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She felt feverish all over and her system had locked up. In the bathroom, before the watchful eyes of her guardians, she could not move her bowels. Her body ached and her head ached. In fact, she was feeling the worst pain she'd ever known in her stomach and in her head.
Rose was surely running a temperature by the time she was taken to the first group session. Without a shower or bath, she felt filthy.
They put a paper sign on her that said I AM A SLUT and told her to admit that she had used drugs, that she'd listened to satanic music, that she'd slept with boys.
Over and over Rose said that she had not slept with anyone, that she had not done drugs.
Again and again, other girls stood before her screaming at her: "Admit, admit."
"Say it: 'I am a slut.' "
"Say it: 'I am an addict.' "
Rose refused. She started screaming. She'd never done drugs in her life. No one at the Willmont School did drugs. She'd never been with a boy except to kiss at a dance.
She found herself down on the floor with other girls sitting on her legs and her arms. She couldn't stop screaming until her mouth filled with vomit. She almost choked on it. With all her soul, she struggled, screaming louder and louder, spitting vomit everywhere.
When Rose awoke, she was alone in a room and she knew she was more than just a little sick. She was hot all over and the pain in her stomach was unbearable. Her head was on fire. Over and over when she heard another person passing she asked for water.
The answer came back, "Faker."
How long did she lie there? It seemed like days, but soon she was half dreaming. Over and over she prayed to Uncle Lestan. "Come get me, please, come get me. I didn't mean to do it, please, please forgive me." She couldn't imagine that he would want her to suffer like this. Surely Aunt Julie and Aunt Marge had told him what was happening. Aunt Marge had been hysterical by the time they took Rose away.
At some point, Rose realized something. She was dying. All she could think of now was water. And every time she drifted off, it was a dream that someone was giving her water; then she'd wake and there was no water; and there was no one there; no one passing; no one saying "faker," and no one saying "admit."
A strange calm came over Rose. So this is how her life would end, she thought. And maybe Uncle Lestan just didn't know or didn't understand how bad it was. What would it matter?
She slept and she dreamed but she kept shivering and waking with a jolt. Her lips were cracked. And there was so much pain in her stomach and chest and her head that she could feel nothing else.
Sliding in and out, dreaming of cold clear water in glasses from which she could drink, she heard sirens go off. They were loud screeching sirens far away but coming closer, and then alarms within this place itself went off, blasting with horrific volume. Rose could smell smoke. She could see the flicker of flames. She heard the girls screaming.
Right before her, the wall broke apart and so did the ceiling. The whole room blew apart with chunks of plaster and wood flying in all directions.
Wind swept through the room. The screams around her grew louder and louder.
A man came towards Rose. He looked like Uncle Lestan, but it wasn't Uncle Lestan. It was a dark-haired man and a beautiful man with the same bright eyes that Uncle Lestan had, except this man's eyes were green. He scooped Rose up from her pallet and wrapped her in something warm and close, and then they went upwards.
Rose saw flames all around as they rose. The entire compound was burning.
The man carried her up and up into the sky just as it had happened long years ago above the little island.
The air was marvelously cold and fresh. "Yes, the stars ...," she whispered.
When she saw the great sweep of diamond-bright stars, she was that little child again in Uncle Lestan's arms.
A gentle voice spoke in her ear, "Sleep, Rose, you're safe now. I'm taking you to your uncle Lestan."
Rose woke in a hospital room. She was surrounded by people in white coats and masks. A kindly female voice said, "You're going to be all right, darling. I'm giving you something to make you sleep."
Behind the nurse stood that man, that dark-haired man with the green eyes, who'd brought Rose here. He had the same darkly tanned skin as Uncle Lestan had, and his fingers felt like silk as he stroked Rose's cheek now.
"I'm your uncle's friend, Rose," he said. "My name is Louis." He pronounced it the French way, Louie. "Believe me, Rose, your uncle will be here soon. He's on his way. He'll take care of you, and I'll be here until he comes."
Next time she opened her eyes, she felt completely different. All the pain and pressure were gone from her stomach and chest. They'd evacuated all the waste from her body, she realized that. And when she thought of how revolting that must have been, fingers prying into her unwashed flesh, removing all that filth, she felt ashamed again and sobbed against the pillow. She felt to blame and miserable. The tall dark-haired man stroked her hair and told her not to worry anymore. "Your aunt Julie is on the way. Your uncle is on the way. Go back to sleep, Rose."
Though she was groggy and confused, she could see she was being given fluids and something white, some sort of IV nourishment. The doctor came. She said it would be about a week before Rose could leave, but the "danger" was past. It had been touch and go there for a while, all right. But Rose would be fine. The infection was under control; Rose was hydrated now. The man named Louis thanked the doctor and the nurse.
Rose
