My Name is Rapunzel(25)

Gretta turned the corner and stopped at a hotdog cart. She bought two then added some extra relish and handed one to the man in the wheelchair. I shifted position. I could see his face if I moved a bit more.

There. That did it. Wow. He looked to be about sixty or sixty-five years old. Not a bad looking guy even at that age. Probably really handsome in his day.

He smiled up at Gretta as she handed him the hot dog. Made no sense. Should I approach her and surprise her? Just come right out and ask?

What would Gretta do if I stepped out from my hiding place and confronted her? Did I really want to find out? Yeah. Probably not.

They continued on their way. I followed from a safe distance, careful not to make too much noise or get too close. Being discovered would ruin the whole thing. I heard a noise behind me and glanced back. The taxi. Ugh. Why was he following me?

I reached back with my hand and gestured for him to stop as I shot him a nasty glare. He pulled over to the side of the curb and turned off his engine. He held up a hand and nodded like he understood. Geez, dude.

Gretta stopped the wheelchair and clicked the brake on with her foot. She walked up to the house, turned the key in the lock, and then went back for the wheelchair. She pushed it up to the door. She was clearly helping this guy. Now the question was whether or not she was doing it because she was being paid, or because there was something between the two of them.

The first option made no sense. She had no need for money. The second option was…well…gross.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was time for another daily visit to the mailbox. Should I take my bicycle on this warm afternoon? No, it felt like a good day for a walk. Besides, I had plenty of time before Pepper would arrive and before Gretta would return from her jaunt to town—which had happened more and more frequently since the day I’d followed her. I tried to keep my mind from traveling to the possible scenarios of what Gretta’s visits entailed.

I headed toward the door and reached for my hat and sunglasses on the shelf beside it. As I stepped into the sunlight I lifted my face and let it bask in the glow. I sauntered down the lane, careful to avoid the big rocks so I wouldn't trip and scrape up my hands. That would ruin a nice day. One might call it a perfect day, but perfect was a stretch in my vocabulary. Regarding anything.

The mailbox sat untouched for the day, waiting for the postal worker to arrive with the deliveries. I wandered over to the weeping willow that sat on the south side of the winding lane between the mailbox and house. I leaned against the trunk and eased myself to the ground. It was a wonderful place to wait.

Legs stretched out in front of me, ankles crossed, I reached for a blade of grass and placed it between my teeth. “A nasty habit,” Henry used to say. “Keep doing that, and your teeth will be staying green after a bit.”

Well, Henry, looks like you were wrong about that. Still chewing on grass blades two hundred and fifty years later. Teeth still white. The corners of my mouth turned up as I imagined what Henry's retort would be. You've got at least another two-fifty to go. You’d better hope your luck doesn't run out.

The sun reached its height almost directly overhead. Pepper was due almost any minute.

On cue, I heard the still far away sound of crunching gravel.

Scanning the trees for birds and squirrels, I startled as my eyes landed on a man's figure on the far hillside. I'm sure our eyes met, but he was too far away for me to tell. Was he watching me? No, that wasn't possible. It was all in my head. Plenty of people took long walks through the countryside, and he just happened to see me from a distance. That was all.

I closed my eyes against the memory.

***

It was the year 1864 and I could see the flickering lights from their torches bobbing among the trees as they moved from town, marching down the lane toward the castle. I counted six, unless there were some not carrying torches. If so, there was no telling how many men were part of the witch hunt. It was rare these days that women were actually burned, but was that a risk I was willing to take?

How had they discovered my secret? How did they know?

My biggest fear wasn't dying. It was not dying.

I knew what they did to witches. How long could my body withstand being burned at the stake without disintegrating? Would it just burn on and on? My stomach churned in fear of the answer to that question. I might not be able to die, but I could surely feel pain.

There had to be a point at which my body would give out.

Would I live on through my torture? Was there any escape from that punishment?

I stared out my window as the lights grew closer.

Could I run? I peered across the valley to the forest beyond. Even if I could outrun or outsmart the men, I’d never outrun the dragon that would be stirred by the chaos and was already on guard.