Theywere dragging her toward the door now. Her feet scrabbled against the floor, trying to find purchase, and one of her boots came off. It just lay there, abandoned. Such a small thing, such a stupid thing to notice, but I could not look away from that boot, from the way her bare foot dragged across the floor.
She did not look at the cabinet.
Even as they wrenched her arms, even as another blow landed against her ribs with a sound like a drum, she kept her eyes forward. She kept me safe, kept her promise even as I struggled to keep mine.
At the threshold, she planted her feet.
“Wait.” Her voice was steady. How was her voice so steady when mine would have been nothing but screaming? “Please, one moment.”
The Schergen paused, I didn’t know why. Perhaps even they had some scrap of humanity left—or they simply wanted to see what she would do.
My mother turned. Not toward the cabinet—never toward the cabinet—but toward the window, toward the late evening light falling golden across her drying herbs.
“Do not let hatred take root,” she said, her voice bright despite the blood streaming down her chin. “Help those who cannot help themselves. Keep to the shadows. Survive.” Her voice cracked on the last word, just barely, a fracture in the stone of her composure. “And be kind.”
Then they dragged her through the door, and she was gone.
I stayed in the cabinet.
I stayed as the sunlight moved across the floor, as the blood on the table dried to rust, as my mother’s boot lay abandoned like a corpse. I stayed as my legs cramped and my bladder emptied again, as the smell of my own urine mixed with the lavender and rue until I could not clear the stench from my nose.
I stayed, and I did not make a sound, because I had promised.
But inside, where no one could hear, I was screaming.
I prayed for this. I asked God to make her stay, and he answered. This is my fault. This is my fault. This is my fault.
The guilt wrapped around my heart like ivy crawling up a stone pillar—but beneath it was something hot and dark and writhing. Something that did not want to survive, but toburn.
A buzzing filled my ears, soft at first, like a single bee trapped against a window. Then louder. A thousand wings beating inside my skull, drowning out thought, drowning out grief, leaving only the white-hot core of rage I’d been taught never to feel.
Do not let hatred take root, my mother had said.
But it was too late. The roots were already there, burrowing deep, drinking from the well of my fury.
The buzzing built to a crescendo until my teeth ached with it, until my vision blurred and sparked at the edges. I clamped my hands over my ears, but it made no difference—the sound was inside me,wasme, a swarm given flesh.
The bundle of dried rosemary hanging nearest the window burst into flame.
I watched it happen through the slats, herbs curling and blackening as fire spread across my mother’s carefully gathered stores. The smoke reached my nostrils, causing me to choke, and still I could not move. Still the buzzing held me frozen as the flames climbed higher, catching the wooden beams, racing across the thatched ceiling.
Yes, something whispered beneath the drone.Yes. Let it burn. Let it all burn.
The heat broke through my paralysis. I burst from the cabinet, gasping, coughing, my eyes streaming as smoke filled the small house that had been my entire world. The fire was everywhere now.
I ran.
The door was still hanging open from where they had dragged my mother through it. I stumbled over the threshold, my bare feet slapping against the cobblestones, and I did not look back. Behind me, I heard the roof collapse. Sparks shot up into the darkeningsky, and somewhere a woman screamed—a neighbor, perhaps, fearful that the destruction would spread.
The woods opened before me, murky but welcoming, and I plunged into the darkness between the trees.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs gave out, until I collapsed amongst the roots of an ancient oak and could run no more. The buzzing had faded to a low hum, almost soothing now, like a lullaby. I pressed my face into the moss and wept—great, heaving sobs that shook my whole body.
Hush now.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It was not my mother’s voice, but it held the same tenderness, the same warmth. It wrapped around me like arms I could not see.
Hush, little one. You are safe here. Nothing can hurt you in the dark.
