“You’ve piqued nothing. I’ve known about my telepathy for some time.”
“I’m sure that’s true on some level, but you don’t fully understand it. You don’t know how to harness it. To exploit it. I could teach you. If you kill the child or me, those mysteries will be forever lost to you.”
Instead of answering, the witch reached down to the bottom of the cage and slid the bowl through a narrow opening.
Telepathy? Mister Fergus sure had a lot of explaining to do when they were alone again.
The witch twirled, her eerie green eyes resting on Willa. Just like in stories, the fine hairs on the back of Willa’s neck stood up. “I’m going to unlock the chain,” Lizzy said. “You will walk in front of me, up the stairs, then through the door on the right. That’s the bathroom. You’ll have exactly one minute to relieve yourself with the door open.”
It wasn’t the perfect scenario. Willa had hoped for a couple of private moments for sleuthing, but it was better than nothing. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
Cold fingers brushed Willa’s skin when the witch removed the chain’s padlock. Willa sprinted toward the door, then dashed up the stairs. As she’d expected, the witch followed behind her. The light was on, revealing a half-bathroom containing a sink and a toilet. Light dust coated all the surfaces except for the toilet seat. Interesting. Perhaps this bathroom was infrequently used, or the witch hadn’t been in residence long. A quick scan of every item in the small room indicated it didn’t often host visitors: a full bottle of antibacterial hand soap, an immaculate white towel, and a large roll of cheap toilet paper.
“Didn’t want to spring for the Charmin?” Willa said as she pulled down her pajama bottoms and then her underwear. She was too old for Wonder Woman panties, but she couldn’t bear to part with them. Mama didn’t mind; she wanted to get every bit of use out of all the clothing they’d brought from Knoxville.
“The plush stuff doesn’t break down well in my septic system,” the witch said from the hall.
“Clever of you to stock up on TP before the apocalypse. I miss it. Shall I flush or are we preserving water?” Willa was fishing, and the use of ‘we’ was intentional. If Lizzy began seeing Willa as a member of her witch club, she might not be so inclined to kill her.
“Flush, please. Water is not a concern.”
Interesting.
“May I wash my face and hands?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
The faucet water only took a few seconds to warm — that must mean the hot water tank had been turned on for a while — and the towel smelled liked bleach. More data that may prove useful.
“Thank you.”
She knew better than to try make a run for it. Much smarter to continue gathering information and worming her way into the witch’s good graces. Once Willa was secured again in the basement, Lizzy turned her attention to Mister Fergus. Apparently, she was having a moment of benevolence.
“I’ll release you from the handcuffs long enough for you to relieve yourself in the bucket and eat your supper. Don’t try anything stupid or I will inject you again.”
Willa exchanged a meaningful look with her friend. Supper implied evening. Did it matter? Maybe, maybe not.
“How kind of you,” Mister Fergus replied without a trace of sarcasm.
Once he had done his business in the bucket (with his back turned to the females in the room), he ate his dinner. Willa waited, watching for any discernable effects of poison. He gave her a tiny wink when the witch wasn’t looking. The wink said: It’s fine.
Willa dug into her bowl. It had been countless hours since she’d eaten last, and the stew wasn’t half-bad. The meat tasted gamey, a bit like venison, but definitely not venison. What could it be? A horrific thought occurred to her. When she glanced up at Mister Fergus, he seemed to be reading her thoughts; a small shake of the red-haired head said: No, not human flesh.
She wondered if he was using his telepathy on her.
“Are you considering my offer?” Mister Fergus asked the witch while she stood watching them eat.
“I’m considering many things.” The creepy grin was back. It reminded Willa of the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas. “Supper is finished. The water should last you until I return,” she added, placing a red solo cup next to Willa’s bed and another inside the canary cage. After replacing the handcuffs and locking the metal door, she flipped the light switch off and left without another word.
Willa blew out a relieved breath. “How are you going to drink without using your hands?”
“I’m fairly bendy for a middle-aged gentleman. Don’t worry your pretty head about me. Now, why don’t you have another go at whatever is beneath that cabinet?”
“Not so fast, Gumby. Spill the beans about this telepathy business.”
Mister Fergus chuckled. “There’s much I can’t tell you, but I can tell you some, and you must accept it at face value with no further explanation.”
“If I find the handcuff key, all bets are off. I get three questions and you give me three straight answers.”
“You have my word. But since you haven’t found the key thus far, for now you just need to understand one thing: the people who survived the plague are all special in some way. They have characteristics or talents that separate them from the average human. From before, I mean.”
“I haven’t noticed that. A few of the folks in the holler aren’t rocket scientists, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, but they’re still special in some way. They still have gifts, even if not easily identifiable ones. The plague was genetic in nature, neither viral nor bacterial. Meaning the people who survived it did so because their DNA
