Heroes Often Fail

SIX

1131 hours

In another world, the attic might be a wonderful place to be.

She could smell the dust and saw it floating in the air, highlighted in a shaft of sunlight that came through a high window.

There were boxes and boxes of things, but she didn’t dare look in them. Even though the scary man had patted her on the head and then on the bottom and told her she was home now, she knew this wasn’t home. It was like the opposite of Fairy Castle, where everything was dangerous instead of wonderful.

She sat in the chair he had pulled out to the center of the room for her. It had a cushion on it and she found it to be comfortable enough. Several feet away was the small desk and mirror set that the chair belonged to, and Amy imagined that was the type of thing that a real princess would have in her room.

If princesses were real.

She couldn’t stop shivering, even though the room wasn’t cold. A little stuffy, but not cold.

The house creaked and she jumped, but there was no further sound. It almost seemed that the house was laughing gently at her.

Mommy! She wanted to scream. I want my Mommy!

But he’d told her that if she wasn’t a good girl, he would take his van and go get her mommy. And he wouldn’t bring her here. He would hurt her bad.

Amy believed him.

She’d seen his eyes. Those terrible eyes that said something to her that she didn’t understand, but that scared her deep in her stomach.

I have to be a good girl. I have to keep my Mommy safe!

The house creaked again. She jumped again, then swore she heard the whisper of laughter coming from the walls.

She had to stop imagining things. Houses don’t laugh.

There was another creak, almost in protest to her thought, but this one didn’t fade. Instead, she heard tromping on the narrow stairs to the door. There was a metallic click and jiggle at the knob and the door swung open.

In the shadows, for a moment, Amy thought she was looking at a troll from one of her bedtime stories. Amy swallowed a squeak. The figure moved forward and the shaft of sunlight fell across it.

It’s a troll, a scary, mean troll-

And then she saw that it was just a woman.

Maybe. It could be a troll.

She was old, Amy could tell. Older even than her Mom. And she was a little fat, too. The skin on her face sagged and Amy saw some bumps on her cheek. Wild, black hair was cut short and spiky atop her head. Amy couldn’t shake the image of her as a troll.

“Are you comfortable, dear?” the woman asked, and her voice scared Amy even more than the eyes of the man had. It reminded her of the witch in Sleeping Beauty or the step-mother in Cinderella and the sound of it sent stabs of fear into her belly.

She didn’t answer right away and the woman stepped toward her. “It isn’t polite not to answer.”

“I’m…okay,” Amy whispered.

“Just okay?” The woman came closer. Amy could smell her perfume and another smell, too. It was the smell her father occasionally had when he watched football. “I would think you would be wonderful, since you are starting your new life.”

Amy swallowed and tried not to cry. She struggled to remember what her parents had taught her about being polite.

“Please, ma’am. I want to go home.”

Stubby fingers extended toward her and touched her cheek. Plastic bracelets dangled from the wrist. “You are home, dear.”

A sudden sob burst out of her chest. “I want my mommy, please!”

The woman retracted her hand and balled it into a fist. “That stupid girl!” she shrieked. “She doesn’t deserve a child like you! She’s a fucking idiot!”

Amy blanched at the yelling and the bad words.

The woman took a deep, shuddering breath and ran her fingers through her hair, making the bracelets jangle. The sound was loud in the quiet of the attic.

“Please?” Amy asked again.

“Shut up!”

Amy couldn’t stand it any longer. The single sob that had burst out became the catalyst for all the rest. They tore at her chest and she let loose an uncontrollable wash of tears.

“I said, shut up!” the woman screamed and raised her fist to strike her.

Amy recoiled, covering her head with both arms.

But the blow never came.

After a few moments, she sensed the woman kneel next to her. The smell of her perfume and beer was overwhelming, despite Amy’s running nose. She felt a pair of arms envelope her. Flabby, clammy skin pressed against her face.

“It’s okay, dear. Don’t cry,” she said in soothing tones, but Amy found no comfort in her words. The touch of the woman’s arms made the little girl’s skin crawl.

“Puh-puh-please?” she said between hitching sobs.

“Don’t cry,” the woman repeated. “It’s all right now. You’re with your Grammy. Your mommy didn’t want you anymore, so I came to get you. That’s all.”

Amy shook her head in disbelief. Her mommy didn’t want her? That couldn’t be true.

“Yes, it’s true,” Grammy said, as if she’s heard Amy’s thoughts. “Sometimes mommies change their minds about keeping their kids. That’s what your mommy did. That’s why I came to get you and I brought you here.”

Amy’s sobs racked her chest. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

“I’ll take care of you now,” Grammy said. “I’ll love you. Me and your Grandpa Fred.”

Amy couldn’t stop crying and she couldn’t stop shaking her head no.

“But you’ll have to be a very good girl,” Grammy said, stroking Amy’s hair. “You’ll have to be very, very good.”