Pixie Dust Gardens

Let's pick up where we left off last time...

When Wendy had woken up, she was tired and confused and in the dark, literally, and physically. Where had she taken her? And what did she want with her anyways. With so many questions swirling around in her head, Wendy couldn’t decide whether she should find a way out of her current predicament or wait for someone to give her the answers. Did she really want answers in the first place?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know if she would like them or regret that she even asked but at least she wouldn’t be as out of the loop as she was now.

Wendy sat in the dark, the sounds of birds and rustling trees signalling that she was still in the forest, any forest, somewhere far away from home. She sucked in a breath at the thought of home. When was that place ever her home in the first place? It’s not like anyone would come looking for her. Especially not her mother, not after the words she said to her. No one would notice, would they?

“No,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head. She had no time to think about that, she had to find a way out of here. Wendy got to her feet, calloused hands gripping the smooth wooden wall and tried her best to navigate the room. No matter how dark it was, it was obvious that there was a way out. She just had to find it.

Keeping close to the wall, Wendy yelped when she tripped over something and collapsed. What was that? Still on the floor, Wendy scrambled, trying to reach for whatever she tripped on. As she searched for left and right, her eyes started to adjust to the dark, seeing the outlines of the room slowly.

She crawled on the floor until once again she hit something. Reaching forward to feel it, Wendy felt a scratchy material under her hands. It was a bag, maybe a burlap? The outlining somehow reminded her of a human body. But that couldn’t be, right?

The girl stopped in her tracks once she reached what seemed to be the top of the sack. Anxiety slowly ate away at her as she fumbled with the strings that were tied tightly in a knot.

Slowly, a smell started to fill up the room, putried. Almost rotting. If there was anything in her stomach, Wendy would’ve probably barffed. She had hoped she was imagining things. This sac which had felt very cold and very much human couldn’t possibly be a corpse, right? It just couldn't be!

She felt around, hoping she was wrong, begging that she was. She grazed her hand over the figure, slowly, as she felt curly hair, she shivered. Her hands moved down.

Skin, soft skin. She moved down. Eyelids that were open closed with her movements, Wendy gagged. Nose, plump lips, a chin, a neck-she stopped and clattered back, she couldn't breathe in that moment.

Her hands felt wet, not in a good way. More like in a way when you reach down to wipe your ass and find period blood instead.

It felt like blood.

No it's not. But it was.

No, it's not!

It was, and she wanted to scream.

Warning bells went off in her head, her heart wanting to erupt out of her chest. All she could ask herself was why? Why? WHY? Why her of all people, what did Saul mean by a key? Whose cold, dead, rotting body was lying in front of her?

She felt like she could pass out in this moment, her brain overloaded with fear, was this where she was to die?

No. If this was to be her final resting place, then at least she could try and go down fighting.

Wendy jumped to her feet, once again using the walls, she navigated herself through the room, fists banging hard against wood.

She didn’t want to die.

“Get me out of here!” She shouted desperately hoping someone, someone good could hear her pleas.

She didn’t want to die.

Wendy continued to shout until her voice cracked, banged until she bled, mixing it with the murdered one she already had on her hands. She’d rather shout her very last breath rather than wait to be murdered. Her feeling of uneasiness never went away, if anything it worsened as time passed. As her hands became bloodier and her voice grew weaker, Wendy’s hope for escape slowly dwindled.

She leaned her back against the wall and slowly slid down. Eyes cloudy with tears, her heart heavy. She should've known. Afterall, she was just another girl in Kensington.

It was such a common occurrence for girls like her to disappear around here.

Bile rose in the back of her throat as she wailed silently.

She didn’t want to die, but she would soon.

Afterall, no one would find her, if no one cared to look.

--

It felt like hours passed until the door opened, light bleeding through the cracks of the door on the front right of her. Wendy dried her last tear what seemed to be hours ago, her face felt tight with dried tears, snot on the sleeves of what was once her best dress.

When the door finally opened, Wendy covered the light, her eyes squinting as she tried to see the figure at the door.

“Have you finally calmed down?” Said the woman.

Wendy did not reply, there was no use in doing so. She had so many questions, but now if she’s being honest she wanted to rip her throat out so the woman could never speak again let alone sing.

The woman in front of her was a reminder of why she closed the doors to her heart and never let anyone in, a reminder of why she never trusted anyone. A reminder of her foolishness.

“I bet you have questions.” She said, putting a dreadlock behind her ear.

Wendy glared at the woman, her eyes finally adjusting to the light, recognizing her caramel skin, and bright green eyes. The Pixie they called her, for her beauty was like no other, her lighter brown skin that seemed almost pore-less, piercing green eyes that made men quiver in their boots in pleasure and in intimidation. She was the queen of Kensington as people said. Her song once called all lost souls into the Hollows where men and women alike would drink their sorrows away and fall into grace with her music.

She too once admired The Pixie, thinking that somehow they were the same, the song in her heart singing the same sad tune, longing for freedom. Something more than this provincial life. She thought they could be friends, and they almost were. Until it all came crashing down.

“You can shove your questions up your ass, Tink.” She said venom dripped with every syllable.

“I understand your anger, but believe me when I say I didn't want to do this.” Tink told her, remorse in her voice.

“Believe you?” Wendy started. “ After all of the shit you and him put me through, you expect me to trust you? You must be out of your goddamn mind Tink because there is no way in hell I'm ever trusting your words ever again.”

Wendy got to her feet, fury taking over her, with all her strength, she pushed Tink to the side and made her way out the door into the light of another room. She looked around to see a simple living space. A pink couch, lace curtains covering the window and the man who started it all sitting on the table with a smug smile not a care in the world.

His Indian brown eyes hiding a sadistic joy, taunting her. He was like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And she fell for his trap. She shivered as he combed his fingers through his messy dark brown hair. He looked carefree. And she hated that.

“Well, Friendly Wendy has finally woken up it seems!” He said, jumping off the table.

Wendy looked at him with fearful eyes, her hands shaking, blood coating her dress and body, dark dark blood.

Not because it was cold, but because she didn’t know what he’d do next. In the short time she’d known him, Peter had shown her a new world, an exciting, thrilling experience she thought at the time. She thought his unpredictability was what made him so much fun.

She was wrong, it was that same unpredictability that made her on edge. Her heart beating a mile a minute, hyperventilating. Was this how she was to die? In the company of betrayal, with no one to save her?

She panicked, her breathing out of her control, the room spinning, her head getting lighter and lighter. It was happening again.

Peter looked down at her pathetic figure that sank to the ground. It wouldn’t be fun if she died before she did what he needed.

“Since there’s still a bit of time before 3, I’ll go check on things outside. Make sure that dang Crocodile doesn’t find us” Peter said walking to the door. “Tink, make sure she doesn’t die before we take her to The Island. It'll be boring if she doesn't last very long.”

The said woman nodded, as he left. Leaving the two women together, the sound of her gasping to be heard over the wind rustling through the trees. She couldn’t leave the girl like this.

Tink crouched down to the floor in front of Wendy, holding her shoulders she spoke in a soft and caring voice.

“It’s going to be alright, Wendy. Slow your breathing, count back from 10.” She said, “You’re going to kill me, you’re going to kill me!” She said between her breaths.

“No,” said Tink, her voice strained, “you’re too important to kill. You’re the last one, you’re...the only one who can help us.”

Wendy didn’t know what she meant. But she was afraid. Afraid that she was lying to her again. She didn’t want to die. She had dreams. She wanted to leave Kensington one day and never look back. She wanted to become a famous author, share her tales with the world.

She would not be made into a fool, into a corpse. She didn’t want to die, she told herself that she wouldn’t. That she would survive. Yet she had no more strength left in her body to even fight back. As her vision blurred, her eyelids closed

She...would not die here.