Chapter Sixteen
The little girl was tired. So very tired. She wasn’t sleepy, though. No, she was the kind of tired that felt like sadness without all the tears.
Her body hurt.
The outside hurt, because her shoulder still felt funny and she had bruises all over from falling off the roof, and the inside hurt, because everything was all wrong and nothing felt okay anymore.
She went back to hiding again, even though it wasn’t a game, because she didn’t want to see any of those people. They all lied, and were mean, and they wouldn’t let her go home, no matter how nicely she asked.
So she hid for hours, for days. The Tin Man acted like she’d turned invisible, like he didn’t care if she was there, which was weird, since he’d added alarms and locks to all the windows so they wouldn’t open again. The Cowardly Lion still hung around. He sometimes looked for her. He’d search under beds and inside closets, but he never said a word, just staring at her before going away again.
Weeks went on that way, weeks of isolation, of silence. Sometimes the little girl would whisper words to herself, would tell herself stories when she was alone in the dark, just to be sure that her voice still worked. Sandwiches would appear on the desk in her bedroom, or sometimes in brown bags outside wherever she was hiding. It started out as stuff like fish and bologna, but eventually, it turned into peanut butter and grape jelly.
She didn’t want to eat anything from them, but she was so hungry, and those were her favorite, so sometimes, she couldn’t help herself.
The little girl didn’t know what day it was now, or how long it had been, as she lay curled up on the floor of the kitchen pantry, staring at the light filtering in from beneath the closed doors. Voices carried through, some that she hadn’t heard before. They didn’t have an accent like the flying monkeys. These were just visitors.
“Would you like a sandwich?” the Cowardly Lion asked, but he wasn’t talking to her. One of the newcomers stood in the kitchen with him.
“No,” the man answered. That was it. No.
The Cowardly Lion laughed at the man’s clipped tone. “It’s only PB&J. You have eaten it before, no?”
The man didn’t answer.
“I have been in America since I was sixteen years old, but it wasn’t until recently that I tried one myself,” the Cowardly Lion continued. “They are not bad. I’ve come to enjoy them, especially—”
“I don’t want your sandwich,” the man said, cutting him off.
“Ah, well, your loss,” the Cowardly Lion said. “There is no reason to be so uptight. Your boss is fine. Relax.”
“I’ll relax when this is all over,” the man said.
The Cowardly Lion sighed. “It will only ever be over when my brother gets what he wants.”
There was a commotion in the house then. The little girl squeezed her eyes shut, trying to not listen, singing softly to herself... the song from Toy Story. It wasn’t until the pantry doors moved that she opened her eyes again, coming face to face with the Cowardly Lion just as the front door to the house slammed.
The Cowardly Lion knelt down, setting a small plate on the floor, a sandwich on it. He was squinting, his eye watering, puffy and swollen, like he got poked in it. He said nothing to her, nodding in silence, before standing back up just as the Tin Man stormed into the kitchen.
“Follow them,” he barked.
The Cowardly Lion was gone in a blink.
The little girl sat up, grabbing the sandwich, her gaze shifting to the Tin Man.
He stood there, watching her.
It was the first time in weeks he’d so much as even looked her direction, since the morning he’d picked her up at the police station. The attention made her queasy, or maybe that was the hunger. She took a small bite, chewing slowly.
“You do not like me,” he said, almost a sad note to his quiet voice. “I do not know why.”
The little girl stared at him. She wasn’t sure what to say. She was even queasier now, as she set the sandwich back down. It was true, she didn’t like him. She hated him so much. But he should know that, she thought. He should know why she didn’t like him. “You’re mean. I want Mommy.”
“And you think it is my fault you do not have your mommy?”
The little girl nodded.
He stared at her... and stared at her... and stared at her some more, before he let out a deep sigh. “Your mother’s birthday is soon. Maybe I will let you talk to her. You can ask her to come home yourself.”