Gingerbread

"Damn it, John, do you really have to be a walking, talking, driving cliché? The road isn't even paved anymore...where the hell are we?"

John had known the silence was drawing to an end. Historically, his sister could only hold her tongue for so long and, once she'd crossed her arms over her ample chest, he'd known the quiet would soon be interrupted.

He clasped the steering wheel tighter. "We're not lost--just a little turned around. We'll hit a town soon."

"Yeah, well, you'd better ask for directions the first chance you get so I can stop staring at acres and acres of identical trees."

He knew he shouldn't take the bait, yet he did. "Or what? What are you going to do, Greta? You know what was the best look for you? When you had the red spikes in your hair--like horns. It allowed people to get a head start."

"What I'm going to do is call Dad and tell him you screwed up...again." Greta reached for her purse.

"We can't even get any radio stations to play...good luck getting a signal."

"We'll see," she said, pulling out her phone. After several seconds, she tossed the cell over her shoulder and into the backseat in disgust. John fought back a smirk.

"Gah! I still don't know what this stupid field trip is going to accomplish," she said. "Want to sing 'Over the river and through the woods'...goth style?"

He explained once again--even though they both knew the answer. "Dad thinks that seeing the grandchildren she disinherited will move our grandmother. Maybe he's right--since you washed the blue streaks out of your hair, you come across as pretty innocent...until you speak."

"Fuck you!"

He began to chuckle. His sister really did look innocent, wearing a sedate summer dress and with her hair back to its natural blonde, but she still had the vocabulary of a sailor.

Greta seemed to be fighting back her own laughter, but then her expression became sober. "John--you know dad isn't looking out for us anymore, right? It's all about Lily...he's worried she'll leave him if he can't support her. If he still cared about us, he'd have shown some interest in the last couple years."

Their step-mother was a real alpha bitch--no doubt about it. Marriage to her had altered their once-loving father. For a few years John found himself hating all women just a little, thinking them all capable of using their bodies to manipulate a man. Recently, he'd come to the conclusion that a guy who'd let his dick do his thinking deserved what he got.

"I know," he answered. "I figure we still owe the old man a few things from before Lily got her hooks into him. If it works, you'll have money for your band and I'll have money for the restaurant. It's worth a day or two of kissing up to some old woman."

"Sure, if we actually get there in one piece," Greta said, but with no real animosity in her tone this time. He understood--she was not alone in feeling better about saying what they both had been thinking.

He'd never let his sister know it, but he trusted her instincts. She had a way of knowing things. When their mother had become ill, Greta had seemed to know from the beginning that she wouldn't rebound. Or the first time they saw Lily: Greta had just seemed to know that she was no good, even though she'd looked like sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth. Greta underplayed her knack though, pointing out that most of the time she was just as in the dark as everyone else.

Suddenly, a deer appeared in the middle of the road. John swerved to avoid it, and the next thing he knew he felt a jolt as they went off the side of the road and down a sharp incline. They narrowly missed a row of trees as the car came to a halt, pitching both of them forward. Only then did he have time to feel fear.

"Jesus, Greta, are you okay?" he asked, looking at his sister.

She inhaled and slowly blew it out before answering. "Yeah, you?"

He gave a ragged sigh. "You mean, with the exception of knowing that deer is somewhere laughing its ass off and telling all her friends that she bagged a big one?"

"I bet Lily's car has airbags."

"I'll take that bet," he said, looking behind them. "I'd also bet that there's no chance of getting out of this ditch on our own." He felt frustration boiling up. "You might as well bitch me out right now."

"I'll save it for later. How 'bout that? I'll call you at 3am a month from now, and really let you have it." Greta unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed into the back seat, apparently to give her phone one last try. John felt tender toward his sister at that moment: a strange brew of thrilled that she was okay and glad that she wasn't in the process of ripping him a new asshole--even if it was, in part, due to bitching out her useless cell phone instead. "Yeah, right! 'Can you hear me now?' my ass! No, I can't hear you now, you nerdy freak!"

"Hey, Greta, wanna go for a walk?" he asked, sounding resigned.

They changed into more comfortable shoes and got out of the car. Greta started up the incline, but John stopped, noticing a trail.

Greta protested. "That will lead us into the woods. I want out of the woods."

"Hear me out. We haven't seen a house for miles, and there's no sign of anything but more road and more trees on the horizon. A trail has to lead somewhere, right? A trail is bound to be shorter than a road--it's a path for people to get from point A to point B on foot."

Greta stared at him for several seconds, considering his words, and then her own. "If we do stay on the road a car might come by."

"When was the last time there was a car? Though I suppose there's a chance." Greta could be right and he'd already gotten them lost once. If they went with her plan and it went to hell, at least they'd be even. There was also Greta's occasional party trick of knowing things she wasn't supposed to know. "Okay, road it is," he finally offered.

Greta sighed. A wrinkle appeared in the center of her forehead. "Know what? Just grab the flashlight in case it gets dark and let's do the damned path."

It figures, he thought, grabbing the flashlight and taking huge strides to catch up with his sister. Maybe later they could have a debate over whether the sky was blue or plaid--whichever one he chose, Greta would choose the other one.

They were silent for several minutes as they walked along the path--no sounds but their feet scuffing against the natural debris. Light filtered through the trees, dappling everything it touched, and John could hear small animals scurrying through the brush. Despite their predicament, John felt his stress ebb away at the beauty around them and, as near as he could tell, Greta felt the same.

Soon they began to talk, joking and speaking in phrases that only they would understand: the language of siblings. Neither of them noticed they had strayed off the path until they were boxed in on three sides.

After a brief argument over whose idea it was to take the path, and whose fault it was that they veered off the path, Greta said, "Whatever! What now?"

"Track back--what else?"

After a few minutes it became clear they were lost twice over. John turned to his sister in an attempt to come up with a new plan of action, only to find that she was crying. As he wrapped his arms around her he couldn't help but be amazed at how she could piss him off one minute and a moment later bring out every protective instinct he possessed.

"C'mon, it's going to be okay. We'll figure this out," he said, stroking her hair, and trying to comfort her.

She pulled back and looked at him with huge blues eyes which matched his own. "You can't know that. We could just go in circles forever, and it's going to get dark soon. Remember when we'd go on family trips to Grandma and for a joke Dad would turn out the headlights, and we'd all scream? It's going to be dark like that!" She brushed away a tear with the back of her hand and, in that moment, looked much younger than her age.

"There are still a few hours. We'll probably find a way out by then and, even if we have to spend a night in the woods, I'd never let anything happen to you." He hoped he sounded convincing.

They walked on, trying to make note of landmarks and stopping only to dine on berries. As the day went on, the same scenes which had before been peaceful and relaxing felt ominous, the scurrying of animals seemed sinister, and bugs were showing up in droves. He could see Greta's nerves fraying as she swatted mosquito after mosquito. He tried to keep his stride confident while figuring out what the safest plan was for sleeping in the woods--other than "don't."

Greta touched his arm, looking to her right. "That way," she said, sounding sure as she pointed and headed off without waiting. Again, he found himself following his sister. He assumed she'd heard something or had an intuition, but he couldn't help noticing she'd looked none too happy. It was as if she were about to begin a much needed, but unpleasant, task and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. It was the same way she'd walked up to their mother's casket.

He stopped short for a moment as they came to a clearing with a little house; goats and sheep grazed on deep green grass. The sight was jarring in contrast to where they had been and instantly made John feel ridiculous for his earlier concern. He began concocting a version of the story where he'd not been the least bit worried and knew everything would turn out fine--and that he'd known Greta was worrying for nothing.

The house was small, cozy-looking, and in excellent shape for being in the middle of the woods. As they approached the door, John looked around, seeing no clear path. The dwelling seemed to be completely isolated, though for all they knew they were close to a town. There was the smell of something delicious cooking behind the door.

Greta knocked on the door, looking strangely solemn, and they waited for several seconds before it opened. John had speculated that the owner would be some modern-day Grizzly Adams, or else an old woman resembling one he'd once read about who lived alone on an island for 40 years. What he wasn't expecting was for the owner to be relatively young and quite beautiful.

She had to be approaching middle-age, as indicated by a few strands of grey in her wavy black hair, and by the beginnings of wrinkles around eyes the color of emeralds, but she was still stunning. She looked pleased to see them, but not at all surprised. She smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth.

"Visitors. Delightful. I was just making stew...come in."

John looked at Greta, who shrugged. They followed the woman and saw a one-room cottage with minimal furnishings and a huge fireplace where the stew was cooking. There was a surprisingly large bed in the corner--reminding John he was pretty tired--and a ladder that reached to what appeared to be a loft. The only covering on the wood floor was a large, worn rug.

The woman went to stir the pot, and John couldn't help but notice the shapeliness of her behind through her thin, worn dress.

"Ma'am," John said to the woman's back, "we were lost in the woods and...do you have a working phone or a way to get to a town?"

The woman turned around. "Stew will be done soon. I'm sure you're both starving. Of course you were lost, dear, but--in the words of the song--now you're found! You would be surprised how many lost people end up here. No phone."

John thought that strange. It seemed like finding her cabin would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Unless...

"Then we're close to a town?" he asked.

"No, I cannot say that's true--at least not close enough to be going anywhere tonight. I'll try to be a good hostess even though what I have to offer is humble."

"Oh no! It's lovely," said Greta. "We weren't trying to say there was anything wrong with your home. It's cozy, and what a beautiful view! We didn't want to put you out at all. I'm Greta Ostrander and this is my brother, John."

"I'm Rabea." The woman held a slender hand out to each of them. As her hand lingered in his own, he noticed the ring she wore--it seemed to be encrusted with many sparkling jewels, and completely out of place. He had the incongruous thought that in the position they were in, they could play Ring-Around-The-Rosy.

She let go and John felt strangely bereft as the warmth of her skin was taken away. "Are you by any chance twins? You both have the same big blue eyes and blonde hair."

Greta laughed. "No, John's two years older. Not twins--just pure Scandinavian. John's name is really Johannes," she said, sounding for all the world like a little sister trying to get a rise out of her brother.

"A pleasure to meet both of you."

Greta looked around the small cabin. "Do you live here alone? That would have to be scary at night!" she said with a certain amount of wide-eyed interest.

"Anything that comes around is more scared of me than the other way around," Rabea said with a laugh. "Why don't I make you both a little snack of gingerbread and root beer and you can cool off in the spring behind the house?"

John, no fan of gingerbread or root beer, almost said he'd prefer to wait for dinner--until he heard Greta's stomach growl in the quiet of the cabin. It had been a long day, and he knew she hadn't had breakfast. He also didn't want to seem ungracious.

The spring seemed like a good idea, too. He was pretty damned tired and was afraid that, hungry or not, he would pass out in his stew. Looking back, he realized that he had heard the sound of bubbling water earlier.

Greta offered to stay in the cabin, helping with dinner, but Rabea would hear none of it. John smiled at how, even after two years of being in a goth band and doing God-Knows-What, his sister remembered the manners their mother had taught them.

As Rabea gathered their snack, he found himself watching her again. Living there and being self-sufficient had obviously kept her in fine shape. When he glanced at Greta, he found her was silently laughing, having witnessed his perusal. She looked him in the eye and mouthed the word, "pig." He smiled and shrugged.

He noticed Greta kept looking at something on the ceiling of the loft, and John followed her gaze. Across the thick beams there was yarn woven into an elaborate pattern like a spider's web.

"Hoping to catch flies?" John joked when he noticed Rabea looking at them.

"Something like that," was their hostess's reply. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister shiver. He looked over at her, questioning her with his eyes, but she smiled apologetically and shrugged.

They headed out to the spring with their root beer in tin cups, each with a thick slice of gingerbread. Greta munched along happily, and in the two minutes it took to get to the spring her piece was gone. John handed his to her, noting the crumbs around her mouth. She thanked him with a small belch.

"Niiice manners." He gazed at the clear spring with the water bubbling toward the surface. "Since we don't have bathing suits, how are we going to do this?"

"We could strip down to our underwear and then afterward slip into our clothes, letting our 'unmentionables' dry on that rock over there," Greta suggested around mouthfuls of gingerbread. "This is delicious! You drinking the root beer?"

He turned his empty tin cup upside down and echoed her earlier belch. The root beer had been surprisingly tasty and he'd gulped it down. "Sorry. Hey, I thought of something weird. It's summer..."

"That's odd alright."

"Shut-up. What I mean is that it was pretty warm even in the shade of the forest and we've been sweating all day..."

"You're saying asking us to use the spring was a not-so-subtle hint."

"Could have been. But here's the thing: the cabin wasn't that hot at all--even with a fireplace that you could use as a parking garage." He took a sip of root beer and, finding it surprisingly tasty, quickly gulped down the rest.

Greta's brow wrinkled. "Hey, you're right. Maybe because of the proximity to the spring?"

"Okay, that could make sense," John said. He wasn't sure if it did make sense, but what did he know about springs? There had to be a logical explanation, and that seemed to work as well as anything.

Greta set aside her empty cup and lifted her dress over her head. Even though what she wore was no more revealing than a bathing suit, he averted his eyes and slipped out of his own clothes.

The bubbles tickled and Greta began giggling. John had to admit it felt invigorating after the long day. After a few minutes he looked over and noticed his sister was rather flushed, even in the chill of the spring. She was also staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing."

"You were staring--is there something bothering you?"

"Other than being lost because you can't follow directions?" she snapped, sounding defensive.

John didn't think he would ever get used to his sister's mood swings. He'd had a long day too, which explained why he splashed water in her face. Soon it became a full-fledged water fight which left them both soaked. Finally they settled down.

"Greta? Is there something weird going on here? Something I don't see, but you do? You were acting really...odd in the woods."

Greta didn't speak for several seconds. "I had a weird feeling--like I knew the way to the cabin, and I was scared about going there, but with every step I took it seemed a little better."

"So it's all okay?"

"What's it like for you, going on a roller coaster?"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" he asked at her abrupt change of topic.

Greta looked into John's eyes. "For me, it's really scary. I know that as safe as it all seems, things happen...things go wrong. But then, well, it stops being scary and becomes exciting...or maybe it's both--scary and exhilarating. You've committed yourself to it and they can't stop the ride. You've given up your power for the moment, and it's freeing."

John looked around at the peaceful surroundings and the little cottage. "This is a roller coaster?"

He noticed his sister was massaging and stroking herself in an idle way. He knew she must be sore, but still he couldn't help thinking that her fingers lingering along the top of her bra or along her inner thigh was not something he should really be seeing. Maybe it was not the massage so much as the strange gleam in her eyes that, on another woman, he might label as arousal. He knew that was crazy--Greta was just sore and tired.

"Maybe not, but I was scared and I'm still a little scared, and there is not a damned thing I can do about it." Her fingers made lazy circles by the elastic waist of her panties.

"You're not saying Rabea is dangerous?" He laughed. She seemed strong and self-sufficient, but a serious threat? No way.

"I'm saying that it doesn't matter either way--we're here. For the time being, we have no control over where the ride goes."

When they exited the spring, John noticed that Greta's nipples were jutting out against the material of her bra. He caught himself staring before he realized what he was doing. Greta noticed his stare but merely smiled. He quickly looked away and changed into his clothes. When he looked again, he noticed that the thin dress was not much better cover. In fact, with the setting sun behind her, the fabric was near-transparent. He had the strange feeling she knew that.

"Let's go see if dinner is done," he said, rushing toward the house.

Rabea was setting the small table when they entered. There were three tall red candles in the center of the table and a large red stone in the center of it all. She turned and looked at them. "You both look refreshed. Did you enjoy the spring?"

"Mmm, yes, it was terrific!" Greta answered for both of them.

"Have a seat, please--both of you. Did you enjoy your snack?"

"I did! So much that I ate poor John's gingerbread too!" Greta said as each of them picked a chair.