Cody shook his head. “I’m not going down there.”
“Why, you afraid of ghosts?” Troy snickered.
Cody and Michelle both looked at Gretchel, who was trying to hide behind the menu. Cody had a sad, sympathetic look in his eye. Michelle giggled.
“Well, I’m not afraid of ghosts… or witches,” Troy said and grabbed Gretchel’s hand under the table, bending back her fingers until she nearly screamed.
As soon as he let go, she grabbed her purse and coat and stomped out of the club. She had reached her limit.
It was bitterly cold outside, but it felt like heaven. Gretchel was burning up from the inside. She turned to see if Troy had followed her, but the only person she saw was the Woman in Wool sitting underneath an oak tree.
“Leave me alone!” Gretchel screamed.
“Baby Girl, I’m taking you home?”
She zipped around to see Cody. She turned back to the tree. There was no one there.
“This isn’t happening,” she whispered to herself.
“You don’t look good. Is something going on?” Cody put his hands on her shoulders. They were warm and comforting. “Are you hearing things again?”
“Just leave me alone,” she whimpered, but she didn’t push him away. He embraced her, and she buried her head in his chest.
“Look, Troy’s pissed, and he told me to take you home,” he paused. “Are you aware of what’s going on, Gretchel?”
She started looking around for the Woman in Wool. It was all in her head, she tried to convince herself. Then she tried to focus on what Cody had said.
“Yes, I know. Just take me home. I’ve got to get out of here. I’m sick. I’ve got a migraine, the flu, whatever you want to tell them. I’ve just got to get out of here.”
Cody led her to his huge truck, but she hesitated at the door. The sense of déjà vu was almost overwhelming. Before she could stop herself, she screamed as loudly as she could.
∞
By the time she got home, Gretchel felt a little less crazy. She’d jumped out of the truck in the middle of Cody’s tirade against their cheating spouses. Inside, the boys were still in the living room playing video games. She informed them she was sick, and going to bed.
“She’s not sick. She’s just pissed at my dad,” Zach said.
Gretchel froze at the top stair landing, listening.
“Well maybe your dad shouldn't be messing around with my mom. He’s a jerk.” Ben retorted.
“Yeah, well your mom’s a bitch. They deserve each other.”
“I bet Troy’s trying to get control of the dealership. Why else would he cheat on your mom? She’s hot. Every guy in town wants her.”
“My mom’s an insane train wreck,” Zach spat.
“Still hot, bro.”
“C’mon, man. You’re talking about my mom,” Zach mumbled. Then he looked around for his mom, and pulled the missing bottle of Scotch from between the couch cushions.
Gretchel sighed, shook her head, and continued her way up the stairs. She couldn’t cope with her son’s drinking. Not right now. Resisting the urge to join him was taking all the strength she had. She continued to the master bath, struggling to make sense of everything that had happened in the last few days. After years of maintaining a perfect veneer of anesthetized normalcy, Gretchel felt her life spinning out of her control.
She ran a hot bath. This ablution and her habit of rising early to greet the goddess of dawn were the only rituals she had left. Had Troy known what these practices meant to her, he would have found them incompatible with their upwardly-mobile, gated-community lifestyle, but he just thought that his wife enjoyed a long, steamy soak and an early-morning run.
As she eased herself into the water, Gretchel was reminded of the dream that had come to her in the cottage. She returned to the scene before the Woman in Wool had arrived. She willed herself to feel that sense of safety again. Yes, her life was spinning out of her control, but maybe she could trust that fate had something in mind for her besides an endless cycle of silent pain and carefully sustained numbness. Gretchel let the warm water hold her, and allowed herself to indulge in a memory that she’d been afraid to revisit for ages. Once, long ago, she had heard the voice of fate incarnate. She had heeded that voice, and it had led her to the boy with the aquamarine eyes.
∞
Carbondale, 1990s
The end of her freshman year of college was quickly approaching. She had barely passed all her classes, what with the hangovers, her job, and Troy. He had announced he was going home to Chicago for the summer. They had been dating–if one could call it that—since Halloween. She was going to be glad to be rid of him and his horrible friends. But she couldn’t go home herself. Not yet.
She didn’t know how she would be able to afford to stay in Carbondale for the summer, but she was determined to find a way. Otherwise she would be back in Irvine working on the farm. She didn’t mind the work; she just wasn’t ready to go back. Even though she desperately missed the countryside and the cottage, Carbondale had been a fresh start for her.
She told herself it was also the perfect opportunity to break away from Troy. Teddy had been right. He was a predator, and nobody would ever believe how evil he could really be.
Her plan had three steps: Find a cheap place to live, work hard all summer, and disappear from Troy’s life forever. It was a big campus, and even when she returned to the dorms in the fall, she would find a way to steer clear of him.
But it was May already, and she was running out of time to complete the first part of her plan. She was at Mary Lou’s, reading The Daily Egyptian, when the ad caught her eye. “room opening: Free rent and utilities. Minimal household tasks required.” followed by a phone number. Gretchel couldn’t believe it; it just seemed too good to be true. She ran to a pay phone as fast as she could.
A man answered, and she remembered how the voice had made her feel blissfully loved—safe, even. She didn’t know that hers was the nineteenth call. She didn’t know that the nineteenth call was the one the man on the other end of the line had been waiting for, or that he’d gotten the message to wait for the nineteenth caller in a dream.
“I’m calling about the room in the house on Pringle.”
“It’s open immediately. Tell me, honey love, do you have a green thumb?”
Gretchel was perplexed. “Yes, I was raised on a farm.”
“Stupendous. You’ll have three roommates,” he said, and then took her name and contact information. “Do you have any questions?”
She had quite a few, in fact. “Do I have to prove I’m in school? Do I pay any rent at all? And do I meet you or something? I mean I don’t even know your name.”
“I know you’re in school, I can tell. No rent, no utilities, and intuition tells me we will meet someday when the time is right. Timing is everything, honey love.”
“And your name?” Gretchel asked.
“You can call me Peter—or Pan, if you have a sense of adventure. Are you the Wendy type?”
“I’m more of an Alice,” Gretchel said.
What planet was she on? Things like free rent, and anonymous landlords that called themselves Peter Pan just didn’t fall out of the sky.
“Why are you doing this? I mean, it seems too good to be true.”
The man laughed. “No need for the paranoia, honey love. I recommend you trust the blessings that come your way. You wanted this, did you not?”
“Well, yeah, but what’s the catch?” Gretchel inquired.
“There is no catch. I like to give,” he said.
“What do you want from me besides the upkeep of the house?” she asked.
“The question is what do you want besides the upkeep of the house? Your world is malleable, my dear. Chew on that for awhile. What is it that you really want?” Peter asked, and then hung up before she could even begin to answer that huge, never-ending question.
What did she want then? She wanted forgiveness, she wanted justice, and sh
e wanted closure. That was the main reason she had gone to SIU for school. She had avoided her real intentions all year, but that day, after that phone call she knew she had to find Devon—an old family friend—and make things right. She needed to see him, to talk to him. She needed to face a part of her past that had been nothing short of beautiful and pure, but had turned disastrous.
If she saw him then she could move on, at least a little. She could focus on what she really wanted, which was to learn, to experience, to connect with the earth on levels she never had, and then take all that and release it back out into the universe. Above all, she was craving connection, intimacy, and someone who understood how to ride the waves. Someone who would understand her quirks, someone who was capable of having an intellectual conversation, someone who understood that sex could be not just a hit and run accident, but also a nice long drive in the country. And she didn’t just want someone; she wanted the boy with the aquamarine eyes—the eyes she had searched every face for after the eve of her fourteenth birthday, the night that changed her life forever.
Gretchel closed her own eyes and let her mind drift back to that night. Her throat began to close with unshed tears as she replayed the conversation she’d had before she left the house that night. Clairvoyance was a gift that appeared in every generation of her family, at least as long as anyone could remember, and the boy with the aquamarine eyes had appeared in a vision that was clearly intended for Gretchel. There had been more to that vision, but Gretchel was young enough—and foolish enough—to only hear the parts she wanted to hear.
If she could only go back, she would heed the warning contained in that vision, she would stay home. Everything would be different. Everything.
But she hadn’t listened, and she couldn’t go back. The Wicked Garden had always been cursed, but Gretchel was responsible for a few of the restless spirits doomed to walk through its weeds forever. And forever was exactly how long she would carry that blame. A ripple of guilt washed through her.
Gretchel sank down deep in the tub, letting the water reach her chin. She came back to the present—which wasn’t much of an improvement. Waking up in the truck had spooked her—badly. This wasn’t how she wanted to start her new year. “But what do I want? What do I really want?” she asked herself aloud. I still want the boy with the aquamarine eyes. I always will. Then her thoughts shifted back to Troy, and all she could think about was burying him in the Wicked Garden. His was a soul she would gladly consign to that unholy, unhappy place.
∞
Irvine, 2010s
“Goddess, guide me.”
Gretchel was in the back yard, her arms stretched toward the blue moon.
She had married Troy because she felt that she deserved him. She felt that she needed to be punished. She let him take away her power, and then she had sacrificed her children to her own guilt and shame. No more.
Gretchel held Troy in her mind, and then, chanting words she had learned from Miss Poni, she banished him.
Where you come from, I care not
Where you go, best you be gone
Leave me now and let it be
The bond is cut, so by this done.
She let her words sink into the snow at her feet. She let them rise up to the stars. Then she turned back toward the house and went inside to face whatever future she may have wrought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Irvine, 2010s
It was just past one in the morning. Gretchel looked out the window when she heard a car roll into the driveway. She was surprised to see that it was Ame’s. Gretchel’s hand clutched the curtain as her mind flashed to the shotgun still hidden under her daughter’s bed. Then she saw another set of headlights. It was Troy. Gretchel ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. She pulled Ame away from the refrigerator.
“Stop it,” Ame protested.
Gretchel looked into her daughter’s bloodshot eyes. Ame was either drunk or stoned. Given that Ame had gone straight for the guacamole and chips as soon as she got home, Gretchel was pretty sure it was the latter.
“You’re out past curfew. Your father just got home. Go to your room and get into bed, now!” Gretchel hissed as she dragged her daughter up the stairs. Gretchel had just shut the door of Ame’s bedroom behind her as Troy reached to open it.
“Drunk again, Giant?” Troy was talking to Ame, but Gretchel could tell that he was the one who had had a few too many. Again.
“No. She’s not drunk. You are, and don’t you dare lay a finger on my daughter.”
Troy turned toward his wife, seemingly surprised to hear her voice, and knocked her onto Ame’s bed with a fierce backhand. “That’s for contradicting me. I’ll pay you back for embarrassing me tonight later.”
Then he looked to Ame. “You were out past curfew.” He rubbed his chin, savoring her punishment. “Say goodbye to your horse tomorrow.”
“You can’t do that!” Ame screeched.
“The hell I can’t,” Troy yelled. “Everything you have belongs to me. Tomorrow, I look for a buyer.” He paused. “On second thought, I think I’ll just shoot her in the head.”
Gretchel lay on the bed, holding her jaw. Troy rarely hit her in the face. Facial injuries showed. Gretchel sat up, and looked into Ame’s eyes. They were blazing. With an impossible shock of recognition, Gretchel knew that they looked just like her own when she was at her wildest. She wasn’t surprised when Ame launched herself at Troy, jumping on his back, trying to choke him with her arm.
“Ame, no!” Gretchel tried to intervene, but an elbow caught her in the head. Zach rushed into the room. He, too, tried to restrain his sister.
Troy finally swung Ame around and off him. She landed on the floor with an impact that shook the house. He jumped on top of her and pummeled her repeatedly in the stomach. Gretchel felt a surge of energy rip through her center. She reared back and kicked Troy in the face. He pushed himself against the wall, touched the blood that gushed from his lip, and stood up.
“That was a big mistake, Gretch,” he said.
“Not in front of Ben,” she whispered. Troy looked to the doorway. If he was concerned about having a witness, he didn’t show it. He got up, slowly walked to his wife, punched her hard in the gut, and pushed her back onto the bed. His cold gaze took in both boys. “Go. Now. Get out of this house.”
“You’re going to kill them! They didn’t do anything wrong!” Zach cried, tears of sheer terror streaming down his face.
Troy gave his son a look that communicated a familiar threat. Zach stood frozen, and then pushed his wide-eyed friend out the door. Troy locked it and turned back to his wife and daughter. Clumsy from drink, he dropped to the floor and climbed atop Ame, who was still trying to catch her breath. He straddled her, pinned her arms above her head with one hand, and began unbuttoning her jeans with the other.
“Well, it appears that, for once, you’re speechless, Ame. I think it’s time that I shut you up for good, you worthless bitch.” Ame couldn’t speak for sobbing. Troy glared down at her. “You’re a no good witch like your mother. You don’t deserve any better than this.” Then he spit in her face.
“Mama,” Ame whispered hoarsely.
Troy felt cold metal against his temple.
“Get off her,” he heard his wife say in a low, guttural voice.
Troy’s gaze turned slightly to meet the barrel of the antique shotgun. Then he looked into his wife’s eyes. She had always been wild, and there had been a time when he had delighted in exploiting her special combination of abandon and self-loathing. He had certainly seen Gretchel crazy. But now he was seeing something else. Something that terrified him.
Gretchel pointed the shotgun at his face. “Get. Off,” she repeated. Her breathing was heavy, but she held the gun steady.
“Gretch, this isn’t what it looks like,” Troy desperately pleaded.
“Get off,” she said again, “And get out.” She drew the shotgun up, pulling it tight against her chest.
“I take it all back. I�
��ll never hit her again. I swear.”
“Get out of this room,” she screamed, “And get out of this house!” The metal met Troy’s forehead.
He climbed off Ame and backed out of the room. Gretchel slammed the door in his face.
∞
Gretchel lowered the shotgun, gently. The calm sense of purpose that had descended on her when Troy attacked their daughter started to dissipate. She was shaking as she helped Ame climb into bed.
“The gun.... why was it in my room?” Ame asked. Gretchel started to sob. Unable to speak, she just shook her head. “Mom if you don’t do something to change this for us, I’ll never forgive you. You have to fight. If not for yourself, do it for Zach and me.”
What remained of Gretchel’s heart cracked, and then disintegrated into a fine powder of guilt and remorse.
Gretchel swallowed, pushing down the rising bile. “I will make it right. I will do everything in my power to make it right,” she said. Power. She had power. She could feel it inside, like a ball of light expanding and pulsating.
“Lock the door behind me, Ame. Do not open it for anybody but me.”
The voices started as soon as she began walking down the steps.
’Bout time the amulet come off.
Aye, we be trying to reach ye since the bloody blue-eyed chap left ya cryin’.
Ye been hiding behind that purple gem. Served ye well ‘nuff, but ye can’t hear a bloody thing.
Even gie ye a skelpit lug!
Aye.
The devil’s bride ‘ill have you finish ‘im off, but dinnae! Dinnae! Tis not your place to take his life. Ye got to break the cycle, love. Nature’ll do ‘em in. Let the elements do the deed this time. Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.
Finish what ye’ve started, tart. Do it fer yer bairns. Most of the voices in Gretchel’s head were anonymous, attached to nothing and no one she had ever seen, but not this one. This was the Woman in Wool.
If Troy was still in the house, she would blow his head off. She listened for movement. Everything was quiet. He was, perhaps, just smart enough to stay out of her way.
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