The Watcher - Chapter II

Paul burst through the treeline, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion and terror. His forearms and throat were riddled with thin scratches from the brush.

Staggering through the thick loam, he stumbled up to Maisie and grabbed her by the arms.

"What did I say about wanderin' off alone?! Huh, Maisie? Look at me!"

He shook both of her hands, hard. She stared down at his knees, paralyzed.

"I tell you to stick close, and next thing you're walkin' off alone through ... aww Punkin, you'll be the death o' me."

She didn't know what to say. He had warned her to stay nearby, but the last time she drank water was at night.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd disobeyed him.

"Punkin. Look at me."

She glanced up at his chest. Paul's ragged breaths stretched the thin fabric of his shirt. One of his buttons was coming loose, hanging off its threads like a booger.

"You can do better'n that."

Her gaze moved slowly to his chin. Sparse patches of stubble jutted out from sunken cheeks, his beard wispy and uneven.

When Maisie was younger and Paul's moustache had first come in, she'd waddled outside and plucked up fistfuls of grass, plastering them to her face and puffing her chest as she stomped around.

Mama had caught her within a few minutes, and made her put all of it back while Papa guffawed from the porch.

Wet grass wasn't easy to clean off your skin.

"What were you thinkin', anyhow? Why'd you come all the way back here?"

Paul's eyes fell on the water well. His face crumpled with shame.

"Ahh, shoot ... were you thirsty? I ... didn't bring back any for the mornin', did I."

Paul stood up, unsteady. He heaved a deep sigh. "I'm sorry Punkin, it's ... hard t' remember everything sometimes. Maybe tonight I'll ─"

He winced, hissing as he gripped one arm with the other hand.

Maisie watched his fingers, alarmed. Faint smears of blood shone from underneath the dirty knuckles.

Paul had gotten hurt because of her.

Hot tears welled in her eyes, stinging at their corners. Paul knelt back down in a panic, gently rubbing her shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hush now ... it ain't nothing, I just got banged up a bit lookin' for you is all. Weren't worse than I've had before."

Maisie sobbed quietly, a bubble of snot peeking from one nostril. Paul popped it with his sleeve and teased her cheek, wiggling the fat like a dumpling.

"Alright, look ... let's forget it happened, huh? I'm just glad I found you."

He hugged her toward him, soothing her as he kissed her head. Then he jerked back suddenly, spitting flecks of mud at the ground.

"What the ...?"

Maisie scowled up at her brother, determined. She didn't often ask him for things.

"I w- ... wanna haircut."

Paul stared in confusion.

"I, uh ... let's just get back t' the barn first. It's too light out."

He sprang to his feet, pulling Maisie along. He paused.

"Did you drink yet or no?"

Maisie shook her head.

"Well hurry up, then! If they catch us, there's no barn for us neither; you know we never asked 'em first."

Maisie stood motionless, nervous.

"Wanna ... p-piddle."

"That too? Aww, get on then Punkin, you're killin' me here."

She finished her duties, Paul keeping lookout near the mouth of the clearing. The pair rushed out from the quiet space, huddling to one side of the trail. Maisie held his hand as they went, shoving him away from each tree root looming below.

They reached the barn. Paul crouched behind its leaning walls, pulling Maisie to him as he scanned the farmhouse.

"Did they see you? If we go inside, they might trap us in here."

"No." She was sure of it. Nobody could hide in those windows.

"In then, quick. I'm right here."

Maisie crept through the entrance, eyes adjusting to the dark. Paul followed suit, easing the door shut behind him.

He lowered the crossbar into place, then looked over at Maisie, impressed.

"Hold on: you chucked this all by yourself?"

She nodded with pride.

"Naww, really? Let's see those drumsticks then!"

Maisie hopped up and down where she stood, flexing both of her arms. Paul mirrored the pose.

"Let 'em hear it, Punkin! GRRR."

Maisie's porcelain teeth flashed in the gloom. "Grrr."

Her stomach gurgled audibly. Paul laughed and plunked down on a haystack, grabbing his jacket nearby.

"Sounds like somethin' else is angry, too. Well damn."

He slapped a palm to his mouth. Gradually he lowered his hand.

"You didn't hear me say that, did you?"

Maisie shook her head solemnly.

"Alright, good. That's a really mean word. We don't say those things, 'cept on accident."

"Yep."

Paul nodded approvingly, checking the rafters. The sunlight had shifted to a thick, hazy gold. At least autumn came with its benefits.

"O-K Maisie, Mr. Sun won't be up much longer. I can find us food in a bit, but you'll have t' wait for it."

Paul's eyes narrowed.

"And no headin’ back outside this time, y’hear me? Not f’r water, not f’r piddles, nothin'. If you have t' go that bad, you just go in the corner right there. You hear me?"

Paul didn't use this tone often, and she was deathly scared of it.

Papa's tone.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes ... I won't."

"Good." Paul rolled over to his stomach, wiping twists of straw away from the dirt. "Now, help me draw some animals here. My critters might get lonely."

Maisie scrambled to his side, tongue poking out in concentration. She was much slower than him but she still did her best, following his frogs and fish with her own snakes, flies, and eggs.

Eggs were animals too, weren't they? They just didn't have eyes yet.

Gradually the daylight cooled, and Paul stood up with a groan, wiping sweat from his brow.

Cracking his spine to and fro, he dusted off his front. Maisie clambered up to help but he shooed her aside.

"I got it. You stay here'n wait for me." He picked up his jacket and wagged it at her, menacingly. "I mean it. You roam off again, I'll tie your shoes together."

Maisie knew he would, too. He'd made good on that threat once before, ignoring her angry tears.

"Alright. Behave, Punkin."

He ruffled her hair, stalking to the door. He slowly pushed it open, looking back at her.

She waved goodbye.

Paul winked at Maisie and crept into the sunlight, closing the door behind him.

Seconds passed before he ducked his head back inside, gesturing at the crossbar.

"Can you pick that up again? Show me."

Maisie obliged, careful not to topple beneath the weight.

"Alright ... shut it proper behind me, then. That way no one barges in."

She hastened to comply, but Paul stopped her mid-motion. "You're sure you can open it again, aren'tcha? I won't be able t' get back in otherwise."

"Yeeees-suh." Her voice lilted with impatience.

The wood was getting heavy.

Paul gazed at her, skeptical. Then he glanced down at the ground.

"I mean ... it's just dirt, anyhow. Worst thing is I'll have t' dig you back out of here."

Nodding with the decision, he raised his fist to the doorframe.

"When you hear this, you'll know it's me. Don't open up if it's not."

Paul knocked firmly three times, his bony knuckles rapping against the strip.

She understood. Sending him off without a word, she locked the bar into place and huffed back over to her seat.

Paul always thought she was dumb.

Hours passed as Maisie returned to her drawings under moonlight, humming as she cleared out some more space in the straw. Her eggs needed a family.

Eventually she heard the knocking again, and she rushed up to the door. Her stomach was already in knots.

Paul eased inside, small leaves stuck to his hair. His fists were stuffed in his pockets.

As he pulled both of them out, Maisie clapped with excitement. Paul smiled sadly at her.

A dozen apricots crowded his palms, some of them darkened with rot. Maisie tried to hide her disappointment as her brother chuckled.

"I was … hoping for more, too. Today's not the day, Punkin." He sighed, handing half of them over. "I saw a squirrel early on, but there weren't no way t' catch him. I'll try makin’ slings later."

Maisie took her share. She noticed he’d kept the rotten ones. Adamant, she held the largest fruit back up at Paul.

He sighed. "Look Maisie, just ─"

She stamped her foot, lip trembling. Paul knew better than to push the issue. Her crying might draw attention, anyway.

"Alright then, Punkin. You win." She watched him eat with shining eyes, beaming.

He deserved the biggest one.

They finished in silence, burying their pits in a corner. Paul lay down on his back, lacing his hands beneath his head.

He patted the ground next to him. Maisie ambled over, careful not to upset her drawings.

"Remember what we do now?"

Maisie nodded, staring up at the ceiling. "Finish in our head."

It was their old game by now. Whenever food was hard to come by, they'd start reliving their favorite meals in silence, turning them over in their minds.

Maisie felt it was almost like the real thing: if she shut her eyes hard enough, and remembered loud enough, she could sometimes even smell it.

She also noticed they'd been playing the game a lot more lately.

Oftentimes they would share their choices with each other, but Paul didn't seem like wanting to share now. She already knew all his favorites by heart, though: iced creams, grilled chicken, stake.

She didn't even know what stake was, only that Paul had eaten some at a cattle ranch one Christmas and wouldn't shut up about it since.

As for herself, she always knew what she wanted. It never changed.

Back home, she'd become friends with a lady she called Missus Neighbor. She'd tried to learn the proper name once, but it was too funny to remember and she always forgot anyhow.

Missus Neighbor was from Yoorip, which was somewhere far away. The same place Papa's gran came from.

Missus Neighbor was the new wife of Mister Neighbor, and they lived together in the closest house to Maisie's, an hour's ride away. Mama said Missus Neighbor had been a teacher before she got married.

In a place called "skool". Maisie hated "skool". Papa had tried it on her once, and she hid under the house until long after dark.

Missus Neighbor kept a book on her kitchen shelf which she often cooked from, planting Maisie on her lap while singing to her.

One day she'd picked out a special page, for her anniversary. Maisie pitched in, standing on the countertop, bewildered by a rush of eggs, flour, and creams.

Hours later, Missus Neighbor brought out a dark wedge of cold mud from the kitchen. Maisie had stared distrustfully at it, but regretted all her misgivings after one single bite: a magical brew of molasses, honey, and smoke.

"Choc'lut cake," Missus Neighbor had called it, glowing with pride.

Maisie pretended to finish the whole thing, but had snuck a big piece back home in her pocket overalls. Mama was an instant devotee. Papa had frowned at the taste.

Maisie thought about Missus Neighbor sometimes. An awful lot.

"You almost done with dinner, Punkin?"

" ... yes." She wasn't.

"I'll do better t'morrow, Maisie. I'm ... I'm sorry. Now get some rest, sweetheart."

Paul rolled over to his side. He fell asleep in minutes.

Maisie stayed up all night, dreaming of chocklut cake.