Page 47 of Backwoods
“You are such a lovely woman,” Miss Lula said in a hushed tone. “We’ve never had anyone quite like you here. You’re like a perfect, beautiful doll.”
“How long have you been here, Miss Lula?”
A shadow came over Miss Lula’s eyes. “I shouldn’t tell you about that.”
“Our little secret, right?”
Miss Lula deliberated for a few heartbeats. “I can’t remember how long. That is the honest answer. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“Have you ever wanted to leave?” Amiya asked.
Miss Lula’s gaze drilled into her. In a tight voice she said, “I love Westbrook. You’ll also learn to love it here if you know what’s good for you.”
“I don’t think I can ever learn to love a life of slavery,” Amiya said.
She recognized she was treading close to the line, and for a moment it seemed like Miss Lula would erupt, but having her hands on Amiya’s flesh seemed to pull her back from the brink. She reached for Amiya’s other thigh, soap in hand. Amiya let her have it, to reel her back under her control.
“Lady, your life here will be the envy of every other resident of Westbrook,” Miss Lula said. “You don’t understand how fortunate you are, the blessings you’ll receive.”
The blessings? This woman was so far gone that Amiya struggled to think of an adequate response.
“I don’t want to stay here,” Amiya said. She hesitated, then: “I’m not entirely convinced that you do, either. We could get away together, you and me.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and the instant the words left her lips, Amiya realized the gravity of her error.
“No one leaves Westbrook!” Miss Lula shouted, nostrils flaring.
Amiya cringed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Eyes flashing crazily, Miss Lula seized a fistful of Amiya’s hair. Amiya screamed. Snarling, Miss Lula shoved Amiya’s head underwater.
Amiya spluttered, warm water invading her nostrils and pouring down her throat. She fought to get up, to get air, but Miss Lula had her head pinned down beneath the surface, her arm as rigid as a steel pole.
Amiya’s lungs burned, limbs thrashing.
I’m going to die here, drowned in a bathtub in the middle of nowhere . . .
When blackness had begun to seep into the edges of her vision, Miss Lula suddenly let her go. Flailing, Amiya broke the surface. She gagged, coughed, drew her wet hair away from her eyes.
Miss Lula had gotten to her feet. With a sneer, she tossed the bathrobe toward Amiya and turned around.
“That will never happen again, you filthy little temptress,” she said. “Now, get dressed.”
30
Nick had seen some unbelievable things happen that day. The incident with Raven back at the bridge when her mark had emitted an unearthly glow had been at the top of his list of unbelievable events.
That was until he saw Grandpa Lee emerge from the house pointing a shotgun at him.
His grandfather looked unwell. His eyes were deeply bloodshot, and his dark complexion was ashen. Dirt smudged his overalls, and Nick saw drops of crimson on his shirt.
But Grandpa Lee’s grip on the gun didn’t waver.
“I can’t let you leave, son,” Grandpa Lee said in a taut voice on the verge of breaking. “I can’t let you bring in folks from the outside.”
Nick struggled to pull his gaze away from the shotgun. The barrel seemed as dark as the abyss.
“Grandpa, you’re sick,” Nick said. “You had a seizure, possibly heart failure. I’m stunned that you made it back home.”
