Thanks to the shadows cloaking Woodrow's height, I couldn't see the look on his face as he called out to me with excitement. But I saw his fingers reach his chest and rub where the bullet hit. Luckily, it looked closer to his shoulder than any vital organs, and it should be somewhat healed, but the vibration of jumping down steps still hurt him.
“Woody. . .” I said again, my voice gentle and coaxing. I needed to see him. To feel him. I needed to know he was really here. . . that I wasn’t fantasizing his existence like I had so many other times.
His fingers touched mine through the bars, his eyes meeting mine as he ducked to see me.
I forgot everything the second he looked at me with all the innocence in the world. Nothing else mattered but him and knowing he was okay. Well, knowing he was alive. He’d never be okay here, his medical needs neglected.
“Why are you in a cage?” His words brought my bleak surroundings back to me, and I remembered I was naked and exposed to the younger alter.
Naked, and unhappily living with the goosebumps that permanently inhabited my skin. I tucked my knees up, placing my feet between my legs so the boy in front of me—younger than his years—couldn't see anything he shouldn't. He did well to direct his gaze elsewhere, his pretty silver eyes twinkling in the dark.
“She's in a cage because she misbehaved.” Ville set a torch on the folding table he'd brought down with him, and he started pottering around with some other stuff, too.
“And she's still misbehaving now. Breaking her bowl. Tsk. Tsk.” Ville turned to us and headed to the stairs, patting Woody on the head and asking him a favor on the way. “I'll be right back. Keep an eye on her for me, champ?”
What the fuck?I thought to myself. Ville hated Woody as much as he did Hell. And Woodrow, because of them, was a disappointment to him. Their diary had told me everything.
Why the new approach?
Ville left the basement door ajar, and he wasn't quiet as he scoured the kitchen for whatever he went up there for. The noise he made put an end to Wynter's solo concert, and though I couldn't see it, I knew she left the kitchen in a huff, annoyed that he was interrupting her.
“I thought you'd left. I missed you.”
“No, sweetie.” I tried to remain calm, not wanting to scare him away. “Didn't Woodrow tell you anything?”
“He hasn't written in the diary for a long time. . . and Hell didn't know where you were. He thought you left us. He's so mad at you.” I listened as Woody spoke, a heavy breath slipping out, knowing all my progress with Hell had been erased. “He called you lots of bad names. I wrote to him asking him to be nice to you if we ever saw you again. I don't think he's seen it yet.”
I took in his words. . . Woodrow hadn't been around. He'd slipped into his mind to escape because he thought I had escaped. Either that, or Hell and Woody forced him there because they believed I left without him. And they needed him to heal. Something he’d lose interest in, if I was no longer around.
That was the reason for Ville’s new approach. He brought Woody down here, to me, thinking it would pull Woodrow out, but he was so lost, he couldn't follow my voice back to the surface.
“Woodrow?”
“He's not here. Aren't you happy to see me?” The pain on their shared face broke the last piece of my heart.
“I am.” I smiled. “But I've missed Woodrow, too. He had a really bad day the last time I saw him. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“I know. His bunny died. Hell was really mad about that; he knew how much Woodrow loved Bonny. He tried to kill daddy. . . more than once.”
Shame he didn't,I almost muttered aloud.
Ville prowled back into the room, his feet covering the distance between us quickly. He didn't have food in his hands or the jug of water he always brought.
“You're not getting anything today. I have nothing to put it in.” He looked down at my broken bowl as he unlocked the padlock on mycage.
I moved as far back as I could, my touch breaking from Woody’s. I slammed myself against the back wall. Rust dug into my skin, and I shuddered.
“Careful. You'll hurt yourself.” I looked to Woody, his fingers still holding the cage, my big shard left behind, still in front of him.
“Come on out, Jolie. It's time for a bath.”
I shook my head. I didn't want a bath. . . not from Ville. I fucking hated bath time and where his dirty hands would wander. Apparently, I was dirtiest on the inside, because that's where he always focused on cleaning.
“Get her out.”
“But she's naked.”
“I'm not asking you again, Son. Do as your told. Do you want to be my favorite child, or not?”
