It was almost morning. She kept saying that. We ran up the stairs as quietly as we could, like cats, but if you walk downstairs for ten minutes, it takes longer than that to go back up. My legs were so tired. I sat down on the steps and cried. I couldn’t go any farther. My legs were too tired. I couldn’t do it. I thought she had forgotten about me.

A hand grabbed my arm, and I screamed. It was the silver-haired woman—I couldn’t see anything, but I knew it was her because of her icy touch. She lifted me up in her arms like a baby, and we rushed up the stairs. She moved so quickly that before I could blink we were outside and into the woods.

I don’t know the timing of everything, but the sky was starting to lighten as we swept along through the forest. I fell asleep in her arms, and when I woke up, she was lowering me gently through the window. I tried to see her face one last time as she lowered me down, but she had pulled up her hood, and it cast a deep shadow. And besides, I fell asleep as soon as she put me down. It didn’t matter that I was lying on the wood floor. I was so tired.

Going Under

The three of us sit at the table eating a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs. You seem hungrier than normal, wolfing down the food like it’s your last meal. You reach for more bacon and moan with delight after each bite, the sounds pulling a slight smile onto Tom’s face. He seems to have withdrawn again, acting more like the Tom we met at the diner a couple days ago, and I think it’s because of the question I asked him last night, the one about him taking those photos of Mary.

I sigh and push my eggs around. I’m not hungry. Is this lack of appetite a result of the diagnosis or the sickness spreading inside of me, or am I too despondent after Tom’s and my conversation last night? I have to admit it was strange seeing those photos and realizing that someone else saw Mary that way. He noticed her. He took her in. This started an uneasiness working its way through me, and it hasn’t stopped this morning.

There is no way you could have hiked through the woods at night to our cabin, not through the rain and the cold. And besides that, how would you even have found your way? No, Pearl, it’s not possible. I am worried for you, worried enough to talk with Tom about the things you’re saying, even though I’d rather not talk to him at all right now after seeing those photos.

“Do you still want to learn to swim?” he asks you in a disinterested tone.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, your mouth full.

“Pearl,” I say.

You chew your food and swallow, blushing. “Sorry. I would love that.”