Faerietale Read online

  She took out her key, the sound of their shouts and laughter filling the air behind her. Then she realized that something looked wrong.

  When she couldn't put her finger on it, she frowned and went into her apartment. Nothing looked out of the--

  Her air conditioner. The window unit was gone.

  “You've got to be kidding me,” she muttered, inspecting the empty window like a close enough look would make it magically reappear.

  Shaking her head, she walked into the bathroom and took off her uniform, washing her face and brushing some of the greasy smell out of her hair before she put on shorts and a thin t-shirt. Then she walked over to her chair and plopped down, turning on her small TV. At least whoever had snatched her a.c. hadn't decided there was anything else in her apartment worth taking.

  Copper, she remembered. The other day Tom had been saying something about how his dad had been getting a ton of calls about people who'd had their air conditioners stolen because the thieves were after the copper.

  No sense adding one more call to that, she decided. She hadn't had the stupid thing insured, anyway. Couldn't pay to replace it.

  And no sense reporting it to the landlord, either. It wasn't something that had come with the apartment, so Keith wouldn't want to be bothered with it. Half the time he didn't want to be bothered with things that had come with the apartment.

  Getting up again, she opened the window, disappointed when only muggy air greeted her. No breeze.

  Oh well. She'd watch a movie and eventually forget about it.

  Less than twenty minutes into the film, she realized she'd been kidding herself.

  Plenty of time to roast tonight, she thought. Right now she'd take a walk.

  She closed the window again-- yes, it would be stuffy when she got back, but there was no point in basically saying 'hi burglars, come on in'-- and then went to the sink, refilling an old water bottle. She had about five bucks to last her until payday three days from now, and didn't want to spend any of it on a bottle of water on the way to the trails.

  The trails were the best thing about her apartment. Less than six blocks away was the result of some town beautification, back-to-nature type project from several years ago. Hadn't been kept up very well-- the trails themselves were overgrown, and most of the little decorative wooden bridges contained at least one rotten board-- but she didn't care. She could go in there and forget about everything except the color of the sunlight filtering through the leaves and the smooth texture of the streambed rocks.

  Her hopes of a peaceful walk ended when she was several paces in and she heard a baby start to wail.

  Not a big deal, she thought. The kid's parent would give him or her a pacifier or a bottle or a toy, and she could focus on the birds chirping again.

  Knowing that the sound would go away soon helped her put it out of her mind, and she walked on, letting her usual worries fade, trimming everything down to just her and the trees and--

  And that baby was still crying.

  Alice rolled her eyes. She didn't mind children screaming in stores or restaurants; she expected to encounter them there. But to hear that reminder of civilization out here was deeply irritating.

  Maybe she should just turn around. Obviously she wasn't alone in thinking of the shady woods as a sanctuary from today's heat. She could start up her movie again and really try to concentrate this time. Besides, it'd be sundown within a couple of hours and then the temperature would drop.

  The shrieking got more high-pitched, and a hint of worry edged into Alice's annoyance. What if something was wrong?

  Everything's fine, she quickly thought. Few things more normal than a kid having a temper tantrum.

  She turned and took a few steps toward the beginning of the trail, and then turned right back around again, starting toward the crying.

  “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “You're going to find some kid teasing his little brother and then you'll be stuck making small talk with the parents. . .”

  Then she rounded a curve and saw a wiggling bundle in the middle of the path. Even with the sound of the shrieking, it took her a few seconds to realize that there really was a baby lying there on the trail.

  Not only was it alone, but it looked like it was wearing a snowsuit.

  “Oh my god,” she whispered, running forward and quickly scooping up the red-faced child, fumbling with the weird button-clasps on the thick material.

  “It's okay, it's okay,” she repeated. She'd certainly heard of parents abandoning their babies, but that was at places like hospitals or churches, not out in the middle of nowhere. But this wasn't abandonment, not really. Leaving the kid here in thick clothes in this weather was slow homicide. If they'd wanted to kill the baby, they should've at least done it quickly instead of torturing him or her like this; what if she hadn't shown up?

  But she had, she thought. That was the important thing. “It's all right. See, outfit's off. And I'm going to find your mommy or daddy and beat the everloving hell out of them, yes I am,” she said, keeping her voice sing-songy as she rocked the baby.

  He or she was wearing a dark gray cloth diaper instead of the usual disposable kind, and she decided to go ahead and take that off, too, since the kid's face was still red. She wasn't entirely sure if that was from the heat or the extended screaming, but since the skin still felt warm. . .

  It was a boy, she discovered a moment later. She set him down on the discarded snowsuit and opened her water bottle, giving the child a quick bath. The water was lukewarm instead of actually cold, but maybe that was for the best. She remembered something about how people with frostbite shouldn't go near really hot water; maybe people who were overheated shouldn't go near ice cold?

  Hopefully, anyway.

  She lightly wrapped the cloth diaper back around him, then picked him up again and continued to rock him. A couple of moments later he finally stopped crying, and she smiled. “There you go. Now, let's--”

  What in the world was she supposed to do with him? Take him to the cops, or the hospital?

  The cops, she decided. They were closer, and since she was on foot--

  No, she wasn't thinking straight. Go back to her apartment, call 911, and let the cops come to her.

  And then she froze. There was another puddle on the ground, a short distance away from the moisture from her water bottle. Only this puddle didn't look like water.

  Cradling the child in one arm, she hesitantly reached out and touched the liquid, raising her hand.

  Her fingertip was stained red.

  Immediately, her rage at the child's parents morphed into a gut-deep fear. She hadn't stumbled onto an abandonment, but onto an attempted murder.

  Or maybe a full murder. Maybe the killer was carting off the mother or father's body right now and then was planning to come back for the kid and he'd find her sitting here--

  She got to her feet, but instead of racing back toward town, she found herself looking around for more bloodstains.

  This is exactly why the psycho killers in the movies always get the heroine, she told herself. Because they're never smart enough to run.

  Spotting another streak of blood on the ground, she followed the trail, starting to tell herself that this was the dumbest idea she'd ever had in her life. But she was barely able to finish the thought before she saw the foot.

  Alice took a step back, closing her eyes tightly. That was a dead body hidden by those thick bushes, she just knew it, and the last thing she ever wanted to see--

  But maybe whoever it was wasn't dead. And if that was the case, she couldn't just run off.

  Oh, yes she could. Hurry home, call 911, and let the cops or morticians or whoever deal with it. The people who came would definitely be more able to handle dead people than she was.

  “I have to put you down for a minute, okay?” she murmured. She didn't trust herself not to freak out when she saw whatever had been done to this person, and she didn't want to risk dropping the baby.

&nb
sp; She moved back to the snowsuit, and once the child was down, she hesitantly approached the body again. Staring at the foot for a few seconds, she started to look around for a stick, and then dismissed the idea. If she'd been murdered in the woods, she wouldn't want somebody poking at her with a stick like she was a smushed raccoon on the side of the highway.

  Reaching out, she nudged the foot with her palm. “Hello?”

  Nothing. Now what? Did she try to drag this poor person out, or try to shove into the bushes to see what had happened? If the person was dead then this was a crime scene and she shouldn't disturb it but if--

  Then the foot pulled inward as she heard a groan, and Alice fell back with a short shriek, landing hard on a tree root.

  She got up, rubbing her butt, deciding that she'd be laughing hysterically at the picture she made right now if it wasn't for the fact she was about two seconds away from utter panic. And the baby was crying again. She'd probably startled him with her yelp. “It's okay,” she told him as she re-approached the bushes. “Hey. Hello? You all right?”

  Another groan.

  Resigning herself to seeing something that'd give her nightmares for a year, Alice crouched down and felt around under the bushes, nearly falling back again when the person grabbed her hand.

  No, this is a good thing, she thought. Strong enough to do that means maybe strong enough to walk.

  “Hi, I'm Alice, pleased to meet you,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Glad you're awake and all, but can you maybe loosen your grip? Losing circulation over here. Okay, or not. I'm going to pull you out, all right? On the count of three. One, two, three.”

  She braced herself as best she could and tugged back. The person let out a weak cry, but slid toward her. There was blood soaking through the thick material covering her right leg.

  Oh man, she thought. Upper leg, wasn't that where the femoral artery--

  No, if that thing was hit you bled out in a matter of minutes.

  Okay, so it might not be the femoral but it still didn't look good. She tugged again, and on the third time the woman came into sight. Her face was scrunched up in pain, there were leaves and dirt in her hair, and her heavy clothes were a dusty mess. Still, she looked pretty young-- probably not much older than she was. She glanced around again, half-expecting to see some crazed killer with wild hair and a huge butcher knife standing further on down the trail.

  “What happened?”

  The woman didn't answer, just pressed her trembling hands to her wounded leg and winced.

  “You're right, never mind, you can answer questions later. Can you walk? I don't have a cell phone and I don't want to leave you here. My apartment's not far, okay? I can help you.”

  “Sayvi?” she whispered.

  Crap. If she didn't speak English-- “What?”

  “Where's Sayvi?”

  “Huh? Ohhh, the kid! The baby's fine, don't worry. In fact, he'll probably be wailing again in a minute if I don't go pick him up.”

  “I want to hold him.”

  “Ma'am, your hands are shaking really bad and--” Then she opened her eyes, and Alice found herself stumbling back again, though this time she managed not to fall.

  The woman's eyes were completely black.

  Could burst blood vessels do that? She remembered hearing about people bursting blood vessels in their eyes and the idea had always seriously freaked her out, but she didn't know what it looked like when that happened. “Can you see?”

  “Of course I can see!” she snapped, peering around her, her expression gentling somewhat when she caught sight of the baby.

  “Well how am I supposed to know?” Alice asked. “Your eyes are--”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that! What in the--” Another grimace, and she decided to delay the question. “Come on, let me help you up.”

  When she was ten, she remembered wishing for something fantastic to happen-- finding out she was actually the princess of a faraway kingdom, learning she had a superpower. The usual fantasies. But she'd been a kid then, silly things like that could be forgiven. And she'd grown out of that phase quickly.

  Having something this weird actually happen, nine years later, was either a sign of sudden severe mental illness or . . . no, had to be the illness. Not really another explanation for something like this.

  For someone who looked to be about her size, the woman was surprisingly heavy. Or maybe not so surprisingly, wasn't like she helped injured people to their feet every day. They finally managed to get her to a nearly-standing position, and Alice helped her limp over to the closest tree.

  “Hang on to that for a minute,” she said. “I'll get the baby.”

  “Coming. Need to go through.”

  Please tell me she doesn't have a head injury, too, Alice thought. “What?”

  One palm pressed against the bark, the woman raised the other hand to her forehead, rubbing it for a few seconds before she slowly went on. “They're coming. I need to go through another Door. Now.”

  She didn't focus on that business about another door, couldn't after the first two words. “Who's coming? The people who did this to you?” she asked, scooping up the child. “Aw man, I knew I should've volunteered to work an extra shift today. C'mon, let's get going. We don't want to be here when they come back. Don't think you can do much fighting right now and I don't exactly have a black belt.”

  “You always . . . talk this much?”

  “Only when I'm about to have a panic attack,” Alice said, getting her free arm around the woman's waist.

  The normally short walk back to her apartment seemed to take an eternity. Every crack in the sidewalk seemed to catch either her or the other woman's feet, and the sun had gone from uncomfortable to completely unbearable.

  At least she was dressed for the weather, she thought. She was surprised the woman hadn't passed out from heatstroke. Maybe she should've tried to get her to take off the coat before they left the woods. But she'd been having enough trouble moving already; Alice had worried that if she expended much energy struggling out of that, she wouldn't be able to make it to her apartment.

  Either way, decision made, so quit fretting about it, she thought, as they finally managed to reach her door. “Okay, ma'am, I need to get my key out of my pocket. Can you stand up for just a few seconds?”

  She nodded once, and Alice carefully let go of her and snatched up her key. She'd just turned it in the lock when the woman toppled over. Alice cursed and threw open the door, hurrying inside and setting the baby down on the floor. Good thing she'd vacuumed a couple of days ago.

  “So I guess that answer was actually no,” she said, helping her to her feet again. She couldn't tell anything from the look in her eyes-- they seemed too much like shark's eyes, and that unnerved her-- but her face looked slack. “You okay? You feeling dizzy?” she asked, shutting the door behind them. “Ma'am? Answer me, huh?”

  “I'm Wendy, not Mam.”

  “Wendy,” she repeated. “Okay. I'm Alice. Did I already tell you that? And hey, you didn't answer me. You feeling dizzy?” she asked, leading her over to her chair.

  “I am fine. We need to leave."

  "Actually, we need to look at your leg."

  "I said no."

  Note to self, Alice thought. Blood loss makes people cranky. "You can't go anywhere without at least a bandage. If I go get some medicine and stuff, can you get your pants off? I'd offer to help, but I haven't even bought you dinner.”

  Again with the narrowed eyes. Apparently she wasn't so dazed as to not recognize a horrible joke. “Sorry,” she told her. “Seriously, I'll be right back.”

  She hurried into the bathroom, knowing even as she opened the medicine cabinet that she didn't have what was needed. She had band aids and Tylenol and Pepto Bismol, not heavy-duty bandages and sterile equipment.

  Oh man. What if she needed stitches? She couldn't even stand to get a shot, the thought of pushing a needle into someone else's skin--

  Mayb
e she should call 911 after all.

  Then she shook her head. Remember her eyes? she thought. People at a hospital would freak if they saw her. And unlike all those mystery novel characters, she didn't just happen to know a doctor who'd take care of a gunshot wound-- or whatever that was-- without notifying the cops.

  And Wendy was already talking too much about having to leave . . . she doubted she'd like the idea of getting stuck in a hospital. She'd have to deal with this herself.

  “Think, Alice,” she muttered, taking a couple of deep breaths as she stared at herself in the mirror. “You can do this.”

  First things first, she thought. Clean the wound. Then you can worry about whether or not stitches are needed.

  She grabbed some washcloths and turned on the warm water in the bathtub, then went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of large bowls. One to clean the wound, and another for rinsing.

  What was she supposed to use to help clean? Would hand soap work?

  Better disinfectant than nothing, she thought, pressing the small handle a couple of times and swirling the soap around in the water with one of the washcloths.

  When she walked back into the main room, Wendy was no longer in the chair. She was lying on the floor next to Sayvi, giving the child a weak smile as he waved his hands wildly and squeaked at her. Her pants and coat were folded next to the chair. She'd actually taken time to fold them, Alice thought, shaking her head.

  “I'm going to go ahead and clean this up--”

  “I can.”

  “If you're sure,” Alice said, setting the bowls of water down next to her. “I've got a couple of clean towels-- I'll get those so you can use them as bandages.” And some food, she thought. She could surely use some food after that kind of blood loss. Or at least something to drink.

  She brought her the towels, and then went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her supplies were getting low, but she had part of a half gallon of orange juice left, and a few cans of Pepsi.

  Go with the orange juice, she thought. She'd just gotten a glass when she heard a thump from the other room.

  She hurried back, finding that the baby was still waving his arms, but Wendy was prone on the floor. The wound looked cleaner, and the washcloth from the rinsing bowl was on the floor next to her limp hand.