Towering

I kept walking but contemplated the possibility of flight, the possibility of making a break for it, even falling down the stairs. He could not see me in the dark. I could get ahead of him.
    But where would I go?
    One step, then another, down, down. My movements were automatic, but my mind was racing. What was down there? What would they do to me? To Wyatt? As I approached, the sound seemed less like a train, more like wind or rushing water. The glow became brighter, and I knew that, soon, my captor would be able to see me. I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder whenever I tried to move away.
    I made a decision. With one swift movement, I elbowed him in the stomach then used my leg to knock him to the ground. Yes, I was stronger. I knocked him aside with less effort than it had taken to fell the little tree outside. It was nothing to do this. I felt, then heard, him fall to the ground. Then, I grabbed my hair and ran down the stairs, fast as possible. I knew he wouldn’t give up that easily. I had to get ahead of him.
    It was hard to see, but as I got lower, the light got brighter, the sound of water louder. Still, I could hear him behind me, struggling. I had nowhere to hide, nowhere to go but down. I trailed my hand along the wall, looking for a door, a window, anything, any way to find Wyatt. Where was Wyatt? I tried not to think about the other one I had lost. Mama. What would I do without Mama? I hoped they wouldn’t hurt her.
    I heard footsteps behind me, beating, beating, but below, I heard sounds too now. Some sort of drumming. Was it footsteps as well?
    Finally, I reached the bottom and stopped.
    It was the strangest place I had ever seen. The light all around me was bright red, and even though I was inside, underground, there were plants, so many plants, hanging, growing from the ceiling. Each plant had so many bright blue flowers, and I knew it was the rhapsody. Mama had said that the Red Fox Inn was where it had started.
    Hundreds of people, also in blue, worked, tending the plants. The drumming was one man who beat a drum, perhaps to keep them going. It seemed to be working for they all marched in rhythm. Who were they? What were they doing? Would they attack me if I came closer? I heard footsteps above me, and I knew I would have to decide, and soon.
    Then, suddenly, the drumming stopped. A voice yelled, “It’s her! It’s the girl!”
    As one, they all looked up.
    Then, they started toward me.

Rachel
    There were dozens, even hundreds, of them, a mob, all wearing the same blue outfits, all crying out to the others. Their screams were like a thousand birds. Each time I thought the last had approached me, another appeared. They came closer, closer. Their movements were regular, almost robotic, their gazes fixed and glassy, as if they might be blind. Then, I remembered what Mama said about the drug, the rhapsody. They must have been drugged. This must be what it looked like. Did they mean to kill me, tear me limb from limb? Above me on the stairs was the man, who I knew meant me harm. Below were these people. I did not know what they wanted. The only protection I had was my hair, mostly unraveled, hanging behind me in a loosened braid, and the key—I knew not its purpose—which I still clutched in my hand. All around the room, I heard them murmuring, saying something about golden hair. Holding their hands up as if they would tear me to bits.
    A woman approached me first. At a point about ten feet away, she stopped walking. What did she mean to do? I saw that her eyes were the same shade of blue as her clothing, an almost inhuman shade, the same color as the flowering plants that hung from the ceiling. Like the others, her eyes appeared foggy, as if she was not sure what she was seeing. I remembered my strength. I could fight her off if she tried to harm me. But I couldn’t fight all of them.
    Then, suddenly, she stopped walking. Her eyes focused. On me. She said, “Are you her? Are you the daughter of Danielle?”
    The question surprised me, as did my answer. I had never known my mother’s name before today, but now, it seemed obvious, inevitable. I had no choice but to tell the truth, whatever the consequences.
    “Yes.” I stood taller. “I am her. I am Rachel.”
    A cry came up from the woman and from a few others who were close enough to hear. “It is her!” they said. Others, farther back, heard what she said and took up the cry, and soon, the whole room was buzzing, chanting, drumming,