Chapter 4

Herrington covered his face with his hand when he entered the room. He wished he had cast a spell to keep the stench way. It was horrible. He wanted to be sick. The sight before him was disgusting. The dark witch lay huddled on the floor; she lay in a bed of her own feces.

In a far corner of the room lay the overturned bucket of water given to inmates and a stale loaf of bread, which lay untouched.

He looked down at the body of the woman. Was she dead?

He gave her a kick with his boot. "Wake up!" he demanded. "Wake up you filth. We need to get you ready for trial."

She didn't answer.

Herrington knew better than to let his guard down around this witch. She was known for not only her madness but for her cunning.

He gave her a bit harder kick, this time in the back. "Get up!"

Miriam noticed the light. The room seemed to suddenly glow and through her barely open eyes she could see a dark shape emerge from the wall. Was this the end? Was she finely dieing? How long she had been in this place, she did not know. It had seemed like an eternity. She looked toward the light; however, she could not move. She was too weak.

She heard what she believed to be a voice and then what felt like a sharp kick. The dark shape moved around her and once again she felt the pain of someone kicking her.

She released a groan.

Herrington frowned. She wasn't dead.

"Get up. I'm not telling you again." He cast a cleaning spell on the mess surrounding her body. The stench remained.

She didn't move.

He shook his head and aimed his wand at her form. "Levicorpus."

Miriam knew she was dieing now. She felt her body seem to float off the ground and involuntarily follow the light as it moved through the darkness. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would be gone from this hell soon.

She was drowning. It was a rude awakening. She had relaxed into the pleasant sensation of moving toward death and then been abruptly submerged in to cold cruel wet reality. She opened her eyes and struggled to swim toward the surface of the water. When she emerged from the pool she looked up and was horrified to see the forms of two men emerge from her blurry vision. They were laughing at her as they watched her struggle.

"Wash yourself you disgusting wench." The younger of the two men tossed a bar of soap at her. It sank down to the bottom of the pool.

Miriam stared blankly at them.

"Go on." The second man waived her on to start. "This isn't some salon. You are to be in court in an hour."

"Court?" Miriam could barely speak.

The two men looked at her as though she were mad. The younger shook his head. "When you're done. Put these on." He tossed what looked to be a pile of clothing on the ground. They then left the room. Miriam was amazed to see the doorway seem to brick over on its own and form a complete wall.

She was now convinced she was dead and was in some sort of horrible purgatory. She was awaiting judgment. She floated in the dark water for a while. There were torches around the room providing some light. Her eyes had now fully readjusted to the degree of light. She looked around her. The rooms reminded her of what might have been a very old bathing pool. The water, though murky looking due to the stone that made up the bath, was clean and felt good upon her lips. It was icy cold; however, it felt wonderful to have the filth she had been laying in removed from her body. She began to pull off the rags she had been wearing. Once her clothes were gone, she dove down in search of the soap the man had tossed at her.

When she resurfaced she began to scrub her face, hands, and body. While there was more light in the room, allowing her to see better, she still couldn't quite make out her own form. She still felt rather displaced from her seizure. She always did; however this time it seemed to take longer to readjust. She wondered if because she had died in this state she would remain in this continues state of displacement. Her body felt awkward. She washed her face a second time. She wondered if the many days confined in darkness and being malnourished had caused her face to become gaunt. She didn't remember her eyes being so deep in her skull. She sank down into the water to wash the soap off her face. In doing this, her hair swam around her head and when she came up stuck to her face. She opened her eyes and went to move it away; however she was shocked still at what she saw. Black hair. She didn't have black hair.

When the guards returned they found her kneeling over the pool looking down into the water at her face. She was mumbling something under her breath.

Herrington knew the witch was mad. He shook his head. His companion laughed.

"It's not me." Miriam shook her head as she stared down at her reflection in the water. "Not me." She began to cry again.

She heard the two guards enter again. "That's not me." She pointed to her reflection the water. "I… I… Where am I?"

The guards shook their heads. Radcliff looked to his companion. "She's gone off the deep end."

Harrington gave a laugh. "What do you mean has gone? She hasn't been in touch with her mind for years."

Miriam furrowed her brow. "Mad?" she muttered to herself. Had she gone mad?

She felt defeated.

"Come on then… time to go. You're set for trial in fifteen minuets." Harrington motioned for her to follow them through the door that had reappeared in the wall.