The Garden: Part Three (special preview)

My parents never talked much about it, they barely acknowledged it. But I very specifically remember a boat when I was small. I must have been three or so, I can’t recall, but it was before we moved to my childhood home when I was four. I remember being on this boat, crammed really. I got separated from my parents easily and got lost in a sea of legs and ankles. I could hear my mother screaming in panic for me over the drone of people’s voices. The legs grew closer and closer to me, closing me in. I could see the land in front of us and I could see the green grass flowing into the ocean. My mother grabbed me and I was pulled through the legs again.

I know I wasn’t born where I grew up, my birth certificate said as much. But my parents never told me where that place was or why we moved. They never spoke of it. I just know that my parents always said that it didn’t matter. It was where we were that mattered. I never told them where my job was taking me, I sort of lied to them. They never liked me to travel, and I’m not sure why, I felt like telling them I was going to some island to work for a stranger might freak them out. I said I was visiting a friend and working with them to save up. 

Looking at this face, this flower, I think that perhaps I should have given them some idea of where I was going. In that instant she looked at me, the face, the flower, I felt I should run screaming. In an instant, it all played out in my head of me running and going to Mr. Barkridge, then leaving the island for good. But as soon as that fantasy was over, I felt no panic anymore.

I stare at her, the face, the flower, and she looks back at me. Her beauty was undeniable, almost familiar. Fat, sticky tears rolled down her cheeks and clung to the petals, looking almost like resin. Her lips held a sad pout, and her eyes pleaded with me.

My breaths come in long and slow. Her beauty and sadness intrigue me, I feel almost enamored by her. I kneel down so I am level with her and fat tears continue to move slow down her cheeks.

“Help me, please,” she whimpers.

“What can I do?” I ask softly.

“I’m so thirsty,” she gasps. “Please, water me.”

I take my water bottle and open it. She opens her mouth, letting her tongue thrust forward in a seductive, almost lewd way. I pour water on her tongue, down her throat. It spills down her chin, onto her petals and the ground. She moans in pleasure, making my heart race from the sound. 

She looks at me when the water is done, her eyes appear brighter, her petals even softer. She raises up slightly, mouth wide and tongue still thrust out. 

“That’s all I have,” I reply.

“More,” she whines.

I shake my head. “I don’t have any more. I’ll have to go back and fetch some more.” I look over my shoulder, I don’t see the gate and I have no clue what direction I came from. I turn back to her, seeing her mouth is still wide open.

“Wait here,” I tell her. “I’ll be back with some more water.”

Her eyes bug and she shakes the flower furiously. “Don’t let him see you! If he sees you, you’ll never come back!”

“Mr. Barkridge?” 

“He keeps me here,” the flower whimpers. “He keeps me here where he doesn’t have to look at me. He never comes to see me.”

“It’s alright,” I say reassuringly. “You’re safe. He won’t know a thing. I’ll be right back, I promise.” I try to head back from where I came. At some point, though, I must have gotten turned around. It was getting dark when I went beyond the gate, but I am losing more daylight by the second. I am lost, trapped somewhere in the garden with no direction where to go.

I then see the lighthouse, it’s great beam of light circles, cutting across me as it spins. I follow that light, knowing once I could see it, I could get my bearings straight. I hear something behind me, something breathing. It shifts and moves, skittering across the fallen leaves.