Towering

building. I could see Mama in the doorway, talking to someone, even arguing. What if he came out, looking for me? With my long hair, I was vulnerable. It was like a cat’s tail, always hanging out, giving the cat away.
    There was an opening in the bushes, a spot with several trees. I pushed through them and, gathering my hair into several loops, tried to walk closer, pushing against a tree ahead of me.
    Suddenly, I heard a crack. Then, the tree I had touched disappeared from under my hand. It broke in two, the top half collapsing against the other trees.
    Had I done that? Was I so strong that I had broken a tree, albeit a small one, without even thinking? Had my hair given me the strength of Samson after all?
    More carefully this time, I walked through the remaining trees. I tried to avoid pushing against them, but when one proved too tight a squeeze, I shoved it. It gave way, and I stepped around it.
    Finally, I was in a place where I could see the door, see Mama through the trees.
    Only where was Mama?
    She was gone! Had they taken her? Hurt her? I felt as if a hand was squeezing my stomach. Yet, I had to move on. I had to find her and Wyatt now.
    I followed the line of trees, this time to the back of the building. There was a light inside, but it was very dim. I had to push a few trees out of the way, and I enjoyed it, like a child with a new toy. Would I have strength to fight whatever came too? I hoped so. I also hoped I would know what to do. Mama had said it was a prophecy that I would end this all. But how?
    I reached the back of the building. I wished I had a candle, so I could see. Still, I emerged from the trees and ran to it, pulling my hair behind me. Then, I started walking, trailing my left hand behind me, feeling for a doorway, a window, any way to get inside.
    Suddenly, my feet hit a new surface. While, previously, I had felt only snow over soft dirt, like I had felt by my tower, now, I felt something hard, like a floor. The next moment, my hand touched a railing.
    It was a staircase, and it went under the ground.
    “I’m underground,” Wyatt had said. I stepped forward. Perhaps there was a doorway down there, a way to find him.
    As I did, I felt a tug on my hair. I reached up to pull it back, but I couldn’t.
    Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
    “Gotcha,” a voice said.

Rachel
    Someone was here! Someone was touching me. My instinct was to fight against him, push him to the ground, escape. But something stopped me.
    If he captured me, perhaps he would take me into the building. And that was exactly where I wanted to go.
    I said, “I was just looking for Wyatt.”
    “I know what you’re looking for. And I know who you are.” His voice was thin, like an old man’s. He kept hold of me, pushing me ahead of him to the very staircase I had been investigating. “Come with me. I’ll take you to Wyatt, and your grandmother.”
    In the dim light, I saw his face. I knew he was Carl, the man Mama had spoken of.
    I became the usual Rachel, the old Rachel. Sweet, gentle, compliant.
    “Oh, thank you, sir.”
    “You’re welcome, dearie.” He loosened his grip upon my arm a bit, but he didn’t let me go. With his shoulder, he pushed me down the steps.
    The walk downstairs was long and dark. I tried to think of a way to talk, to communicate with Wyatt, without this man knowing. “You’re taking me downstairs?” I said. “What’s down here? Where is Wyatt?”
    No answer. I was talking about him, not to him. There was obviously a difference or else I would have heard every conversation he ever had. I called, “Wyatt, where are you? I am here, on the stairway!”
    “Quiet, girl!” the man said. “I told you I’ll take you to him, soon enough.”
    This man was not helping me. I knew that. I tried as hard as I could to hold my hair around me. I couldn’t imagine how long it must be now. I feared to tumble over it and down the stairs. I knew if I tried to run, he could catch me by it.
    In the darkness, I heard Wyatt’s voice. “I’m in a room,” he said, “a closet at the bottom of the stairs.”
    The staircase was dark and seemed to be endless. Still, I tried to reach out my hand, to touch the wall, to find a door.
    “Rachel, be careful,” Wyatt’s voice said.
    I kept walking, and he said no more. As I plunged still lower, I heard a strange noise, a whispering or whooshing, like that long-ago train, and I saw a glowing light. But there was no door. At least, I could not feel a door.