"Is that....?"
Drifta's whisper filled my head, and her question hung there in still air.
She didn't need to finish the sentence. I saw the same thing as her, and yes, it was exactly what she thought it was. I stepped over shattered glass, wood splinters, and broken paintings. I placed every step carefully, so as not to break the early silence or hurt myself.
But all the way, my eyes kept darting towards the end of the bed. My mind blanked out as I walked. I didn't want to think; I could not think. It didn't matter who they belonged to. A naked foot stuck out from under the bed. Pale skin covered in dirt and dried blood. It was a small, delicate foot with well-cared-for nails, even trimmed, and nice cuticles.
"It's not her."
Drifta stated as my head landed on the fact that this foot belonged to a female. I knew it wasn't her, and I knew this foot didn't belong to my sister since I didn't feel that familiar scent and belonging as I did the first time i met my father. Drifta would have felt the family ties.
"But how can we be sure? She's human, and I didn't manage to recognize blood family before you."
"That is not the same. I am here, I am with you, and I would have known. I would know if this was our sister. It is not. No doubt."
I wanted to believe her; I did believe her. Drifta was sure, and I felt her confidence in the matter, but that didn't stifle the dark doubt that whispered in the back of my mind. What if her scent had changed? What if it wasn't possible to recognize the blood ties to a human? Did we really know anything at all? Drifta recognized the wolf, my father's wolf, and that is how she knew who she was. This is different, and she's right about that.
"Hello?"
My voice barely had enough volume to proceed with a whisper. Soft and gentle, I tried again,
"Hello? Are you okay?"
Almost there, I took deep breaths and realized the foot never moved. Nobody answered, and the naked foot just lay there like a porcelain doll's foot. It looked so cold and, for some reason, lonely. How can a foot be lonely? I have no idea, but that was just the feeling that crept under my skin as I walked around the edge of the bed- more blood and debris on the floor. A hand stretched out on the carpet, and the poor woman hid beneath the mattress. I can't even imagine what she felt, how scared this poor girl had to be. The place was trashed, and with the horrible scene downstairs in the dining room, I would have hidden too, even under the bed.
Kneeling down, I leaned forward to look under the bed. A storm of emotions exploded inside of me, and with a shocked gasp, I tried to make some space between us but ended up falling on my back instead. The gears turned in my head, and before the line of thought even ended, I crawled on all fours and pressed my chin against the dirty, stiff carpet. Reaching my hand out to feel her, to search for any signs of life, I still debated with myself. Once, I wanted this woman dead; heck, I wanted this woman dead from the moment I met her and up till now. The internal debate concerned that exactly, would I be happy if she's dead? Would I help her if she's not? Still, I acted without thinking it through, and with a little struggle, I managed to drag the old lady out from under the bed.
"She's still alive!"
Drifta's statement was equally filled with disbelief and curiosity. She knew what I felt about this woman, and she knew who she was without me telling her. Betty. The old hag named Betty. The woman who whipped me, locked me in here, and made sure I could not leave. A gurgling hiss groaned deep down in the old woman's throat when I turned her on the side. With one hand under her chin and the other resting on the floor in front of her. One knee over the other to secure her in a safe position, and she was indeed alive.
Her hair stuck to her face, matted with blood and dirt. Scrapes, wounds, and bruises all over her body. It surprised me how collected I felt looking over her injuries. I would never forget this woman, never forgive her cruel ways and evil being, but...
My eyes moved over her pale face; her thin grey hair was matted and dirty, and I just saw an old lady. She resembled the typical grandma next door or something in that direction. I didn't wish anything good for her, but I discovered I didn't feel she deserved this. But then again, who deserves anything like this? This level of evil and hurt? Could anyone at all justify that? It was a question I didn't even try to find an answer to; instead, I tried to forget who she was and what she did to me- tried not to think what she might have done to other girls, to my sister.
Despite being covered in bruises, minor scrapes, and cuts, that was all I found: small wounds, nothing to indicate why she looked like she was dying. In the bathroom, I grabbed one of the hand towels on the floor and soaked it in cold water. I rinsed up the towel and gave it a good twist before returning it. Pressing the cold, wet fabric against Betty's face. Soothing and washing, not knowing what else to do.
"Betty? Betty, can you hear me?"
Her forehead wrinkled up, and a deep groan rumbled in her chest. But she didn't answer, didn't make any signs of waking up. The wet towel pressed the dirty skin over her forehead, over her eyes, and with a slightly shaking hand, I tried to wipe away the dried blood, closing one of her eyes.
"Betty? Betty? Can you hear me?"
I tried again, louder this time, and it was clear that my voice broke through. She pressed her eyes closed, and a furrow deepened the wrinkles between her eyebrows.
"Where are you hurt? What happened here? Betty? Betty!"
"Eir! Be careful!"
Drifta scolded me as the frustration grew inside of me. The old lady moaned and groaned, and that gurgling sound each time she drew her breath really didn't sound good.
"I am! I need to know if she was here! Betty? Was she here? My sister? Answer me!"
I jumped to my feet and paced back and forth in front of the window. Anxiety, frustration, and anger rippled through me, and moving was the only way I felt like I could control them. Control some of it before it took me over. Muttering and mumbling to myself, slowly, I got my emotions under control with a bit of help from Drifta.
"Betty! Oh, come on, you old hag!"