The faces behind Krowe blur together; I can tell they're talking, laughing, but I can't make out any sound other than Krowe, who nods his head, making mine move with him. I'm leaning my head against his chest, too tired to keep it up. I think I may be hyperventilating or something... maybe that's why the air feels so shallow.
"They stripped him down and tied him up. They expected the crows would peck out his eyes by morning, but the next morning, he was still there, perfectly fine. And the next. On the fifth morning, they found him out there with a headless crow in his hand. He'd gotten so hungry he captured it and ate the head.”
“It turned into a spectacle... everyone wanted to go out in the mornings to check on the scarecrow, see if he was still alive. And he always was... for six months, he lasted out there, tied to that stake, naked and exposed to the elements. And then one day, when everyone went to check on him, he was gone..."
"Just disappeared. Imagine that."
"No one's ever seen him since. But the crows don't come here, even to this day. And for that, the town gives thanks to the Scarecrow."
"I think..." I huff, my nails snaring in the fabric of Krowe's shirt. "I need to go home."
"You shoulda gone home a long time ago, New Girl."
"You shoulda never come at all."
Nausea swells past my throat, and I know I won't be able to fight it back this time. It's all I can do to turn away from Krowe, to spare him ending up covered in my vomit.
But my legs feel like they've disappeared.
The minute I turn from him, I feel myself falling.
The ground rises to meet me fast.
Chapter 4
It'sgoingtorain.I hear thunder, and the sky is lighting up with flashes of silver, but I can't move.
Why can't I move?
"Fuck, Scarecrow. This is what you were hiding under all that fabric?"
The voice sounds far away, and I can't see anybody. The night is too dark, even in spite of the light.
"The rain..." I mumble.
My lips feel heavy, and my mouth is dry; my body doesn't feel like my own.
"I'll make it rain for you, Scarecrow." Someone chuckles, and the sound feels like it's coming from somewhere beyond my eyesight.
"She already made it rain." Someone laughs. "The bitch pissed herself."
The thunder feels like it's in my head. It's all around us, shaking the ground beneath me... the ground I'm lying on.
"I'm not touching her now. That's disgusting."
"Suit yourself."
"How's she feel, buddy?"
I remember falling down, getting dizzy, my stomach hurting.
Fuck, my stomachstillhurts. I think I'm going to be sick again.
I try to flip myself over; I'm going to choke on my own vomit if I don't. I've done this for Mom a dozen times, rolling her onto her side when she's drank too much and I can't stay to watch her.
"Someone grab her arms; hold her down."
The hands come fast; they're immediate. I feel them on my shoulders, my wrists, other places. They're cold and heavy, and they don't relent as I try to wriggle out from beneath them.
