Page 99 of The Pansy Paradox
My terror? Or theirs? For the first time in my life, I can’t say.
But I’m not going to the housing development. At least, not yet. I have a different idea, one that might buy us some time and space to think. So, instead of breaking right and taking the path that the Screamers are insisting we should, I veer left. It’s a trudge up a hill made slick with rain. But at its crest sits a lovely old willow.
Yes, that same willow where Daniel proposed. I haven’t been back since. First, for obvious reasons. It was our spot, after all, and it would only hurt to visit. Then, because patrolling and caring for my mother left little time for afternoons spent in the willow’s embrace.
Part of me regrets that I haven’t been back sooner. Mostly, though, I’m relieved that her embrace is still welcoming and that there is peace behind the curtain of her sweeping branches. The Screamers don’t follow. In fact, it appears as though they’ve vanished. No telltale hint that they’re lurking in the cemetery beyond, waiting to ambush us.
Although I’m willing to bet they are.
Henry opens his umbrella, shakes water from the canvas, then collapses it again. I do the same. She doesn’t mind getting wet but hates staying that way.
“This is”—Henry surveys the canopy of willow branches, the leaves fairly glowing—“quite remarkable.”
“I used to come here all the time.” I stop myself before adding with Daniel. “It’s the one place in King’s End where the Screamers never bothered me.”
“Probably because it’s not technically King’s End.”
I freeze at that, a chill running across my damp skin. “Like the covered bridge?”
He crouches and plants a palm on the earth. “No, this is different. This is, for lack of a better word, safe.”
“So, no portal or anything like that?”
“No, but I’m detecting the latent indications of some fissures. It’s almost like scar tissue.” He surveys the branches above us, investigates the soil beneath his fingertips. “Odd. I missed that during my initial assessment, but it fits the data.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I don’t think it’s our most pressing problem at the moment. “So, the Screamers?”
“In a sense, they’re here with us.”
Oh, this can’t be good.
“And when we leave?”
“They’ll still be with us.”
See? I knew it wasn’t good. “They’re not bothering us, because?—?”
Henry exhales, a concerted frown forming on his brow. “I’m not entirely certain. Tell me, you came here often with your young friend?”
Despite everything, my cheeks sprout with heat. “Before then, too. This was … is one of the spots in King’s End that I could relax completely.”
“Your mother didn’t mind?”
I shake my head. “She always said a girl should have a spot of her own, and this one was mine.”
I run my hand along the willow’s branches. When my fingers stray too close to that invisible border, the Screamers kick up a fuss. A screech reverberates in the air but dies completely the second I pull my hand away.
What now? How on earth are we getting out of here? Obviously, we’ll need to leave at some point. We can’t stay here indefinitely.
“I don’t suppose we could reason with them?” I ask.
“Ever the optimist. That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?” He pokes the point of his umbrella through the branches. A cacophony resounds, full of venom and spite. He shakes his head. “But I suspect we’ll have to make a break for it.”
So do I. The question is, which is the best route? “They want us back at the housing development.”
“Yes.” He gestures in that direction with the point of his umbrella. “I can tell.”
“Any idea why?”
