The Wicked Garden (6 page)

“It’s open immediately. Tell me, honey love, do you have a green thumb?”

Gretchel was perplexed. “Yes, I was raised on a farm.”

“Stupendous. You’ll have three roommates,” he said, and then took her name and contact information. “Do you have any questions?”

She had quite a few, in fact. “Do I have to prove I’m in school? Do I pay any rent at all? And do I meet you or something? I mean I don’t even know your name.”

“I know you’re in school, I can tell. No rent, no utilities, and intuition tells me we will meet someday when the time is right. Timing is everything, honey love.”

“And your name?” Gretchel asked.

“You can call me Peter—or Pan, if you have a sense of adventure. Are you the Wendy type?”

“I’m more of an Alice,” Gretchel said.

What planet was she on? Things like free rent, and anonymous landlords that called themselves Peter Pan just didn’t fall out of the sky.

“Why are you doing this? I mean, it seems too good to be true.”

The man laughed. “No need for the paranoia, honey love. I recommend you trust the blessings that come your way. You wanted this, did you not?”

“Well, yeah, but what’s the catch?” Gretchel inquired.

“There is no catch. I like to give,” he said.

“What do you want from me besides the upkeep of the house?” she asked.

“The question is what do
you
want besides the upkeep of the house? Your world is malleable, my dear. Chew on that for awhile. What is it that you really want?” Peter asked, and then hung up before she could even begin to answer that huge, never-ending question.

What did she want then? She wanted forgiveness, she wanted justice, and she wanted closure. That was the main reason she had gone to SIU for school. She had avoided her real intentions all year, but that day, after that phone call she knew she had to find Devon—an old family friend—and make things right. She needed to see him, to talk to him. She needed to face a part of her past that had been nothing short of beautiful and pure, but had turned disastrous.

If she saw him then she could move on, at least a little. She could focus on what she really wanted, which was to learn, to experience, to connect with the earth on levels she never had, and then take all that and release it back out into the universe. Above all, she was craving connection, intimacy, and someone who understood how to ride the waves. Someone who would understand her quirks, someone who was capable of having an intellectual conversation, someone who understood that sex could be not just a hit and run accident, but also a nice long drive in the country. And she didn’t just want someone; she wanted the boy with the aquamarine eyes—the eyes she had searched every face for after the eve of her fourteenth birthday, the night that changed her life forever.

Gretchel closed her own eyes and let her mind drift back to that night. Her throat began to close with unshed tears as she replayed the conversation she’d had before she left the house that night. Clairvoyance was a gift that appeared in every generation of her family, at least as long as anyone could remember, and the boy with the aquamarine eyes had appeared in a vision that was clearly intended for Gretchel. There had been more to that vision, but Gretchel was young enough—and foolish enough—to only hear the parts she wanted to hear.

If she could only go back, she would heed the warning contained in that vision, she would stay home. Everything would be different.
Everything.

But she hadn’t listened, and she couldn’t go back. The Wicked Garden had always been cursed, but Gretchel was responsible for a few of the restless spirits doomed to walk through its weeds forever. And forever was exactly how long she would carry that blame. A ripple of guilt washed through her.
             

Gretchel sank down deep in the tub, letting the water reach her chin. She came back to the present—which wasn’t much of an improvement. Waking up in the truck had spooked her—badly. This wasn’t how she wanted to start her new year. “But what do I want? What do I really want?” she asked herself aloud.
I still want the boy with the aquamarine eyes. I always will.
Then her thoughts shifted back to Troy, and all she could think about was burying him in the Wicked Garden. His was a soul she would gladly consign to that unholy, unhappy place.

∞

Irvine, 2010s

“Goddess, guide me.”

Gretchel was in the back yard, her arms stretched toward the blue moon.

She had married Troy because she felt that she deserved him. She felt that she needed to be punished. She let him take away her power, and then
she had sacrificed her children to her own guilt and shame. No more.

Gretchel held Troy in her mind, and then, chanting words she had learned from Miss Poni, she banished him.

Where you come from, I care not

Where you go, best you be gone

Leave me now and let it be

The bond is cut, so by this done.

              She let her words sink into the snow at her feet. She let them rise up to the stars. Then she turned back toward the house and went inside to face whatever future she may have wrought.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Irvine, 2010s

It was just past one in the morning. Gretchel looked out the window when she heard a car roll into the driveway. She was surprised to see that it was Ame’s. Gretchel’s hand clutched the curtain as her mind flashed to the shotgun still hidden under her daughter’s bed. Then she saw another set of headlights. It was Troy. Gretchel ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. She pulled Ame away from the refrigerator.

“Stop it,” Ame protested.

Gretchel looked into her daughter’s bloodshot eyes. Ame was either drunk or stoned. Given that Ame had gone straight for the guacamole and chips as soon as she got home, Gretchel was pretty sure it was the latter.

“You’re out past curfew. Your father just got home. Go to your room and get into bed,
now
!” Gretchel hissed as she dragged her daughter up the stairs. Gretchel had just shut the door of Ame’s bedroom behind her as Troy reached to open it.

“Drunk again, Giant?” Troy was talking to Ame, but Gretchel could tell that he was the one who had had a few too many. Again.

“No. She’s not drunk. You are, and don’t you dare lay a finger on my daughter.”

Troy turned toward his wife, seemingly surprised to hear her voice, and knocked her onto Ame’s bed with a fierce backhand. “That’s for contradicting me. I’ll pay you back for embarrassing me tonight later.”

Then he looked to Ame. “You were out past curfew.” He rubbed his chin, savoring her punishment. “Say goodbye to your horse tomorrow.”

“You can’t do that!” Ame screeched.

“The hell I can’t,” Troy yelled. “Everything you have belongs to me. Tomorrow, I look for a buyer.” He paused. “On second thought, I think I’ll just shoot her in the head.”

Gretchel lay on the bed, holding her jaw. Troy rarely hit her in the face. Facial injuries showed. Gretchel sat up, and looked into Ame’s eyes. They were blazing. With an impossible shock of recognition, Gretchel knew that they looked just like her own when she was at her wildest. She wasn’t surprised when Ame launched herself at Troy, jumping on his back, trying to choke him with her arm.

“Ame,
no
!” Gretchel tried to intervene, but an elbow caught her in the head. Zach rushed into the room. He, too, tried to restrain his sister.

Troy finally swung Ame around and off him. She landed on the floor with an impact that shook the house. He jumped on top of her and pummeled her repeatedly in the stomach. Gretchel felt a surge of energy rip through her center. She reared back and kicked Troy in the face. He pushed himself against the wall, touched the blood that gushed from his lip, and stood up.

“That was a big mistake, Gretch,” he said.

“Not in front of Ben,” she whispered. Troy looked to the doorway. If he was concerned about having a witness, he didn’t show it. He got up, slowly walked to his wife, punched her hard in the gut, and pushed her back onto the bed. His cold gaze took in both boys. “Go. Now. Get out of this house.”

“You’re going to kill them! They didn’t do anything wrong!” Zach cried, tears of sheer terror streaming down his face.

Troy gave his son a look that communicated a familiar threat. Zach stood frozen, and then pushed his wide-eyed friend out the door. Troy locked it and turned back to his wife and daughter. Clumsy from drink, he dropped to the floor and climbed atop Ame, who was still trying to catch her breath. He straddled her, pinned her arms above her head with one hand, and began unbuttoning her jeans with the other.

“Well, it appears that, for once, you’re speechless, Ame. I think it’s time that I shut you up for good, you worthless bitch.” Ame couldn’t speak for sobbing. Troy glared down at her. “You’re a no good witch like your mother. You don’t deserve any better than this.” Then he spit in her face.

“Mama,” Ame whispered hoarsely.

Troy felt cold metal against his temple.

“Get off her,” he heard his wife say in a low, guttural voice.

Troy’s gaze turned slightly to meet the barrel of the antique shotgun. Then he looked into his wife’s eyes. She had always been wild, and there had been a time when he had delighted in exploiting her special combination of abandon and self-loathing. He had certainly seen Gretchel crazy. But now he was seeing something else. Something that terrified him.

Gretchel pointed the shotgun at his face. “Get. Off,” she repeated. Her breathing was heavy, but she held the gun steady.

“Gretch, this isn’t what it looks like,” Troy desperately pleaded.

“Get off,” she said again, “And get out.” She drew the shotgun up, pulling it tight against her chest.

“I take it all back. I’ll never hit her again. I swear.”

“Get out of this room,” she scr
eamed, “And get out of this house!” The metal met Troy’s forehead.

He climbed off Ame and backed out of the room. Gretchel slammed the door in his face.

∞

Gretchel lowered the shotgun, gently. The calm sense of purpose that had descended on her when Troy
attacked their daughter started to dissipate. She was shaking as she helped Ame climb into bed.

“The gun.... why was it in my room?” Ame asked. Gretchel started to sob. Unable to speak, she just shook her head. “Mom if you don’t do something to change this for us, I’ll never forgive you. You have to fight. If not for yourself, do it for Zach and me.”

What remained of Gretchel’s heart cracked, and then disintegrated into a fine powder of guilt and remorse.

Gretchel swallowed, pushing down the rising bile. “I will make it right. I will do everything in my power to make it right,” she said. Power. She had power. She could feel it inside, like a ball of light expanding and pulsating.

“Lock the door behind me, Ame. Do not open it for anybody but me.”

              The voices started as soon as she began walking down the steps.

’Bout time the amulet come off.

Aye, we be trying to reach ye since the bloody blue-eyed chap left ya cryin’.

Ye been hiding behind that purple gem. Served ye well ‘nuff, but ye can’t hear a bloody thing.

Even gie ye a skelpit lug!

Aye.

The devil’s bride ‘ill have you finish ‘im off, but dinnae! Dinnae! Tis not your place to take his life. Ye got to break the cycle, love. Nature’ll do ‘em in. Let the elements do the deed this time. Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.

Finish what ye’ve started, tart. Do it fer yer bairns
. Most of the voices in Gretchel’s head were anonymous, attached to nothing and no one she had ever seen, but not this one. This was the Woman in Wool.

If Troy was still in the house, she
would
blow his head off. She listened for movement. Everything was quiet. He was, perhaps, just smart enough to stay out of her way.

              Gretchel was digging through the fire safe, looking for the documents she and her kids would need to start a new life. The shotgun was at her feet.

             
Before Gretchel even realized that Troy was behind her, he grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.

He’s oot his face!

Keep the heid! Keep the heid!

Kill him!
the Woman in Wool screeched.

“Nobody else is going to love you like me, Gretch. Nobody else is going to be able to look at your disgusting body, your burns and your scars. I’m the best you’re ever going to get, so let’s just go to bed and pretend nothing ever happened.” His voice was hot in her ear, and she could smell the Scotch on his breath. He would never change. Had she ever really believed that he would change?

Gretchel shifted her hips to the left, and used all the strength she had to drive her free right fist backward into Troy’s testicles. His grasp on her arm weakened, Gretchel flung his arm away and reached for the shotgun.

Troy, curled up on the floor, raised his hands in defeat. “Gretch, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can’t lose you. I’d do anything for you. You know I would. You can’t leave me. I’ll break it off with Michelle, I’ll find another job, we can move, whatever you—”

She leveled the gun to his chest. “I want the tape, Troy.”

“It’s gone!”

“Bullshit. Where is it?”

“I swear to you, it’s gone.”

“You’re lying. Where’s the tape, Troy?”

“I destroyed it. I did it for you! I love you. I’ve always loved you. We can fix this. Just put down the gun.”

Gretchel drew back the hammer.

Kill him!
The Woman in Wool screamed again.
Kill him!

Gretchel stared at her husband over the barrel of the shotgun. “All right, Troy. I believe you.”

He sagged with relief.

“But there’s still something I want from you, Troy. Can you do something for me, Troy?”

“Anything, Gretchel. Anything!”

“
I want you to get that goddamn trash bag out of the goddamn tree.
That’s what I want from you, Troy.”

Gretchel left her husband cringing at the bottom of the stairs.

She knocked on Ame’s door, and waited for her daughter to let her in. She tucked the covers around her daughter, and, after giving Ame a kiss on the forehead, Gretchel settled herself into the rocking chair facing the door, the shotgun across her knees.

It was several hours before Gretchel let herself fall asleep, but, when she did, she slipped into a dream almost immediately. She was in a clearing. She was cradled in warm water. Women danced around her, chanting in low voices. She felt the gun in her hands, and shot the first man she saw.