Towering Page 21

It was my brush. I knew it as if I’d seen it only yesterday. I took it in my hand and touched it. I ran my finger along it. I began to brush my hair. As I did, I heard a click. Something opened, and a key fell on to the shallow snow.

  I picked it up and examined it in the dim light. It was heavy and old. I didn’t know what it opened, but I knew it was important.

  I clutched it in my fingers and said to Mama, “Go.”

  Then, I wound my hair as best I could around my neck and shoulders, and I waited.

  51

  Wyatt

  I sensed that she was close. Her voice sounded like she was in the room with me. It must have been nighttime now, and I hoped that the darkness would protect her. I could still hear the waterfall, the people working, from outside my door. Were they insane? Enslaved? Or did the rhapsody enable them to work endlessly? I wondered where Carl and Henry were, and suddenly, I didn’t want Rachel to come. I wanted her to run, hide. Even if I never saw her again, it would be okay. I wanted to save her, save her as I hadn’t saved Tyler.

  I said, aloud, “Rachel, I changed my mind. You have to leave.”

  A moment later, I heard her reply. “I cannot leave. I have to do this.”

  “But Rachel, you can’t. It’s not safe.”

  She didn’t answer.

  52

  Rachel

  I waited until Mama had been gone awhile. I hoped she was okay, but I knew that, no matter what, I was going. I heard Wyatt’s voice in my head, urging me to be safe. I knew I wouldn’t. I wished I could hear Mama, know what was happening, but I could not. I worried about her. Everyone was trying to protect me, at great risk to themselves. It wasn’t fair. I would rather risk my own life than be left here, worrying.

  When Mama had been gone several minutes, I checked to make sure no one was outside, nor on the road. Then, I opened the car door. After making sure to pull all my hair from the car, I stepped onto the still-snowy ground.

  “Rachel, please don’t go,” Wyatt’s voice said.

  “I’m coming,” I said, “so it would be more helpful if you could tell me where to go, what to do.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m underground and can’t see anything.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too. I’ll find you.”

  He seemed to know that was the end of the conversation. At least, he stopped talking. I walked, dragging my hair behind me, next to the bushes and peered around at the building. I could see Mama in the doorway, talking to someone, even arguing. What if he came out, looking for me? With my long hair, I was vulnerable. It was like a cat’s tail, always hanging out, giving the cat away.

  There was an opening in the bushes, a spot with several trees. I pushed through them and, gathering my hair into several loops, tried to walk closer, pushing against a tree ahead of me.

  Suddenly, I heard a crack. Then, the tree I had touched disappeared from under my hand. It broke in two, the top half collapsing against the other trees.

  Had I done that? Was I so strong that I had broken a tree, albeit a small one, without even thinking? Had my hair given me the strength of Samson after all?

  More carefully this time, I walked through the remaining trees. I tried to avoid pushing against them, but when one proved too tight a squeeze, I shoved it. It gave way, and I stepped around it.

  Finally, I was in a place where I could see the door, see Mama through the trees.

  Only where was Mama?

  She was gone! Had they taken her? Hurt her? I felt as if a hand was squeezing my stomach. Yet, I had to move on. I had to find her and Wyatt now.

  I followed the line of trees, this time to the back of the building. There was a light inside, but it was very dim. I had to push a few trees out of the way, and I enjoyed it, like a child with a new toy. Would I have strength to fight whatever came too? I hoped so. I also hoped I would know what to do. Mama had said it was a prophecy that I would end this all. But how?

  I reached the back of the building. I wished I had a candle, so I could see. Still, I emerged from the trees and ran to it, pulling my hair behind me. Then, I started walking, trailing my left hand behind me, feeling for a doorway, a window, any way to get inside.

  Suddenly, my feet hit a new surface. While, previously, I had felt only snow over soft dirt, like I had felt by my tower, now, I felt something hard, like a floor. The next moment, my hand touched a railing.

  It was a staircase, and it went under the ground.

  “I’m underground,” Wyatt had said. I stepped forward. Perhaps there was a doorway down there, a way to find him.

  As I did, I felt a tug on my hair. I reached up to pull it back, but I couldn’t.

  Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Gotcha,” a voice said.

  53

  Rachel

  Someone was here! Someone was touching me. My instinct was to fight against him, push him to the ground, escape. But something stopped me.

  If he captured me, perhaps he would take me into the building. And that was exactly where I wanted to go.

  I said, “I was just looking for Wyatt.”

  “I know what you’re looking for. And I know who you are.” His voice was thin, like an old man’s. He kept hold of me, pushing me ahead of him to the very staircase I had been investigating. “Come with me. I’ll take you to Wyatt, and your grandmother.”

  In the dim light, I saw his face. I knew he was Carl, the man Mama had spoken of.

  I became the usual Rachel, the old Rachel. Sweet, gentle, compliant.

  “Oh, thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome, dearie.” He loosened his grip upon my arm a bit, but he didn’t let me go. With his shoulder, he pushed me down the steps.

  The walk downstairs was long and dark. I tried to think of a way to talk, to communicate with Wyatt, without this man knowing. “You’re taking me downstairs?” I said. “What’s down here? Where is Wyatt?”

  No answer. I was talking about him, not to him. There was obviously a difference or else I would have heard every conversation he ever had. I called, “Wyatt, where are you? I am here, on the stairway!”

  “Quiet, girl!” the man said. “I told you I’ll take you to him, soon enough.”

  This man was not helping me. I knew that. I tried as hard as I could to hold my hair around me. I couldn’t imagine how long it must be now. I feared to tumble over it and down the stairs. I knew if I tried to run, he could catch me by it.

  In the darkness, I heard Wyatt’s voice. “I’m in a room,” he said, “a closet at the bottom of the stairs.”

  The staircase was dark and seemed to be endless. Still, I tried to reach out my hand, to touch the wall, to find a door.

  “Rachel, be careful,” Wyatt’s voice said.

  I kept walking, and he said no more. As I plunged still lower, I heard a strange noise, a whispering or whooshing, like that long-ago train, and I saw a glowing light. But there was no door. At least, I could not feel a door. I kept walking but contemplated the possibility of flight, the possibility of making a break for it, even falling down the stairs. He could not see me in the dark. I could get ahead of him.

  But where would I go?

  One step, then another, down, down. My movements were automatic, but my mind was racing. What was down there? What would they do to me? To Wyatt? As I approached, the sound seemed less like a train, more like wind or rushing water. The glow became brighter, and I knew that, soon, my captor would be able to see me. I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder whenever I tried to move away.

  I made a decision. With one swift movement, I elbowed him in the stomach then used my leg to knock him to the ground. Yes, I was stronger. I knocked him aside with less effort than it had taken to fell the little tree outside. It was nothing to do this. I felt, then heard, him fall to the ground. Then, I grabbed my hair and ran down the stairs, fast as possible. I knew he wouldn’t give up that easily. I had to get a
head of him.

  It was hard to see, but as I got lower, the light got brighter, the sound of water louder. Still, I could hear him behind me, struggling. I had nowhere to hide, nowhere to go but down. I trailed my hand along the wall, looking for a door, a window, anything, any way to find Wyatt. Where was Wyatt? I tried not to think about the other one I had lost. Mama. What would I do without Mama? I hoped they wouldn’t hurt her.

  I heard footsteps behind me, beating, beating, but below, I heard sounds too now. Some sort of drumming. Was it footsteps as well?

  Finally, I reached the bottom and stopped.

  It was the strangest place I had ever seen. The light all around me was bright red, and even though I was inside, underground, there were plants, so many plants, hanging, growing from the ceiling. Each plant had so many bright blue flowers, and I knew it was the rhapsody. Mama had said that the Red Fox Inn was where it had started.

  Hundreds of people, also in blue, worked, tending the plants. The drumming was one man who beat a drum, perhaps to keep them going. It seemed to be working for they all marched in rhythm. Who were they? What were they doing? Would they attack me if I came closer? I heard footsteps above me, and I knew I would have to decide, and soon.

  Then, suddenly, the drumming stopped. A voice yelled, “It’s her! It’s the girl!”

  As one, they all looked up.

  Then, they started toward me.

  54

  Rachel

  There were dozens, even hundreds, of them, a mob, all wearing the same blue outfits, all crying out to the others. Their screams were like a thousand birds. Each time I thought the last had approached me, another appeared. They came closer, closer. Their movements were regular, almost robotic, their gazes fixed and glassy, as if they might be blind. Then, I remembered what Mama said about the drug, the rhapsody. They must have been drugged. This must be what it looked like. Did they mean to kill me, tear me limb from limb? Above me on the stairs was the man, who I knew meant me harm. Below were these people. I did not know what they wanted. The only protection I had was my hair, mostly unraveled, hanging behind me in a loosened braid, and the key—I knew not its purpose—which I still clutched in my hand. All around the room, I heard them murmuring, saying something about golden hair. Holding their hands up as if they would tear me to bits.

  A woman approached me first. At a point about ten feet away, she stopped walking. What did she mean to do? I saw that her eyes were the same shade of blue as her clothing, an almost inhuman shade, the same color as the flowering plants that hung from the ceiling. Like the others, her eyes appeared foggy, as if she was not sure what she was seeing. I remembered my strength. I could fight her off if she tried to harm me. But I couldn’t fight all of them.

  Then, suddenly, she stopped walking. Her eyes focused. On me. She said, “Are you her? Are you the daughter of Danielle?”

  The question surprised me, as did my answer. I had never known my mother’s name before today, but now, it seemed obvious, inevitable. I had no choice but to tell the truth, whatever the consequences.

  “Yes.” I stood taller. “I am her. I am Rachel.”

  A cry came up from the woman and from a few others who were close enough to hear. “It is her!” they said. Others, farther back, heard what she said and took up the cry, and soon, the whole room was buzzing, chanting, drumming, saying, “It is her! It is the daughter!” They all came closer, and my fears melted. They did not mean me harm. If anything, they were welcoming me like a queen.

  Suddenly, I felt a hand upon me, on my neck, clutching me. It was the man, the man who had pursued me. He had me. “You’re not getting away that easy.” He whistled to three men standing behind him. They grabbed me.

  I struggled against them, but I was outnumbered. Then, more came to the aid of their friends. They grabbed my hair and pulled it hard. I was knocked to the ground, and the men were above me, tying my hair around me. I kicked and struggled against them.

  And then, they were lifted away from me. The mob, women and some men, were grabbing them, holding them. Even as they struggled, more and more of them came to join them.

  “We will help you,” said the women who had first spoken to me. “We will try, but they are stronger.”

  “Why?”

  “We have been here longer than they have. We are already beginning to die. What helps them kills us.”

  “Kills? Did she mean the Fox brothers?” But there was no time for conversation. They were helping me, that much was clear. But just holding the others at bay wasn’t enough. There was something I was supposed to do. I didn’t know what. Also, I had to find Wyatt.

  The woman who had first approached me said, “You are the girl, the girl we have been waiting for. We had heard you were coming. We knew, when you were seventeen, you would come to save us all.”

  I stepped backward, shocked. “But how? How did you know about me? I didn’t know about you, about anything, until today.”

  A woman broke from the crowd. She was slight, smaller than me or even Mama, and she had blond hair like mine. “It is foretold that the seventeen-year-old girl, daughter of Danielle Greenwood, would come to help us, would destroy the rhapsody that has enslaved us for so many years.”

  I had figured out that much. But I said, “How do you know this?”

  “When you were a baby, you were captured. You were taken to be killed. But you were not killed. Someone brought you to your grandmother’s house and told her to hide you away. That person was me.”

  I gasped. Many behind her gasped as well. Some who had fought against me tried to break free. Those holding them renewed their grip, but it was obvious it was difficult. Some others joined them, all holding Carl and the others at bay.

  I became aware of the scent in the air. Like flowers Mama brought to me at the beginning of spring. Then, I realized it was the rhapsody. Was it hypnotic, having an effect on me? I felt almost dazed.

  But I fought against the feeling. I must find out what I should do. I must save Wyatt.

  “Where is Wyatt?” I asked.

  The woman looked confused, then turned to the woman behind her. All stared at one another. They didn’t know.

  Aloud, I said, “Wyatt, where are you? I am here, in the rhapsody room. I did not see a room by the stair.”

  Then, I looked around. There were more staircases, three, four, five, some going nowhere, others going up to trap doors like the one I had entered through. He could be by any of them.

  “Will you help me find him?” I asked the woman.

  She shook her head. “You must help us first. You must. Do you not see, they have been depleting our town, this area, for decades. You were our hope, our only hope. That is why Zach made sure Danielle would have the baby, to save us. And we have waited seventeen, almost eighteen, long years.”

  In my head, I heard Wyatt’s voice say, “I’m all right, Rachel. I’m okay.”

  I felt so tired. The scent of the rhapsody was having an effect on me. It made me feel first tired, then exhilarated. I touched a vine and I wondered how it would be to eat one tiny bit. But with my newfound strength, I fought against it. “What must I do?”

  The yellow-haired woman, who appeared dazed as well, said, “When I brought you to your grandmother, I brought something else. Do you know what it was?”

  I felt the key in my hand. “I think so.” I held it up. The yellow-haired woman smiled and nodded. “But what is the meaning of it? And how did you get it?”

  “I stole it, the night I took you to your grandmother. I stole it from Henry, for he was softer than Carl. With this key, you, and only you, can reach the waterfall that feeds the rhapsody. You will destroy its water supply and the rhapsody will die. We will be free.”

  “What? Really?” It sounded far too simple. “Turn a key in a lock, and then, it will all be fixed. Let me at it. Where is the lock?”

  The woman shook her head. “No, that’s not all. If it were all, I would have done it myself. There is something else, somet
hing only you can do.”

  “But what?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  Of course she didn’t. How would she?

  “We were told that only you could destroy it.”

  I sighed. “And where is this, this lock?” I asked again.

  Her eyes, every eye, scanned upward. I looked up too and saw that the ceiling was high above me, high as the staircase I just walked down, higher than my tower. The woman pointed to a sheer wall. At the top of it, there was a platform. Above it, a little door.

  “Up there,” she said.

  I wanted to say it was impossible. I could not climb such a wall. I had only done so with Wyatt’s help, and this wall was much higher. Only yesterday, I did not return to my tower because I knew I could not do it.

  Yet, I remembered my newfound strength, and I wondered if I could. I had to.

  I said, “I will try.”

  55

  Rachel

  Several of the blue-clad crowd escorted me to the wall. Some held my hair, caressing it to their cheeks as they walked. I wondered that not one of them could help me, lift me up, perhaps, so I could climb it. But as they moved about, I saw that they could not. They were weak, fragile. All who possessed any strength stayed behind to grapple with the dissenters who, even now, fought against them and sometimes broke free. Only the weakest stayed with me. With neither light nor adequate food, it was a wonder they were still alive at all. I had to help them. I had to.

  The wall was made of stone, unlike my tower. At different, odd places, bits of rock stuck out. Could these be footholds? They would have to be. It was the only way. Some were very small, though, and my shoes are worn and wet. Still, I would have to try. I had lived seventeen years as a captive, a prisoner, feeling that my life had no purpose. Now, I could show that it had.

  But where was Wyatt? Selfishly, I wanted to save him too. I wanted him with me. If he were here, he could help me. Yet, he had not answered. I could not find him anywhere.