CHAPTER 36
Wearing layers of black tulle, I’m dancing miles high in the sky. I pirouette from one cloud to another. A shadow appears behind one of them. He’s back! The man with the black mask. He leaps through the cloud, grabs me around the waist, and our waltz begins. Our bodies float in perfect harmony like always except this time we’re flying too close to the sun. The heat makes me dizzy. He draws me nearer to him, leaning his head forward close to mine. The heat of his breath makes my temperature rise even more. I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to unmask him. Find out who he is. With a sharp tug, I yank off his mask. I scream. He has no face! It’s a hideous, flesh-colored, gooey mass with deep sockets and crevices where his eyes, nose, and mouth should be. A revolting reddish substance oozes out of the openings and drips onto my hands, burning them like molten lava. I jerk away from the monster, and my heart drops. Oh my God. I’m falling from the sky!
Still plummeting, I hear a chorus of muddled voices around me.
“She’s okay,” says one.
“Our spell worked!” says another.
“It’s a miracle,” says a third.
I flutter my eyes open. It takes me a moment to adjust to the bright light that envelops me. Where am I? Everything is so familiar. The dingy yellow walls, the simple wood furniture, the barred up window. Can it be? I’m back at Faraway?
Three plump, winged women surround my bed. The Badass Fairies: Fanta, Flossie, and Fairweather. They break into a chorus of “lalalala.” A bird flies in through the open window and chirps along. I’m definitely back at Faraway!
“You survived a harrowing experience,” says Fanta.
“I read all about it in the Fairytale Tattler,” says Flossie.
“Fanta, let me borrow it!” says Fairweather.
Since when were gossip magazines allowed at Faraway?
I’m not sure what’s going on. What I do know is that my head is throbbing. I rub my forehead and discover what must be a two-inch scab above my left eye. This is not going to be pretty. I fumble for Shrink’s locket to take a peek, then gasp. My treasured keepsake is gone!
Fractured memories of the events that brought me back here drift in my head, creating a hazy montage. The ball. My beautiful black gown. My dance with The Prince. The serpent that ended my life…
Wait! I’m supposed to be dead!
“We used our magic to put you into a deep sleep,” says Fanta.
“We didn’t think we could still do it,” chimes in Flossie.
“Dear, it saved your life,” adds Fairweather.
“How long have I been asleep?”
In unison: “Three weeks.”
I gasp again. So, I’ve been in a deep sleep. Like Snow White. Except I woke up by myself. What happened to the handsome prince who was supposed to wake me with a kiss? Then it hits me like a stoning. My Prince is dead! Killed by Marcella! My mother! The monster! Sorrow, deep, raw, and ruthless, rocks my body. Gallant is gone forever!
“Dear, don’t cry,” says Fanta, dabbing my tears with her apron.
“We understand it’s been a very emotional experience,” says Flossie.
“You’ll feel better after you meet with Shrinkerbell,” says Fairweather.
Shrink. I so desperately need to talk to her. The Evil Queen who had no heart now has a heart that’s broken.
I’m lying on the tattered velvet chaise lounge, the same place where I’ve spent countless hours revealing my fears, my secrets, and my sorrows. How many tears have I shed on it? Only a few compared to what I’ve just shed waiting for Shrink. Gallant’s beautiful face fills my head. But his piercing blue eyes stab my heart. I keep bleeding tears.
Shrink, at last, comes buzzing in, sprinkling her fairy dust all over me. It was magical enough to transport me to another world, but it doesn’t numb my pain. I’m afraid there’s no magic in the universe that can do that. Like my mirror that shattered into a million little pieces, my splintered heart can never be mended.
Through my tears, I notice that Shrink’s blond hair hangs loose, and she’s not wearing those ridiculous bug-eyed glasses. Her tiny arms are stretched around a thick, hardcover book.
“What’s that?” I sniffle, doubtful that it’s some kind of cure.
“It’s my new book—The Peter Pan Complex: Why Some Men Never Grow Up. Tink gave me the idea.”
I half-heartedly listen. My mind is already back on Gallant.
“I begin my book signing tour tomorrow,” she continues. “But enough about me; we’re here to talk about you.” She pauses. “Jane, why are you crying?”
Drowning in my tears, I manage three words. “I lost someone.”
“Ah, yes, I heard,” she says in surprisingly matter-of-fact voice. “We’ll get to that later. Right now, let’s talk about something else.”
I’m taken aback. I so need to talk about Gallant. Isn’t she here to help me? Truthfully, I don’t know how much longer I can bear the pain. The heartbreaking, gut-wrenching pain.
Shrink grows impatient. “Jane, surely, there must be something else. So much has happened to you since we last met.”
Yes, so much. Yet, all I can think about is Gallant. My beautiful Prince.
“Well, Jane, we don’t have all day.”
My tears have wiped out everything else, except my dream. Somehow, I find the strength to relay it. I ask her what it means.
“The dance could symbolize your relationship with evil,” Shrink says in an analytical tone. “The man you unmasked was likely your mother.”
“My mother?” I shudder. “Where is she?”
“Your mother is dead.”
I’m confused. “Did I kill my own mother?” I cry out.
Shrink’s silence answers my question. A deep, unexpected sadness, one that has nothing to do with Gallant, sweeps over me. I bury my head in my hands.
“Jane, look at me.”
Slowly, I lift my head. Shrink is in my face, a blur from all my tears.
“Jane, you did not kill your mother.”
“But I must have!”
“No, Jane. The Huntsman shot her.”
The Huntsman? His gunfire must have created that explosion I heard.
“And I suppose he brought me her heart as a souvenir?” I ask with sudden bitterness.
“Your mother had no heart. She was a monster.”
I force myself to ask, “Was she born that way?”
“We’ll never know. Perhaps, she was the victim of some evil sorcerer’s spell.”
I’m overwhelmed with emotion. Sorrow. Remorse. Confusion. Relief. Maybe once my mother was a decent person. Shrink lets me collect myself and remains silent.
“Jane, you’re finally free of evil,” she says at last.
I’m free of evil? I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say.
“Come, Jane. I want you to take a look at yourself.” She whizzes over to a standing object at the far end of the room. It’s covered with a sheet.
Of course, it must be a full-length mirror. I dread seeing myself. After my ordeal and all this crying, I must look beyond terrible. The large scab on my face won’t help.
Hesitantly, I get up from the chaise and make my way over to it.
Shrink carefully pulls off the cloth, letting it slide to the floor. I gasp. It’s not a mirror. Before me is a large painting on an easel. A portrait of me holding Calla in my arms. Gallant’s last painting—the one he was working on in his studio. He must have completed it before the ball.
A rush of fresh tears cascades down my face as Gallant’s words from that extraordinary day float in my head. “You are meant to be painted.” All too sadly, My Prince will never paint me again.
“What do you think?” asks Shrink.
“It’s magnificent,” I choke.
“I’ve heard you’ve become quite an art critic.”
I wonder how she knows that.
“Tell me,” she continues, “what is the artist trying to communicate about the woman in the painting?”
My weeping eyes study the painting. I look closely at the woman’s radiant face and tender hands. A mirror might bare your face, but a work of art will bare your soul. My throat thickens.
“That she is warm and caring and loving,” I say slowly.
“I agree,” says Shrink. “Can you elaborate more on the relationship between the woman and the child?”
“The little girl is a bright light in the woman’s heart.” My words surprise me.
“Again, I agree with you.” Shrink smiles. “Now, can you infer from the painting how the artist feels about his subjects?”
My moist eyes stay glued on the painting. In the lower right corner, there’s an inscription, painted in red. Bleary-eyed, I move in closer to make out the words. I hear myself say them aloud. “Forever in my heart.”
The words echo in my head. Oh, my beautiful Prince, you will never leave me. I will love you forever. Yes, forever.
“Well, Jane,” says Shrink, with a hint of impatience, “I’m waiting for your answer.”
“I…believe…he…loves…them.” I squeeze out the word between sobs.
“Yes, he does,” says Shrink, using the present tense. Doesn’t she know Gallant is dead?
A too familiar chime sounds. Time’s up. Our session is over.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time,” says Shrink.
Tomorrow? They must be readmitting me. No more second chances! I’ll be here for the rest of my life. And never see Calla again!
“Where?” I sniffle. My brain is mush. I’m not thinking straight.
“At my first book signing. At some bookstore called Barons & Noble. I’ll be disappointed if you’re not there.”
What? I’m going back to the land of fairy tales? Before I can say anything, Shrink disappears behind the painting. She reappears, hiding something behind her back.
“I believe this is yours.” She hands me the object.
My mirrored locket! I slip it over my head.
There’s no time to thank her. At lightning speed, Shrink spins around me, creating a whirling dervish of fairy dust. Magically, I’m gone. Far, far away.