Chapter 9
Charisma
Three people are going to die today.
The redhead’s words were a stark warning in my mind, sounding like a mournful bell for every soul about to be lost, and now the bell tolled once for Arianna.
I was on my feet before I could fully take in her death. For Arianna, the man’s premonition had become reality, claiming her life, but I wouldn’t let Georgie share the same fate. I was prepared to put forth my best effort to prevent that from happening.
By the time I got to her, her lips had turned a disturbing shade of purple as she continued to whisper the cursed words, her body still on the ground.
“Get out. Get out.”
“I’m going to get you out,” I stated, the weight of the promise settling in the silence.
The cool air nipped at my exposed skin as I stood there, rooted to the spot.
A thousand thoughts and a million fears warred within me.
Then, I gently slid a hand under her knees, fingers brushing against the delicate fabric of her clothing.
My other hand, trembling slightly, found its place beneath her back, cupping the curve of her spine.
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, hoping my strength could bear the weight of carrying her.
I took a final deep breath, savoring the cool air before pushing off my feet and gathering all my might to go on. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the protests of my weary back and legs.
Within two feet, we collapsed onto the soft ground.
A yelp tore out of me as a nasty cut was added to my leg, right in the center of my kneecap. My eyes moved on their own accord, observing the damage. I hissed at how deep it was. Not as deep as the other one, but enough to be an issue.
“Damn it.”
I scanned Georgie and the sweat gathering on her forehead as I reached a conclusion—I wouldn’t be able to carry her.
The world came to a halting stop around me as I thought.
With no time constraints, I could move slowly, ensuring we reached the finish line eventually.
All I had to do was stay calm and walk until my legs gave out.
When I needed a break, I would take it. As long as we both got out alive, I was going to push through.
Yet, as I glanced at Georgie, the sight of her skin, marred by purple and blue bruises, made me realize I was mistaken. I might have time but Georgie, with chattering teeth, certainly had just a little longer before her body shut down from the cold.
Shit.
So I started over until I dropped her. Again. And again. And again. And again.
At this pace, we would never make it out of the woods. I had to come up with something else. Fast.
I dragged us to the edge of a tree, supporting Georgie’s back on its trunk. “I’ll figure it out,” I told her, though I knew she couldn’t hear me, too lost in the horrors of her own mind.
I sat next to Georgie, my fingers tangled in my hair, elbows resting on my knees, trying to find a solution that would keep us both safe.
I struggled to maintain focus. Georgie repeated the words like a mantra, branches fractured in our wake, and the vision of Arianna’s lifeless form plagued my thoughts. I shook my head in an effort to banish the memory.
My eyes squinted as I tried to picture a board in front of me, but it vanished into particles of air, and it was replaced by her face. The way her mouth hung open, the way her eyes wouldn’t move.
“Focus,” I whispered to myself.
I built the board in my mind once again, ignoring Arianna’s voice crying in my ear as she told me her name.
There would be a better time when I could allow myself to grieve, to not push away the image of her leaving this world, but right now I had to bury it as deep as possible. I had to get us out of here.
On top of the board, I placed a piece of paper that read “Things that require lifting”, then started listing them.
1. Hikers with heavy backpacks for long distances.
1. Coming home with bags of groceries.
2. A mother carrying her child.
I tsked internally. None of this required that kind of weight, but I went on, trying to find a common theme between the three.
Hikers carried their backpacks on their backs, the weight becoming part of them. Groceries involved two hands to balance the heaviness, with fingers wrapped around the bags. Mothers wore baby slings tied around their backs, shoulders, and torso to distribute the weight in more than one place.
Each of the three used a strap-like mechanism, so now I had to figure out how to make something like that with what I had. I looked around—branches, dirt, leaves—nothing was going to be helpful. I needed something elastic with enough material to—
I had my clothes.
At the thought, I jumped to my feet, only to sink back down. They weren’t sufficient. I was going to need at least one more pair of clothing to accomplish something of that nature.
Arianna. Her clothes were still intact.
No. I would not undress a dead woman and strip her of her dignity. It felt wrong. But . . . I wasn’t doing it out of curiosity, malice or pleasure, I was doing it to keep someone else alive. And right now, it seemed like the only way to save Georgie.
I have to do this. She’s going to die.
I was going to hate myself if I took that poor girl’s clothes off.
And I’ll hate myself even more if I let Georgie die.
I had to detach. If I thought about it emotionally, I was going to freeze, and then none of us would escape the forest.
Detach. And so I did, not once looking back at Georgie as I hurried back to where I left Arianna as a prisoner of the forest.
I should’ve made it back to Arianna by now. Me and Georgie couldn’t have gone that far—not with the constant falls and struggles or the continuous breaks. Yet, why did it feel as if I walked for hours, my limbs screaming in protest, my toes numb and my eyelids threatening to close?
“Just a second,” I whispered. I didn’t bother looking for a place to sit. I simply dropped on the ground, my face facing the sky. “Just a second.”
My voice trailed off into silence as my eyelids grew heavy, desperately seeking the rest my weary body craved. Would it be that bad to fall asleep for a bit? Just enough to rest.
Yes. Georgie was going to die if I laid here for too long. She was out there, alone, frightened. She couldn’t rest like I was going to; she was going to keep waiting for my help, hoping her pain would come to an end.
I had to do this.
Get up, Charisma.
I pressed down onto my bruised palms, a soft groan escaping my mouth, but I didn’t even make it halfway up before I landed on my back again. I wasn’t sure how many times I had kept trying until my legs simply refused to move. My eyelids fluttered.
Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep. Come on.
With all my strength, I fought to get up, but my back didn’t even flinch, almost as if I was glued to the ground, the mud ready to swallow me whole.
Just a second to rest, then I’ll go. Just that.
Soon enough, I drifted off to sleep, every part of my body purring happily. Just for a few moments, then I was going to get back to Georgie.
“Charisma?”
I looked around at the sound of my mother’s voice and shivered as my gaze fell upon my house.
My feet were planted on the old wooden floor, which groaned under my weight.
I took a moment to scan my surroundings, searching for a hidden clue that this was all in my head, and I was still a prisoner in the gods’ world, but everything was in its place—the rotten kitchen counter with fist marks pounded into it and a few unwashed dishes, the dirty rug stained with beer and wine, the door that stood ajar, letting the wind rush in.
Even my ripped shoes were waiting in front of the door. Just as if I had never left.
My brows furrowed. Was this part of the test? Did the test even exist?
“You let this happen! You’re like this because you brought that cursed girl into our lives.”
At the sound of that voice, a shiver ran down my spine, every fiber in my body tensing with alertness.
In the quiet room, I heard my ragged breath, a tremor in the stillness, and looking down, I noticed my dirty fake Converses and my usual sweatpants.
I inspected my hands, trying to find evidence of what had happened in the woods.
But they were clean, there was no blood on them.
Was the gods’ world just a nightmare? Was I always home but experienced a horrifying and hyperrealistic dream?
Ashamed as I was, I dared to hope for a moment that this was nothing more than a fleeting dream, that I wouldn’t have to relive this ordeal.
God, I was selfish. What about my mother who had been a hostage of her own mind for years?
I shook my head and raced toward my mother’s room, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet, before throwing open the door and bursting inside, my chest tight with worry. I had done this at least a thousand times, and it still shook me to my core every single time.
My mom sat huddled in the shadowy corner of the room, her breath hitching in her rib cage as she clutched her knees to her chest. A cold sweat slicked over her skin as she swayed, her whispered words lost in a rising tide of panic.
Dad’s face contorted into a mask of rage as his attention swiped to me, his jaw clenched tight, each muscle screaming silent fury. He watched me for a second, acknowledging my presence with a disgusted sneer before he went back to acting like I wasn’t here, instead focusing on my mother.
He sighed, pinching his ears before resting his palms on his sides. “Mary,” he said in a low voice. “You have to come back to your senses; I can’t do this anymore. I can’t control the thoughts. I’m afraid I’ll do something bad soon. I can’t think straight anymore. You have to come back.”
I squinted. He had never voiced his thoughts before—no, he only threw ugly words and punches her way. I sat behind them at the doorframe, contemplating what to do.