Curtain Call: Part III

“Get up.”

Sloan’s jaws clenched along with every other muscle in her body. She waited a few silent moments before raising her hands by her sides as a gesture of peace, though she knew it was likely in vain.

Her heart pounding, Sloan stood on uneasy ankles and studied the man. In the dim lighting of his dying lantern, she could make out a worried face.

...worried?

He glanced all around and through the tiny windows the trees made into the depths of the forest, seeking something.

Why would he be worried?

The man turned back to look at her. “We should get inside,” he said, gesturing to his left with the shotgun.

Sloan tensed, unable to look away from the firearm.

The man followed her gaze and frowned. “This isn’t for you, Ms. Soloman.”

Her name did not sound threatening or taunting coming from this man. It sounded warm, and a little sad. But a horrifying realization hit her.

If he knows my name... they all do.

“Follow me, please. I won’t force you to, but we are not the only ones in this forest," he whispered.

Maybe he seemed trustworthy, and maybe she had no other options.

Either way, she tested her footing before stepping away from the tree. She nodded slightly, and the man led the way as she limped behind him.

They went at half a natural pace. The man seemed to know how to avoid every noisy crunch of the forest floor. They stepped onto fallen logs when they could and lightly padded across them. The light from the lantern was completely gone at this point, but the man knew the way. He helped her side-step roots and steadied her when a scurrying rabbit rocked her already shaky nerves.

They made their way in the dark until the tiny flicker of a distant porch light shone through the trees. As they got closer, Sloan could make out the silhouette of a woman standing on the porch steps of what appeared to be a renovated old barn, hundreds of years old by the looks of it, with her arms crossed over a blanket.

The man jogged up to her and whispered in her ear. She swatted at his shoulder and chastised him in a whisper, "I told you to find her, not scare her half to death."

"I didn't have much time to explain myself, dear."

This woman, thin and with greying hair, hastened toward Sloan while unfurling the blanket. Sloan froze but ultimately accepted being bundled up.

The woman helped her up the stairs and into a warm, cluttered home. The barn had high ceilings and beautiful exposed beams. The windows were expansive and impressive, even as the man quickly set to closing all of the blinds. The wall sconces cast a honey colored glow against the maple paneling of the walls. There were papers, boxes, and baskets of random objects everywhere. It was certainly lived in, perhaps a bit too much, and Sloan was taken aback by the now foreign feeling of safety.

The man, awkward but happy to help, stood nearby for awhile before disappearing down the hall, giving the woman space to tend to Sloan.

She gently pushed Sloan into a recently cleared wooden dining chair, removed her bag slowly, touched Sloan's face tenderly, like a mother would, and frowned. She lifted Sloan’s arms, and Sloan recognized that she was examining the scrapes and bruises she had acquired while running in the forest.

She placed a hand on her shoulder, "I'll be right back, sweet pea."

Sloan stared at the dining table that clearly had not been used for anything other than storage for quite some time. The woman rummaged around the room until she finally acquired a first aid kit and brought it over to Sloan. She next grabbed a dish towel and ran it under some warm water before finally moving a basket off a chair nearby and dragging it over to sit by Sloan.

She plopped herself down and grabbed Sloan's hands to begin working. She wiped down all of her scrapes carefully before disinfecting and bandaging the deep ones. There were not too many, thankfully. She cleaned the dirt out from under Sloan's fingernails and, when she was finished, kept Sloan's hand in hers.

"Young lady," she asserted. "I have this house because my brother left it to me in one of the early seasons of that horrific program."

Confused, Sloan began pulling her hand away.

"No, sweetheart, you misunderstand," she assured, taking her hand firmly and patting it. She whispered, "I would have rather seen him run."

Sloan's face softened a bit, and she gave the woman a small nod. They stared at each other briefly, forming a quiet, soft alliance.

The woman eventually stood, patting Sloan's knee before moving toward the gas stove to start a kettle of water. "I'm Emily, by the way. And my husband is Peter. We so admire how you handled yourself back there. We've been watching the playbacks all afternoon and evening, even before that Diane woman warned us where you might be. You never flinched; I don't know how, but you didn't flinch," she pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. "I think Calvin Connolly and his henchmen will have your neck for that, if given the chance."

"He won't," Sloan said, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. "He won't be given the chance."

Emily smirked. "That's big talk for someone who had to be rescued out of a forest crawling with hunters," she said, glancing up to watch the information register on Sloan’s face. "Hunting you, might I make abundantly clear. Just because you've made a few smart moves so far doesn't mean you're well equipped to survive this, and you certainly can't do it alone. We have an old lake house on an island in the middle of Lake Thompson. It's as remote as possible around these parts. We'll take you there in the morning."

Sloan shook her head, "I would rather find my own way, I think."

Emily nodded, leaning her back against the counter while the water heated up. "Fine. You will sleep on it, that is all I ask," she smiled. "You will eat, sleep, eat again in the morning, and then I will hear your decision." She saw Sloan think the plan through and not liking it. "I am also packing supplies for you whether you like it or not. Deal?"

After a heavy pause, Sloan answered her with a small smile.

"Good." The kettle began to faintly whistle. Emily plopped a tea bag in each mug and covered them in hot water. She brought them over and handed one to Sloan.

They sipped their tea together in a few minutes of silence.

"Your ankle,” she said, finishing her tea. “We must tend to your ankle. After you wash up, though." She stood and rushed over to a laundry basket piled high with clean and wrinkled items. She pulled out a towel and a washcloth and folded them haphazardly before turning the corner, out of sight. She returned shortly after. "Finish your tea, and go clean yourself up. Take all the time you need. You are welcome to use anything you find in there, but if you need anything else, just holler. I'm going to hop in the shower in my bathroom, and I will be out shortly so we can wrap your ankle when you are done. Good?"

Sloan nodded quickly at this burst of energy. "Yes! Thank you."

"Of course," Emily said, bustling down the hall.

Sloan sat her mug down and tested her ankle. Still not good, she found. She pulled herself up, grabbed her bag off the floor, and limped around the corner to find a bathroom covered in pink tile and carpets, one for the floor and one for the toilet seat. She entered and shut the door, ultimately deciding to lock it. She stepped back from the door and looked in the mirror.

Jesus.

She was covered in scratches and scrapes. Her previously white tank was now various shades of tan and brown, and her jeans now had rips. She took off her tank top and plugged the sink drain to begin soaking it. She stripped off her jeans, sitting on the carpeted toilet seat to help with her ankle, and kicked off her shoes in the process.

Well this is just... peachy.

Her feet were wrecked. Bloody, blistered, and swollen. So swollen.

She thanked herself for at least wearing flats that day.

She stood, keeping only her locket on, and started the water for a shallow bath. She sat in the tub while it filled and watched as the various layers of filth dissolved off of her and dispersed into the water. She found a bottle of rain-scented shampoo and used it as soap for her feet, legs, and torso. Emily had done a pretty good job on her arms and face. The water was warm and becoming murkier by the second, and Sloan was beginning to feel just how exhausted she was. Reluctantly, she stood and wrapped the towel around her before hearing a knock on the door.

"I'm leaving some pajamas outside the door for you. No rush. Do you need anything else?"

Sloan grinned, "No, thank you."

"Alright, sugar. I'll be in the living room. Again, take your time."

Sloan waited until she heard Emily walk away to open the door. She found blue plaid pants that were a bit short on her and a t-shirt with a cartoon character on it. She slipped into both and wrung her tank top out before hanging it over the shower curtain rod to dry overnight. She pulled open her bag to put on some lip balm. She looked in the mirror as she did this, thinking how odd it felt to do something so menial on a day like this. Soon enough, she collected her things in her bag and exited the bathroom.

In the living room, she found that Emily had left a plate of apple slices and a peanut butter sandwich on the side table with a big glass of water, and Emily eagerly gestured to Sloan that it was for her. She took it, humbly, before sitting down and demolishing the meal.

Emily seemed pleased with this. Eventually, she clapped her hand against the arm of her chair before standing and coming to wrap Sloan's ankle.

"Alright, up," she said, patting her knee. Sloan swung her foot up and placed it where she was told. In no time, Emily had wrapped her ankle as best as she could in white gauze and sat it gingerly on the seat beside her. "Now, time for sleep. Follow me. Do you need a hand?"

Sloan stood, her ankle feeling better from the support. "No, I can manage."

Emily led her to a room across the hall from the bathroom. It was decently sized with a queen bed with numerous mismatching quilts. She turned to Sloan and ordered, "Keep the blinds shut, try and get some sleep, think about our offer, and meet us in the kitchen whenever you wake up. We're always up early, so don't worry about bothering us." She paused, stepping toward Sloan to squeeze her upper arm. "Sleep well, Sloan."

Finally alone, Sloan sat her stuff down on the floor. She turned the oil lamp on the bedside table down a bit as she slipped into the stale smelling but ultimately cozy bed. She stared at the flame, willing herself not to live through the events of that day for a third time. She figured she would be doing that many more times throughout her life if she managed to keep it a long one, and tonight was not the night for it. She snuggled deeper under the quilts and left the lamp partially on before doing something remarkable.

Sloan slept.