Blood Rose

Chapter Eleven: The Father

Three days later, all five were panting constantly. Always on the move at night, sleeping during the day. Their bare feet were caked in dirt and thorns, and always stepping on twigs. Joseph was covered in sweat from having to carry a tired Remmie, and Ollie's shoulders were sore from her bag.

Camana had been arguing with Lana for the better part of two weeks. Lana was blinded by her love for Remmie, and couldn't see how she was slowing everyone down. A child like that shouldn't have to suffer the way the adults were. But Lana wanted her daughter to grow up in freedom, surrounded by her family.

Just as dawn was approaching, Joseph set Remmie down on the side of an open hole. It looked big enough for the five of them, and with cover from leaves it should keep them safe. The hole itself was near the edge of a forest, and a clearing was visible. Inside that clearing was an old house, seeming to be 100 yards or so away from the forest.

Lana, Camana and Ollie came to a stop next to Remmie. Ollie doubled over, catching her breath, while Lana and Camana made their way over to Joseph. "I'm gonna check that house over there to see if they be cookin anything for breakfast," he said to the two women.

Lana's face was that of a concerned wife. "Joseph... don't. It's too risky," she protested.

Camana turned her head to the ground and mumbled, "Harriet was right... we should've stayed down in that damn railroad."

Joseph shooed the two of them towards the hole. "Get in there! Imma go check for food. I'll holla if I need ya."

The three women and Remmie sunk themselves into the hole, going as far down as they could. Lana gave Joseph a look that only he could understand, as her eyes showed true fear and love. Joseph covered the hole with Lana's sweater and threw leaves on top, concealing his wife, child, and friends.

He turned back to face the boarded house, ready to charge at his unknown fate. Just as he was about to take off and sprint towards the clearing, he saw a pale-skinned life form running as fast as humanly possible towards him, her wavy brown hair taken by the wind.

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I woke up at first light, due to an uncomfortable ache in my head. The sunlight shone through my eyelids, and I tried to shield my face. I squinted and yawned, rubbing my eyes, while keeping myself upright with the other hand. I felt the soft, yet hard surface that I fell asleep on nudged under the palm of my hand.

Still groggy, I noticed a possible wetness under my fingers, but chose to ignore it. I fidgeted over, just a centimeter, and my hand slipped out from under me. I fell face-first onto the surface.

My eyes flew open as I landed, met with the sight of my hand. I trembled and shook from the fall, as unsettled as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. My hand twisted upwards, and I saw a red and shiny liquid covering my palm.

Not again, I thought. Why does the blood always follow me? Finally, hot tears welled up in my eyes and soon poured onto the surface. Just wanting to see what the ever-following liquid was pouring out of, I pressed upwards.

The tears streamed down my face, as fast as the literal stream of blood that met me a few days ago. An uncontrolled burst of volume escaped my lips, the cry echoing off of the blank walls. My father's body, stashed there with a knife in his neck, was waiting to be scorched by the image of his own rotting corpse.

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I scrambled back on all fours. I crab walked away from my father's dead body and further into the corner of the room I was in, tripping over the hem of my dress. I searched for any exits, not wanting to face my father's killer. Not wanting to face my brother. It pained me the most to discover that they were the same person. My breathing sped up more by the second, and my eyes nearly spun out of my head.

They finally landed on the only window in the room. I scrambled to it, keeping my gaze towards my father. My feeble, shaking hands wrapped around the window pane and I pulled myself over it. I swung my right leg to the other side and sat there in my skirt, with my shoes, letter, and shawl in hand. Taking one last look at my father, the last there will ever be, I swung my left leg over. And I ran.

My arms flew across my sides at the speed of sound, my now-loose hair whipping the sides of my face. My feet were pressed into acorns and twigs but I didn't care. I had to get away from there. I couldn't see what was ahead of me; I kept looking back. I didn't want to, but I found my neck craning to look at that house, again and again.

On the seventh or eighth turn, my body slammed into another without warning. I tried to scream out, but the sound was caught in my throat. I was too out of breath. I felt strong, calloused hands grip my biceps as I turned my face forward.

I was met with dark skin, and kind brown eyes. Beads of sweat lined his forehead, and his lips were two different shades. When he spoke, his voice was soft and deep. "Don't scream," he said. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. You okay, miss?"

I took a moment to gather my thoughts (and my breath), and soon was able to give a sane response. "Yes... yes, I'm fine. Er-no, not really. I'm a little traumatized actually. But physically I'm alright."

He let go of my arms and stepped back slowly. I could see in his eyes that he felt bad for getting close to me. "My name's Joseph."

"I'm Evelyn." I reached out to take his hand and curtsy as always, yet he seemed unfamiliar with this greeting. "Have you a last name, Mr Joseph?"

"Perez. I take the name o' my master, ma'am." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman and a young girl peek their eyes out from under a cloth covered in leaves. Suddenly, it all made sense to me. These people were runaway slaves.