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Frustration boils inside of me, but I can’t let it win.
I make myself look over at the Other again, and to my dismay, I watch it lap up the last of the guards’ corpses.
No, no, no, no, no.
Cecilia is still screaming. The Other will finish its meal any moment now, and it’ll come straight for her.
I have to get out of here. I have to save her.
If only she could go, and I could stay, but there’s no way out.
I don’t realize I’ve been retreating until my spine hits a knob.
But there isn’t a door there, my brain says, rather unhelpfully.
Still, I turn.
And almost gasp in relief.
The dumbwaiter.
Imogen sent food up on it just earlier today.
It’s not large enough for me to slip into, but…
I glance down at my poor, squirming little girl.
“Mommy loves you. I know you won’t remember me saying this, but I hope your daddy tells you all about it,” I say, pressing a kiss to my child’s forehead.
And then I place my baby in the wooden box and slam the door, tugging on the rope.
The dumbwaiter squeals.
I sense the Other turn, but I don’t let myself look. I’m not going anywhere until I feel the weight of the dumbwaiter rest at the bottom of the shaft.
Fates, surely there aren’t any Others in the kitchen.
Please don’t let there be any Others in the kitchen, I pray.
The thought has me wanting to turn the rope the other way, to lift Cecilia back to the safety of my arms. But that’s nonsensical. An idea brought on by panic and hysteria.
There’s a chance the Others have reached the kitchen, but there is one in here with me.
I keep coaxing the rope until the weight of the dumbwaiter thuds softly, the rope stopping in my hands.
I throw myself backwards, no thought of where I might be sending my body crossing my mind. My only survival instinct is that I have to get away from where I was standing.
It turns out to be a pretty good survival instinct, because the jaws of the Other curl around the now empty space.
There’s a snapping of rope as the creature’s jaws cut through the pulley. Panic seizes me. I picture my baby falling, and I have to remind myself she’s already reached safety at the bottom of the shaft. There is nowhere to fall.
I suck in a breath, and realize that I’m going to die.
But then, what if there’s no one alive left in the kitchens? What if no one knows where to look for my baby? It’s not the most reasonable of thoughts, I have to admit. Cecilia is a screamer, after all. It hasn’t been my absolute favorite quality of my daughter’s, if I’m being perfectly honest, but now I could have kissed the Fates’ feet for blessing me with a baby whose favorite activity is alerting others of her presence.
I will die up here in the nursery, but someone will find Cecilia. Her little screams will notify her rescuer right where she is, and she will live. I hate that I’ll be leaving her, but I hope that perhaps she’ll understand.
The Other turns to face me, and I shudder, using what is more than likely going to be my last breath.
