Towering

the one to her daughter, Danielle. My mother. It said that I was destined to do . . . something together. And was it not destiny even that I had found the letter, at this exact moment? Surely, that would persuade her.
    I took the phone from my pocket. Even though I was in the wool coat, the phone was ice cold against my face. I almost dropped it with my fumbling hands. Finally, I found the place on the screen. I touched it.
    Nothing happened. No ringing. I looked at the phone.
    Words came up as if by magic.
    “Call failed. Try again.”
    Yes. Yes! I wanted to try again. I did. And again. But each time, the same thing happened. I shook the phone. Why would it not work?
    Then, I remembered Wyatt’s surprise that it had worked in the tower. He said it must have been because of the height.
    Now, I was on the ground, and my calls were failing, as was my courage. I had no way to contact Wyatt, Mama, or anyone. I had only to keep walking and hope someone would find me.
    Someone who did not mean me harm.
    Oh, what had I done? What had I done? Wyatt might be trying to call me at this very minute, but unable to. And I was far from my tower, so far I could never get back before darkness fell. Mama or Wyatt would find nothing of me. No, I had to try. I had to move on.
    The ground was clearer here, due to the abundance of trees. I walked faster, almost ran. My hood slipped down, down my back. I adjusted it.
    Again, it fell.
    I pulled it back up. Then, I realized why it had fallen. My hair was in the way. I adjusted it, placing my hand around my thick locks and pulling them over my coat.
    The hair spilled down to my ankles.
    It was growing again, growing even faster than before. A mere hour ago, it had only reached my shoulders. Was it responding to the cold to warm me? Or something else?
    The awareness of its magic strengthened me, made it possible for me to keep going. One step. Ten. One hundred. Five hundred. The sky was blue-black dusk, but I was not cold. I felt as if I could see even in the darkness.
    Now, my hair touched the ground and streamed far behind me. I searched the trees around me for a bit of vine, to tie it. In so doing, I noticed something. A clearing. Holding my hair the best I could, I walked forward and peered between the trees.
    A road. I remembered roads from long ago, when I was a child. Roads led to towns, to people. Suddenly, I heard a whooshing sound, then a crackling as something went by, something red.
    A car.
    It had to be a car, though so far away still.
    There was a road up there, and cars, a town and people. But what should I do about it? If I approached the road, would good-hearted people see me and help me find Wyatt? Or would bad people, the people who had killed my mother, come and kill me?
    I had to try again to call Mama.
    This time, the telephone worked. Perhaps it had something to do with being closer to the road.
    “Mama?” I tried three times before I was able to form the words, her name.
    “Who is this?”
    “Mama, it’s me, it’s—”
    “Dani? Oh, Dani, can it be you, after all these years?”
    It was darker now and so cold. In the distance, I could see the lights from the highway. I listened to Mama’s voice, calling, “Dani,” and for a moment, I wished I could be Dani, alive, on some roadside somewhere, calling for my mother. I longed to pretend I was her, to make Mama happy, to make Mama not angry.
    But it was cold, and I was me, only me. I had to make her understand.
    “It’s me, Mama. Rachel.”
    A sharp intake of breath.
    “Rachel? But how?”
    I had to talk before she put it all together herself. She would be so angry. “I’m on Wyatt’s phone. Wyatt has been visiting me, in my tower. He gave me his phone to make me safe. But, Mama, I am afraid something has happened to him.” I began to cry, feeling, as I did, my red, wind-burned cheeks begin to heal. “Something terrible. He is missing.”
    When I said, missing, I wondered if it was more dire, if he was dead. But no, I had heard him. His voice. In my head. Surely, if he was gone, I would be able to sense it.
    “Stay in your tower, Rachel. Do you hear me? Someone could—”
    “I have already left my tower.”
    “What?”
    “I have left my tower, Mama. I have gone to look for Wyatt. I am standing under a tree beside the road.”
    A wail of some wounded thing met my ears. I realized it was Mama. Mama, wailing as if learning of the death of her child. It was a horrible sound.
    “Mama, please. I am