For the rest of the day, Elz continues to give me the cold shoulder. She won’t sit next to me at lunch and avoids me in group. When I join her in Arts and Crafts, she switches to sewing. Finally, we’re forced together for dinner prep.
In the kitchen, we hang out at different ends. I prepare the salad while she handles the main course. She’s still not talking to me. I sing a few refrains of “lalala,” hoping that’ll break the ice, but it’s as if she’s deaf. She completely ignores me.
Fine! Let her be an ice queen; two can play at this game, and I can play it better. I’ll just pretend she’s not here.
Singing louder (okay, so I’m deliberately being annoying; she deserves it), I tear up greens and slice tomatoes. A sudden sharp pain makes me yelp. Shit! I’ve sliced my finger. The cut is deep; blood is gushing out all over my hand. A rush of nausea passes through me. I can’t stand the sight of blood. It sickens me. That’s why I never had the courage to plunge a knife into Snow White’s heart myself and had to send that worthless Huntsman to do it for me.
My finger won’t stop bleeding. To tell the truth, I haven’t seen this much blood in my entire life. Except for the time I lost my child. A bed full of blood, my body soaked red. The painful memory stays with me as I gaze down at the scarlet puddle that’s spreading by my feet. I’m getting woozy.
Elz rushes over to me. “Oh my God! You’re bleeding to death!”
She’s right. I’m seeing stars. My life is almost over!
Elz grabs a dishtowel and presses it firmly against my wound.
“Jane, hold this tightly against your finger!”
Wincing, I do exactly what she tells me. The cut’s so deep that blood seeps through the thick cloth. I turn my head away.
My finger throbs. I’m getting woozier and woozier. I don’t think I can hang on much longer. “Am I really going to die?” I ask Elz, knowing full well it’s only a matter of time.
Elz is too busy to answer me. She’s feverishly tearing her white petticoat into long, ragged strips. Removing the blood-soaked towel, she begins to wrap them around my finger until it’s mummified. I take a deep breath as she ties the ends of the last strip together into a neat little bow at the base.
“I think we’ve got it under control,” she says, grinning proudly at her handiwork.
“Elz, you saved my life!”
“You weren’t really going to die,” she singsongs.
What! She tricked me into thinking I was going to die! What a mean way to get back at me! And for something I didn’t even do.
I glance down at my big-bandaged finger with its silly little bow. My rage melts into relief.
“Elz, thanks for being there for me.”
“It’s okay. You’d do the same.”
Would I? I wonder as she finishes making the salad for me.
I need to know. “Elz, why are you so nice to me?”
“Because you have a big heart.” She smiles.
No one has ever told me that. In fact, during my trial, the tabloids called me cruel and heartless. I’m on the verge of tears.
“About yesterday—”
She doesn’t let me finish. “Forget it.”
Does she know what really happened? Right now, it doesn’t matter.
“Friends?” I say.
“Best friends!” she beams as tears trickle down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?”
“The same reason you are.”
I do something I’ve never done before. Not to anyone. I hug her.
CHAPTER 11
“Rise and shine, Jane!”
It’s great to hear Elz’s wake-up call again. Yet, it’s still a struggle for me to get up and face the sunshine despite being here almost a week. And truth be told, I’m still not one hundred percent over my caffeine addiction.
“Hurry! I need your help!”
I blink my eyes open. Elz is more cheerful than ever.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“It’s Visitor’s Day. Mother will be here for dinner. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
I’m confused. I thought she wanted to get away from her mother.
“Jane, will you help me pick out something to wear? I want to look my best.”
Okay. I’ll help. She’s thrilled with the dress I choose. Another version of the hideous Snow White costume she always wears.
“I wish I could see myself in a mirror!”
“Pretend I’m your mirror.” In a deep, put-on voice, I tell her she looks beautiful.
“You’re the best friend I could ever have!”
I think about my magic mirror and silently curse it. Why couldn’t it be there for me?
A hug from Elz brings me back into the moment. I’m happy how things turned out between us. Shrink will be proud of me.
“Who’s coming to visit you?” asks Elz cheerfully.
“No one.” I shrug. “I’m not allowed yet. I haven’t been here for a full week.” Though it feels like a lifetime.
“Look on the bright side as Winnie would say. Next week, you can have a visitor.”
Yes, maybe next week, that dumb-ass dungeon guard will show up. Or that whack-job judge. Of course, how could I forget? Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs! Come on! Who am I kidding? I have no one to visit me. No one!
Hold on. With any luck, I won’t be here next week. The thought of escaping brightens my spirits. Slightly.
The first person I encounter at breakfast is Hook. I’m still furious with him for pulling that stunt in The Enchanted Forest. Behaving as if nothing happened, he notices my bandaged finger.
“Yo, babe. Can I kiss your boo-boo and make it better?”
It happens to be my right middle finger. I shove it into to his face. He smirks, but I think he’s gotten the message. He turns his attention to Elz. Good.
“Elzmerelda, I must say you’re looking mighty fine this morning.” His eyes travel down her beanpole body with a few unnecessary stops. “What’s the occasion?”
“Mother’s coming! I’d love for you to meet her.”
“Wait till Mother hears what you did to me the other day!”
It’s Sasperilla. A thick bandage covers her swollen nose, and under her bloodshot eyes, she’s all black and blue. I bite my lip hard not to laugh.
Winnie, carrying a basketful of berries, lumbers over to us.
“My husband’s coming,” she sighs before popping berry after berry into her mouth.
Our resident expert on relationships is clearly dreading his visit. “Are your children coming as well?” I ask.
She lowers her eyes. “No, I don’t want them to see me here.” She polishes off the berries.
“Dr. Grimm thinks it’s a good idea for my husband to join us in group,” she says at last. “I’m not so sure.”
I’m actually looking forward to meeting him. If he’s not nice to her, I’m going to take him out.
I’ve been eager to meet with Shrink all morning. I couldn’t even focus during meditation.
Proudly, I tell her that Elz and I made up. We’re best friends again. Everything’s better than ever.
“Good,” she says flatly.
Is that all she can say? I thought for sure she’d do a single flip. And doesn’t she at least want to know what happened to my finger?
Clenching a rolled up sheet of parchment that’s twice her size, Shrink hovers over me and scowls. I don’t get it. Have I done something wrong?
“Jane, you lied to me yesterday,” she says angrily. “You told me that you never had a friend. But on this assessment, you wrote that you not only had a friend, but a best friend.”
What is she talking about? I can hardly remember anything I wrote on that stupid questionnaire. It seems like a hundred years ago.
“It says right here that your ‘magic mirror’ was your best friend.”
“Give me that!” I wrench the assessment away from her and read it. Damn it! She’s right. We even briefly talked about my mirror in one of our
first sessions. How could I forget?
“Jane, why was this mirror your best friend?”
“It talked to me. It said nice things about me. What’s wrong with that?”
“Were you alone when you talked with it?”
“Yes.”
“So, you talked to it when you were lonely.”
“No! When I was alone.” I hate it when she puts words in my mouth.
“Fine. What happened to your mirror?”
‘That kiss-ass looking glass betrayed me.” Hatred courses through my veins. “The traitor!”
“Friends don’t betray each other. Especially best friends.”
She’s playing with my head. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
She flutters closer. “Jane, the mirror wasn’t your friend. It was a thing. A thing that couldn’t really see, feel, hear…or talk.”
What is she saying? That my mirror wasn’t really magic? But I heard it talk. I swear I did.
“Jane, the voice you heard was your subconscious talking.”
I squirm. More Shrink-speak. What the hell is she talking about?
“This inner voice told you things you craved to hear.”
“Like how beautiful I was?”
“Yes, Jane. And things you feared to hear.”
“You mean…”
“That some young girl was fairer than you.”
My blood is bubbling like the evil potion that sent me here.
Shrink looks hard into my eyes.
“Jane, you may have played a game of pretend with your so-called magic mirror. But it played a game of reality with you.”
Anger mingles with confusion. I hate Shrink! And I don’t believe a word she’s just said. My mirror was magic!
She takes a spin around the room before I can swat her.
She returns, hovering above me but not within reach. “By the way, Jane, how do you feel about Visitor’s Day?”
Her words slash through me. How can she be so cruel? I wish this session would end.
To my relief, the chime sounds.
“Time’s up for today, Jane. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
I’m in no mood for group. I don’t even care any more about meeting Winnie’s husband. I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of singing “lalala” and picking berries; I’m sick of washing dishes and mopping floors; I’m sick of people telling me what to do; I’m sick of not saying whatever-the-hell I want to. Most of all, I’m sick of being humiliated, shot down to nothing by some know-it-all bug of a woman who tells me bodacious lies about my magic mirror. From now on, I’m staying focused on my one and only goal—getting out of this hellhole. There’s no way I can stick it out here for two more weeks. More than ever, I need to get back to my castle. And that damn mirror.
Waiting for group to start, I contemplate an escape plan. But it’s futile; Faraway’s a fortress; there’s no way out. Out of the blue, I have an epiphany. I’ll bribe that giant of a guard, Gulliver. They probably pay him bubkus, so he’ll jump at the chance to make a little extra dough. But wait, where am I going to get the money? Dragonballs! This isn’t going to work.
I unfortunately have to put a new escape plan on hold when Winnie walks in with her husband John. With his strong chin and nose and head full of wavy auburn hair, he could be what I call good-looking, if years of hard work hadn’t prematurely aged him. He nervously takes a seat between Winnie and Grimm, who welcomes him to the group. Sasperilla glares at him as if he’s carrying some infectious disease.
“Does anyone have a question for John?” begins Grimm.
Elz raises her hand. “Why can’t women find shoes that fit?”
“Good one!” snorts Sasperilla.
“Elzmerelda, that’s not the kind of question I had in mind,” says Grimm, somewhat exasperated.
All eyes turn to What’s-His-Name. He’s rolling on the floor, in a fit of hysterical laughter.
Grimm thumbs his bristly beard and nods approvingly. “Good. You’ve remembered your sense of humor. Now, I want you to get up and concentrate on remembering your name.”
“C’mon, say it, matey,” shouts Hook.
What’s-His-Name makes an unintelligible grunting sound. “Ruhruhruh.” Frustrated, he limps back to his seat next to mine. I give his stubby hand a gentle squeeze. At least, he tried.
No one has any further questions for John; Grimm takes over.
“John, how do you feel?”
“Tired.”
That’s obvious by the dark circles and creases around his eyes.
Grimm continues. “Why do you feel tired?”
“I have to work and take care of the kids by myself. It’s exhausting.”
“Did your wife have to take care of them by herself?”
John fidgets with his fingers. “I suppose.”
“No, John, the answer is ‘yes.’ Say it, ‘yes, my wife had to take care of the kids by herself.’”
He reluctantly repeats Grimm’s words. Anger is rising in Winnie like bread in an oven. I’m worried. Where’s Grimm going with these questions?
“John, do you think your wife ever got tired of taking care of your children?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles. Grimm’s wearing him down.
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because I never asked her.”
Winnie leaps up, her freckles flickering with fury. “You’ve never asked me anything about my life!”
“Winifred, can you elaborate?” asks Grimm.
“All he’s ever done is come home with his filthy hands, demand dinner, and go to sleep!” she shouts with rage I’ve never witnessed before.
“Is that true, John?” asks Grimm.
John stares down at his large, leathery hands. “Yes,” he says finally.
“How do you think your wife feels about your behavior?”
“I guess she’s not happy. That’s why she’s here.”
“Yes, John, that’s one of the reasons she’s here. Why else is she here?”
“Because she’s as fat as a cow!” blurts out Sasperilla. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”
Winnie is verging on tears. I want to kill Sasperilla.
John gazes at his wife with a mixture of pity and disgust. “She overeats.”
“Why do you think she overeats?” asks Grimm.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“I eat because you never pay attention to me!” shouts Winnie.
“John, your wife is an emotional overeater. Food comforts her. It’s a substitution for love.”
John says nothing. Grimm perseveres.
“Why do you think she tried to eat your children?”
What! She actually tried to eat her own children?
Winnie’s face contorts with pain. John’s turns ashen. Thunderstruck, we all gape with shock. Except for Sasperilla, who’s got I-told-you-so written all over her.
“Leave Hansel and Gretel out of this!” Collapsing back onto her chair, Winnie bursts into a tempest of tears.
I feel painfully helpless.
“Ha!” snickers Sasperilla. “It’s no wonder she’s not fatter. I bet eating plump kids can really pack on the pounds.”
Elz is horrified. “Sassy, that’s a terrible thing to say.”
Sasperilla huffs. “Can’t anyone take a joke around this place?”
“Too bad you don’t have enough fat on your bones to whet Winnie’s appetite,” chortles Hook.
I have to give it to Hook. His sick joke shuts the skinny bitch up. For Winnie, it’s no laughing matter. Bawling her eyes out, she faces her husband.
“I wasn’t really going to eat them! I just wanted you to notice me! For once!”
“I didn’t recognize you! You turned into a fat ugly witch!”
“You turned me into that!”
Grimm, showing no emotion, turns to her. “No, Winifred, you did it to yourself. You have to take some ownership of your problem.”
The ogre! My friend’s having a total
breakdown! And he doesn’t give a dragon’s ass!
“John, when was the last time you made love to your wife?” asks Grimm, still showing no sympathy.
“I don’t remember.” His tone is flat, his eyes distant.
“When was the last time you told your wife she is beautiful?”
Shaking his head, he slumps deeper into his chair. “I don’t remember.”
I can’t contain myself any longer. “Every woman needs to be told she’s beautiful!”
“Who ever told you you’re beautiful?” snaps Sasperilla.
“Sasperilla, put a lid on it,” orders Grimm.
The skinny bitch makes a face but doesn’t utter another word.
Thank goodness, I don’t have to tell her—or any of them—about my mirror.
Hook shoots me one of his smarmy smiles. “Jane’s right. Flattery is the way to a woman’s heart.”
Just not mine, you pompous asshole. I’m back to hating him.
Grimm takes control again. “John, did you ever think your wife was beautiful?”
He stares at his sobbing wife. “Yes.” His eyes grow watery. “When I first met her, I thought she was the most beautiful woman on earth.”
“I was a lot thinner then,” sniffles Winnie.
“And I was a lot younger,” says John softly.
Their eyes meet.
“John, what do you want?” Grimm leans in to him.
Without taking his eyes off Winnie, John parts his quivering lips. “I want her back.” No longer able to hold back tears, he slides closer to her. “Sweetheart, please come home. I miss you. The kids miss you. We can’t live without you.”
My skin prickles as he takes her into his arms.
Winnie melts. “I miss you so much. And the children too.”
John strokes her long red hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise things will be different; I can’t lose you again.”
“I’m sorry too,” says Winnie.
John squeezes her wide, inviting body. “I love you, Winifred.”
“I love you too,” whispers Winnie.
Their lips meet, the two of them oblivious to our voyeuristic stares. Envy comes over me unlike any I’ve ever felt.
So, this must be love.
By dinnertime, I’m totally drained. All I want to do is crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and close my eyes. The last thing I want to do is have dinner with Elz, Sasperilla, and their mother. And to be honest, I should be working on an escape plan.
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