Mary stood in shock as the small girl looked back at her. Her eyes were full of malice and hatred, and even a little curiosity. She had to remind herself that those were not Rose’s eyes. That the expression on Rose’s face was not her expression. Confusion swirled in her mind, but she pushed aside the rampant desire to figure out what was happening and focused instead on the present situation.

“Where are you?” Mary asked, seething vitriol coating her tone. “Why don’t y’ come out and face me like a man instead o’ hidin’ behind a little girl?”

“I’m not a man,” Rose responded, “and you can’t anger me with character insults.”

The rifle was still pushed into Mary’s shoulder. She had been ready to fire, ready to propel every bullet into the stranger’s body, to watch him bleed out on the cave floor and to see the terror slowly wink out of existence in his eyes as he died. Now, she stood with confusion and fear.

I can’t shoot her.

A horrifying thought permeated her mind.

What if I did? Would it kill him?

Mary looked at the girl in the chair and focused on her innocent face. Then the smile that wasn’t hers appeared again – a sneer full of cocky arrogance – and her blood began to boil. He was enjoying this; he enjoyed using people for his own sick pleasure. She wanted to do nothing more than choke the life out of him.

Stall.

“You’re the one who was stealin’ our food,” Mary said. It wasn’t a question, just a flat statement of fact.

Rose shrugged her shoulders. “I was hungry.”

“Most of it isn’t eaten.”

“My eyes were too big for my stomach. Isn’t that what you humans say? Whenever you gobble down so much crap that your stomach threatens to burst? All while some sad family out there struggles to find three meals a day?”

“Let’s not pretend like you’re some patron saint o’ the population,” Mary spat.

“You’re right. I’m not. And neither are you.” Rose’s eyes narrowed, and she adjusted herself on the chair. As she moved, Mary caught a glimpse of a shining, silver blade. The blade of a hunter’s knife. She had been sitting on it during their conversation. Now she was reaching down to grasp it by the hilt.

“I’m tired of your attempts to stall,” Rose said. She slipped out of the chair and turned the knife backward so that the blade was resting against her forearm.

“Just come out yourself!” Mary yelled. She had placed her finger around the trigger without even noticing. One flinch, one sudden pull and she would kill an innocent girl.

That’s not her smile.

Those aren’t her eyes.

Rose didn’t respond. She dashed forward with frightening speed, her body becoming a blur. Mary jerked the rifle down to try, aiming desperately at the child before she yelped with pain. Blood splashed the stone floor and Mary fell to her knees gasping. Hot agony filled her body once again, and she looked down to see the knife sticking out of her right thigh. Her calf had been slashed as well.

Rose smiled at her and ripped the knife from her body. A cry of shock bubbled from her throat, but she pushed through the red-orange haze of pain, and drew her leg back. She thrust forward and drove her foot into Rose’s chest. With surprising fluidity, Rose rolled with the force of the kick and landed on her feet. She looked back up at Mary with a raised eyebrow. Blood was spooling off the knife in a thin stream; the silver blade was coated with crimson.

“Please don’t make me do this,” Mary said softly. Perhaps to herself. Perhaps she was pleading in as private a way as she could.

Rose didn’t respond. Instead, she dashed forward again. Mary scrambled backward, the metal rifle crunching against the stone as she did so. At the last second Rose leaped into the air, the blade of the knife pointed down. Mary rolled to her right just as the girl came down, the knife hitting the stone where her neck had been.

Mary pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her leg. She pushed the rifle back into her shoulder and aimed at the girl.

“Don’t make me do this!” she yelled. A threat. Perhaps an empty one. Could she really do it? Could she pull it?

Her question was answered a few seconds later. Fueled by devilish anger, Rose leapt to her feet and dashed at Mary again. With less than seconds to make a decision, Mary decided to swing the butt of the rifle at the girl’s left hand – at the hand that was brandishing the bloody knife. The rifle connected with her small fist, and the knife went flying across the cave, clattering as it hit the stone walls and fell to the floor. Mary swung the rifle back around. The butt connected with Rose’s chest; a muffled thwack sounded through the cave, and the girl went flying back into the center of the room. Mary pulled the weapon back to her shoulder. Fear washed over her body as Rose, the sweet girl she had seen smiling with her father and holding her daughter’s hand, snarled at Mary. With animalistic speed and rage, she dashed over to the knife on all fours and grabbed it with her left hand. In a single, smooth movement she thrust the knife at Mary. Pain erupted in her shoulder, and she muffled a cry of pain as she saw the knife embedded in her body up to the hilt.

Rose came dashing again at her, this time on two legs. Without thinking, Mary dropped the gun, pulled the knife from her shoulder, and rushed at the girl. Surprise filled her black eyes, and Mary pushed her to the ground. Her head cracked against the stone, and terror panged through her heart.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Did I just kill her?

She had not, as was evidenced by the speed at which Rose dashed to her feet, leaving a bloody spot on the ground behind her. She drove a tiny fist into Mary’s gut with surprising power, dropping her to her knees. Then the girl grabbed the knife from her hand and spun. The blade glinted in the dim light and spewed a trail of blood behind it. Then, fresh blood joined the old as the tip cut across Mary’s cheek. The knife came whistling back, but Mary fell to her butt and scrambled backward, her hands desperately searching for the rifle that she had dropped. To her surprise, she found it with relative ease. Her hand touched the cold metal, and she wrenched the weapon in front of her chest, the barrel pointed at the girl’s chest.

Still, Rose came rushing forward, brandishing the knife above her head while she snarled like a wild wolf.

She’s not going to stop.

You have to do it.

She didn’t have time to assess her options. She didn’t have time to think things through calmly, as she liked to do. She didn’t have time to try and reason with the stranger. All she could do was decide whether to pull the trigger or not.

I’m so sorry, Luis, she thought.

Mary pushed herself to her feet and swung the rifle at Rose again. It connected, and the knife clattered away, skittering to the stone wall. Mary swung it again, hitting the girl in the face. Rose went sprawling backward. Behind her black eyes, Mary thought she could see pleasure.

He was egging her on.

Do it.

You have to do it.

Mary rushed over to the girl and put her foot on her small chest. She pushed the barrel of the rifle into her forehead. Tears started to sting her eyes, but the black eyes remained.

Those aren’t her eyes.

Yes, they are.

That isn’t her smile.

Yes, it is.

This isn’t Rose.

Yes, it is.

Mary closed her eyes, blinking back the tears. She put some pressure on the trigger, feeling dread drown her heart.

When she opened her eyes, her heart stopped. The blood in her veins turned to fire, and shame tore through her gut like the rainstorm outside the cave. Staring back at her, blinking back similar tears, was the visage of a terrified, small girl.

Of Rose.

Mary didn’t move for a moment. Was this a trick? Was Rose going to get up and kill her if she moved her foot? But then it became apparent.

No, it was not a trick.

Yes, she had almost just killed a child.

Mary removed her foot, dropped the rifle to the ground, and lifted Rose into her arms. She held her tightly, caressing her hair and whispering desperately in her ear.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “You were trying to hurt me and I had to get you to stop. I don’t know what happened, but I would never hurt you. I would never never never never never.” She pulled the girl back to stare into her eyes. “You believe me, right? Right, Rose? That I would never hurt you? Not in a million years. I would never. Please believe me. Please.”

Rose did not say anything, nor did she return the hug. Her arms were limp at Mary’s side.

Even as they crawled out of the cave together, even as Mary tried to apologize, and plead, and offer words of comfort, Rose produced the same visage when they locked eyes. It was not the same face she had seen when they had left the house. It was not the girl she had seen holding her daughter’s hand or hugging her father.

This girl was terrified of Mary. And though she didn’t want to admit it, deep in her heart she knew that she would never gain Rose’s trust again.

Next Chapter: John