The Witcher Chime

by Amity Green

  “I don’t want to go to the doctor, Savannah. Really, I know this is hard for you to hear, but you need to butt out.” She ripped toilet paper from the mounted roll and blew her nose, which made her gag again, understandably.

  “What if there’s something wrong and you need to be seen to get help?” Savannah asked after a moment.

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “It will be easier to handle it together.”

  “Fine!” She spun around and strode past Savannah and into her room. Savannah waited in the hall, unsure of what to do. Molly rumbled around and a few heavy things landed on the floor. Seconds later she came back out into the hall and thrust a pen of some kind at Savannah.

  Savannah turned it over in her hand. The letters “E. P. T.” stood out in purple along the side.

  “It’s positive.” Molly snatched the test stick back.

  Savannah didn’t say anything, trying to be careful how she reacted. Time slowed a little, but she held composure. “Where did you get that?”

  “I stole it when we were in Woodland.” Molly looked at her hands. Her body shook with effort to control her emotions. Molly wasn’t one to cry easily. She never had been. Savannah admired that about her.

  “Does anyone else know?”

  Molly shook her head.

  “We’ll keep it that way.” Savannah chose her words with extreme care and spoke evenly. Somehow, shock didn’t floor her the way it should have. Maybe somewhere in her mind she’d known and pushed the idea away each time it came up. She wanted to do the same thing then, but the time had come to deal with it.

  Molly nodded and handed over the pregnancy test.

  “Have you thought about your options? I mean, whether you want to put it up for adoption or get an abortion?”

  Molly turned on her with a look of shock. “How could you suggest such a thing? I’m keeping the baby.”

  “Molly, think this through. There are so many concerns. You have to think about your future and the health—”

  “I’m keeping the baby!” she yelled. “If you say another word I’ll split your lip. It’s not your choice.”

  “Okay, calm down. I was just worried and want to help. We can talk later or whenever you need or want to.”

  “Drop it, Savannah.” Molly glared at her hard.

  “Why don’t you go lay down for a while? I’ll be up later.” She needed space to absorb. Solitude in which to explode.

  “Okay,” she said, coming away from the wall.

  “It’s going to be okay, Molly.” Savannah put her arms around her sister. Molly might not cry about it, but Savannah couldn’t help it.

  “I feel so disgusting,” Molly said against her shoulder. For once she didn’t pull away. “It’s not okay.” Her voice broke and she buried her face, embarrassed.

  Savannah hated that her little sister was so scared. It was more proof that nothing cosmic was fair, and she had no trouble placing blame. “I love you so much, Mol. There is no part of this that’s your fault. You’re not a bad person. You don’t deserve to feel bad about yourself.”

  “I’m just scared, you know? What if the baby’s deformed, or not right some way? The poor little baby doesn’t deserve it, either.”

  Savannah’s shoulder grew damp where Molly pressed into her shirt. Her sister had given things a lot of thought. “I’m sorry for saying that stuff about your sweats. I get it now.”

  “It’s okay,” Molly said, breaking the hug.

  “No, it not,” Savannah smiled, wiping her eyes. “I’m an ass.”

  “Well, yeah,” Molly said, trying to smile back.

  “I’m going to go make some tea and I’ll bring you a cup. Then I’m going to go finish up with the bills and stuff.”

  “Okay.” Molly went to her room. Savannah watched her go and then went downstairs on shaky legs.

  She clanked around the kitchen with the tea pot. The water boiled and she sunk a bag of mint tea in a mug for Molly, but it didn’t sound good to her anymore. She’d never been so angry in her life. She put the honey bear and a spoon on a dinner plate and headed back upstairs. Molly’s door was open and she appeared to be sleeping, so Savannah put the plate on her bed stand and slunk out, silently.

  There had been fresh tears on her sister’s cheek. The urge to break something into little pieces was tough to suppress, but she remained quiet until she was outside, standing behind the old barn in lavender twilight. She grabbed an old shovel handle and swung it like a bat, cracking it hard against the thick corner of the barn. It felt great. She swung it again. Vibrations reverberated into her hands, but she embraced the pain, swinging over and over. The handle split where it hit the barn’s upright, so she choked up her grip and smashed it again, out of breath. Tears exploded down her cheeks. Through a watery gaze, she continued to bust up the shovel handle, which lasted well until her stomach muscles burned each time she twisted. The handle rapped hard, echoing back. Finally, it broke apart against the wall, splinters flying.

  Savannah shoved the spent wood to the ground and grabbed a short tree branch from where it had fallen, starting anew. The branch came apart too quickly. She threw the ends into the trees. “Witcher!” she screamed.

  “Savannah, stop,” he said, just behind her.

  “You bastard,” she growled, charging him. One fist landed and his head turned. Her other hand connected with his face, scraping and gouging three deep troughs in his flesh with her nails. Black lines formed there, the crimson tone lost in the dim light. She continued to hit him, wild with rage. Her hair came unbound, flowing around her arms and shoulders in a tangle. She screamed and kept beating him with all her strength, not stopping to notice her hands bled and started to swell up.

  “I hate you,” she said over and over as her hands kept pounding at him. He let her hit him, closing his eyes and bracing against every blow, but didn’t raise a hand to stop her or hit her in return. Near exhaustion, Savannah threw one, last fist too hard. She missed and lost her footing. He caught her before she fell forward.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It never mattered before.”

  She shook his hands off her shoulder and waist, doubling over. After a few deep breaths, she stood up straight. “You’re sorry?” She laughed through hysteric tears. “Are you sure? How do you know what the hell you’re feeling?” She scraped hair away from her tear-streaked face, tucking thick strands behind her ears.

  “It is remorse I feel, Savannah. I am truly sorry.”

  “Molly doesn’t deserve this. You’ll never understand that. All you know is you wanted her. And now she’s paying for it.”

  “I wanted you, not Molly. Jack is the one who wanted her. When I came to him I was certain he had lust for both of you. It was only for her and he would not be swayed.” He ran his hands over the marks marring his face and neck, leaving behind smooth, perfect skin. “You’ve shown me you can love me. That I needn’t use another to be with you. It’s the first time in my life.”

  “I don’t believe anything you say.” Her stomach turned over and for a second she bent, expecting that she was going to be sick from overheating.

  “I need you to believe me, Savannah. There were times he went to Molly without my persuasion. I was the push he needed when he took her, at first, and what you perceive as my guilt lies there. But please understand, your father went to her of his own solitary will and she accepted him.”

  “Shut up!” she screamed. “You’re the lowest of any creature on the earth. I never want to see you again.” Hate and anger emboldening her, she approached him, feeling her chin tremble as she spoke. “I want you hanging in that cave. I want to come and watch you wither and I hope you weep with pain and loneliness.”

  “You do not mean that, Savannah, you’re just upset—”

  “That’s the thing with you,” she pointed at him, poking his chest. “I do mean it. I hate the sight of you, and you just don’t get it. I don’t want you. I hate that you touched me, and I loathe when you s
how up here. I never want to see you again, and I hate that my family is cursed with your presence.” She grinned, despite the way her upper lip was wet with snot. “Believe this. I hate you.”

  “Savannah, don’t,” he said, holding up a pleading hand. “You need me. I will prove my love. You’re tearing me apart.” Tears built in his eyes, heartbreak creasing the face he pulled from her mind’s eye. “I cannot be, without you.”

  “You make me want to die. I want you back in Hell, where you belong.”

  Witcher took a step backward, leveling his gaze on her. She’d never seen such sadness in anyone, but that was what she’d wanted to accomplish. He deserved to know pain and she delighted in the fact that she was the one to give it to him.

  “I will always love you, Savannah.”

  He tipped his head back like he saw something above, something she couldn’t see. Wind kicked up, tossing his hair against his face. Unseen chains jerked his arms out to the side. Terror marred his face as light descended on him from above. He screamed. Savannah clamped her hands over her ears and slammed her eyes shut.

  There was peace.

  ***

  Chapter 22

  Savannah filed away the court order announcing the finality of her parents’ divorce. The checks she’d mailed out to Caroline had cleared the bank the week after the papers she’d signed left the mailbox. The final order arrived just before Thanksgiving.

  Jack Caleman had gone missing just after that, reported by Savannah and Molly, who tearfully declined state welfare intervention, but used the advice and state services to arrange an order deeming Savannah as Molly’s legal guardian. After their parents’ divorce order was reviewed by the state office, rumors abounded about Jack Caleman’s suicide. Savannah let it happen, seeing the nasty hemming and hawing of the locals as nothing but a tool to cement her grip on the Witcher Place. The estate and property was settled in Savannah’s name, with trusts set up for Molly and Chaz. Molly had turned sixteen and decided to forgo public school for the year.

  Savannah ran the books with shrewd precision. The family money grew interest at a sufficient rate to put her at ease, and what was left of the Caleman cattle business was sold off, for good. The estate received a full facelift, with stables designed to incorporate the old barn. Father and Sons built all the requested additions and maintained the grounds impeccably. That peace of mind was worth every penny, especially since Savannah used her freedom to spend time with her sister, helping her prepare while the trees lost their leaves and frost coated the mornings.

  Molly was the cutest pregnant girl ever. They worked together to transform the extra bedroom upstairs into a bright, sunny nursery with new curtains that Molly made herself. Being the guardian of her sister, Savannah called the school on Molly’s behalf. She’d finish her remaining credits the next year. Molly’s belly grew and so did Savannah’s apprehension about the health of the baby. Molly saw the life she carried as a product of incest and guilt. Savannah saw it as just that, but much more, considering. Witcher had told her the way it had gone between Molly and Jack. She hated to admit it, but that explained the way Molly wasn’t open to giving the baby up.

  She worried away a path between the desk and the doorway pacing inside the study, trying to prepare and expect the worst from all angles. The Book of Genesis dictated the offspring of an angel and a human was a “giant” and that made sense, explaining the way Great Aunt Stella towered over her that day at the mental hospital. Savannah found no relief, knowing she could expect a monstrosity, a deformity, or one destined to be locked up with the deranged.

  The nights were long as she lie awake with her mind drifting. Witcher’s face hung just beyond recognition, and she quickly flushed it away by counting sheep or thinking about something— anything else. She couldn’t risk expelling any energy on him. He—it fed off her thoughts, so she kept her mind and imagination reined in tightly. As far as she knew it was bound back down in Hell, and she intended to forget about it one day.

  A month and about a week was all that remained until the baby was full term, by their math and estimations of date of conception. They sat on the sofa in the den, watching television and talking it over. A big bowl of popcorn rested in Molly’s lap. She giggled, watching the outline of a little foot stretch beneath her skin, nudging the side of the bowl so hard it nearly toppled to the floor.

  “There’s always a lot more action at night,” she said, looking up to see if Savannah was watching.

  Savannah grinned, focused on the spot where the baby kept kicking out. “So much energy.”

  “I can’t believe it’s almost time.”

  “You know, after the baby’s here, you really can go back to school. I’ll watch the baby. You’ll pick up where you left off last summer.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Molly said.

  Molly didn’t elaborate, so Savannah changed the subject. “Are you scared?”

  “A little. I really can’t wait to get it over with, though. I miss sleeping on my belly.” She grabbed the remote and silenced the squawking television. “I’ve been thinking about when the baby comes.” She looked over at Savannah. “I don’t want to go to the hospital for the birth. We should do it here.”

  “Hell no,” Savannah said, getting to her feet. She shook her head. “I want you at the hospital with a gajillion doctors running around. I want you to have pain medication and for the baby to be safe, Molly.”

  “You said we could keep it a secret,” she pointed out.

  “We’ll go to the ‘Springs. No one knows us up there.”

  “That’s not keeping it secret, Savannah. Please? You said we could.”

  “I didn’t mean no hospital or doctors for the birth!” she said, wide eyed.

  “You can do it. You’ve pulled lots of calves and helped the mares and the barn cats.”

  “You’re not a horse or a damned cat! Oh my God!”

  Molly set the bowl on the couch cushion and got up. She walked straight up to Savannah. “This is my baby, not yours. I am having him or her here at our house and that’s the way it’s going to be. I am not going to a hospital.” She turned toward the staircase.

  “I’ll call Doctor Jamieson,” Savannah threatened.

  “It’s final, Savannah. You’ll either be there to help me when it’s time or you won’t. I think you’ll be there.”

  “I will not,” Savannah called after her.

  “Yes, you will.”

  “Shit.” Savannah dropped onto the couch and put her head in her hands. Molly had to change her mind. There was no way she trusted herself to bring her little niece or nephew, or sibling, as it were, into the world. It said a lot that Molly trusted her so much. Or was it that Molly was so bent on keeping her pregnancy secret that she’d risk her own health, plus the baby’s, along with Savannah’s newly found sanity? She rose and began to pace before the couch. What if there really was something wrong with the baby when it was born? What if some defect prevented it from breathing or something and they couldn’t do anything for it and the worst happened? Or even worse than the worst, what if something happened to Molly?

  “Aw God.” She dropped into the new, fluffy arm chair that replaced Jack’s recliner. “I can’t do this.”

  * * *

  “Yes!” Molly waddled into the kitchen holding up a letter in one mittened hand. She’d been walking to the mailbox a few times a day for exercise. She knocked snow off her stocking hat, shaking it over the sink. The snow was so deep it caked over the top of her boots, soaking a ring into the sweats on each leg.

  “What is it?” Savannah looked up from the book she was reading.

  “Alistair Couture likes my designs!”

  “Really?” Savannah asked, excited for her sister.

  “Yep. Look.” Molly held out the letter.

  “I’m so happy for you, Molly.” Savannah grinned, taking the letter.

  Molly beamed, slowly taking an awkward seat at the table.

  Savannah skimmed the lette
r and handed it back. “This is wonderful. I’m going to check out a business attorney for you, to make sure your stuff is protected and you get paid for it the way you should.”

  “Good idea,” Molly said with a grunt. She crunched up, trying to get her snow boot off. “This storm is socked in good. It’s coming down hard out there. Is the wood bin full?”

  “It’s full if we want a fire, but the furnace is cookin’ right along. Let it snow,” Savannah replied, marking her book. “Hold on so I can help you.” Savannah got up and took a knee at Molly’s feet. A slow circle of water spread down the leg of Molly’s sweats. “Oh, Molly,” she said, still holding onto her boot. “I think your water just broke.” Shit ….

  “Oh no,” Molly said. She wrapped her arms around her belly. “It’s not time yet. What do we do?” Her face paled.

  “We take you to the hospital. That’s what.” Savannah turned to the table, reaching over the chair where she’d been sitting to grab her purse, fully intending on fishing out the keys.

  “No, no way,” Molly said, shaking her head. “No hospital and no strangers. It’s only a couple weeks early.” She breathed deeply, visibly trying to calm herself. “And look out there!” she yelled, pointing out the window at the snowstorm.

  “Please, think about this. What if something goes wrong? I’m just … me,” Savannah reasoned, gesturing at herself.

  “Uh uh.” Molly shook her head fast, then got really still. Her eyes grew big and she moved a hand to the bottom of her swollen belly. “It just got really tight right here, or … something.”

  “What do you mean? Like a contraction?”

  She nodded, enthusiastically.

  “Molly, please, please get in the truck.”

  Molly scrunched up her face and held her breath. Seconds ticked by and Savannah wondered about trying to drag her sister out and toss her in the Toyota. She eyed the rotary phone hanging on the wall. Beside it, the clock said 2:37. Outside, the sky was dark with the storm and snow was piling up fast.

  “No, Savannah.” Molly gritted her teeth. “This is his baby, and I just can’t do it!” The spot of water grew into a flow that ran all the way to Molly’s sock. Savannah went to her knees and pulled the other boot off.