Until one day, she just … left. She was right there, a piece of crochet in her hands as she sat looking out on our backyard and the pool. But one moment she was twisting the hook, and the next moment she wasgone. Like a criminal fleeing the scene and leaving cupboards open, doors off their hinges, and a body in the hall.
I clear my throat and try to keep myself tethered to the now. I’m quite careful about allowing my mind to wander, and if I ever feel like it wants to pull against the tight leash, I write it down. Tell a story. Make some sort of sense out of the creative hive of bees buzzing through my brain with their stingers out.
“The bully is a boy. Everyone loves him. Plays football.” I roll my eyes. “He’s taller than me. This last year, all the boys caught up with me and passed me, for the most part. Now I have to look up at them instead of the other way around. It sucks.” I let my fingers play over her braid. “He tripped me in the hall. His friends laughed. I don’t know why the teachers think he’s so wonderful. My English teacher, Mrs. Barry, practically fawns over him in class. Like he’s some golden boy and she can’t wait for him to hit 18. It’s all very pervy, really.” I sigh. “He runs junior high. You’d think that would be enough for him. But no. I justwishhe’d leave me alone. If I could get him to?—”
She moves.
Not a lot. Not enough that anyone but me would notice it. But her nostrils flare, her eyes opening wider.
“Mom?”
Her fingers twitch, the legs of a dying spider on its back.
“Mom?” I take her hand.
She grips me so hard I yelp with surprise. “You shouldn’t wish.” The words seep through her gritted teeth. “You should never make a wish.”
By the time a nurse walks in, Mom’s back to her catatonic state, her eyes seeing nothing.
“What was that yell?” The nurse, unhurried as nurses generally are in this ward, stops in front of me, her eyes on her phone.
“I just … slipped.” I glance down at the floor. “It’s a little slick in here.”
“Be careful.” She gives me a fake smile then retreats, her footsteps squeaking away down the hall, likely back to where my father entertains her.
It would seem like my imagination, like my mother hadn’t moved at all or spoken to me. But when I turn my wrist over, I see the half-moon circles where her nails dug into me, and I still feel the hiss of her breath laced with warning against my cheek.
Chapter
Two
A more villainous looking lot never hung in a row on Execution dock.
The impact hits like a fall onto concrete, and I feel like I must shatter to bits and pieces and float back and forth, lazy leaves drifting to the bottom of the sea.
Not long after, I feel a pair of strong hands grabbing me under my arms and pulling. I don’t know if I should struggle or swim or let go. But none of that is my decision. It’s the pirate’s.
We surface in the black sea as the full moon dances off the water around us. The pirate sticks his fingers in his mouth and lets out a loud, sharp whistle. It’s answered by shrieks from the forest above. If I even begin to imagine what’s in the water beneath me, I may freeze up and sink.
He drapes one arm around my chest and starts swimming with the other.
“I can swim.” I sputter, saltwater trying to sneak into my lungs.
“Just kick, lass.” His words are labored as he pulls me through the water, keeping me afloat while he struggles to tame the rising waves and the pull of the tide.
I don’t want to be here. Not in these waters. I kick as best I can and rise from the surface enough to get my bearings.
“Hey!” I twist from his grip and tread water as he stops. “We’re not going to shore?”
Reaching up, he snugs his hat onto his head, shading his eyes from the moonglow. “Why? You’d like to have words with the cockatrice?”
I whip my head back to the cliff above, though the creature isn’t there—or if it is, it’s lurking in the shadows and wondering how its meal disappeared so suddenly. “We’ll drown out here.” I turn and start kicking away from him.
His hand comes down on my shoulder, and he pulls me against him. “We won’t drown.” Spinning me in the water, he points. “We’re headed home.” His mouth is at my ear, his warm breath tickling even more than the water dripping along my skin.
A wave crests and falls ahead of us, and that’s when I see the black sails in the night. The Jolly Roger. Hook’s ship.
“No!” I try to kick again, to get away from him, but the pirate is everywhere, wrapping me up and holding me steady despite my splashing.
