. This isn’t going to work,” she said, boldly.

  “Y
ou’re wrong there. I explained that we’d actually met when you were in the second grade. Molly backed up my story, although she’d never had the pleasure, but she did admit that I knew who your teacher was back then, and that you used to wear those damned pop bottle bottom glasses. Had a fear of thunder … let’s see, what else?”

  He stood up, taking interest in the IV line attached to her hand. “That we’d bumped into each other when I got the job at the feed store, just like you told Molly and Sam. We’d been dating for a few months. I’d helped you cope with the tragedy that was Jack Caleman’s disappearance or untimely death. Whatever.” He released the line and bent to lean close again. “I didn’t press charges, by the way,” he said, and popped loose two buttons on his shirt to show her the row of scabs from the pitchfork. “Almost good as new.”

  “Mind you, allowing you to stab me wasn’t fun, but it was very well worth it. I mean, here we are.” He pulled his shirt closed and buttoned up, still talking. “I told them you were under so much pressure after the last year, that you lost it briefly. That I know you’ll be fine and back to your sweet,” he paused, gazing at her face and tracing her jaw with a finger, “beautiful self very soon. That’s the kind of guy I am.” He grinned.

  Witcher stood and walked toward the door, turning to look at her with his hand on the knob. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Please come home soon. I love you, Savannah. More than anything I’ve ever known.”

  ***

  If You Liked …

  If you liked Witcher Chime, you might also enjoy:

  Scales Book One of the Fate and Fire Trilogy

  ***

  About the Author

  Amity Green was born in a small town in Colorado in the spring of 1971.

  She graduated high school in Kingman, Arizona in 1989. She started taking college courses in the fall of 1992 while working as a raft guide on the Arkansas River. Amity won her first writing award as an essayist in the fall of 1998 and continued college part time while raising her children and working as a haul truck driver in the mining industry. In the summer of 2006, she went to Austin, Texas to continue her education.