CHAPTER 11
“Rise and shine, Jane!”
It’s great to hear Elz’s wake-up call again. Yet, it’s still a struggle for me to get up and face the sunshine despite being here almost a week. And truth be told, I’m still not one hundred percent over my caffeine addiction.
“Hurry! I need your help!”
I blink my eyes open. Elz is more cheerful than ever.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“It’s Visitor’s Day. Mother will be here for dinner. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”
I’m confused. I thought she wanted to get away from her mother.
“Jane, will you help me pick out something to wear? I want to look my best.”
Okay. I’ll help. She’s thrilled with the dress I choose. Another version of the hideous Snow White costume she always wears.
“I wish I could see myself in a mirror!”
“Pretend I’m your mirror.” In a deep, put-on voice, I tell her she looks beautiful.
“You’re the best friend I could ever have!”
I think about my magic mirror and silently curse it. Why couldn’t it be there for me?
A hug from Elz brings me back into the moment. I’m happy how things turned out between us. Shrink will be proud of me.
“Who’s coming to visit you?” asks Elz cheerfully.
“No one.” I shrug. “I’m not allowed yet. I haven’t been here for a full week.” Though it feels like a lifetime.
“Look on the bright side as Winnie would say. Next week, you can have a visitor.”
Yes, maybe next week, that dumb-ass dungeon guard will show up. Or that whack-job judge. Of course, how could I forget? Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs! Come on! Who am I kidding? I have no one to visit me. No one!
Hold on. With any luck, I won’t be here next week. The thought of escaping brightens my spirits. Slightly.
The first person I encounter at breakfast is Hook. I’m still furious with him for pulling that stunt in The Enchanted Forest. Behaving as if nothing happened, he notices my bandaged finger.
“Yo, babe. Can I kiss your boo-boo and make it better?”
It happens to be my right middle finger. I shove it into to his face. He smirks, but I think he’s gotten the message. He turns his attention to Elz. Good.
“Elzmerelda, I must say you’re looking mighty fine this morning.” His eyes travel down her beanpole body with a few unnecessary stops. “What’s the occasion?”
“Mother’s coming! I’d love for you to meet her.”
“Wait till Mother hears what you did to me the other day!”
It’s Sasperilla. A thick bandage covers her swollen nose, and under her bloodshot eyes, she’s all black and blue. I bite my lip hard not to laugh.
Winnie, carrying a basketful of berries, lumbers over to us.
“My husband’s coming,” she sighs before popping berry after berry into her mouth.
Our resident expert on relationships is clearly dreading his visit. “Are your children coming as well?” I ask.
She lowers her eyes. “No, I don’t want them to see me here.” She polishes off the berries.
“Dr. Grimm thinks it’s a good idea for my husband to join us in group,” she says at last. “I’m not so sure.”
I’m actually looking forward to meeting him. If he’s not nice to her, I’m going to take him out.
I’ve been eager to meet with Shrink all morning. I couldn’t even focus during meditation.
Proudly, I tell her that Elz and I made up. We’re best friends again. Everything’s better than ever.
“Good,” she says flatly.
Is that all she can say? I thought for sure she’d do a single flip. And doesn’t she at least want to know what happened to my finger?
Clenching a rolled up sheet of parchment that’s twice her size, Shrink hovers over me and scowls. I don’t get it. Have I done something wrong?
“Jane, you lied to me yesterday,” she says angrily. “You told me that you never had a friend. But on this assessment, you wrote that you not only had a friend, but a best friend.”
What is she talking about? I can hardly remember anything I wrote on that stupid questionnaire. It seems like a hundred years ago.
“It says right here that your ‘magic mirror’ was your best friend.”
“Give me that!” I wrench the assessment away from her and read it. Damn it! She’s right. We even briefly talked about my mirror in one of our first sessions. How could I forget?
“Jane, why was this mirror your best friend?”
“It talked to me. It said nice things about me. What’s wrong with that?”
“Were you alone when you talked with it?”
“Yes.”
“So, you talked to it when you were lonely.”
“No! When I was alone.” I hate it when she puts words in my mouth.
“Fine. What happened to your mirror?”
‘That kiss-ass looking glass betrayed me.” Hatred courses through my veins. “The traitor!”
“Friends don’t betray each other. Especially best friends.”
She’s playing with my head. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
She flutters closer. “Jane, the mirror wasn’t your friend. It was a thing. A thing that couldn’t really see, feel, hear…or talk.”
What is she saying? That my mirror wasn’t really magic? But I heard it talk. I swear I did.
“Jane, the voice you heard was your subconscious talking.”
I squirm. More Shrink-speak. What the hell is she talking about?
“This inner voice told you things you craved to hear.”
“Like how beautiful I was?”
“Yes, Jane. And things you feared to hear.”
“You mean…”
“That some young girl was fairer than you.”
My blood is bubbling like the evil potion that sent me here.
Shrink looks hard into my eyes.
“Jane, you may have played a game of pretend with your so-called magic mirror. But it played a game of reality with you.”
Anger mingles with confusion. I hate Shrink! And I don’t believe a word she’s just said. My mirror was magic!
She takes a spin around the room before I can swat her.
She returns, hovering above me but not within reach. “By the way, Jane, how do you feel about Visitor’s Day?”
Her words slash through me. How can she be so cruel? I wish this session would end.
To my relief, the chime sounds.
“Time’s up for today, Jane. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
I’m in no mood for group. I don’t even care any more about meeting Winnie’s husband. I’m sick of this place. I’m sick of singing “lalala” and picking berries; I’m sick of washing dishes and mopping floors; I’m sick of people telling me what to do; I’m sick of not saying whatever-the-hell I want to. Most of all, I’m sick of being humiliated, shot down to nothing by some know-it-all bug of a woman who tells me bodacious lies about my magic mirror. From now on, I’m staying focused on my one and only goal—getting out of this hellhole. There’s no way I can stick it out here for two more weeks. More than ever, I need to get back to my castle. And that damn mirror.
Waiting for group to start, I contemplate an escape plan. But it’s futile; Faraway’s a fortress; there’s no way out. Out of the blue, I have an epiphany. I’ll bribe that giant of a guard, Gulliver. They probably pay him bubkus, so he’ll jump at the chance to make a little extra dough. But wait, where am I going to get the money? Dragonballs! This isn’t going to work.
I unfortunately have to put a new escape plan on hold when Winnie walks in with her husband John. With his strong chin and nose and head full of wavy auburn hair, he could be what I call good-looking, if years of hard work hadn’t prematurely aged him. He nervously takes a seat between Winnie and Grimm, who welcomes him to the group. Sasperilla glares at him as if he’s carrying some infectious disease.
“Does anyone have a question for John?” begins Grimm.
Elz raises her hand. “Why can’t women find shoes that fit?”
“Good one!” snorts Sasperilla.
“Elzmerelda, that’s not the kind of question I had in mind,” says Grimm, somewhat exasperated.
All eyes turn to What’s-His-Name. He’s rolling on the floor, in a fit of hysterical laughter.
Grimm thumbs his bristly beard and nods approvingly. “Good. You’ve remembered your sense of humor. Now, I want you to get up and concentrate on remembering your name.”
“C’mon, say it, matey,” shouts Hook.
What’s-His-Name makes an unintelligible grunting sound. “Ruhruhruh.” Frustrated, he limps back to his seat next to mine. I give his stubby hand a gentle squeeze. At least, he tried.
No one has any further questions for John; Grimm takes over.
“John, how do you feel?”
“Tired.”
That’s obvious by the dark circles and creases around his eyes.
Grimm continues. “Why do you feel tired?”
“I have to work and take care of the kids by myself. It’s exhausting.”
“Did your wife have to take care of them by herself?”
John fidgets with his fingers. “I suppose.”
“No, John, the answer is ‘yes.’ Say it, ‘yes, my wife had to take care of the kids by herself.’”
He reluctantly repeats Grimm’s words. Anger is rising in Winnie like bread in an oven. I’m worried. Where’s Grimm going with these questions?
“John, do you think your wife ever got tired of taking care of your children?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles. Grimm’s wearing him down.
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because I never asked her.”
Winnie leaps up, her freckles flickering with fury. “You’ve never asked me anything about my life!”
“Winifred, can you elaborate?” asks Grimm.
“All he’s ever done is come home with his filthy hands, demand dinner, and go to sleep!” she shouts with rage I’ve never witnessed before.
“Is that true, John?” asks Grimm.
John stares down at his large, leathery hands. “Yes,” he says finally.
“How do you think your wife feels about your behavior?”
“I guess she’s not happy. That’s why she’s here.”
“Yes, John, that’s one of the reasons she’s here. Why else is she here?”
“Because she’s as fat as a cow!” blurts out Sasperilla. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”
Winnie is verging on tears. I want to kill Sasperilla.
John gazes at his wife with a mixture of pity and disgust. “She overeats.”
“Why do you think she overeats?” asks Grimm.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“I eat because you never pay attention to me!” shouts Winnie.
“John, your wife is an emotional overeater. Food comforts her. It’s a substitution for love.”
John says nothing. Grimm perseveres.
“Why do you think she tried to eat your children?”
What! She actually tried to eat her own children?
Winnie’s face contorts with pain. John’s turns ashen. Thunderstruck, we all gape with shock. Except for Sasperilla, who’s got I-told-you-so written all over her.
“Leave Hansel and Gretel out of this!” Collapsing back onto her chair, Winnie bursts into a tempest of tears.
I feel painfully helpless.
“Ha!” snickers Sasperilla. “It’s no wonder she’s not fatter. I bet eating plump kids can really pack on the pounds.”
Elz is horrified. “Sassy, that’s a terrible thing to say.”
Sasperilla huffs. “Can’t anyone take a joke around this place?”
“Too bad you don’t have enough fat on your bones to whet Winnie’s appetite,” chortles Hook.
I have to give it to Hook. His sick joke shuts the skinny bitch up. For Winnie, it’s no laughing matter. Bawling her eyes out, she faces her husband.
“I wasn’t really going to eat them! I just wanted you to notice me! For once!”
“I didn’t recognize you! You turned into a fat ugly witch!”
“You turned me into that!”
Grimm, showing no emotion, turns to her. “No, Winifred, you did it to yourself. You have to take some ownership of your problem.”
The ogre! My friend’s having a total breakdown! And he doesn’t give a dragon’s ass!
“John, when was the last time you made love to your wife?” asks Grimm, still showing no sympathy.
“I don’t remember.” His tone is flat, his eyes distant.
“When was the last time you told your wife she is beautiful?”
Shaking his head, he slumps deeper into his chair. “I don’t remember.”
I can’t contain myself any longer. “Every woman needs to be told she’s beautiful!”
“Who ever told you you’re beautiful?” snaps Sasperilla.
“Sasperilla, put a lid on it,” orders Grimm.
The skinny bitch makes a face but doesn’t utter another word.
Thank goodness, I don’t have to tell her—or any of them—about my mirror.
Hook shoots me one of his smarmy smiles. “Jane’s right. Flattery is the way to a woman’s heart.”
Just not mine, you pompous asshole. I’m back to hating him.
Grimm takes control again. “John, did you ever think your wife was beautiful?”
He stares at his sobbing wife. “Yes.” His eyes grow watery. “When I first met her, I thought she was the most beautiful woman on earth.”
“I was a lot thinner then,” sniffles Winnie.
“And I was a lot younger,” says John softly.
Their eyes meet.
“John, what do you want?” Grimm leans in to him.
Without taking his eyes off Winnie, John parts his quivering lips. “I want her back.” No longer able to hold back tears, he slides closer to her. “Sweetheart, please come home. I miss you. The kids miss you. We can’t live without you.”
My skin prickles as he takes her into his arms.
Winnie melts. “I miss you so much. And the children too.”
John strokes her long red hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise things will be different; I can’t lose you again.”
“I’m sorry too,” says Winnie.
John squeezes her wide, inviting body. “I love you, Winifred.”
“I love you too,” whispers Winnie.
Their lips meet, the two of them oblivious to our voyeuristic stares. Envy comes over me unlike any I’ve ever felt.
So, this must be love.
By dinnertime, I’m totally drained. All I want to do is crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and close my eyes. The last thing I want to do is have dinner with Elz, Sasperilla, and their mother. And to be honest, I should be working on an escape plan.
When I arrive at the banquet hall, Winnie and her husband, holding hands, are intimately engaged in conversation at the table in the corner. At another table, What’s-His-Name is with Hook. My spirits rise a little—at least, he’s not sitting alone for once.
Elz is at our usual table with Sasperilla and their mother, whose back is to me. As I head over to them, I overhear their conversation.
“Sasperilla, what in heavens happened to your nose?” asks their mother, sounding more disgusted than concerned.
“It’s all Elzmerelda’s fault!”
“It was an accident,” protests Elz. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Did so!”
“Did not!”
“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t leave a scar because no prince is going to marry a marred woman,” says their mother, cutting their argument short.
Elz is relieved to see me. She introduces me to her mother, Lady Germaine, who bears a striking resemblance to Sasperilla. She’s tall and bony with a pointy, aristocratic nose and sharp, jutting chin that could probably cut through glass. Dressed in an austere high-neck gray dress that matches the color of her upswept hair, she nods with a coldness that sends a chill up my spine. Her eyes fixate on my bandaged finger before shifting back to her daughters.
“I’m beginning to think I’ve sent you two to an emergency room, not a rehabilitation center,” she says, her voice brimming with contempt.
Sasperilla pushes a few peas around her plate with her fork.
“Why aren’t you eating, Sasperilla?” Lady Germaine asks.
“Mother, I’m having an issue with the food here. I’m eating less and less but getting bigger and bigger.” She gives me a hard kick under the table. “Jane, don’t you agree I look fat?”
“Yes!” I say, unable to resist. Truthfully, she’s scary-skinnier than ever.
“I knew it!” Sasperilla shoves her plate away. “I’m going to have to stop eating altogether!”
Seriously, how much skinnier can she get? My imagination doesn’t get far. Hook, as dapper as ever, swaggers up to our table. Sasperilla fixes her curls, then grimaces when she catches him winking at me. Luckily, Elz doesn’t notice. Her face radiates with excitement as she introduces Hook to her mother.
Lady Germaine runs her frosty eyes over him. They stay glued on his hook.
“So, Captain, exactly what royal army do you command?” she asks, her tone haughty and suspicious.
“Lady, I am a pirate,” he replies, full of macho pride.
Lady Germaine puckers her face in disgust while Elz gazes at Hook adoringly.
“Mother, when I get out of here, I want to sail away with him.”
Lady Germaine arches her brows. “What are you talking about, Elzmerelda? Have you gone completely mad?”
“Yes, Mother,” jumps in Sasperilla. “She’s totally lost her mind. She should be permanently confined to a mental institution.”
“Elzmerelda, you know perfectly well that I have spent considerable time and money grooming both you and your sister to marry a prince.”
“Mother, I’m perfect marriage material.” Sasperilla smiles smugly.
“Actually, I do know of one available prince. His name is Gallant. His wife died several years ago, and now he’s ready to remarry. We’d better hurry because I’ve heard there may be a princess-in-waiting ahead of you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Sasperilla leaps up like a frog. “Sign me out of here!”
“Actually, I thought he would be perfect for Elzmerelda.”
Sasperilla’s beady eyes narrow. “You always favor her!”
“No, she doesn’t,” protests Elz.
“Don’t lie, Elzmerelda. You were always Mother’s favorite.”
“Was not!”
“Was so!”
“I don’t even want to marry a prince!” Elz’s words shoot out like a burst of flames.
Lady Germaine gasps. Her pale skin flushes.
Fueled by her newfound determination and courage, Elz pushes her chair away from the table, stands up, and squarely faces her mother.
Go for it, Elz, I root silently.
“Mother, I’m tired of you shoving your agenda down my throat. You can’t control my life!”
Lady Germaine tries to say something but can’t get her lips to move. Her face grows redder.
“Mother, did you ever think that’s why Sasperilla doesn’t eat? Food is the one thing you can’t shove down her throat. The one thing you can’t control.”
Sasperilla’s eyes bug out. Ha! Elz has hit on a nerve. Don’t stop, roomie.
“Mother, your agenda is not mine. I don’t want to live out your dream! I want to marry someone who loves me for who I am!”
Lady Germaine clutches her chest. She hyperventilates, chokes, and finally keels over. Her head hangs limply in her bowl of salad, and her spindly arms dangle by her side. Cripes! She’s barely breathing.
“Mother, Mother! Wake up!” shouts Elz. She shakes her mother like a rattle, but there’s no response.
“Can’t someone do something?” scoffs Sasperilla.
Hook yanks up Lady Germaine’s head and presses his lips against hers, rhythmically blowing air into her mouth. “I saved a near-be-drowned matey this way,” he manages to say between breaths.
The three of us don’t blink an eye as he breathes life into Lady Germaine.
“What’s the matter?” asks Sasperilla impatiently.
Hook comes up for air. “The matter is she’s dead.”
“Elzmerelda, you killed her!” hisses Sasperilla.
“Oh God!” wails Elz. “What have I done?”
I’m speechless.
Still in her dress-up clothes, Elz is curled up in a ball on her bed. I’ve tried to convince her that she’s not responsible for her mother’s death. It hasn’t helped. She cannot stop crying.
Without asking, I crawl into her bed, lay my head down on her tear-soaked pillow, and cradle her shaking body in mine. Her sobbing grows softer. Neither of us says a word.
“Jane,” she says at last, “I’ve never asked you about your mother.”
“I don’t remember her,” I lie. The truth is I don’t want to remember her.
“Is she dead?”
“Yes.” Another lie. Okay, it’s a half-lie. In my heart, my mother is dead. I don’t know what became of her. What’s more, I don’t care.
“I’m sorry, Jane.”
Don’t be. I tell Elz she needs to get some sleep. In fact, we both do.
“Sweet dreams, Jane.”
“Sweet dreams, Elz.” How odd to say that after what’s happened tonight.
I’m lulled to sleep by Elz’s soft sobs and the rhythmic heaving of her body. In the middle of the night, I wake up screaming and drenched with sweat. I’ve just killed my mother in my dream.