The Chickadee Girl

An Open Door

Her jaw set, Isa neared the bike, which looked as though it had been hoping she might return. She drew out Kate's cheap penknife, and began to savage the plastic-encased wire on the padlock, realizing within moments that it wasn't going to work. The tool was duller even than it appeared. She drew out the large kitchen knife, and hacked away for another moment. Eventually, she succeeded in peeling off the outer plastic casing on the lock, but it was clear after a few minutes that the wire below it was made of sturdier stuff. She frowned down at the now-blunted tip of her knife.

Deflated, she delivered a swift kick to the bike, and then slumped with her back pushed up against it, wondering what the hell to do next. She might have remained sitting there a long time, her guard truly down for the first time in a day, had she not turned her head a fraction of an inch and gotten a look at the underside of the bike seat. She rolled her eyes skyward in a show of gratitude, and pulled her legs up into a crouch, facing the machine. Some forgetful, immensely considerate person had defaced school property to her benefit: on the metal beneath the seat, crudely scratched into the paint, were a series of numbers which could only have been the code to a combination lock.

She glanced around, and then went to work; shaky hands and uneven breath meant it took four tries, but she soon had the lock off. She carefully placed the knife in the rear basket, then mounted and pedalled off in a single motion, piloting the bike up and over the common, and past the chapel. The sudden speed was intoxicating, and the breeze blew away any remaining reservations about her decision to head for the hills. She was leaving, Goddammit.

It was early afternoon now, and as Isa steered the bike around the academic building, she once again gave her thoughts over to what she'd say when she at last saw another human face. First, she knew, she'd yell. Then, once the yelling was over, she'd cry. There'd be a lot of yelling and crying. As she drew level with the top of the driveway, she slowed in her pedalling to remind herself not to lose focus. The bike was providing her a feeling of invincibility, one she knew was misplaced. Ultimately, it was still possible that she'd be attacked on the road somewhere. She must keep her head up until she hit town, and stay vigilant. 

Suddenly something registered as off, and she swivelled in her seat to stare back at the academic building.

It was a grand building. The flowerbeds were well-trimmed, and the paint was freshened every September, a new coat just barely dry on the walls now. And yet it was neither the paint nor the flowerbeds that caught her eye, but the handsome oak double doors that guarded the entrance to the building, the school's ornate crest carved into their surface.

The doors were open. They were gaping open.

And she was sure, absolutely certain, that they had not been open the day before. She'd been seeking out any sign of life when she first charged around the campus, and would certainly have noticed an open door. Even if she had somehow overlooked it in that moment of panic, she would have seen it either as she left the campus the previous afternoon, or as she fled back onto it later. Those doors had been opened by someone, since yesterday afternoon.

And it was then, as she stood there astride the bike, wondering whether to approach the doors or strike out onto the road, that she turned and saw that her mother was standing stock-still not 100 metres from her. Her mother. Her fucking Mommy. She stood with her back to Isa, but it was the same unmistakably immaculate chignon, the same delicate frame and tense shoulders. Her signature sweater was soft and pastel pink - one of the few items that Danielle had held onto for more than a season. A familiar oversized beige handbag was tightly clutched under one arm. Even with her face turned away, Isa could picture it - tea rose lipstick, and the resigned fatigue of one for whom everyone else was a terrible disappointment. Should she call out to her? It was her mother, and she was right there. Isa dismounted the bike.

Except... except, she was taller. And though Isa wouldn't have thought it possible, slenderer. And why wasn't she turning around? Why was she just standing there, waiting, staring out across the road and into the bushes?

Isa sat astride the bike, torn between flight and rushing up to her momma and begging her through pent-up sobs to take her home. But her mother stayed still, and in her heart, somehow, Isa already knew. The same thing that hadn't been her friend was now also not her mother. What the fuck was it?

Should she try to outrun it, to head out to the road on an angle? That way, if it did chase her, it would at least be in the direction of town. What if it was faster than she thought?

And if she turned and fled back to Peyman now, she'd lead it directly to the only hiding place she had.

She made a desperate decision, and reached back into the bike's basket for the knife.

And when Isa looked back at her mother, she had somehow, in a fraction of a second, crossed over to her side of the road. She was now no more than ten meters away, still facing away. There was no way, no way at all, that she could have moved so far in the fraction of a second that Isa had looked away.  She was close enough now that Isa could see that her mother's  immaculately manicured fingernails were covered in blood. A trickle meandered down the arm and dripped into the grass as Isa watched.

She fled.

Gripping the handlebars, she careened helplessly around the academic building, not willing to risk a look back. Her skirt caught on something as she passed too close, and she shrieked, expecting to be grabbed, in full panic. Flailing in the seat, she crossed the common, then changed direction abruptly, determined not to let the Thing know where she and Cass slept. She headed down in the direction of the bay, the keening, beaten mutt noise rising in her throat again, and spilling out from between parted lips. In a cloud of road dust, she descended the hill to the waterfront, and there faced a crisis: abandon the bike and swim for it, or stay on the bike and mobile, knowing that if she had to flee again, her only option would be steeply uphill? She made the decision without turning around, dismounting and throwing the machine to the side. She hammered out onto the end of the longer dock, steeling herself for the chill of the bay water.

Goddammit, the water. Poised to jump, she looked back...and she was alone. It hadn't followed her. From the end of the dock, she had a clear view of the hillside that rose up to meet the school, and all was still. Birds sang in a nearby tree. 

Desperately, she scanned the horizon. She waited two minutes. And then five. And then ten. No, it hadn't even followed slowly. Could it be watching her?

Had it been watching her since the first time she'd encountered it, and simply chosen not to reveal itself? Somehow, its stillness this time had unnerved her more than the rage it had previously turned on her. She shuddered and gave the hillside her back, instead staring down into the lapping smoothness of the water. She tried to force herself into a calm, but Eden's Bay was a riot of tall weeds, much like Prichard River, where she'd fallen in. The sun kissed only the very tops of the green ribbons of seaweed lying below the surface. A few feet further out, the water darkened to a much deeper blue. Could she actually have brought herself to jump in, if it had come to that? In her heart, she thought she knew the answer.  

The water lapped gently at the side of the dock.