The Chosen - By L. J. Smith Page 0,2
but the voice was his. Her mother was looking
at him, too, and her expression was changing, becoming relaxed and . . . stupid. Mommy was standing
very, very still.
Then the tall man hit Mommy once on the side of the neck and she fell over and her head flopped the
wrong way like a broken doll. Her dark hair was lying in the dirt.
Rashel saw that and then everything was even more like a dream. Her mother was dead. Timmy was
dead. And the man was looking at her.
You're not upset, came the voice in her head. You 're not frightened. You want to come right here.
Rashel could feel the pull of the voice. It was drawing her closer and closer. It was making her still and
not afraid, making her forget her mother. But then she saw the tall man's golden eyes and they were
hungry. And all of a sudden she remembered what he wanted to do to her.
Not me!
She jerked away from the voice and dove for the tent flap again.
This time she got all the way outside. And she threw herself straight at the gap in the climbing structure.
She was thinking in a different way than she had ever thought before. The Rashel that had watched
Mommy fall was locked away in a little room inside her, crying. It was a new Rashel who wiggled
desperately through the gap in the padded room, a smart Rashel who knew that there was no point in
crying because there was nobody who cared anymore. Mommy couldn't save her, so she had to save
herself.
She felt a hand grab her ankle, hard enough almost to crush her bones. It yanked, trying to drag her
back through the gap. Rashel kicked backward with all her strength and then twisted, and her sock came
off and she pulled her leg into the padded room.
Come back! You need to come back right now!
The voice was like a teacher's voice. It was hard not to listen. But Rashel was already scrambling into
the plastic tube in front of her. She went faster than she ever had before, hurting her knees, propelling
herself with her bare foot.
When she got to the first fish-bowl window, I though, she saw a face looking in at her.
It was the tall man. He was staring at her. He I banged on the plastic as she went by.
Fear cracked in Rashel like a belt. She scrambled I faster, and the knocks on the tube followed her.
He was underneath her now. Keeping up with I her. Rashel passed another window and looked down.
She could see his hair shining in the sunlight. She could see his pale face looking up at her. And his eyes.
Come down, came the voice and it wasn't stem anymore. It was sweet. Come down and we'll go get
some ice cream. What kind of ice cream do you like best? Rashel knew then that this was how he'd
gotten Timmy into the tent. She didn't even pause in her scrambling.
But she couldn't get away from him. He was traveling with her, just under her, waiting for her to come
out or get to a place where he could reach in and grab her.
Higher. I need to get higher, she thought.
She moved instinctively, as if some sixth sense was telling her which way to turn each time she had a
choice. She went through angled tubes, straight tubes, tubes that weren't solid at all, but made of woven
canvas strips. And finally she got to a place where she couldn't go any higher.
It was a square room with a padded floor and netting sides. She was at the front of the climbing
structure; she could see mothers and fathers standing and sitting in little groups. She could feel the wind.
Below her, looking up, was the tall man.
Chocolate brownie? Mint chip? Bubble gum?
The voice was putting pictures in her mind. Tastes. Rashel looked around frantically.
There was so much noise-every kid in the climbing structure was yelling. Who would even notice her if
she shouted? They'd think she was joking around.
All you have to do is come down. You know you have to come down sometime.
Rashel looked into the pale face turned up to her. The eyes were like dark holes. Hungry. Patient.
Certain.
He knew he was going to get her.
He was going to win. She had no way to fight him.
And then something tore inside Rashel and she did the only thing a five-year-old could do against an
adult.
She shoved her hand between the rough cords that made the netting, scraping off skin. She pushed her
whole small arm through and