“Where? Where?” Momma yelled. “I can’t see you.”
He waved the flashlight in the air, and she heard Momma moving toward them, clumsy, stumbling through the trees and debris.
“She’s here!” he yelled. “She tried to get away, but I caught her.”
A lash of anger and some of her power came back. She couldn’t beg him. He wasn’t going to help her. He was like a beaten dog, slinking after his master. Never to be trusted.
“Penny was the smart one, the beautiful one,” she said. “She rode horses and did well in school. When she died, Momma died, too. There was no love for you. She never loved you because you’re ugly and stupid. Who could ever love you?”
Bobo didn’t say anything. He just looked so sad that she almost took it back.
“Let me go,” she said. “Bobo isn’t even your name, is it? It’s what Penny called you. What’s your real name?”
“Arthur,” said Bobo softly. She picked up on the note of pride, used it.
“That’s a nice name,” she said, thinking quickly. “It’s a king’s name. King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Do you know that story?”
He shook his head. Of course, he didn’t. But he was listening. “Arthur was a king and he lived in a huge castle with a beautiful wife. And everyone loved him.”
“And he was strong and brave?”
“Definitely,” she said. “Just like you.”
He smiled a little at that, climbed off of her. He was a little boy in a big boy’s body. Just like her little cousin Jared, who was a wild toddler prone to tantrums. She could always talk him out of it, just by listening and figuring out what he wanted. He had a hard time making himself understood, and then he’d just go crazy because none of the adults around knew what he wanted. Somehow she always knew.
“Let me go,” she said. “Come with me. We can both leave here. You won’t have to work all day and hunt for Poppa. I know you don’t like to kill the animals. I’ll take care of you.”
Momma came through the trees, looking haggard and terrified. She washed over with relief when she saw them. But then anger set her features into a tight fist. Her long gray hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she wore a barn jacket that was frayed and dirty, jeans that were too big, and thick boots. Her face was a landscape of lines and grooves. A hideous storybook witch, a crone.
“Bring her back,” Momma said, in that stony voice she had. “You’re a bad girl, Penny. You scared your momma.”
Bobo stood and yanked her to her feet, his grip an icy garrote.
Something big welled up from inside her, a sob of rage. “My name is not Penny,” she shrieked. All the fear and rage that she’d kept buried exploded. “Penny is dead.”
Bobo stared, wide-eyed with surprise.
“Penny can’t find peace until you let her go,” she yelled. Her voice was so loud, and all the other sounds around them, even that strange whispering went quiet. “She’s trapped here even though she doesn’t want to be because you won’t let her pass.”
People always thought that the dead haunted the living, but she knew now that sometimes it was the other way around.
Momma stood, white and stiff, her hands clenched into hard fists. Bobo still held Abbey tight, though she struggled now, trying to get free as Momma moved closer.
Momma drew her hand back and slapped Penny hard across the face, then drew back her hands to her mouth. Penny saw stars, felt the hot sting on her face, the ache in her jaw.
“I’m sorry, Penny,” said Momma. “I’m so sorry.”
Sheer hatred pumped through her. She spoke slowly but loudly, some blood spilling from her mouth warm and salty. “I’m. Not. Penny. And I want to go home.”
Momma stared at her and long moments passed. Still the air around them was blissfully silent, until she started struggling against Bobo’s strong hug.
“Put her with the others,” Momma said to Bobo.
“Momma,” said Bobo, pleading.
But Momma started to walk away. “I won’t do it, Momma,” said Bobo. “I don’t want to.”
Momma stopped in her tracks and turned around, her face ugly with anger.
“She doesn’t love you,” the girl said, rage pulsing. It was so big, so monstrous, like it couldn’t fit in her body. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. “She never did. She only loves Penny. You don’t have to do what she tells you.”
Momma moved in close to them, and Bobo shifted away, still holding on tight to her. She tried to drop her weight so that she could slip out of his arms, but still he held her, his grip strong as chains.
Then Momma had sandpaper hands on her wrists and started pulling. “Give her to me,” she said, yanking her away from Bobo.