A Collaboration
“Listen! I can help you only if you tell me about it.”
This time, there is no response. But the little girl’s eyes, these eyes that seem too big for her face, stare directly into his, and the smirk on her lips has a new edge to it, an edge Goombeldt is unable to decipher. An edge that truly creeps him out. If she’s a little girl in trouble, she would say so. But if she’s a little girl with aggressive thoughts in mind, or not a little girl at all, well, then . . . then what is she? Goombeldt finds himself retreating. He backs up slowly so he can keep an eye on the girl. She is silent, her hands folded on her chest. Despite the increasing distance, Goombeldt can feel the pressure of her staring eyes.
This is ridiculous, he thinks as he turns around, walking away. He must be too distraught by Zungvilda’s disappearance. Why didn’t he help the little girl? She was obviously in trouble. At the very least, he should call the police. And he will. He will, as soon as he gets home. It’s just a few blocks.
Goombeldt continues walking, no longer looking back. He has made his decision. The girl was too incongruous, downright spooky. He couldn’t have helped her. He tried, really tried. She wouldn’t explain what the problem was. He did the right thing.
He thinks of Zungvilda, remembering the way she gets whenever he tries to confront her about her inconsistent behavior. She turns cold, ices over like a pond in winter—and Goombeldt can’t break through the ice.
You smile. You’re about to type the best part. You share it with me. Goombeldt hears the screams. He freezes, turns around, runs back to help the little girl.
But by now, it’s too far, almost two blocks. Do the screams have anything to do with the girl?
The screams stop abruptly.