Tied to My Fate

4. Different kinds of knives

I wake up to cold fingers shaking me on my arms. My eyes snap open, and momentarily, I'm terrified, but then I remember the events of yesterday that landed me in Zachariah's bedroom.

I roll over.

"Get up," he whispers, which I find strange, considering he's the only one who can hear me. "She's here!"

Oh no.

I sit up in his bed and look upon him in horror. He said she would be home at 9, did I really sleep through my alarm? No. I couldn't have, not when the fear of this situation is what kept my sleep so shallow.

Footfalls echo down the hallway. She won't come in here, will she? I look to Zachariah, but he has no help to offer. Without any other option, I shove my bags under the bed and stuff my body in the closet that's still filled with Zachariah's clothes. I don't get the chance to close it before the door to the hallway opens, and a woman, Zachariah's mother, walks inside.

She looks like she had a rough shift at the hospital. Her blackish brown hair is on her shoulders, but has a dent in it where it had been tied back into a ponytail and her shoulders are stooped as low as the joints will allow.

They were that low when I saw her working after I woke up in the same hospital she works as. The same lowness I saw leave after bringing me medication, or food. The lowness I never wanted to see again. The lowness I caused.

My breath is caught in my throat. If she turns around, she'll see me.

"Oh, Zach," she says, sitting backward on his mattress. I can see the sleepless nights, sorrow, and exhaustion etched into the lines on her face and the hallows of her cheeks. Zachariah is still standing there, just a few feet in front of her. "You won't believe what Sherry did this time," she continues.

My feet are sore by the time she finishes her recollection of what happened during her shift. His mother has a way of infusing the words with so much life, it's as if the staff are all here in the room performing alongside her, and not her playing every part. Zachariah is smiling, watching her while he sits on the floor. He looks over to me and waves his hand as if to beckon me to sit beside him. Good story or not, I will not be doing that.

She sighs deeply.

"And so ends another shift. What do you think about that?" she asks to a picture on the nightstand, the one with her and Zachariah embracing. Then she shifts, and turns her face forward, tilting her chin slightly upwards. "That Sherry is a character, isn't she son?"

Zachariah's eyes go wide, and so do mine. Her eyes are level with his, and if I didn't know any better I'd say she could see him.

"Come out, Alora," he says. "Explain everything to her, she'll believe you."

He must be caught up in the moment and not thinking clearly. Why would anyone believe anything I have to say? Especially her. I'm the one who took her son away, I'm the reason she can't see him. I can't respond any other way but to stay where I am.

Zachariah comes over to me in the closet and offers me his hand. I can't even shake my head without the hangers above me clanking together, so I plead at him with my eyes. She's getting up to leave, once she goes to sleep or shower, I can get out of here, she won't have to see me.

"It's going to be okay, just trust me, alright?"

I frown.

He sighs and grabs my arm before hauling me through the door and into the room.

I stare dubiously at Zachariah's mother. Horror washes over both of our faces.

"What are you..." she begins.