into her skin, but she pushed through. Turning onto her side, folding to an L shape, she coiled into the narrow gap.
As she pushed herself through, the thorns broke off in her skin, and her progress became easier. Her hips slid most of the way through the gap. She balanced on a ledge of some sort at the edge of the hole.
Anna looked around, trying to define the edges of the pit, trying to locate the iron ring. Darkness and dust hid any details. The ground below her was hard and regular, like wood. She lowered her arm, past her elbow, into the hole, but felt nothing below.
The whistle cried again, at a distance, followed by an answering whistle even farther off. The search parties are moving away , she thought, and coughed quietly into her hand.
A closer sound drew her attention, a snapping noise below her, then a slow crackling. The ledge on which she lay sagged, slumping toward the pit. Anna stifled a scream and flailed for a handhold. Brittle blackberry vines snapped off in her grasp. Her ledge collapsed, dropping Anna headfirst into the darkness. Her lower legs, still in the clutches of the briar monster, hung up at the crumbling edge of the pit.
She dangled upside down for a moment, too startled and frazzled to think. Then the vines released her. She plummeted. Half a scream escaped her lips before she crashed onto the middle step of a moldering staircase. Rotten wood crumbled under her weight. The entire staircase crashed into the pit with Anna. There was a crack and a flash inside her skull. She stopped thinking then, stopped knowing. When night fell, hours later, Anna still had not stirred.
Chapter 14
Anna dreamed. She dreamed of the day she had arrived at the orphanage. A flat blanket of cloud hung low in the sky. Heavy mist fought light drizzle for ownership of the air. Anna sat at the front of the boat watching The Saint Frances de Chantal Orphan Asylum emerge from the haze, its single tower rising like an enormous headstone.
Then, it was a headstone, in her dream – her brother’s headstone.
Here lies Ephraim Dufresne
1902 – 1904
Drowned in a bathtub
By his big sister
Beside it stood her mother’s headstone.
Here lies Maria Dufresne
1881 – 1904
Opened her veins
In the tub that took her son Her father didn’t have a headstone. He hadn’t died.
Anna’s grave was unmarked. It was just a pit covered with rotting timbers and wild, ravenous blackberry vines. She saw herself lying at the bottom, legs and arms splayed in all directions, covered in mud and cuts. The ruins of the collapsed staircase littered the floor around her. Something heavy, perhaps a piece of lumber, lay across her chest.
Anna reached into the grave to lift the heavy thing from her chest. The other Anna grabbed her hand and said, “Leave it. That’s not for you.”
“I want to get it off my chest.”
“Do you?” asked the other Anna in the other Anna voice. “Then look at it!”
Suddenly, she did not want to look at it. She didn’t want anything to do with it or with the other Anna. She tried to run, but the other Anna refused to let her go.
“Look at it,” the other Anna repeated.
She tried not to look, but, as happens in dreams, her head and her eyes ignored her desires. The thing on the other Anna’s chest was a door. She recognized the door from a familiar place, long ago. Her hand, of its own accord, took hold of the knob and turned. The door opened. Anna and the other Anna stepped through.
The mirror above the sink reflected two Annas, standing side by side. One was groomed and dressed according to the manner to which she had been born. The other wore a mud crusted drape of unidentifiable cut, her hair, nails, teeth unkempt. She bled from countless scratches.
Tiny six-sided tiles covered the floor and the first three feet of the walls, mainly white, but with a few blue tiles scattered about. Water dripped idly in the sink. Dust motes loitered in a shaft of late morning sunlight that fell through the
As she pushed herself through, the thorns broke off in her skin, and her progress became easier. Her hips slid most of the way through the gap. She balanced on a ledge of some sort at the edge of the hole.
Anna looked around, trying to define the edges of the pit, trying to locate the iron ring. Darkness and dust hid any details. The ground below her was hard and regular, like wood. She lowered her arm, past her elbow, into the hole, but felt nothing below.
The whistle cried again, at a distance, followed by an answering whistle even farther off. The search parties are moving away , she thought, and coughed quietly into her hand.
A closer sound drew her attention, a snapping noise below her, then a slow crackling. The ledge on which she lay sagged, slumping toward the pit. Anna stifled a scream and flailed for a handhold. Brittle blackberry vines snapped off in her grasp. Her ledge collapsed, dropping Anna headfirst into the darkness. Her lower legs, still in the clutches of the briar monster, hung up at the crumbling edge of the pit.
She dangled upside down for a moment, too startled and frazzled to think. Then the vines released her. She plummeted. Half a scream escaped her lips before she crashed onto the middle step of a moldering staircase. Rotten wood crumbled under her weight. The entire staircase crashed into the pit with Anna. There was a crack and a flash inside her skull. She stopped thinking then, stopped knowing. When night fell, hours later, Anna still had not stirred.
Chapter 14
Anna dreamed. She dreamed of the day she had arrived at the orphanage. A flat blanket of cloud hung low in the sky. Heavy mist fought light drizzle for ownership of the air. Anna sat at the front of the boat watching The Saint Frances de Chantal Orphan Asylum emerge from the haze, its single tower rising like an enormous headstone.
Then, it was a headstone, in her dream – her brother’s headstone.
Here lies Ephraim Dufresne
1902 – 1904
Drowned in a bathtub
By his big sister
Beside it stood her mother’s headstone.
Here lies Maria Dufresne
1881 – 1904
Opened her veins
In the tub that took her son Her father didn’t have a headstone. He hadn’t died.
Anna’s grave was unmarked. It was just a pit covered with rotting timbers and wild, ravenous blackberry vines. She saw herself lying at the bottom, legs and arms splayed in all directions, covered in mud and cuts. The ruins of the collapsed staircase littered the floor around her. Something heavy, perhaps a piece of lumber, lay across her chest.
Anna reached into the grave to lift the heavy thing from her chest. The other Anna grabbed her hand and said, “Leave it. That’s not for you.”
“I want to get it off my chest.”
“Do you?” asked the other Anna in the other Anna voice. “Then look at it!”
Suddenly, she did not want to look at it. She didn’t want anything to do with it or with the other Anna. She tried to run, but the other Anna refused to let her go.
“Look at it,” the other Anna repeated.
She tried not to look, but, as happens in dreams, her head and her eyes ignored her desires. The thing on the other Anna’s chest was a door. She recognized the door from a familiar place, long ago. Her hand, of its own accord, took hold of the knob and turned. The door opened. Anna and the other Anna stepped through.
The mirror above the sink reflected two Annas, standing side by side. One was groomed and dressed according to the manner to which she had been born. The other wore a mud crusted drape of unidentifiable cut, her hair, nails, teeth unkempt. She bled from countless scratches.
Tiny six-sided tiles covered the floor and the first three feet of the walls, mainly white, but with a few blue tiles scattered about. Water dripped idly in the sink. Dust motes loitered in a shaft of late morning sunlight that fell through the
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