But, for the first time in a long time, the Witch had gone a night without the torture of Letozay or his paying customers.
--
Chapter Fourteen:
The days began to meld into each other. After two weeks of freedom from Letozay's tortured existence Malky found a small room above an abandoned corn exchange a few blocks walk away from the main market center of the Emerald City. The Witch was nervous at staying in a place so close to the crowds but she relented – knowing that the chances of finding any other lodging would by slim.
She made a makeshift seating area with upturned boxes and cracked crates. She needed no running water so the lack of a sink or bathing room did not bother her. She piled old sacks together and slept, fitfully, with her head pillowed in her arms. A month after Malky helped to free her the Witch met Jay just outside of Saint Glinda's Chapel. It was a meeting by accident but Jay was overjoyed in seeing her still alive.
The Witch kept her own feelings hidden behind the stone-face mask she had created.
He took a hold of the Witch's wrist, ignoring how the green woman stiffened at his touch, and led her to the shadows behind the chapel. She tried to keep herself calm by repeating, in her mind, that Jay was not there to hurt her. But Jay was a man, and by the fact of that nature alone, he could not be trusted.
"Take this letter," he said; pushing an envelope into her hand. "Deliver it to seventy-nine Brookwelled Street… in the mailbox in the back."
"The revolution?"
"They want you back," he said. "Now prove yourself."
"Prove myself?" the Witch questioned. She hated when she was asked for such a thing; it made her sick with fear. Every time she was told to prove herself something horrible happened.
"Tomorrow, by noon." Jay let go of her wrist and nodded slightly before leaving her. She frowned and looked down at the envelope in her hand.
She wasn't ready.
She dropped her gaze to the ground and fled. She took a twisting path through narrow streets and back alleyways until she found herself at the abandoned corn exchange. She ducked inside, careful of the squeaking steps, and sat herself down on the pile of old sacks. She crossed her legs and turned the envelope over and over in her gloved hands.
"You should get a proper bed."
The Witch looked up at Malky and frowned. "And, pray tell me, how would I acquire such a thing?"
"If you would let me I could help you."
The Witch shook her head. "I'm not letting you drag any of your friends into my disaster of a life."
"They're not really friends."
"Acquaintances then, does it matter?"
Malky frowned. "There's quite a difference."
"I wouldn't know."
"You used to."
The Witch sighed and let the envelope slip from her hand. She watched it fall to the ground before turning her head to meet Malky's piercing gaze. "Don't," she said simply but her voice held a strength that Malky had not heard since freeing her. "My days at Shiz are but a fleeting memory to me now and I have no need to remember."
"What of your friends there? Fiyero and Glinda? And Boq? And your sister Nessa? Why do you refuse to honour their memories?"
"My honour means nothing!"
Malky frowned but sensed that the Witch was becoming agitated so he fell silent. He watched her as she began to pace – a random path twisting through the small confines of the room. She left then, returning over an hour later with a bottle of whiskey and the stench of sex on her clothes.
"You're not under Letozay's control anymore."
The Witch tried to level an angry glare on the pestering Cat but the drunken haze in her eyes made it a laughable, pathetic attempt. Malky frowned. He was worried for the Witch. Worried that she would not be able to put her horror with Letozay behind her. Worried that she would not be able to pick herself up and keep on going. She had no one to help her, no on to hold her hand and show her where to go. It frightened him to see her like this – with the dread and despair pooling in her eyes and the whiskey on her breath.
"I remember when you were just a Kitten," the Witch slurred out as she sat herself down on one of the upturned crates. "You used to sleep by my head. Your fur was so soft."
Malky uncurled himself and jumped down from the rafter he had been situated in. "It's still soft," he said as he jumped on to her lap.
The Witch began to pet him; grateful that he would allow her such a privilege. "I miss them," she muttered.
"I know."
"It hurts, in a way. An ache that burns within me. I try to forget. I'm so desperate to forget. But… it's just… it's there. Always."
"I know."
"Why can't I just forget?"
"The mind is not made to simply forget the past."
"Why did I let him?"
Malky looked up at the Witch in confusion. "Let who do what?"
"Letozay and those men… and women… I could have stopped them. I should have stopped them!" She closed her eyes, took a swig of the whiskey in her hand, and tried to calm herself down.
"The past is the past. There's no use in dwelling over such a thing."
The Witch frowned and opened hazy eyes to be met with a blurred vision of Malky on her lap. "I was weak."
"But you can be strong again, if you would just trust yourself."
The Witch stood up then, sending Malky from her lap with the jerky motion. She drained the rest of the whiskey – nearly half the bottle – in two large gulps. She stared at her trembling hand as she felt the alcohol attacking her system, destroying her sense. She threw the bottle against the ground and it cracked and splintered; sending shards every which way. Malky had to hide behind a crate to protect himself as the glass showered him. He watched in silent horror as the Witch bent down and picked up one of the broken pieces. She ripped off her gloves, tore off her dress, and stood only in her tattered undergarments as the shard was shoved into green skin – dragged down an inner arm to her wrist. Another line drawn from elbow to wrist. Another. One more. She collapsed to her knees, feeling the warm blood trickling down her arm and finding comfort in the old habit.
The alcohol overwhelmed her then and she fell into a crumpled heap of green skin and dirty red blood upon the cracked wooden floor.