Waking Rose: A Fairy Tale Retold

by Regina Doman

  Carefully he opened the doors and stepped inside to listen. For a long moment he stood there, searching the dark, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Then somewhere in the darkness, faintly, he heard a voice say, “Give me the line again, Brier.”

  There was a menacing edge to the voice that had spoken, but then he heard Rose’s voice, sweet and calm, saying, “If for I want that glib and oily art to speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I’ll do it before I speak.”

  The actors must be in the back of the theatre, someplace, running lines. Fish told himself to relax.

  “Sister, you are jesting, and I am in deadly earnest.” Again the voice was threatening, with a point to it that seemed more real than most of the acting Fish had heard this evening. Also, he didn’t recognize that line from the play.

  “Such a tongue that I am glad I have not, though to have hath lost me to your liking,” Rose’s voice said blandly.

  “You think we’re kidding, don’t you?” another voice said.

  “I know what you are,” Rose said, and Fish sensed that she also wasn’t acting.

  “Look, we’ll run this scene again until you get it right. What we want is your resignation.”

  “I cannot,” she said, and her voice was almost lighthearted.

  “Sooner or later you’re going to run out of lines from this play. And we can be here all night if we need to.”

  Fish felt around for a light switch but couldn’t find one. He started making his way cautiously down the aisle in the dark.

  “If I run Cordelia’s lines away, I can go on to another play,” Rose suggested with a laugh.

  “Do you think you’re a better actor just because you think you know more Shakespeare?” the first voice was derisive. “You know I’d be better at the part than you.”

  “Alas, that choice was not given me,” Rose said.

  Fish had reached the stage. He remembered noticing that there was a door to the left, leading backstage, and tried to find it.

  “It’s very simple, Brier. I’m your understudy. Tara is my understudy. All you need to do is resign, and we all get the parts we want.”

  “If only it were so simple. Do you really think Dr. Morris will agree to this?” Rose asked.

  He felt the doorway, but inside it was still black. The voices were louder, though. They sounded very close to him, but there was no sign of anyone. He put out his hand and felt a canvas screen. Scenery. He groped, found the edge of it, and stepped around it, almost bumping into another screen.

  “He’ll do anything I tell him. All you have to do is use your mediocre acting ability to convince him that you really want to resign from the play.”

  It was a maze back here. Fish moved silently, moving closer towards the speakers, whom he still could not see.

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Well, look at how easily you fell into our trap tonight. I’ll let you imagine how easily we can make your life miserable in the future.”

  “And not just in the theatre,” the other voice said. “We know where you live.”

  “Words, words, words, words,” Rose murmured. Fish felt for his handgun, which fortunately was in his breast pocket, and moved more quietly.

  “You still don’t believe us. Maybe we’ll have to do that Gloucester scene again—see if you find it convincing this time. Hold her down, Tara.”

  There was a scrape of metal.

  Rose’s voice became melodramatic. “Is this a dagger I see before me?”

  “But its handle isn’t turned towards you, is it?”

  Fish rounded another corner and suddenly found he was looking down a corridor. At the end of it was a small stage light. In the glow he saw the heavy wooden throne from the Gloucester scene. Thick ropes on the arms and back bound Rose to it, and two figures stood around her. One held over her what was clearly a knife.

  “We’ve told you what to say,” the taller figure, the first voice, was saying. “Now, this is your last chance—say the speech as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue.”

  Rose’s face was impassive. “Lord what fools these mortals be,” she remarked calmly.

  “Bravo,” Fish said, striding towards them. The two figures froze, and looked at him. Rose remained still, gazing at the girl with the knife.

  “Quite impressive acting,” he said mildly as he reached them, his right hand still near his breast pocket, ready to grab his gun if necessary. The tall girl with blue eyes stared at him, her mouth open. “You almost convinced me.”

  “We were just fooling around,” the shorter girl said defensively.

  “Of course,” Fish said lightly, “you do but jest. Poison in jest. No offense in the world. But I think it’s time you ended your performance. I have to get Rose home.” He put out a hand to the tall girl, indicating that he wanted the knife.

  “It’s only a stage knife,” she said flatly, and handed it to him.

  Fish felt the blade, which was a thin flexible metal. “Still strong enough to damage someone’s eye, though, isn’t it?” He put it in his pocket. “You’re a fine actress. You should do well in the part you have.” He looked down at Rose, who had visibly relaxed. “Why don’t you both help me get her untied?”

  Sullenly the other girls untied the ropes from Rose’s arms and chest, and she got up and dusted off her jeans carelessly.

  “Good night, sweet ladies, good night,” she said to the other two in the same tone she had been using.

  The two girls melted away into the shadows, and Fish put a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “I have to get my bag,” she said in a whisper.

  He walked out to the seating area with her where she hunted around and retrieved her knapsack, but he took it from her and slung it on his back. As they exited the theatre, he looked around for the other girls, but they had vanished.

  They walked to his car, and he opened the door for her and she got in. Then he closed the door, scanned the darkened campus, and got in himself.

  “Rose, we’ve got to tell someone what just happened to you in there,” he said once the door was closed. “I want to get a hold of campus security. And who’s the director of this play?” He noticed then that her hands were shaking.

  “Dr. Morris is the director.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Yes. He lives right in town.”

  “You and I are going to see him tonight. Those girls should be expelled.”

  “You didn’t think it was just a joke?”

  “Not in the least. I let them think that I did until I got that knife away from the girl. What did you say her name was?”

  “Donna Stetter.”

  “You might want to consider going to the police.” He was talking faster because he was angry. “She’s a highly unstable individual. I wouldn’t take any chances.”

  She nodded, and then covered her face with her hands.

  “Rose, are you all right?”

  “I’m embarrassed,” she said, but her voice shook. “They tricked me so easily. I thought she just wanted to rehearse with me—I actually thought she was being nicer to me. So I said yes. But it was all–”

  “A cruel ploy to get you to drop out of the play. Is that what they wanted?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how much you heard.”

  “I heard that part. Did they assault you?”

  “No, they didn’t have to. They convinced me to read the Gloucester scene, with me playing the part of Gloucester. Then they just tied me up. It’s right there in the script. That’s when they dropped the acting and started on their agenda.” She reddened. “It was stupid of me.”

  “Not at all. You were just being a decent, trusting human being, and they abused your trust with malicious intent.”

  “I should have known better, Fish. I should have sensed that there was something wrong, but I didn’t.”

  Fish looked intently at Rose. “They really scared you, didn’t they?”

  She
sighed. “They did.”

  “I couldn’t tell from your demeanor. You were so calm.”

  “I wasn’t letting them know. But I was scared. It was too much like—like being captured by Mr. Freet.”

  “Ah. Yes, I can see that.” He knew. He was, of course, the only one who would know. He hesitated, and said, “You can’t let that fear rule you, Rose.”

  She spoke resentfully. “I don’t want it to, and I thought I was beyond it, but when I was in that situation again, it reminded me too much. Going through it a second time was almost worse than the first time.”

  “Because you knew what might happen, and how much you were capable of suffering,” Fish said grimly. “Yes, that’s the way it is. That’s why I said you can’t let it rule you.”

  She looked at him suddenly. “Does it rule you, Fish?”

  He moved uneasily beneath her gaze, but he kept his face expressionless. “Sometimes it does.”

  “Does it?”

  “More times than I care to remember.”

  “Don’t you fight against it?”

  “Why do you think I’m the way I am, Rose?” he asked quietly. “What you see in front of you is fighting.”

  He thrust his keys into the ignition. “Sorry to cut this off, but we have a long night ahead of us, and I’d still like to get you home to your mom after we’re done contacting the appropriate authorities. Can you direct me to Dr Morris’s house?”

  “Yes. I’ve been to his house before, actually. We painted some of the scenery there.”

  “Good. Take me there now.” He started to pull out.

  “Fish, I’m glad you came to get me tonight,” Rose made a movement toward him with her hand, but then seemed to reconsider and withdrew. “That was one reason I could keep calm, because I knew you would be coming back any minute. I was just trying to delay them.”

  “Well, you did a good job. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” said Fish, and all at once he was distracted. He turned away from her and looked out the car window to the chapel down the hill. He suddenly remembered why he had rushed up to the theatre so quickly. Because of that odd nun, and her words about snakes in the grass. For a moment he thought of telling Rose about it. Then he dismissed the thought. There were enough real issues to deal with here, setting aside ominous prophetic warnings.

  Fish was glad to see that, despite her small breakdown alone with him in the car, Rose was calm as she went through the ordeal of retelling the experience to Dr. Morris, and then the Dean of Students, whom Dr. Morris had gotten on the phone. Both of them promised immediate action, and agreed that there was no difficulty in Rose’s going home for the weekend. In fact, they were glad she could go and be with her family after such a trying experience.

  All the same, Fish looked critically at Rose after they had left the Morris’s home around midnight.

  “You look a little peaked,” he said, “I’m taking you out to get you some food.”

  He drove to an all-night diner, and told Rose to order whatever she wanted.

  “Will you be very shocked if I order an ice cream sundae?” she asked.

  “Aghast and appalled. But given what you’ve been through, I won’t bat an eyelash.”

  “Then I’d like a hot chocolate, and a fudge sundae,” Rose told the waitress over the menu. Fish ordered black coffee. When the food came, he watched Rose eat and drink with relish. She’s still like a child, he thought, able to be comforted so easily.

  When they got in the car, he insisted that she lie down in the back with his pillow and jacket and go to sleep.

  “But won’t you need help staying awake?” she persisted.

  “No. I usually drive alone.”

  “But this late at night?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “I have coffee. You need your sleep.” He handed her his mp3 player. “Pick out a set that you’d like to listen to. Choose something relaxing.”

  The stars were muted in the sky as Rose fell asleep and he drove east through the night. It was a long drive, and he stopped once to get another cup of coffee, but Rose kept sleeping. Once or twice he looked over his shoulder at her, and saw her resting soundly, her red hair spread out over the pillow, her shoulders curled up to her chin.

  She’s young, and resilient, he told himself. She’ll get over her fear, and her usual unbeatable spirit will return. He had to admire someone who could restore herself so easily. After checking the road, he glanced again at the sleeping girl.

  He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel at that moment, but for some reason, his emotions became wildly disturbing, blackly angry. He tried to subdue them, ashamed of the resentment that had suddenly flared up within him. It’s because of my internal mess, he told himself. I’m not reacting normally.

  Isolating his turmoil, he gave his full attention to the road ahead.

  Hers

  She was safe. Rose blinked in the daylight, waking up in her old room, seeing familiar knickknacks and books on the shelves around her. A warmth spread over her, and she settled down further into the bedclothes.

  So once again, I’m in debt to Mr. Benedict Denniston, she thought. That seemed to be Fish’s vocation in life, to be in the right place at the right time. She just happened to be at the wrong places at the wrong times, thus giving him more opportunities to exercise his mission.

  She stretched out of bed, fully grateful to be alive, and wondered what her mom was making her for breakfast. Of course, it was nearly noon, but she still wanted breakfast.

  Putting on her old terrycloth robe, yawning, she went downstairs and looked hopefully over the banister to the couch where Fish had crashed hours earlier. It was empty. A pillow sat on top of a folded blanket in the center.

  She hurried into the kitchen, but there was only Mom there, cooking pancakes.

  “Where’s Fish?” Rose asked, feeling rising disappointment.

  Mom looked over her shoulder and smiled at her daughter. “He left. Said he had an appointment. But he’ll meet you this evening at Bear and Blanche’s house.”

  “Oh,” Rose said, put out. “He up and ran, did he?” It was the usual guy goal-orientation. Don’t bother to even say goodbye to the fair maiden you’ve rescued, just rush on to the next duty calling you.

  Men are so strange, she thought to herself for perhaps the hundredth time since she had started college, and pushed all thoughts of Fish and other males from her mind. She sniffed the pancakes, delighted to be home, and kissed her mother.

  “Are there any ready?” she asked eagerly.

  “Right here,” and Mom handed her a plate. Rose took it happily and slid into a chair.

  “So Rose,” Mom said. “You and Fish had another adventure last night.”

  “The most Gothic of horrors,” Rose said dramatically, and then shivered. “I’ll tell you about it after I eat. It was a bit too real for me. But you’ll be happy to know our in-law surpassed himself as a rescuer. He quoted Shakespeare, too.”

  “Yes, tell me about it after breakfast—I don’t want to disturb your meal,” Mom said. “Blanche said I should call her when you got up. She wants to come over.”

  “Of course! Bear too, I hope?”

  “No, he’ll be working today at his stonecutting school, but he’ll be off work tomorrow. I’ll have off too, so we can all do something together on Saturday.”

  “How is Bear’s school going?” Rose asked, the usual polite question.

  “He’s doing very well with it.”

  “Of course he is. He’s Bear,” Rose said, pouring a generous portion of syrup on her pancakes, and added, “Why should I expect any less of Fish’s older brother?”

  “Rose, Rose,” Mom said with a bit of a sigh, putting down her teacup. “I hope this episode doesn’t keep you from getting over Fish.”

  Rose paused, a forkful of pancakes an inch from her mouth. “Mom,” she said, tinged with irritation. “Don’t you like him?”

  “Like him? Of course. He saved your life,” Her
mother’s eyes creased with concern. “But it worries me that he doesn’t seem to have the same concern for your heart. He doesn’t seem to love you the way you love him.”

  “Must you remind me?” Rose sighed, and put the food in her mouth with melancholy.

  “Believe me, if he loved you, I would have no objections,” Mom said, pushing her graying hair back into a ponytail. “He’s a very admirable person. But right now, all I see is you hanging onto him and getting hurt. And that makes me worried.”

  “Mom, any hurt I suffer is my own fault,” Rose said, picking at her pancakes. “He’s never led me on. He wouldn’t. He’s a cold fish, but he’s an honest cold fish.” The last analogy was not a good one, and she sighed and took another bite. “I just don’t know what his problem is.”

  “He might not have any problems. It might just be that he’s not the one for you.”

  “But he would be so good for me!” Rose protested. “He’s not flighty like I am—he’s very dependable and practical. I think we would complement each other.”

  “Maybe so,” Mom said softly. “But maybe there’s someone out there who’s better for you, Rose. Someone who’s not quite so solitary and withdrawn. Someone who has a bit more of your zest for life.”

  Rose almost didn’t want to consider the possibility, but she had to admit it probably existed. “I don’t know, Mom,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it now,” her mom said. “Your sister got married young, but that doesn’t mean you have to. You have time to do a lot of things with your life before you have to start picking a marriage partner.”

  “I know,” Rose said gloomily. “I know. If I could only turn off my heart until then, I’d be fine.”

  “Remember the Song of Songs? The one phrase that keeps repeating throughout the book is: ‘I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, not to stir up love or rouse it, until it chooses to awake.’ I can understand why. Many times women are forced to wait.”