Slipped

by Ira Robinson

  After some minutes resting, she began using the sponge she kept in the tub on her body, scrubbing away as much of the dirt and grime as she could.

  Some of it came away with difficulty, especially around the areas she bled. She had to be careful with the sensitive skin in those sections, but, eventually, she felt she had done as much as she would be able to do.

  By the time she stood and let the water slough away from her body, the liquid in the tub was so mucky she could not see where the porcelain was.

  After she dressed, she started to pick up her hair on the bathroom floor, sweeping it into a dustpan with a small hand-held broom she kept beneath the sink.

  It was then she realized the thought of Cassie had not come to her mind since before she got into the tub.

  Her hand stopped moving mid-motion. She dropped the broom to the floor and kicked it way with her foot, guilt crushing her where she stood.

  How could she do something as mundane as taking a bath when her daughter was not there? When Cassie, herself, was probably out there so dirty she could not stand it, how could she even think about anything else?

  She picked up the broom again, lifting it above her head and smashing it down on the edge of the sink. It cracked, the sound loud in her ears. She slammed it down once more, feeling the plastic shatter as pieces of it flew across the room, scattering everywhere.

  She stared at herself in the mirror, nostrils flaring in anger and heartbreak. She gazed at her clean skin, the ruddiness of the warm water still remaining on the spots of skin that had not come away damaged from her search in the woods.

  She screamed at herself, her voice cracking halfway through, going into silence as her mouth remained open. She heaved again and let it go once more, but it, too, faltered.

  Her arm raised without thinking and she punched out at the face in the mirror, disgusted with her clean image and fresh-cut hair.

  Her hand flared in pain as the glass shattered, but she ignored it. Her hands rested on the sink and she stared down at them both, watching as new welts of blood, small but insistent, began on two of her knuckles on her right hand.

  She breathed, each one ragged and deep, trying to calm herself, to bring herself down from her anger. This would do no good. She had to stay calm. Had to, for the sake of Cassie.

  Liz had to take care of herself, keep herself strong, so she could take care of Cassie when she came home.

  No one else could do it for her.

  No one else would.

  She turned the water on in the sink, letting it run over the small cuts she created on her knuckles. There was a little pain, sharp needles of it. She brought her hand from the water and stared as fresh welts of blood appeared, but she did not see any small fragments of glass trapped within the skin.

  At least there was that.

  She pulled a small bandage from the drawer and put it across the biggest bleeder, then left the bathroom.

  She turned on a few of the lights, letting their ambiance help hide the amount of trash laying around. How could those people leave all of this for her? The last thing she really wanted to do was clean up after them, but no one else would do the job for her.

  Still, she left it for the moment. It was not what she wanted to deal with.

  Instead, she entered the kitchen and got a TV dinner from the freezer. She did not necessarily care for them, but they were fast and easy to make, so she kept a few on-hand in case she ran low on time between putting Cassie to bed and her own needs.

  She put it in the microwave and set the timer, turning to the small table and sitting. She held her hands together, as if in prayer, but instead of anything going to God, she thought of how hungry Cassie must be. Had she found anything to eat? Was there anything out there she could eat?

  Her fingers twisted upon themselves, as the guilt tried to grasp her again. She had no right to eat when Cassie had to be starving. How could she even try? She was cruel, an evil woman for considering her own needs before those of her lost child.

  The scent of the meat heating up in the microwave spread through the house, reaching her easily. Her mouth began to water, saliva gathering at the tip of her tongue, waiting for the moment when she could start eating.

  The first few bites galled her, making her gag.

  Wrong, her mind reeled. This is so wrong.

  As the bits of food went down, her stomach began to react, coming awake energetically. A loud burble of noise, a rattle from deep inside, resounded into her ears as the food went down, triggering a hunger more intense than she had felt in a long time.

  When it was all gone, she wanted more, but she held back on the urge. She had done what was necessary to survive and that was more than she deserved. Anything more would be proof she was wicked.

  That thought triggered another. Was God punishing her for some misdeed she had done against him or someone else? Had he taken her baby away because of some slight, even one she could not remember?

  Her conscience twisted around it, probing it for the truth, and she found there could be some merit in it. After all, she had not lived the best of lives, and she had not always been the best mother to Cassie.

  What better way to punish her for it than to remove her child from her presence? Maybe God had plans to give her to someone else, someone more deserving of the love of her child than Liz herself.

  Could she, somehow, find redemption? Could she, somehow, find a way to make it all up to God, in the hopes He would choose to return Cassie to her waiting arms?

  How?

  How could she, a woman who had never been religious or really had any interest in spiritual things, find a way to resolve anything God may have against her?

  Besides, if God worked in that way, what, then, of the people who were real criminals? What of the murderers and thieves?

  She had never killed anyone, and, aside from some minor indiscretions when she was a kid, she never stole anything, either. Why would God choose to target her for his wrath and leave the families of those who actually did those things intact and free?

  Why condemn her?

  Her misery increased at the lack of answers and the cold plate of food before her was beginning to smell ugly.

  She threw the remains of the TV dinner away, closing the lid on the trash can without looking at it.

  What could she do about all of this? What should her next step be in finding her daughter and bringing her home safely?

  She hoped she was not trying to overthink everything, but, as the remains of the memories of the night before played through her head, she had the sensation that out of control emotions was going to do more harm than good. Whether to the fate of Cassie or to herself, it did not matter.

  What she needed was time to think. She needed to bring herself to some kind of plan, something she could do, since everything else had failed so far.

  She sat on her chair in the living room and flipped on the radio. The same station that played before was on, this time a gentle alternative rock ballad played.

  It soothed her nerves somewhat, enough for her to concentrate for the moment.

  Should she call the sheriff and make noise that he needed to come back and restart the search? Would he do it, even if she begged? He had obviously given up on her daughter. To him, she was nothing more than a distraught mother who could not accept what fate had dealt her.

  Noah, his deputy, would, in turn, follow whatever his boss ordered, even if he did know Liz on a personal basis.

  No, she might not have much help from the police department. They might be sympathetic to her and understand she needed to keep looking but, as far as they were concerned, they closed the case. Her daughter was gone, just one among many who went missing each year and were never found again.

  The forest, after all, held many secrets, a fact most people who lived in Tanglewood knew intimately. Any number of things could have happened.

  Nevertheless, Liz was sure, despite any evidence otherwise, Cassie was alive. She was not only
alive, she was waiting for someone to find her and bring her home.

  She had to be. If not, Liz did not think she could go on with life. Cassie was all she really had.

  Liz could go out on her own again, searching the forest as her feet took her along, but that, too, brought problems.

  If she did, she risked missing her. If she was on her own, and Cassie was not far away, yet out of the sound of Liz's voice, she would pass her right by without ever knowing it.

  All of the odds were so much against her little family, and she did not know what she could do to make them any better.

  Worst of all, and the line of thinking it brought her to made her insides crawl, what if Cassie really was gone, and there was nothing Liz could do about it?

  She was a lonely little child, in the woods by herself, with no experience and no food. No water, no clean clothes and no understanding of how to find her way home. It had been so long now. What if she was already gone?

  This, too, like her choice to eat without her daughter being there, was a wicked thought, and one she could not bear the inkling of, but the voice in her head that knew some sort of reasoning had to make itself heard.

  It was possible, it said. She had to admit it, even if it was that one little spot inside of her heart that knew the truth.

  Yet, even as she thought it, she could not accept it. Cassie was out there, somewhere, still alive and still waiting for her mommy to come and get her away from the horrible circumstance in which she found herself.

  Liz would look again. At the early morning light, she would go back out and look, and never, ever give up.

  Anyone who tried to stop her would find themselves meeting the wrath of a desperate mother.

  She tried to get more rest, setting her alarm for a time she thought the sun might start to shine. She would wake, eat, and leave and not come back until she could do no more.

  Sleep came, but it took a long time. Her mind swirled around the thoughts of Cassie being in the dark, alone and shivering in the cold and damp fall air. How, after all this time in the elements, could she be okay? How scared must she be with the strange sounds, the hunger and the thirst she must be going through?

  I'm coming for you, baby. She tried to send the words out from her mind, to connect somehow to Cassie over the distance between them. She heard nothing in reply, but still, she knew Cassie could hear her. She felt it in her bones, without any doubt.

  She came awake with a start at the sound of the clock ringing, confused at first about where she was. Her eyes were wide and her breath heaving as her mind shook off the remains of a dream, one where strange animals surrounded her, circling her and waiting for her to let her guard down so they could feed on her soul.

  She trembled without control, the waves of it passing through every muscle. Her breathing shook as spasms went through her, and each time it happened, the breath caught up short.

  She ran her hand across her forehead and felt heat emanating from it, a fever running in high gear.

  Oh, God, why? Why now?

  Was it her night in the cold air? Had she been exposed to something while wandering around incoherently?

  While she did not know for sure, it would not deter her from going out again. Fever or not, she was going back out to look for her child.

  She went to the bathroom and looked at her shattered image briefly before pulling the mirror away from the wall, exposing the cabinet behind it. She grabbed a couple of aspirin and closed it again, turning away before she could stare at herself again.

  Clutching the pills, she went to the kitchen and downed them with some water, then took the time to eat some cereal. She did not want to deal with the pain that would almost always happen to her when she took something on an empty stomach. She only ate enough to make sure that would not happen.

  She had no appetite, but it was unavoidable. Just enough, and nothing more.

  As she swallowed, she realized her throat was scratchy, more than it should have been by her yelling for Cassie. That was there, but the soreness was more than just misuse. Whatever was raising her temperature was also in her throat.

  It seemed, however, only at the beginning stages. She would handle it.

  One of Jack's old backpacks was in the closet near the front door. It was one he used when he went fishing, the few times he managed to go.

  She pulled it out and opened the top, letting the scent of old clothing and stale air escape. It was otherwise empty, and she took a few minutes to put in a few bottles of water, a baggie with bandages and an old set of clothes she could change into if the need arose.

  She also put in a few granola bars Cassie liked to snack on, wrapping them in the clothing so they did not break into pieces while walking.

  The half-empty bottle of aspirin went in at the top, just in case she should need it as the day went on.

  Feeling better about being more prepared, she readied herself to go out the door.

  She slipped on a different jacket, one that seemed more durable than the one she previously used, and slung the pack across her back.

  She briefly thought she should take the time to go to the store and get a new flashlight with batteries, but she did not want to waste more time. She hoped she would not end up having need of something like that.

  Checking herself over one more time, she nodded and stepped to the door.

  Liz instinctively glanced down to the steps before walking through the door, her foot already lifted to take the first one.

  She stopped before her foot came down all the way and braced herself against the frame of the doorway.

  She gasped loudly, sucking the cool morning air into her chest.

  Liz stared for what could have been an eternity. She could not take her gaze away, her eyes locked in place as much as her body.

  When motion began again, it was a tremble.

  The doll lay atop the highest step, just a few feet away from where she stood. It was on its back, with its small button eyes and a strange expression on its face staring back at her.

  It was dirty and covered in detritus, but it was, without a doubt in her mind, Cassie's.

  She finally managed to unlock her legs and came forward, hesitant at first, toward the top of the stairs.

  She looked around, realizing what it could mean. She had been home. She had, somehow, managed to find her way back home again.

  Liz looked around, frantically searching every inch of space she could lay her eyes on, hollering Cassie's name. She called it again when the only movement around her was the soft shaking of the trees and bushes with the wind, and the birds who were startled by her sudden outburst taking wing and fluttering into the distance.

  "It's okay, honey! Please come home!" Her voice broke at the end, the strain in her throat getting to be too much for her to do much more. Hoarse and desperate she could get nothing more out for the moment.

  Still, there was no sign of her daughter or any evidence she had been there beyond the presence of the doll.

  She stared at the thing again, wanting to bend and pick it up, but it was almost a holy thing, something she should not disrupt for fear whatever magic brought it to this place would shatter, leaving her, once more, with no hope.

  Her fingers trembled, aching to reach out and lay even the slightest touch upon the doll, to, somehow, connect to her missing child even in that smallest of ways. Her heart beat in her ears, rapid and pressing, as her lungs began to burn.

  She sucked in a breath, realizing she had forgotten to keep breathing for fear even her breath brushing against it would send the moment spiraling down.

  When she finally did move again, it was only to come down on the balls of her feet, resting against the back of the house while keeping her eyes glued to those of the doll.

  It was old, handed down to Cassie by her grandmother, who had it when she was a child, herself. It always creeped Liz out a little with the way it looked, but Cassie adored it, sleeping with it every night. It was the same one Liz put i
nto her arms when she saw Cassie last.

  Its arms and legs splayed wide, with the small, hand-sewn dress covered in so much filth there was barely any color left to it.

  Her fingers did finally reach out, her index finger slightly touching the outstretched arm of the doll. Nothing happened when they met. No dissolution of magic, no shattering of an imagined moment. Only the feel of fabric beneath her skin.

  If it was there, it proved Cassie had been, as well. Didn’t it?

  She wanted to pick it up, to clutch it to her chest and hug it, but she held the urge back.