Bittersweet memories
That is all I am taking with me
Goodbye
Please, don't you cry
'Cause we both know
I know what you need
--from I Will Always Love You by Dolly Parton
The next morning, Isaac was sitting in front of the small television and watching it intently. He'd found his cartoons, I saw.
"Isaac, when did you wake up?" I murmured, struggling to a sitting position. He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled.
"A while ago. I wanted to watch my cartoons." Isaac pointed a small finger at the television screen. "See? Bugs an' Daffy." Smiling faintly, I rubbed my eyes with a fist.
"Yeah. Bugs and Daffy." I was distantly trying to remember the dream I'd had; I could only remember whispers of it, and that was driving me crazy.
"They're here." Isaac had spoken suddenly, not glancing away from the television.
"Who's here, honey?" I murmured. The little boy pointed at the window, then brought his finger to his lips.
"Shh. I'm watching cartoons." Quietly -- obediently, I suppose -- I slipped out of the bed and to the window. Swedholm lay down before me; I looked around a little.
"Who's --" I began, but Isaac shot me a look just dark enough to silence me. Frowning, I glanced over the road again. I lowered my voice slightly so as not to disturb Bugs or Daffy. "I don't see anyone," I murmured.
"Keep looking," he said complacently. "He says to keep looking."
"Keep looking," I muttered to myself. "But I don't see --" But then I did see something. Two cop cars -- one rolling slowly down the road, the other parking at the end of the Inne's driveway. "Oh, shit!" I cried, and Isaac twisted to give me a reprimanding look.
"Cartoons," he said bluntly. It was no time to be ordered around by a five-year-old and his invisible friend; I began packing clothes like you wouldn't believe. Isaac sat pleasantly in front of the television.
"Isaac," I said quickly, glancing over my shoulder at him. "Come on, time to get going. We have to leave." He shot me a brief, irritated look.
"But my cartoons --"
"Come on!" Isaac had gotten his way before, but now was not time to worry about his cartoons. I grabbed his arm roughly and hoisted him up, shouldering my bag as we did so.
"But --" He began to protest, but slowly a look of realization spread over his face and Isaac fell silent. We hurried to the bathroom, where I had seen a window out the back.
"We have to get out," I gasped, "before the bad men get us, okay, sweetheart?" The little boy nodded wordlessly, and I set him on the lid of the toilet. My fingers were unusually quick and precise; I unlocked the latches on the window and slid up the pane of glass effortlessly. Sticking my head outside, I noticed that the roof sloped downwards, then lead to a gutter that trailed to the ground. It might be dangerous, but I was willing to risk my safety -- just not Isaac's.
"He says we have to go down the roof," Isaac said quietly. I turned to him and offered a small smile.
"All right. We'd better hope He's right." Quickly, I hooked my hands under his arms and lifted him to the window. Isaac wiggled through; once he was out, he used one hand to grip the windowsill and the other to take the bag. I went through with a little more difficulty, but soon enough I got out. Isaac handed me the bag, and I took his hand. "Be careful," I murmured. He nodded solemnly.
"You too," he responded softly, and we both slid down the slope of the roof.
We made it down all right -- well, Isaac did. I landed too hard on my feet and twisted my right ankle. It hurt like the dickens, but I couldn't let Isaac see me cry. Not again, not at this point. I forced a smile and took him by the hand, not sure if I would be able to carry him anymore.
"Come on, Isaac," I murmured. "This way, into the trees."
"Again?" he asked, sounding sad. I paused to look at him; a little boy in dirty pajamas, looking too skinny and too pale and too tired. It didn't matter how badly my ankle hurt anymore.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, and hoisted him up on my hip again. "I'm sorry. We'll find a better place, I promise." Isaac buried his face in my shirt.
"Okay. Into the trees."
A few hours later, I couldn't walk anymore; my ankle felt swollen to the size of a casaba melon, and Isaac felt too heavy to even pull along behind me. There were two more reasons as well: one, a small town loomed right up ahead of us, and two, I knew that we couldn't run anymore. I was too tired to take it, and Isaac was too young to take it. So, right outside the little town, I came to a dead stop and turned to Isaac.
"Baby," I said softly, "we're going to have to do something different, okay?" The little boy nodded, pushing a handful of dark hair out of his eyes.
"What are we doing?" he mumbled. I paused for a few long moments to think, then finally came up with a plan -- surely, it was half-witted and very shaky, but as they say in the movies, just crazy enough to work.
"Isaac," I murmured, then chewed my lower lip hard. I stuck out my good knee and patted it for him to sit on, and he did. "You know we can't keep going like this, right?" He nodded again.
"Uh-huh." I rubbed his shoulder gently.
"Okay, then I have something very important to tell you." It hurt my chest to even think of saying the words, but I swallowed the lump from my throat and went on. "When we get into that town --" I jerked my head at the village. "-- I'm going to take you to a place that will take good care of you, okay?" Isaac began to nod, but slowly his eyes narrowed.
"You take care of me," Isaac murmured.
"I know, I know." I bounced him slightly on my knee. "But I'm going to take you somewhere that will take very good care of you, I promi--"
"You take care of me, Mary," he repeated, brows meeting. I squeezed my eyes closed and wished he weren't making this so hard.
"I can't anymore," I said thickly. "I'm... I'm slowing us down, and if I go alone, then at least you'll be --"
"No!" Isaac wiggled off my knee and whirled to face me, face even paler than before. "No, I won't let you!"
"Isaac," I said pleadingly, bringing up a hand to rub at my eyes. I couldn't let him see me cry, not now...
"No!" He turned from me to dig in the bag I'd set down. I had no idea why he was looking for his toys at this point, but Isaac had always been unpredictable.
"Please don't be --"
"I won't let you!" Isaac whirled, a kitchen knife clutched in a small fist. I noticed with faint horror that it still had faded splotches of dried blood on the blade -- from Melly.
"Isaac --" I stumbled backwards, re-twisting my ankle and landing hard on my rump. "-- don't --"
"You can't leave me alone!" Isaac pointed the knife at me. "I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE ME!"
"Honey, don't --" I shot up a hand and grasped his wrist tightly, trying to keep the blade away from me. "-- stop --" He struggled hard against my grip but couldn't get free; Isaac's face twisted in anger.
"YOU CAN'T --" Suddenly his face crumbled, dark eyes filling with tears. His fingers loosened on the knife and he dropped it. "I don't want you to leave me," Isaac whispered. The shock of what had just happened wasn't too strong for me to remember that he was still just a little boy. I let go of his wrist and pulled him hard against my chest in a tight hug.
"Oh, Isaac," I mumbled, smoothing the slight cowlick that had formed in his dark hair. He was crying softly into my shirt, his small body trembling against mine.
"Please don't," Isaac whimpered. "Please don't leave me alone." I let out a soft sob of my own, and he hugged me hard around the neck.
"It'll be all right," I said quietly. "I promise it will." After nearly fifteen minutes, I finally realized that it was time to do what I had to. "Time to go, sweetheart," I murmured.
"No," he said softly into my shirt.
"Isaac. We have to go."
"No," he repeated. I started to pull away, but his arms tightened around my neck. "No, I don't want to go. No. No." I gave him one last tearful hug, then slipped out of his grip and managed to stand. Isaac stared up at me in silence, his dark eyes brimming with tears. I pressed a kiss against his cheek and sniffed back tears of my own.
"I love you, baby," I murmured.
"I love you too, Mary." Isaac rubbed at his eyes, then extended a hand for me to hold. I smiled a little and took it. We began walking for the town ahead of us.
"What does He say now?" I asked, gently squeezing his hand in mine. There was a very long pause.
"That this is what we must do," Isaac whispered. "That sometimes, sacrifices must be made." I glanced down to him and let out a shaky sigh.
"He's right, Isaac. I just wish He wasn't."
That is all I am taking with me
Goodbye
Please, don't you cry
'Cause we both know
I know what you need
--from I Will Always Love You by Dolly Parton
The next morning, Isaac was sitting in front of the small television and watching it intently. He'd found his cartoons, I saw.
"Isaac, when did you wake up?" I murmured, struggling to a sitting position. He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled.
"A while ago. I wanted to watch my cartoons." Isaac pointed a small finger at the television screen. "See? Bugs an' Daffy." Smiling faintly, I rubbed my eyes with a fist.
"Yeah. Bugs and Daffy." I was distantly trying to remember the dream I'd had; I could only remember whispers of it, and that was driving me crazy.
"They're here." Isaac had spoken suddenly, not glancing away from the television.
"Who's here, honey?" I murmured. The little boy pointed at the window, then brought his finger to his lips.
"Shh. I'm watching cartoons." Quietly -- obediently, I suppose -- I slipped out of the bed and to the window. Swedholm lay down before me; I looked around a little.
"Who's --" I began, but Isaac shot me a look just dark enough to silence me. Frowning, I glanced over the road again. I lowered my voice slightly so as not to disturb Bugs or Daffy. "I don't see anyone," I murmured.
"Keep looking," he said complacently. "He says to keep looking."
"Keep looking," I muttered to myself. "But I don't see --" But then I did see something. Two cop cars -- one rolling slowly down the road, the other parking at the end of the Inne's driveway. "Oh, shit!" I cried, and Isaac twisted to give me a reprimanding look.
"Cartoons," he said bluntly. It was no time to be ordered around by a five-year-old and his invisible friend; I began packing clothes like you wouldn't believe. Isaac sat pleasantly in front of the television.
"Isaac," I said quickly, glancing over my shoulder at him. "Come on, time to get going. We have to leave." He shot me a brief, irritated look.
"But my cartoons --"
"Come on!" Isaac had gotten his way before, but now was not time to worry about his cartoons. I grabbed his arm roughly and hoisted him up, shouldering my bag as we did so.
"But --" He began to protest, but slowly a look of realization spread over his face and Isaac fell silent. We hurried to the bathroom, where I had seen a window out the back.
"We have to get out," I gasped, "before the bad men get us, okay, sweetheart?" The little boy nodded wordlessly, and I set him on the lid of the toilet. My fingers were unusually quick and precise; I unlocked the latches on the window and slid up the pane of glass effortlessly. Sticking my head outside, I noticed that the roof sloped downwards, then lead to a gutter that trailed to the ground. It might be dangerous, but I was willing to risk my safety -- just not Isaac's.
"He says we have to go down the roof," Isaac said quietly. I turned to him and offered a small smile.
"All right. We'd better hope He's right." Quickly, I hooked my hands under his arms and lifted him to the window. Isaac wiggled through; once he was out, he used one hand to grip the windowsill and the other to take the bag. I went through with a little more difficulty, but soon enough I got out. Isaac handed me the bag, and I took his hand. "Be careful," I murmured. He nodded solemnly.
"You too," he responded softly, and we both slid down the slope of the roof.
We made it down all right -- well, Isaac did. I landed too hard on my feet and twisted my right ankle. It hurt like the dickens, but I couldn't let Isaac see me cry. Not again, not at this point. I forced a smile and took him by the hand, not sure if I would be able to carry him anymore.
"Come on, Isaac," I murmured. "This way, into the trees."
"Again?" he asked, sounding sad. I paused to look at him; a little boy in dirty pajamas, looking too skinny and too pale and too tired. It didn't matter how badly my ankle hurt anymore.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, and hoisted him up on my hip again. "I'm sorry. We'll find a better place, I promise." Isaac buried his face in my shirt.
"Okay. Into the trees."
A few hours later, I couldn't walk anymore; my ankle felt swollen to the size of a casaba melon, and Isaac felt too heavy to even pull along behind me. There were two more reasons as well: one, a small town loomed right up ahead of us, and two, I knew that we couldn't run anymore. I was too tired to take it, and Isaac was too young to take it. So, right outside the little town, I came to a dead stop and turned to Isaac.
"Baby," I said softly, "we're going to have to do something different, okay?" The little boy nodded, pushing a handful of dark hair out of his eyes.
"What are we doing?" he mumbled. I paused for a few long moments to think, then finally came up with a plan -- surely, it was half-witted and very shaky, but as they say in the movies, just crazy enough to work.
"Isaac," I murmured, then chewed my lower lip hard. I stuck out my good knee and patted it for him to sit on, and he did. "You know we can't keep going like this, right?" He nodded again.
"Uh-huh." I rubbed his shoulder gently.
"Okay, then I have something very important to tell you." It hurt my chest to even think of saying the words, but I swallowed the lump from my throat and went on. "When we get into that town --" I jerked my head at the village. "-- I'm going to take you to a place that will take good care of you, okay?" Isaac began to nod, but slowly his eyes narrowed.
"You take care of me," Isaac murmured.
"I know, I know." I bounced him slightly on my knee. "But I'm going to take you somewhere that will take very good care of you, I promi--"
"You take care of me, Mary," he repeated, brows meeting. I squeezed my eyes closed and wished he weren't making this so hard.
"I can't anymore," I said thickly. "I'm... I'm slowing us down, and if I go alone, then at least you'll be --"
"No!" Isaac wiggled off my knee and whirled to face me, face even paler than before. "No, I won't let you!"
"Isaac," I said pleadingly, bringing up a hand to rub at my eyes. I couldn't let him see me cry, not now...
"No!" He turned from me to dig in the bag I'd set down. I had no idea why he was looking for his toys at this point, but Isaac had always been unpredictable.
"Please don't be --"
"I won't let you!" Isaac whirled, a kitchen knife clutched in a small fist. I noticed with faint horror that it still had faded splotches of dried blood on the blade -- from Melly.
"Isaac --" I stumbled backwards, re-twisting my ankle and landing hard on my rump. "-- don't --"
"You can't leave me alone!" Isaac pointed the knife at me. "I WON'T LET YOU LEAVE ME!"
"Honey, don't --" I shot up a hand and grasped his wrist tightly, trying to keep the blade away from me. "-- stop --" He struggled hard against my grip but couldn't get free; Isaac's face twisted in anger.
"YOU CAN'T --" Suddenly his face crumbled, dark eyes filling with tears. His fingers loosened on the knife and he dropped it. "I don't want you to leave me," Isaac whispered. The shock of what had just happened wasn't too strong for me to remember that he was still just a little boy. I let go of his wrist and pulled him hard against my chest in a tight hug.
"Oh, Isaac," I mumbled, smoothing the slight cowlick that had formed in his dark hair. He was crying softly into my shirt, his small body trembling against mine.
"Please don't," Isaac whimpered. "Please don't leave me alone." I let out a soft sob of my own, and he hugged me hard around the neck.
"It'll be all right," I said quietly. "I promise it will." After nearly fifteen minutes, I finally realized that it was time to do what I had to. "Time to go, sweetheart," I murmured.
"No," he said softly into my shirt.
"Isaac. We have to go."
"No," he repeated. I started to pull away, but his arms tightened around my neck. "No, I don't want to go. No. No." I gave him one last tearful hug, then slipped out of his grip and managed to stand. Isaac stared up at me in silence, his dark eyes brimming with tears. I pressed a kiss against his cheek and sniffed back tears of my own.
"I love you, baby," I murmured.
"I love you too, Mary." Isaac rubbed at his eyes, then extended a hand for me to hold. I smiled a little and took it. We began walking for the town ahead of us.
"What does He say now?" I asked, gently squeezing his hand in mine. There was a very long pause.
"That this is what we must do," Isaac whispered. "That sometimes, sacrifices must be made." I glanced down to him and let out a shaky sigh.
"He's right, Isaac. I just wish He wasn't."
