Back into the mist.
The girl stepped out onto the bathroom floor. I joined her. We were dripping wet. Soaking the floor. We took the clothes, the paper, and the crayons. Outside. The other door in the room was closed. I didn't feel like opening it. Outside was better.
A garden. Small and surrounded by a tall, green hedge. Circular. The grass was lovely. Caressed my naked feet. Emerald green. Greener than anything. I felt an urge to lie down. The girl nodded and threw herself onto the grass.
Dresses and shoes. I put them down to dry. Her bandage was gone when we awoke. Her wound. I sat down next to her. I felt her skin. Her shoulder was fine. No sign of injury. Not even a scar. It had to be the sleep. Or the water.
She smiled and rolled over. Started drawing. She gave me some paper. The beige crayon was enough for me. I drew a worm. I wanted to draw a butterfly too. She used all the crayons. She was good. Didn't want to disturb her.
I rolled onto my back. There was a sky high above us. Blue sky. Beyond the hedge it was covered in mist, but just above us it was clear. A little bit of sun reached us. Warmth. The clothes would dry in no time. And so would we. Already my belly felt less wet.
Green grass and blue sky. This was happiness. A shame it wouldn't last forever. The moment was nice. Something I wanted again. Maybe when it was all over. Lying on the softest lawn, looking at the sky.
Perhaps this place was of my imagination. The cabin and the valley were. It could be. A place of happiness. I wanted to lie naked on the grass. For the rest of my life. And I wanted to see my face. See my reflection. That's all I really needed.
She was done. I got up next to her. A nurse. She had drawn a nurse. And a hospital room. It was quite good. She had used all the crayons. There weren't any left. She looked nice. The nurse. Someone I'd trust. It was weird. I never trusted any adults before. Except for him. But he was different. Not really a grownup.
We were both dry now. The clothes too. Clean and aromatic. Like when we got it. New. Flawless. Perfect. It felt so soft and protective. We put it on again. I tied her red bow and she tied mine. Everything. Helped each other. More than needed. Family. Or something else.
We left the garden. We left the house. Back into the mist. We left behind the drawings. He said he wanted them. That he'd handle the hospital for us. We were in the street again. Right in front of the next place.
A shop. A shop that sold old things. Green above the door. We walked down the stairs. Through the door. It was dim inside. There was nothing from him. Empty.
Through the bookcase. Into the back room. I'd been here before. But I couldn't remember much. So long time ago. So much sleep. Too long.
It was not a place of happiness. An altar. Candles. My stomach twisted. This was too much. Memory. I wanted to destroy it. But I couldn't. The cardboard box was here. A gift.
She opened it. Pulled up a bucket of paint. The same as last time. Except for the leather. She handed it to me. A sheath. Cover for the knife. It was in the too. The knife. I carefully pressed it down the sheath. This time I wouldn't drop it.
The strap was too short for me. I carefully attached it to the girl's shin just below the knee. It was nice of him to make a sheath for it. It worked better as a weapon now. Carrying it all the time was hard. I wondered where I had dropped it.
A bucket was opened. I dipped my pencil. We painted the same thing. There was a bit less space. But it was okay. It felt so natural to both of us. She made the nicest of circles. I made the signs.
Howling. Came from behind. Unexpected. I fell first. Awful sound. Distant. Headache. Pain. The girl collapsed. The painting was unfinished. Elsewhere. It wasn't here. The room changed. Hostile.
Flames. Fire of misery and death. The candles on the altar. Alit. More. More. I could see nothing else. Cage. I screamed to wake up. The girl was silent. The flames hummed.
The place was laughing at us. I knew it. The flames were strong. I couldn't get near the altar. Anger. I wanted to leave a scar in its face. I got up. Dipped the brush.
The girl would die soon. I wrote on the wall. I wrote something. Something the people with the altar would hate. I smirked as the letters formed. This would be enough. The headache.