The Chickadee Girl

The Key

She should go back. She knew it. But something about the way he'd looked at her scared the fuck out of her and she couldn't imagine what she'd say, beyond demanding an explanation for... well, for everything.  

There was no food in the infirmary, and her terror had sapped her energy. Should she leave to go look for some food? She sat on the bed and worried into the silence, feeling as though it might swallow her. A clock up on the wall ticked steadily, a sound which seemed to grow louder and louder. Eventually, she wandered back into the kitchen. Nobody had tried to break down the door. 

By the time the shadows began to lengthen in the evening, Isa had come up with half a dozen explanations as to what Tristan had been doing with the medication, none of which seemed terribly likely, and none of which explained what he had said following its discovery. She was restless, once more pacing the kitchen floor. She had no food. She had no flashlight here. She couldn't turn the lights on, as it would immediately give away her location. Was she really going to spend the night in the dark in the infirmary kitchen, when Tristan was probably across campus wondering where she had gone? The idea of him alone, confused and helpless was a knife in her heart...

It was then that a sudden noise outside caused her to freeze - it was the first sound she'd heard in hours, other than her own breath. She struggled not to cry out in fear. It sounded as though something sharp was being slowly dragged against the wall outside - fingernails or a stick of some sort.  She didn't dare move, and could only watch in mounting horror as a long, slender shadow fell over the curtains. The sound stopped, and then started again. Stopped. Started again. She held her breath, knowing she was defenceless. 

For a few moments, she waited with bated breath for the door to fly open - it did not. Minutes passed. Had she imagined the sound? Impossible. It had been as clear as day. Eventually, as the silence stretched on, she found the courage to shift position and sit down on the floor. She felt lightheaded. Had Stagger just passed by? Was he still out there? As time passed, she felt her body relax little by little. He had clearly moved on. Maybe he'd been trying to flush her out of hiding.

With effort, she collected herself. Strangely, the encounter had pushed her to make the decision she'd been trying to make for hours. She'd go back and look for Tristan. She would. She had no weapon, but something in her heart of hearts couldn't believe that Tristan, whoever he was, was there to hurt her. They'd talk, and work things out. He'd explain himself, and she'd apologize for bolting, and together they'd figure out a way to lay waste to the horrific creature who stalked them. Nothing Tristan could confess to her could possibly be as frightening as Stagger.

Shaking, she dismantled the barricade of boxes one by one, removing them to the kitchen table. There was no window in the door, so all she could do was poke her head through the curtains of each window to scan the landscape, and listen with her ear to the door for a few minutes. All quiet. She undid the bolt. She put her hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned it. 

******

"Open your eyes, Isadora!"

As Isa had mounted the stage to accept her primary school diploma, her mother's bellow had rung through the auditorium. Isa's classmates giggled into the echoing silence that had followed. It was nothing they hadn't heard before, of course. Chagrined, Isa had pasted a smile on her face, and opened her eyes so wide that she feared they might fall out of her head. A flash went off, and when the glare cleared from her vision, she could see her mother wincing down at her camera in disgust; clearly Isa had managed to ruin another picture. Another right of passage blighted by the curse of her squinty eyes. 

That day, as ever, it had been Malcolm who saved Isa - as she accepted her diploma, he'd risen out of his chair and whooped, his face aglow with pride.

"Go, Isa! My baby sister kicked the shit out of the sixth grade!"

His contagious grin and boisterous voice had broken the spell, and her classmates laughed and applauded as she walked off stage. Malcolm had that sort of effect on people: if he approved of something, others were moved to view it in a more generous light. And if the faculty muttered and exchanged glances, no one paid them much mind -- Malcolm wasn't a student at their school anymore. Before the dark clouds had descended on him, he had been pretty well universally liked, and was probably one of the few people who could have gotten away with such a public outburst.

Their father hadn't turned up to the graduation at all - their mother left before the final chords of "Hope and Glory" had trumpeted forth from the public address system, disgusted by her son's outburst. A cloud of Chanel perfume and disappointment trailed behind her, a scent with which Isa was well familiar. Unabashed, Malcolm snaked his way up to where Isa was sitting, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hugged him tightly, breath catching in her throat.  

They'd walked home together, side by side and in silence. Once they reached the towering stone townhouse, he'd drawn up short, and turned her to face him, his expression earnest. 

"It won't be like this forever, Is."

"Like what?"

"One day you and I are going to outrun those two uptight assholes in there, and it'll be just us. We'll ditch them and be wild and free and we'll take over the world, and we'll have each other's backs. We won't need them or their money."

She'd laughed in spite of herself. "Can we get a dog?"

"Of course! And we'll take him and hike into the hills and never look back."

She searched his face for the truth of this, and found it. "Promise?"

"Promise." His brow clouded up, and his voice was a growl. "I swear."

*****

Isa peeked outside through the crack in the door, and saw nothing to give her any pause. It was a beautiful evening, and there was no sign of Stagger or Tristan or anyone else. Gradually she opened the door a little further, and scanned the treetops for any sign of movement. Nothing. She opened the door fully, and slowly edged out onto the stoop. 

Something small and hard hit her square between the eyes. She gasped and shied like a startled mare. She looked around wildly - had someone thrown something at her? 

No. Directly above the door, a small bent nail stood out from the lintel. Hanging from this, dancing at the end of a string, was a small rusted key. It swung back and forth in front of her eyes, as though daring her to touch it. She reached out a hand and caught it, examining it close to her face. Steadying herself, she stretched up and unhooked it from the nail. It hadn't been there when she'd come in, she knew. Who could have put it there?

A sudden deep rumbling caused her to turn her head, and she looked over just in time to see the south wall of the school chapel caving in. Her mouth fell open, and she nearly darted back inside. 

A half-crazed voice that began deep inside her gut clawed its way up her throat and spilled out from between her parted lips. And suddenly she was sprinting towards the chapel.

"Tristan!" "TRISTAN!"