Part 34 (1/2)
She heard Eden's door slamming shut.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil.
Kathryn settled on the pillow and closed her eyes, still tied hand and foot, breathing as deliberately as she could, attempting to shut her mind down. It was the only way.
It was... She knew this too, but it wasn't working.
What have I done? Dear G.o.d, what have I done?
What happened next came in small chunks that Kathryn tried not to comprehend.
A long period of impossible silence.
A soft blow and a crunch.
A bloodcurdling scream.
Eden's.
The shepherd had broken the leg of the lamb who would otherwise lead them all off a cliff.
Dear G.o.d, what have I done?
26.
”WELL, WELL . . . Now you're in a pickle, aren't you?”
”Yes.”
”Tell me what happened.”
The voice belonged to Outlaw, though I couldn't see him. It's like we were two souls on the edge of a great dark void and we were looking down into empty s.p.a.ce, reflecting on the tragedy that my life had become.
I felt strangely disconnected from my body, which I couldn't see or feel. But I could remember what had happened easily enough. So I told him.
”Zeke broke my leg.”
”My, my. A tear in the costume.”
”He didn't tear my clothes. He broke my leg.”
”Like I said. Your costume seems to be broken. Did it hurt?”
”Yes.”
”How bad?”
”Very bad.” Saying that, I felt a throbbing ache in my right leg, the first sensation I'd felt in some time. ”It hurts right now.”
”And how long has it hurt?”
”I don't know. How long have I been asleep?”
”That's for you to tell me. A couple days, I would guess.”
”How could I sleep a couple days?”
”Perhaps because you refuse to wake up and face the pain.”
And with those words, self-pity swept in and swallowed me whole. It was too much to hold and I began to cry. I don't think I was just dreaming that I was crying . . . I really was crying, like a little girl who'd run totally out of hope.
I was lying on my bed, silently crying in my sleep. I'd been there for two or three days, refusing to wake because I wanted it all to be over. Sleeping forever was far more attractive to me than waking to spend even one more hour in that living h.e.l.l my mother forced me to call home.
Or maybe Zeke had given me some drugs.
”Why do you cry for yourself, Eden?”
”What do you mean? I've been hurt!”
”Is that really why you're crying? Because you were hurt?”
”Of course that's why I'm crying. Zeke dropped his knees on my leg with all his weight and I felt my leg snap.” A s.h.i.+ver ran through my bones at the thought of it. ”How could anyone do such a thing?”
”You're not crying because your leg is broken,” he said. ”You're crying because you think your leg is part of who you are, and so you think you've been attacked and you're feeling sorry for yourself.”
”Well, don't you?” I demanded.
”Don't I what?”
”Feel sorry for me?”
”I have compa.s.sion for you because you're crying. But there's nothing wrong with you, so I don't feel sorry for you.”
”Of course there's something wrong. My leg's been broken!”
”Your leg? Well, that's only your costume. And as long as you hold onto the belief you are somehow your leg and have therefore been hurt, you will see yourself as a victim and continue to feel sorry for yourself.”
I hated him saying that, I really did. I thought it was cold and inconsiderate and I didn't want to listen to him anymore, so I turned away and tried not to listen.
”Do you want to walk on water, Eden?”
I didn't answer.
”When you do, I'll be waiting to show you how.”
”You already showed me how! And now I have a broken leg.”