by Anna Oney
She leaned against the doorframe, steadying herself, when she noticed a smear of blood staining the outer wall. The sun reflected off a glassy surface to her left, sending shimmering waves across her arm. She glanced toward the source, making out the windshield of the same four-wheeled, roofed contraption she had noticed before Big Sneed had attacked her.
No.
The cabin door swung open causing her to stumble backward and collide with the awning’s post. She hit the ground, clutching at her leg and hip. She looked up and stared at the bloodied face of a cruel man.
“I thought you’d come back here,” Big Sneed said, and swiped his bandaged hand beneath his chin.
White tape had been placed over the broken nose he must have reset. Numerous holes had been punctured through his forehead and cheeks. Some trailed up his neck. Blood had soaked through the bandages on his hands, which were cut trying to shield his face from the cardinals’ wrath.
“Good thing I had Dr. Wenze pack my ATV with medical supplies before I left. I don’t know how you pulled that off.” He chuckled lightly, and winced, bringing his hand to his jaw. “You must have some kind of deal with those winged beasts.”
She could tell he meant it as a joke. What they’d witnessed was an impossibility, but it had happened. Therefore, it was nothing short of a miracle.
She flinched as he stepped forward, snatching her up by her arm. His fingernails dug into her skin as he dragged her toward the nearest tree. She remained defenseless as her strength had abandoned her. Jagged shards of the tree’s bark cut into her back as he slammed her against its trunk. He pushed his bandaged forearm — the one Fawn had bitten — into her neck and smirked, easing his free hand between her thighs.
“You sure do cause a lot of trouble for a woman,” he said, pressing himself against her. “Women that dress like you are just asking for it.”
The degradation had Fawn struggling to hold back tears.
“For what?” she asked, and blinked, tears streaming down her face. “To be violated? It’s my fault that you can’t keep your thing in your pants?” She gritted her teeth. “You’re a sick individual.”
Heaving, Big Sneed brought his lips to her ear.
“You’ve got a big mouth. We’re going to have a little fun before I send you off permanently.”
Nostrils flared, Fawn met his menacing gaze and thought, Lacing Switch.
“I met the Devil once,” she said, her chin quivering. “And as much as you may want to be, you aren’t him.”
He kissed her, forcing her lips to part and accept his tongue. As he parted from her mouth, she bit his lower lip, drawing blood. He jerked his head back, wincing, as he licked his lip.
“You’re nothing but an invader to a land you don’t understand,” she said, revealing bloodstained teeth. “Everything has a return. You’ll get yours soon enough. What would Oleander say, huh?”
In a blind rage, he let out a primal scream and sank his teeth into her cheek. Despite his hold on her neck, she expelled a spine-tingling wail, she prayed could be heard for miles. Warm blood dribbled down her face as he parted from her flesh.
Locking eyes with Fawn, Big Sneed grimaced, blinking rapidly and breathing heavily. The pressure on her throat softened. He grasped at her top, nearly tearing it from her chest. Peering downward, she noticed an arrowhead protruding from his chest, explaining his peculiar behavior. He collapsed to the forest floor, sending fallen leaves scattering.
Ahead of Fawn, Reesa’s trembling form came into focus, lowering her bow.
Forgetting about her wounds for a moment, Fawn rushed toward her niece and then stumbled to the ground. She crawled the rest of the way to Reesa, and couldn’t help but think of how Big Sneed would feel about being silenced forever by a little girl.
On her knees, Fawn grasped Reesa’s shoulders.
“I-I had to,” Reesa said, her eyes swelling with tears. “I had to!”
“Yes, yes you did. Now, Reesa, baby, listen to me.” Fawn rested Reesa’s jaw in the palm of her hand. “We’re strong, right?”
“R-right.”
“That’s right. Stronger than most.”
Reesa nodded, wiping the tears from her face.
“What’re we going to do?”
“Big Sneed knew where this place was. Th-that means the rest of them know as well. It’s not safe for you to stay here. Go home.”
“But—”
“If they ask where you’ve been say, say,” she stammered. “You went down to the creek to check the lines for fish.”
“Why can’t I stay with you?”
“You’re not safe with me. When th-they realize Big Sneed is dead, they’ll send someone else. I-I,” she hissed, pressing her hand to her side. “I can’t take you along. Stay close to your father when you get home. Tell-tell him what’s happened.”
Sniffling, Reesa swiped her fingers beneath her nose.
“What about my bow?”
“Don’t let them see you with it. H-hide it away somewhere you won’t forget.”
Shakily, Reesa situated the bowstring across her chest.
“It-it’s my birthday. I wanted to spend it with you,” she whimpered softly. “I missed you.”
Reesa threw herself on Fawn, paying no attention to Fawn’s gunshot wounds. Gasping at the embrace, Fawn kept her side covered as Reesa loosened her grip and stepped back.
“I missed you, too,” Fawn replied, trying to muster a smile. “I-I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better birthday, sweet girl.”
“You’ll be okay, won’t you?”
“Yes, baby,” she replied, feeling as though she would topple over any second. “Now, go.”
Fawn stared after Reesa until her form disappeared.
Be smart. Be safe.
Fawn fell backward, when the rustling of someone approaching from behind reached her ears. The life of the forest seemed to have been snuffed out. No chirps from the birds, no scratching from the squirrels scurrying up the trees, no wind or the familiar flow of the creek. Nothing. Everything was silent.
“You need help,” a man’s voice said. “And that’s not a question, baby doll.”
A pair of legs covered in white and brown fur halted beside Fawn’s face. She peered downward and to the right, seeing that they belonged to a dog with large paws. A massive head sat atop the animal’s equally as thick neck, which was adorned with a red collar. The heavily breathing, drooling dog with a black patch over its eye, licked the side of Fawn’s face that Big Sneed had bitten.
She winced at the sensation of the dog’s scratchy tongue on her open wound and weakly turned her head in the opposite direction.
“Easy, Rambler,” the man said, pulling back his companion. “This gal needs medical attention. Not licks to the face.”
The afternoon sun broke through the trees surrounding them, stinging Fawn’s eyes. She squinted as the man leaned over her body, blocking her from its fierce gaze. He became a silhouette with shimmering, twinkling light outlining his form.
“Who,” she said, trying to raise her head from the ground. “Who are you?”
“Why,” the man replied, kneeling beside her. “I’m your great-granddaddy, Doolie, that’s who.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fawn figured the blood loss had begun playing tricks on her brain.
“Granddaddy,” she whispered, swallowing back a catch in her throat. “Is this happening inside my head?”
“No,” he replied, resting his forearm upon his knee. “But I understand why you’d come to that conclusion. Though, I’ve always believed that the things happening inside our heads are as real as things can get. Come with me,” he said, offering his hand. “You needn’t worry.”
He helped Fawn to her feet, sending a sharp sting throughout her body.
From reading Gran’s memoir, Fawn was aware that Doolie had died in his late fifties. The man that stood before her now was in his late twenties or early thirties. Doolie wore faded blue jeans with a baggy white jers
ey that hung below his waist. A navy-blue star stood out in the middle of his chest with the words, “Dallas Cowboys,” stretched below it, across his torso. His hair was the same orangey-red shade as Pete and Reesa’s.
Doolie’s death had haunted Gran just as much as Samuel’s had Fawn. Sixty-three years ago, an up-and-coming Back Wood was invaded by a group led by a man that had been known as the town drunk. A man Gran had denied a loan to save his home from condemnation: Heskill Bogan, Hunter’s great-grandfather.
Alone, Gran had emerged from the cornfield at Back Wood equipped with a bow and two arrows. After begging for her people’s lives with no change in Heskill’s murderous demeanor, she’d ignored her mother, Shirley, Doolie, and Tom’s pleas to run. She’d nocked an arrow in place and released it in Heskill’s direction. But one spiraling arrow had miraculously turned into more than a dozen and shot down all Heskill’s men within seconds. The town drunk’s grudge against Gran had come to head as he was pierced in the shoulder by her arrow. Grinning, he’d pulled back the trigger of his pistol, shooting Doolie in the back.
Gran had gone on to describe Wakiza’s sudden appearance, writing that his spear entered Heskill’s back and made a speedy exit through his chest cavity. The blow had killed Heskill instantly.
“But,” she said, puffing out small, quick breaths. “I-I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die, baby doll,” he replied, circling her back with his hand. “It’s just a small step behind the curtain. You’ll feel much better.”
She peered into his green eyes — the greenest she’d ever seen.
“Cur-curtain,” she recited through her heaving chest.
Doolie moved his hand through the air. The landscape seemed to shift in the direction of his hand, bunching up the way curtains would when guided from blocking a window. Fawn’s feet left the cushiony terrain of pine needles and spongy leaves, stepping onto a white marble walkway with transparent walls. It looked as though a protective film had been used as wallpaper to shield Fawn’s world from the one hidden behind the veil.
Taking his arm from around Fawn’s waist, Doolie motioned toward her wounded hip and then to her leg.
“Pain doesn’t exist here,” he said and nodded, grasping her hand. “Walk with me. You’ll see.”
Rambler nudged the back of Fawn’s legs with her snout, prompting Fawn to take her first steps forward on the marble walkway. Despite the moccasins she wore, the stone was cool beneath her feet. Outside the curtain, the beginning stages of autumn were setting in, while inside, she shut her eyes, savoring the flowery smell of spring that engulfed the air. Closed doors with shimmering light escaping through their cracks, lined the hall on either side of them.
She leaned forward, peering around Doolie’s chest, making out a blurry depiction of she and Hunter’s cabin outside the curtain. Juniper trotted through the area into which Fawn, Doolie, and Rambler had disappeared. Stopping short, she neighed and reared back when she couldn’t find her mistress.
Juniper’s cries were quieted behind the veil, reminding Fawn of being underwater. She remembered Marie’s muffled voice shouting at her from the creek bank, declaring that Fawn had won the, “Who Can Hold Their Breath the Longest” contest. Marie had been adamant that Fawn was just showing off, but the peace that had come over her under the water was something she desired. The stillness, the gentle humming in her ears, the ability to disappear, if only for a moment. The water enveloped her like a welcoming embrace. The same calmness came over her as she walked side by side with Doolie down the dimly lit hall of distant whispers.
The voices became clearer as they advanced down the hall.
“Why is she here? She can’t be here, it’s forbidden.”
“We can always tell when those of the living are among us,” Doolie said, slowing his stride. “Y’all give off a light buzzing. It’s like being near a beehive.”
“What are y’all exactly? Angels?”
“Partly,” he replied, shrugging as he tilted his head. “But mostly, we’re Masters of Fate. Or Fate Makers, if you will.”
“Is this where The Faultless hang out?”
“Oh,” he said, jerking back his head, “that’s right. I forgot that you met Joy. The Faultless usually stay in the Kingdom upstairs. Joy is among the few who like to come down occasionally.”
Soft whimpers came from the nearest door on her left.
“What’s behind that door?”
“That, baby doll, is what we call the room of Forewarning. Sometimes we get a glimpse of a person’s fate and the key players it affects. We project said fate onto those people it ultimately impacts as a warning for things to come. Some people ignore the warning altogether, while others take heed. It all depends on the main players’ level of intuition.”
“So,” she said, peering over her shoulder as they passed the door. “These warnings . . . they appear as regular people?”
“Correct. We have no control over what the projection says or feels. Once the owner of the projection’s destiny is fulfilled it ceases to exist.”
“Are my parents and sisters here somewhere?”
“They’re still training in the big house upstairs. They’ve been given their wings, but sometimes, it takes years for arrivals to learn how to fly.”
Cries mixed with laughter came from the room four doors down from the room of Forewarning.
“And that one?” she shakily asked, as chills crawled up her spine.
“That one, baby doll,” he replied, bringing Fawn closer to the wall opposite of the door. “That one is designated for shattered pieces of souls. They can’t be permitted to enter the Pearly Gates because they’re only fragments of souls that’re waiting for their owners to pass on. Until that time, we nurture and care for them here. That’s where my wife Shirley is stationed. That woman’s a nurturer through and through. There’s a whole world behind each of these doors.”
“Fragments of souls?”
“Yes, souls are sometimes chipped by the death of a loved one or a broken heart. In your case,” he said and paused before continuing. “It was due to a traumatic event. A piece of you that died that day on Lacing Switch road is behind that door. But,” he said, motioning toward himself, “as you can see, death isn’t final. The things we lose have a way of coming back to us.”
That playful, carefree little girl inside her had ceased to exist that day, turning Fawn into an overly prepared, skeptical woman with trust issues. Her sense of safety and ability to relate to others had been diminished, along with her faith in humanity. As they passed by the door, she wondered what that girl would have to say to her now.
Doolie hummed and whispered the words to a song Fawn recognized as Bob Seger’s, “Against the Wind,” and continued.
“There are moments that must come to pass to shape a person. Look at the situation with Big Sneed,” he said, tightening his grip on Fawn’s hand. “Instead of having the Soothsayers cause a distraction, we could’ve had them kill Big Sneed on the spot, but Reesa was meant to do the job. The moment she nocked that arrow and set it loose, the girl was gone, and in that girl’s place, stood a woman. Much like your situation,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips to peck her knuckles. “Only, the torment she’ll suffer won’t be as harsh as yours was.”
“This is all a little too much for my mortal brain to handle,” she said, as tears stung her eyes.
“Because of the evil that happened to you on Lacing Switch, you see the truth that others are blind to. It is why you’re still alive. Barely,” he added and winked. “But alive.”
Doolie stopped before an oak door, much larger than those they’d passed.
“Here we are,” he said, sighing as he smiled down at her. “Time to get you fixed up.”
Fawn didn’t realize how rough she looked until they entered a room with mirrors for walls. The torn flesh of her thigh and hip, the blood staining her clothing from the waist down, the bruising on the bony knobs of her spine caused by Big Sneed sl
amming her against the tree trunk, the crimson, half-moon indentions on her cheek from Big Sneed’s teeth, made Fawn turn her eyes from the ghastly sight.
An emerald, marble slab the length of the door they’d come through stood at the height of her waist in the middle of the room. A brilliant chandelier, adorned with sparkling jewels, hung from a ceiling made of wild ferns. Despite the room having no windows, the ferns’ fronds swayed back and forth with a gentle breeze. Fawn’s eyes were brightened by the sight of fireflies hovering below the green beauties, swerving around their reaching fronds.
In the far corner of the room, a woman, whose face was buried in a how-to book, entitled, How to Relate to Others, sat in a rocking chair. Her curly, mousey-brown hair was parted perfectly down the middle and held back from her face by a low ponytail. She wore a red, button-down shirt with the sleeves folded back to her elbows, and khaki ankle pants with off-white shoes.
“I thought I heard a buzz,” the woman said, lowering the book from her face. Her squinted, twitching eyes went straight for Rambler walking up beside Doolie. “Darn it, Doolie! I told you I didn’t want that dog coming in here. It’s unsanitary.”
Fawn recognized the woman from an old photograph that hung on her uncle Cooper and aunt Lizzie’s kitchen wall. It was an image of Georgia Maples, Back Wood’s first doctor, young and in her prime, accepting her college diploma in nursing on a grand stage.
“Father won’t be pleased that you’ve brought the woman here either,” Mrs. Maples continued, rising from her chair.
“Georgia,” he countered, bringing Fawn farther inside. “Father said He’d allow it as long as I wiped her memories afterward.”
“You—” Mrs. Maples began to argue.
Fawn cleared her throat, raising one finger in the air.
“Excuse me,” she cut in. “What was that about wiping memories?”
“I forgot to tell you,” he said, turning to face Fawn. “After Georgia’s done fixing you up, you won’t remember a thing about this place.”
Mrs. Maples clapped her hands, drawing their attention.