Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  “None of this was supposed to be mine,” he says very softly, and stands. “I will take you to see your friend when you wake up. Sleep now if you like. I can have something brought from the library, if it pleases you. Anything you require, pull the rope to send for a servant.”

  I roll over on my side, away from him. “You can’t bribe me into liking you.”

  “My father had an arranged marriage, as did his father and his father before him.”

  “Yadda yadda five hundred years,” I cut in.

  “Your insolence is not amusing.”

  I smirk a little, where he can’t see.

  “My mother did not love my father when they married. You would not have known it from seeing her when he died.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She died, too.”

  “So you’re alone.”

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  I turn over, but the door has already banged shut, leaving me in the dark. I felt a little pang of sympathy for him there, I admit it. It’s a terrible thing to be alone, and creature comforts don’t make up for the touch of another human being.

  “Magua’s heart is twisted. He would make himself into what twisted him,” I say aloud.

  I wonder if the prince has read that book, too.

  I don’t usually sleep on my back, but I’m fairly exhausted. My eyes close eventually and I fall asleep before I realize what’s happened. Waking almost startles me. The same as yesterday, it takes me a moment to adjust to my surroundings.

  I keep expecting my eyes to really open, to wake up in camp like some crazy Twilight Zone episode, but no, I’m actually here. I kick out from under the covers and reach for the rope.

  No, I should dress first.

  I bathe quickly, brush my hair and pull it into a ponytail, and choose a dress almost at random, one of the plainest ones on the rack. I wish I had some actual pants to put on.I’m getting sick of the dresses. It’s a pale yellow and covers me up a bit more than the green one I had on yesterday.

  Once I’m dressed I give the bell a sharp tug. I feel it pull against something somewhere in the castle, and a heavy bell bong-bongs far overhead.

  Wow, really.

  About five minutes later the prince arrives, dressed in a plain black outfit like he wore yesterday, without the boots. He offers me his arm but I walk past him into the hall and wait. I fall in beside him and walk in silence to the courtyard, and pointedly ignore him on the car ride from the castle.

  The hospital doesn’t really stand out. The only thing marking it off is the red cross painted on the side, the helicopter pad, and the fleet of ambulances parked outside in a long garage.

  The car takes us right up to the front entrance under an overhang, and I brace myself. There will be other people here. I’m getting my request. I’m going to see the peasants in action.

  The prince personally offers me a hand to step down from the car. I take it, still feeling a little wobbly on my ankle. All that walking yesterday made me sore, and now I’m starting to regret the boots.

  I walk slowly, head up, shoulders back. As I walk into the hospital I get more than a handful of stares. I’m suddenly the center of attention. There must be two dozen people right here in the immediate area. Patients waiting to be seen, receptionists behind the front desk, doctors in scrubs.

  Everything is new and clean, well lit. I wouldn’t know I wasn’t in America without the hushed speech in Kosztylan making my ears burn.

  When they realize I’m with their prince, everything changes. It’s like the temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Everyone looks away from me, or at most, at my feet. The receptionists go stone still, staring at their hands, hovering at their keyboards, as if they’re afraid of appearing to slack off.

  They are. They’re all terrified. I can feel it, like a chilly fog swirling around my shoulders. The normal background noise that was there a minute ago is gone, the way the woods go silent and the bugs and birds cease all sound as a predator passes by.

  “We’re here to see the American girl,” the prince says in clipped Kosztylan.

  The two receptionists look at each other like they’re willing the other one to take the task, until the one on the left finally stands up, smooths her clean white uniform, and steps out from around the desk.

  “If your grace would follow me.”

  The prince nods and we follow. I stay a step behind his right shoulder, almost instinctively. There is no shortage of people here, and as we move by they incline their heads and stand still, waiting for us to pass before they move.

  “They’re all terrified of you.”

  “It’s respect.”

  “It’s terror. People look at other people they respect. Can’t you feel it?”

  “No.”

  I feel horrible for the poor girl as we step into an elevator. She stands in the corner, as though she would sink into it and disappear if she could, and jabs the elevator button.

  The prince doesn’t even acknowledge her existence. His expression is clouded, his eyes distant. He glances at me and then looks away until the doors open and he motions for the girl to lead us. She looks down and scurries ahead, as if she’s afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to her, like a prey animal scared a predator is going to take her scent.

  His heels click loudly on the floor. The nurses in the hallway stop, turn, and bow their heads. Orderlies pushing carts stop and back up to stay well clear of their leader. It’s like the whole world opens for him, like parting the Red Sea. I find myself wondering if he knows what it’s like to have something in his way.

  After two turns down a corridor, the receptionist stops. The guards standing on either side of the door clasp their hands to their chests in some kind of salute. The prince doesn’t deign to return it. He starts toward the door.

  “Your grace,” the receptionist says.

  He stops and looks at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time.

  “B-b-begging your pardon, but the doctors have left a special instruction. The patient does not react well to the presence of men.”

  “Why did you not tell me before?”

  “I d-did not want to offend your grace.”

  His lips press into a thin frown.

  I step forward, in front of him, and rest my hands on her arms. She stares at me and blinks.

  “It’s alright. Thank you for telling us. I’ll go in alone.”

  I hope she understood that. She blinks at me a few times, and then the prince repeats what I said, properly.

  She smiles and nods and scurries away, taking a glance at us as if she’s trying to figure me out, only to pick up her pace when she realizes she forgot herself and presumed to look at the prince’s royal ass.

  “You presume again,” he says to me when she’s gone.

  “What’s more important to you, my friend’s well-being or getting your way?”

  “I’ll wait,” he says.

  He paces to the far side of the hall and sits down on a white wooden bench, showing perfect posture as his hands rest on his thighs.

  I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

  The door swings open and I quickly close it behind me. I’m not sure what I was expecting. The room is bright and airy, warm light pouring in through tall windows. Melissa sits on a comfy-looking bed with the back raised, reading a Bible.

  I take a step into the room then rap my knuckles onto the wall.

  “Melissa?”

  She looks up and stops mouthing the words and freezes, doe-eyed and pale as a ghost. She’s been cleaned up and wears her hair in a loose ponytail, and she has dressed in a set of white scrubs. She wiggles her toes under the sheets as I approach.

  “Penny?” she says, as if she can’t believe it’s me.

  She touches my arm and tugs lightly on the sleeve of my dress, testing to make sure I’m really real.

  Her voice is tiny and thin. “I asked if you were okay, but they wouldn’t tell me where you were.”<
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  “I’m alright. Have they been treating you well?”

  “The doctors scared me, but they went away.”

  There’s something childlike in her voice. If I was talking to her on the phone, I’d think she was a twelve-year-old.

  “The nurses are nice. They gave me Band-Aids and let me eat lime Jell-O. I don’t think it’s real Jell-O.”

  She lowers her voice.

  “One of them told me you were with the prince. Is that him outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he coming in?”

  Her eyes. The look in her eyes crushes me. I feel like I’m going to sink through the floor. I gently take her hands in mine.

  “No, he’s not. He’s not going to hurt you. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore, I promise.”

  “They won’t let me go home. I can’t talk to my mommy and daddy.”

  I bite my lip and strain to hold back tears. It’s like she’s completely broken. She notices the tension in my expression and starts to cry softly.

  “I want to go home. I hate this place. I keep dreaming that thing is back.”

  “What thing?”

  “With the sword. It was a demon from hell. I saw it. I saw what it did to those men who were going to hurt us. You didn’t look but I looked. I looked.”

  Suddenly her arms are around me. I pull her head to my shoulder and let her sob into my stupid poofy princess dress.

  “Why did this happen? I didn’t want this. I only wanted to help people. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I want to go home, Penny. Will he listen to you? Ask him to let us go home.”

  I can’t make myself lie to her, but I don’t want to tell her the truth.

  “I hate it here. Please.”

  I hold her tighter and let her sob until she quiets down.

  “I don’t understand why God is punishing me.”

  “He’s not,” I tell her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her voice changes a little. She sounds more like herself, but the question turns my bones to ice.

  “Penny, are we in hell?”

  “No, we’re in Kosztyla. They’re… They’re keeping us here for our safety.” I bite off the words, resenting every syllable. “We’ll be able to go home soon.”

  I stroke her hair and lean my chin on her head until her breathing grows more even and she stops crying. She falls back on the pillows and covers her eyes with her hands.

  “I’m sorry, Penny. Just listen to me. I’m losing it. I can’t take it much longer. I need to get out of here. I want my mom. I just want to hear her voice. Please.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I can’t stay.”

  “I’ll pray for you,” she says with an earnestness that gives me shivers. “I pray he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “I don’t think he will.”

  “He’s evil.”

  “I know.”

  I stand up and hold her hands for a moment and try to look strong, but I’m going to end up on the floor myself if I don’t get outside. I try not to rush into the hall until the door closes.

  As it clicks shut I fall back against the wall and slide down to plop on the floor and stare at nothing.

  “Persephone?”

  “Don’t,” I say coldly. I look up at him. “Was this supposed to impress me? It’s a nice prison, but it’s still a prison.”

  “She needs psychological care.”

  “She needs to talk to her mother.”

  “I already explained this to you,” he says, clearly fighting to keep his voice even. “If I let either of you leave you will be in mortal danger.”

  I point at the door. “That isn’t mortal danger? She’s going nuts in there. She needs real help, not whatever you’re doing to her. How can you be this cruel?”

  I look around the hallway and blink a few times. The guards, a couple doctors and nurses, and a few orderlies are all staring at me wide eyed, like they just saw me give birth to a live chicken.

  “Get up,” he says coldly. “Do not say another word unless spoken to.”

  Shakily I lean on the bench and rise. He takes my arm and pulls me to my feet, not roughly but firmly.

  “I was right about you,” I say very softly. “Completely right.”

  “What did she ask you for?”

  “To convince you to let her leave.”

  He looks past me, at the door. “That will not happen.”

  “Then let her talk to her family. Please. I’m begging you. She’s been through a lot. She needs to hear a familiar voice. She’s not a machine, my prince. You can’t just have them put her back together like repairing a broken generator.”

  He bites his lip. On anyone else, it would almost be endearing.

  I lower my voice even further.

  “If you could talk to your mother, would you?”

  The prince flinches, as if I’d hit him.

  “My mother is dead,” he says coldly.

  He snaps his fingers, and barks a rapid order in Kosztylan at the orderly who approaches, eyes downcast. The man nods and darts off, and the prince stands there, waiting. I put my fists on my hips and wait alongside him, wondering what he’s going to inflict on me now.

  The orderly comes back carrying a cordless phone on a plastic tray, the kind they might use to serve dinner.

  The prince takes it and hands it to me.

  “I am told you will have to dial nine for an outside line. Call her parents. Then take the phone in to her. When she is done, bring it to me. Do not let them hang up until I speak to them.”

  I stare at him, wide eyed, and then quickly dial. Someone shouts at me in Kosztylan on the other end. I didn’t hit nine first. I try again and listen to the phone ringing. A tired voice answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Petersen? Is this Melissa’s mom?”

  “I…” she yawns. “Yes, who is this?”

  “My name is Penny. I’m—”

  “Oh my God, are you the other girl? The one who went missing with my daughter? Where is she? Where are you?”

  “I… We’re in a hospital.”

  “Where? The church said you disappeared, they don’t know where you are. Why haven’t you called in?”

  “They didn’t let us.”

  “They who? Where are you?”

  “Kosztyla.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone, and then a whimper.

  “My God in heaven, what are you doing there?”

  “It’s a long story—”

  “Did you get my daughter in some kind of trouble?”

  “No. It’s a long story, I told you. We’re okay, we haven’t…”

  I was going to say we haven’t been here, but that’s not quite true.

  “I’ll tell you soon. Melissa is here and she wants to talk to you. She’s been through a lot but she’s not physically hurt, she’s just really shaken up. She really wants to talk to you and—”

  “Put her on. Please.”

  I look at the prince. He gives me one sharp nod and steps back from the door, motioning his men away as well, so Melissa can’t see them.

  I walk in with the phone.

  Melissa looks up, and her eyes snap to the phone.

  “I talked to the prince, Melissa. We can’t leave yet, but your mom is on—”

  She snatches it from me.

  “Mommy,” she wails, “is that you? Is it you?”

  I hear a similar cry on the other end, and for a moment all either of them do is weep, sobbing loudly.

  “It’s me, I’m okay, they didn’t hurt me, there were bad men and they were going to but Penny saved me and she’s going to help me come home.”

  I flinch, taken aback.

  “She’s an angel, God sent her to help me. I miss you so much, I just wanted to hear your voice. No, no they haven’t hurt me, I’m in a hospital. No they won’t let me leave. I don’t want to leave, it’s too scary outside, I’m in a room. No I don’t know what number.”

  “Melissa,”
I touch her arm gently, “I need the phone back when you’re ready.”

  “Why? I want to keep talking to them. Mom? What?” She sighs. “She says to do as they say.”

  “She’s right. You’ll talk to her again soon, I promise.”

  “I will? You’ll make him let me talk to her?”

  “I will, no matter what. Very soon, okay? I just need the phone for a minute and I’ll be right back.”

  Melissa nods. I take the phone from her outstretched hand and carry it back outside, as if it might break if I drop it.

  “Stay on the line, please. The prince wants to speak to you.”

  “What? Who? Wait, you mean… Holy mother of God.”

  I shove the phone at him but stay close. I can hear her, hysterical on the other end.

  “Please don’t hurt my daughter, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll pay if you want us to. We have savings…”

  “I am not a kidnapper,” the prince snaps, indignant. “I demand no ransom.”

  “Then what do you want? Please let my daughter go. I just want her back. Please, please please.”

  He stands there in silence, clutching the phone in a shaking hand.

  “I cannot let her return home. It would not be safe for her.”

  “Oh God, please. Whatever she’s done I’m sure it was a mistake. I’ll do anything you want, please. I’ll take her place. Let me come there and send her back. Just don’t hurt her, I’m begging you. She’s a good child, she wouldn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t mean it, whatever it was…”

  “She hasn’t committed a crime. She’s being held for her own protection.”

  “I need to see my little girl. Please.”

  As she descends into hysterics, the prince’s eyes go distant and his hand starts to drop, the phone pulling away from his ear.

  “Woman.”

  Melissa’s mom is sobbing.

  “Woman,” he barks.

  She goes silent. I can hear her trembling over the phone, almost.

  “You are married.”

  “Y-yes, we are.”

  “Children? Other than the girl?”

  “I have a younger son.”

  “I will send plane tickets… No, I will send a full diplomatic escort. You are welcome to join her here, as guests.”

  “What? You want us to come there?”

  He looks at the phone. Melissa’s mom is talking to her father.