Towering

did he know . . . ?”
    “I told him about it, that you used to use the brush. Is the key anything special?”
    “I don’t know. Suzie brought the hairbrush when she brought you. She said it was very important, that we must always hold on to it. I didn’t know why, though. I just thought it went with you, because you had such beautiful hair. I can go get it.”
    “Maybe I should,” I said.
    “No. You can’t.”
    “But I must. This . . .” I gestured with my hair. “This shows that something is supposed to happen. I’m supposed to save Wyatt, maybe save . . . everyone.”
    It was overwhelming to think of, but it was true. For so long, I had thought my life was worthless, that no one would be affected if something happened to me, if I didn’t exist. Now was the time to make my existence have worth, make it have value. And if I had to risk that existence, I had to.
    I reached for the handle of the car’s door.
    “Wait!” Mama said. “Just . . . please, let me get the key. We can look at it, and then, I will go to the door of the place and distract them.”
    “But . . .” She was going to lock me in the car while she went out to look. I could not handle it.
    “I know you’re right, Rachel, my darling Rachel. I’m not treating you like a child. I know you have to do this, find this. But if I distract them, you can sneak around and look for a door. Or for Wyatt.”
    I nodded. It made sense. She opened the car’s door and started to get out. I saw that she was old and bent, and it was difficult for her. Yet, she had come to me every day, all these years. I felt warm and slipped out of my coat, my mother’s coat. My hair would be enough. For one second, though, I savored the scent of her. I would never see her, but she gave me life, and she left me the letter. It was enough to go on. Ahead of me, in the dim light, I could barely make out Mama, opening the car door. A light went on inside. She bent and took something out, then closed it quick. She hobbled back toward the car, holding it out to me.
    It was my brush. I knew it as if I’d seen it only yesterday. I took it in my hand and touched it. I ran my finger along it. I began to brush my hair. As I did, I heard a click. Something opened, and a key fell on to the shallow snow.
    I picked it up and examined it in the dim light. It was heavy and old. I didn’t know what it opened, but I knew it was important.
    I clutched it in my fingers and said to Mama, “Go.”
    Then, I wound my hair as best I could around my neck and shoulders, and I waited.

Wyatt
    I sensed that she was close. Her voice sounded like she was in the room with me. It must have been nighttime now, and I hoped that the darkness would protect her. I could still hear the waterfall, the people working, from outside my door. Were they insane? Enslaved? Or did the rhapsody enable them to work endlessly? I wondered where Carl and Henry were, and suddenly, I didn’t want Rachel to come. I wanted her to run, hide. Even if I never saw her again, it would be okay. I wanted to save her, save her as I hadn’t saved Tyler.
    I said, aloud, “Rachel, I changed my mind. You have to leave.”
    A moment later, I heard her reply. “I cannot leave. I have to do this.”
    “But Rachel, you can’t. It’s not safe.”
    She didn’t answer.

Rachel
    I waited until Mama had been gone awhile. I hoped she was okay, but I knew that, no matter what, I was going. I heard Wyatt’s voice in my head, urging me to be safe. I knew I wouldn’t. I wished I could hear Mama, know what was happening, but I could not. I worried about her. Everyone was trying to protect me, at great risk to themselves. It wasn’t fair. I would rather risk my own life than be left here, worrying.
    When Mama had been gone several minutes, I checked to make sure no one was outside, nor on the road. Then, I opened the car door. After making sure to pull all my hair from the car, I stepped onto the still-snowy ground.
    “Rachel, please don’t go,” Wyatt’s voice said.
    “I’m coming,” I said, “so it would be more helpful if you could tell me where to go, what to do.”
    “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m underground and can’t see anything.”
    “It’s okay,” I said.
    “I love you.”
    “I love you too. I’ll find you.”
    He seemed to know that was the end of the conversation. At least, he stopped talking. I walked, dragging my hair behind me, next to the bushes and peered around at the