Ever After

Something makes me hesitate before stepping into the shade of the crumbling stone bridge looming above me. I have been through worse things than a little darkness but I’m not feeling reassured. The sunlight on the other side of the bridge beckons me. It is so bright I can almost see beyond; almost imagine a bright future in which there is just me and the dark haired, dark eyed little girl of my dreams.

“Now is not the time for dreaming, Ever,” I say aloud.

Not yet. Now is the time for the crossing under dark bridges. Focus. It isn’t a very large or impressive bridge but more of the small, unimpressively forgotten type. It’s not the bridge that makes my skin crawl, it’s what lies beneath. I can’t see anything in the darkness of the long shadow stretched across the ground under the bridge, but I can feel it. There is something palpable about it; I can feel it like a pulse.

It is from this dark space I notice tendrils of smoke curling skyward. The smoke smells sweet, like the smoke from Mr. Kaori’s pipe. The familiar smell is comforting; enough to reassure me that the end is near. Mr. Kaori never went back on his word. He promised this would be the last. If I completed this mission I could leave this job and this life. He would let me go. No expectations, no questions asked, no pleading for me to reconsider. I would be free to write the rest of my story on my own.

A breeze lifts the hair off my shoulders and I discern the thick smell of gardenias. I think of the gardenias Mr. Kaori brought with him when he offered me the one thing he knew well I wanted but could never ask of him.

“Steal my heart, earn your freedom,” Mr. Kaori said.

“This will be the very last?” I asked.

“The very last,” he said.

I looked at him hard, as if looking hard enough would allow me to read his mind, his intentions. He did not look away. Mr. Kaori was not a man to waste words and so said nothing more. I refused to offer anything myself.

“I accept,” I say.

“My driver will take you to a wood not far from here. He will not accompany you inside. He will drop you off at the same place he will pick you up when you signal you have been successful,” he said.

“What if I’m not successful?” I asked.

“I have no doubts in your abilities, Ever” he said.

“What if I do?” I asked.

“Then you and the mission will be lost,” he said.

He told me his heart was kept locked in a wooden box in the hands of an old woman who lived in the old wood. He gave me a map, a yellowed parchment that appeared to have been burned at one edge. The red “x” marked the bridge I was to find that would provide a key to the box as well as further instructions. No other details were provided because no one had ever visited these woods and returned.

I shiver uncontrollably as I peer into the shadow of the bridge.

There is no other available option. There is only one path available and it leads directly under this bridge. I take a step into the shadows where it smells of dead things, old things, long forgotten things. I try not to breathe too deeply.

“Scrumtralescent,” a male voice says from the dark.

I can feel the hairs at the back of my neck quiver. My body goes rigid. I want to scream. A slow intake of breath at my side; it feels as if whatever lurks here has been hungry for a long time.

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“Don’t be sorry, my dearest. Scrumtralescent is a good thing. It’s a compliment, freely given, of course. I don’t give many of those,” he says.

“I suppose I should thank you,” I say.

“Not necessary. A true gift is given without expectation. I think it horrible that people always do things to get things, even if it’s just gratitude. Besides. It’s pure selfishness on my part. The pleasure is mine. I feel I should be thanking you. I haven’t smelled anyone so good in a very long time,” he said.

I turn toward the voice but can only make out the vague shape of a man. His voice has a timelessness about it that it is impossible to tell how old he may be. I can smell him, he smells like death itself. There is evidence of life under the bridge, despite the smell. Bits if discarded candy wrappers, beer bottles, and used condoms litter the floor. There is a lonely feeling to these bits of life and I feel vulnerable.

Another intake of breath, deeper and closer. I could touch him but the thought makes my skin crawl. He’s so close I can feel him shudder. He laughs. He walks around me and his laugh comes from everywhere. I’m dizzy. Just before I think my legs are going to give he presses against me from behind. My skin wants to get away from his touch so much that it positively wriggles in his embrace. A pale, dirty hand reaches around me to rest like dry branches against the flat of my belly. I struggle and it happens quickly - the feel of dry lips against the pulse of my neck. It takes everything I have to pull out of his grasp. I turn to face him, my arms wrapped protectively around my middle. I step back.

I can see him smile; his perfect white teeth appear like a Chesire cat before me. My eyes have adjusted enough to see his hair, long and dirty, with bits of dead leaves stuck in the matted parts. He smells of things that lie beneath graveyards.

“I know what you seek,” he says.

“How?” I ask.

“I can smell everything. I can smell him, too, on you and in you. Father. Lover. Friend. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. You really should get out more,” he says.

“Why don’t we skip the gracious, albeit unsolicited advice, and get right to the heart of the matter. What do I need to do?” I ask.

“Don’t insult me. You’re a smart girl, Ever. You know well what I want,” he says.

“I need to hear you say it so there is no confusion,” I say.

“Very well. I want the innocence you carry inside you. Give me what I seek and I will give you what you truly want. My price is your bane,” he says.

He holds out his opened hand. In the center of his dirty palm shimmers a silver key.

So it comes to this. It feels like every job I have ever done has led me here. Of course it would have to be my choice, my sacrifice. My freedom is so close now, complete freedom to live my life on my terms. I would no longer be defined by what I did, my job. I could redefine myself, be someone else. A second chance. Everyone deserved a second chance.

I open my hands, palms up at my sides.

“Give me permission to take it,” he whispers like a lover would an endearment.

“I give you my permission,” I say and I close my eyes.

He takes my hand and pulls me to him. If he smells like the depths of a graveyard, he tastes worse. His mouth closes over mine. I smell the sweet of his pipe over something else, something dank. I feel his other hand at the back of my neck as he kisses me. He invades me so deeply I gag. I struggle at first but then focus what will I have left into yielding and I go somewhere in my head free of pain and doubt. When he releases me I fall to my knees and sob. I have never before felt so empty.

I am alone. The only evidence of his being here is the silver key he has left in my hand. My blood stains it from where I dug my fingernails in my flesh so hard that I have broken the skin.

Time passes, I can’t be sure how long exactly. I pull myself up and walk away, putting the bridge behind me. It feels as though years have been ripped away from me while I lingered in the bridge’s shadow. The sunlight is gone now. Night has fallen.

I’ve come too far now. There is a flickering light up ahead. I follow it to its source, a small clearing in the woods, at its center a campfire. Sitting before the fire is the old woman and in her hands is the box.

She doesn’t look surprised to see me and watches me as I near her. I stop before her and we appraise each other over the fire for a moment, long enough for me to see myself in her. She bids me closer, a seat next to her, and I take it.

“I won’t hurt you, my dear,” she pats my knee; “We are sisters, you and I. I will give you what you seek as you have more than earned it, but first, you have something of mine.”

I open my fist that I have kept pressed against my belly. Blood stained, the key still manages to gleam in the firelight. My throat feels full all of a sudden, I want to vomit. I gag, feeling something move up my throat and into my mouth. I open my lips as my own heart slides out into my hands. Before I can make sense of what is happening her gnarled hand closes over the mess in my hands and she drops the box in my lap. A toothless smile cracks the surface of her face.

“Did you have any idea what the price would be?” she asks.

I try to remember the face of the dark haired little girl in my dreams, but like dreams have a way of doing; it has already begun to dissipate. It’s not like I had known for very long, surely not enough time to get used to the idea.

“No.” I say.

The old woman’s toothless smile spreads further.

“I wish you only the best, sister,” she says.

The old woman leans into me and kisses me on the mouth. I stumble back to my feet. I watch in horror as she pops my heart into her mouth and swallows. A smudge of blood, my blood, stains the inside corner of her mouth. She stands with an unusual spryness and disappears into the woods. I sit and stare into the fire until morning.

I return to Mr. Kaori. The object of my mission obtained. I meet him in his sand garden. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back, making no move to take the box I offer. We regard each other for a moment that seems too long.

“You are free now to choose where your life takes you, on your terms alone,” he says.

I hear the “alone” part a little louder than the rest. The word echoes, becomes too big, but I’ve come way too far now.

He watches me. I can feel the expectation thick in the air between us. It grows thicker as he turns his back to me. It only takes me a moment to deliberate before I leave an empty box at his feet.