Take a Place

"Backstory."

It was what Flynn called their "safe word". He laughed like he was making a joke, and Rapunzel asked what it meant, because it was one she didn't understand. It meant to stop; to go no further; to abort the task at hand. At first it was just a placeholder for answers neither one of them felt like giving. Rapunzel thought it was deceptive and cold until she learned how it could protect her. It also taught her the boundaries of Flynn's life that marked where she could and could not pass. It probably taught Flynn about her own history in the blank shapes of her mother, her lack of education, and the occasional faux pas she still made.

And it was her immediate response to the question Flynn asked ("I liked that painting you had in your place of that frog thing. What was it?") while he drove her home from their rooftop excursion.

"And anyway, it was a chameleon, not a frog."

He'd chuckled or said something snarky she couldn't remember, because it had put an instant damper on her mood.

What was wrong with her? Poor Pascal.

Rapunzel had business to attend to- or she would soon. Her Social Worker had paid her an unexpected visit, separate from the ones she expected every week.

With a rough cotton swab, she'd brushed the inside of her cheek.

"Collecting genetic material," she'd explained, "to legally establish that you're Gothel Krause's heir and daughter."

The cabin was being sorted out, at last. The last time she'd seen it was the day she raced out the front door in a fit of determination and anger. Besides Rapunzel's understanding that she didn't own the cabin she'd spent her life in, or the land on which it was situated, she was afraid to go back, knowing it would be quiet and dusty from its abandonment.

"So she did own it?" There had been no deeds, she was told. No paper trail.

"Technically it was your mother's estate. The current name on the property deed is Udolpho Krause, who was married to your mother before he died."

"My father?"

"That's unlikely; he died years before you were born."

Rapunzel stifled this disappointment easily; Mother had always said her father was dead, anyway.

"But if it can be established that you are Gothel Krause's heir, the estate will be transferred to you."

"You mean I would own it?"

"Yes." Her Social Worker smiled, even though Rapunzel was seized with immediate dread.

"Then I would have to live there?"

"If you wanted to. You could do other things with it."

She wondered: Sell it, lease it, forget it, burn it to the ground.

The Social Worker packed up the bit of Rapunzel's genetic material she collected with a cotton swab in a plastic jar of blue liquid, then into her shoulder bag. "It might take a day or two. But just think, Rapunzel- things are about to turn around for you."

There were lots of reasons this would be good for her, the Social Worker told Rapunzel before leaving. This could be a source of income- she could go to school.

"Hey, I caught you."

"Caught me? Am I being chased?" She leaned on the counter as Flynn stepped out of the evening and into the coffee shop.

"Pff, no. But I think I've won our bet." He crossed his arms as he walked toward the counter.

"What do you mean?"

"Your bamboo is dead."

"Is not."

"Well, I didn't get a picture of it this morning, so I have no choice but to assume that it's kicked its bamboo bucket."

"Urgh, my plant is perfectly fine. I didn't have time to take a picture this morning."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"What? I've been here all day."

"Yuck."

"Got to make the money, friend. Some of us work for a living."

He shook his finger at her. "Ah-ah-ah. You know that's-"

"Backstory, yeah, yeah."

The door to the back room swung suddenly on its hinges, and Bastion emerged with an armful of clean dishes. "You need me to charge him for something, Rapunzel?"

"I don't know." She looked back at Flynn. "Are you a paying customer?"

"Yes, yes, fine, fine." He made a show of reaching for his wallet.

She saw him go to the corner he usually liked to take while she took her time writing his name on a cup. She'd been reading a big book about typefaces, and she tried to imitate one with the letters of his name.

The front door opened and another man- much larger- stepped in, sweeping the insides of the cafe with his eyes.

"Hi, there."

His eyes settled on Rapunzel at the sound of her voice.

"How are you this evening?" Gently by the shoulder Bastion steered her back in the direction of the espresso machine.

"What can I get for you, man?"

Rapunzel went back to making Flynn's drink, but watched Bastion at the counter over her shoulder.

"Is there anyone else here?"

Bastion didn't usually look so serious to Rapunzel. But he stood up straight and kept his jaw set while he spoke to the man, so much taller than he. "I'm sorry?"

"Am I the only one in this place?"

"I don't know- I can't see anyone else from here. Did you want to order something?"

The man looked then at Rapunzel, and suddenly he wasn't just a man walked into the cafe for the first time- he was someone she recognized, though vaguely; she still wasn't great at remembering faces.

"What about you, girlie? You seen anyone else in here?"

It was as easy to lie to him as it had been the first time she'd seen him in a pickup truck behind the cafe. "Yeah. People have been coming in and out all night."

"So who're you making that for?" He nodded down at her hands which she'd filled with water. "Him?" He nodded in Bastion's direction.

"No, I'm making it for me."

"And what's that writing-"

The three of them looked back at the glass door at the sound of a few consecutive, bulbous thuds.

Another man stood in the doorway, but outside, pointing down the sidewalk with a wide index finger. Despite the darkness and the eyepatch, Rapunzel knew they must be twins.

They both left without a word. Bastion watched the window for several seconds after they'd disappeared down the street.

The espresso machine clicked and sputtered- Rapunzel's signal to top the cup off and get it out to its owner. But where was he?

"Bastion, you really don't see Flynn out there?"

"Nope." He finally stepped away from the counter. "If I did, I would have pointed him out to that meathead."

"Why would you do that? He seemed…. Well, I don't want to sound too judgemental, but he seemed dangerous."

"Yeah, he did, Rapunzel. Which is why you should leave customers like that to me."

She could tell he wasn't being cruel. But something about the admonishment savored strongly of over-protectiveness. And that made something hot and unpleasant spike in her gut. "What do you mean 'leave them to you'?"

"Just, you know, if they look creepy or off or anything, just let me handle them. You don't know who these people are. I mean, they're just supposed be our customers, but we don't know what they're really up to. Everyone who walks in here is just a stranger." He shrugged his shoulders and pulled at his ponytail to tighten it.

"And you don't think I can handle it."

"Have you dealt with weirdos before?"

"I ride the bus every day, Bastion." She said it to avoid saying 'no', but it felt mean to make that her answer. "And I think it's really judgemental of you to assume that any stranger, however weird, is dangerous or something."

"Well I think it's really naive of you not to remember what people are capable of. Especially as a woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that, you know, people are more likely to try something on a woman than on a guy."

Rapunzel wanted to say something, to tell him that he was wrong, to tell him that he sounded like her mother, who definitely had been a weirdo- but she couldn't reign in her thoughts enough to do more than bite her lip while she stared at him.

"The dude who just left- you don't think he would have bullied you into talking about who's been to the cafe tonight if I hadn't stepped in?"

"I wasn't going to say anything about Flynn."

"That's not the point, Rapunzel. But why weren't you going to tell him about Flynn?"

"Because he looked mean."

"Exactly!"

"Urgh."

"You didn't know what he was up to. You didn't really know anything about him and that was enough."

"Flynn! Your drink's ready!" She placed it on the counter as firmly as she could without making anything splash out.

"He's not here."

"He couldn't have left. He's probably sitting on the floor, under a table. Or behind the sofa. Or something."

"I don't think so. He was in that corner back there, right? He was gone by the time I started talking to the meathead."

Rapunzel folded her arms.

"He knew what was up. He knows who that guy is, and he doesn't want to be found by him."

She knew it was true. She'd already lied about Flynn once before, on the first day he crashed into the back room of the coffee shop. But she didn't feel like telling Bastion.

"You're friends with him, right? With Flynn?"

"Yeah."

"Well it's probably not my business, but maybe you should think about how much you know about him, too. Even if you trust a person, that won't stop them from hurting you." He moved into the blank space Rapunzel had been staring into. "And I'm only saying it because you're my friend."

She couldn't look up into his face, even though she thought that's probably what she should do. So she looked back at the cup she'd set out on the counter for Flynn, still waiting.

DNA- Rapunzel had taken the trouble to learn- could indicate several things about a person, including parentage. Her DNA indicated that Mother had not been one of her parents.

The cottage was not hers. Mother had not been hers. Where is my place? Who is my family?

Her Social Worker had shown up at the coffee shop unannounced, which made Rapunzel uncomfortable enough, and had insisted on driving her back to her apartment when her shift was over.

On the way back to her apartment they talked about things they usually did during their weekly meetings.

It wasn't until they were actually sitting at her table- the Social Worker following her upstairs without asking, which Rapunzel didn't really mind- that she broke the news.

"How are you feeling, Rapunzel?"

She wasn't sure how long the Social Worker had let her stay silent after she'd stopped speaking herself.

"Confused."

"About what?"

"You're sure- I mean, you're absolutely positive that she's not my mother?"

"The tests make it very clear that she was not your mother."

"And it can't tell me who my mother is. I read about that."

"That's right. But there are other ways we can find out who your parents are. And why you weren't raised by them."

Rapunzel nodded. "What's my last name?"

"Still Krause. It's the name on all the records we've created for you."

"Oh."

"Those can be changed, though. We can talk about it."

"What about my things inside the cottage?"

The Social Worker alternated from her attitude of warm concern to one of someone ready to do business. "The property and everything on it are not going to be passed to you. If there are items inside the house you want returned to you, the new owner will have to be contacted."

"Who's that?"

"Whoever Udolfo Krause's next of kin after Gothel was."

"Oh." It was true that she'd wanted her separation from the cottage to last forever as soon as she left it, even if there were things she still treasured inside. She'd meant to get rid of the property as soon as it was hers, but now that she'd been cut off from it so completely, she felt the loss of things she'd started to imagine getting back: her guitar, her chessboard, old notebooks, maybe some tokens of Pascal.

And how unfair it was that someone she'd never met- who didn't even know her- would soon own the guitar she'd been playing since she was eight, or the chessboard she'd painstakingly carved and whittled herself.

Tears she succeeded in blinking away; the lump in her throat she managed to swallow; her nose ran anyway, and she was embarrassed to have to sniffle loudly.

"You know," she looked at the Social Worker for the first time in several minutes, "I spent three months carving a chessboard, when I was ten. My mother described it to me and I wrote down everything she said. I whittled the pieces from the timber we had stocked. I'd never done anything like it before, so I got a lot of cuts and splinters. She told me to stop, that it wasn't worth it.

"But there weren't any other games to play without cards, and I didn't have that much else to do. I had forever to look forward to, which didn't seem so bad when I was ten. But still."

There was a social skills class she'd taken on the Social Worker's advice where they taught her about eye contact. It wasn't polite to do it too much with people you didn't know. People used it to establish trust or authority. They didn't talk about the reason she'd always looked into Mother's eyes: to see inside. Even after Mother, she looked into the eyes of doctors while they talked to try to figure out what exactly they were saying; of the numerous social workers, to try to understand what they actually meant; and of customers, when she was trying to figure out whether or not their words were earnest.

She'd never noticed anyone do it to her before, but she could tell that was why the social worker was peering so intently from across the table.

"I've never even thought about it before, but- is the cottage safe? The property, I mean."

"Safe from what?"

"Intruders, criminals, people like that."

"To my knowledge, no one has been there since the investigation ended. But I think it's as safe as it ever was when you lived there. It's so isolated and hard to find."

Not that safe, then. Good. Then I can get this over with.

Oftentimes in the city, Rapunzel wished she knew how to balance on the two wheels of a bicycle; she envied the way people alternately cruised and zoomed around the streets. And it would have made getting out to the cottage a lot less trouble. Just as she'd found her way to the bridge that led into Corona from her cottage somewhere in the surrounding forests on foot, so she would have to return.

But this time, a map would have helped.

Mother had always gone back and forth between the city and the cottage on foot, but she'd left no discernable path. Rapunzel thought she could see something like markers, though- in a tree with heavy roots like steps, a pile of rocks that made for easy crossing of a creek, and a span of low-hanging branches and vines that made a sort of tunnel- which roughly coincided with marks in neon spray paint left by other outsiders who'd come into these wilds also.

They'd had to do it, what with her only being able to describe where she'd come from so vaguely; even now, as she hiked around underneath leaf-filtered light, she could only clearly remember a long, graveled path that had ultimately led to the highway that became the bridge. And by mid-afternoon she'd long since passed it.

It was so hard to find, even though she knew exactly what she was looking for; this was what the Social Worker must have meant when she implied the cottage was safe from criminals. Which she supposed she was, since she was on her way to take things that didn't technically belong to her. This new owner won't even know what's missing. What would they even want with my rinky-dink stuff? This reasoning seemed more justified to her than the alternative, in which she had no say in what happened to the things she'd called her own for most of her life.

Recognition touched her lightly at first, then landed on her all at once when she finally came upon the cottage. She'd forgotten just how small the clearing was, and how the enclosure around the cottage was even smaller. Besides that, the cottage was not completely visible underneath the overgrown spider plants.

They need trimming. She thought it even though she knew it wasn't her place anymore; she'd be gone before long, anyway.

She spared only a grin for battle of greenery that had become her fruit and vegetable garden, not wanting to halt before she was able to reach the front door, feeling the possibility of faltering grow larger inside her as she drew nearer to her old home.

The house key had been denied to her, and of course the door was locked, as it secured a old crime scene- so Rapunzel hoped one of her old secrets would pay off.

With a little patience and determination- she'd found years before- the doorknob could be coaxed to turn after some jiggling and jerking. It was something she'd discovered on accident, and hid from Mother so she wouldn't have to admit that she'd locked herself out.

Sure enough, it allowed her to sneak in again.

Beneath the dust that had gathered on the floor and even the walls, the familiar scent of home greeted her as she closed the door behind her. And the sight of one of her plants dried and brown in its pot was almost enough to break her.

But the muscles it took to push things down and away had been made strong inside the very house she'd re-entered, and she flexed them then. She needed a goal, a design, a line to draw next: Mother's door- I should close it.

The first door on the left side of the hallway looked exactly as she remembered. In the few seconds she stood in the doorway, her hand on the knob, she noted that Mother must have left her bed undone on the last morning. It looked like such a casual disturbance: her pillows were at angles, and her white sheets were peeled back over her dark red blanket, which reminded her of other sheets she'd since seen her wrapped in. Before she could muster the gumption to walk inside, she closed it off.

Next: My bedroom. It was why she had come all the way out, anyway.

If walking into a familiar scent was arresting when she entered the house, it was downright overwhelming when she entered the bedroom she'd grown up in. Even though she'd wanted to keep herself focused and even a little angry while she was in the cottage, all the familiarity of her old personal space crashed down on her. How could I spend any time here, she thought, without crying at least a little?

She plopped herself stomach-down onto her bed, because it looked squashy and comfortable, just as she'd left it.

Next she knew, her room was dim, her eyes were thick with dried-over crying, and she wasn't wearing any shoes. It hadn't been her intention to spend the night, but getting from the cottage to the highway at night would be out of the question. She felt strangely unbothered by everything as she replaced her kicked- off shoes, though her body and eyes did feel heavy with a tiredness she wasn't sure she'd earned.

From her stock of candles in the storage closet, she collected enough to place in her room and in the kitchen for the evening and lit them on her way outside, where there was still enough light in the sky to walk by.

Her fruit and vegetable garden had pleased her on her way in, and she was eager to see which ones had won out over the others without her supervision. Also, she was hungry, and not for the crackers and smooshy peanut butter sandwich she'd packed for the day's outing.

If any of the shorter growths had survived, Rapunzel couldn't see them through the giant, tangled vines of the gourds and melons. Water hogs. The peach trees had done well, as evidenced by the pecked-out remains still clinging to the knobby branches. Oh well, at least the birds enjoyed them.

She struggled to tell the difference between a squash and a muskmelon as she crouched among the wide leaves in the near-darkness. And she almost looked past the bulging eyes inches from her head. It was so dim, and he didn't need to camouflage himself against the thick vine to which he clung, anyway.

Pascal.

She whispered his name first while squinting at him, wanting to make sure she really was seeing the chameleon she thought she was seeing.

As if to help her along, he changed himself to warm yellow.

Rapunzel scooped him up and held him to her cheek in a sort of embrace.

"It's you."

By the light of a fire it was really too warm for, Rapunzel ate an unripened melon with a spoon while Pascal tried her peanut butter sandwich and crackers.

"I made it at my apartment."

He looked sidelong at her as he chewed.

"It's where I live now. In the city."

Though she'd hugged him and fed him, she had yet to apologize or explain herself. It was hard to turn the guilt and grief she'd endured since last seeing him into words.

"Have you been staying in the garden?"

He grumbled somewhere in his throat so that Rapunzel wasn't sure whether it was assent or just aggressive swallowing. He used to answer her much more readily.

"Fine. I'll stop dancing around it, Pascal."

Though he continued to smack on the peanut butter in his mouth, he looked up at her.

"I'm sorry, but I had to go, Pascal. You know that, don't you?" Rapunzel hugged her knees to her chest and tried to keep looking at him while she spoke. "I couldn't- I was just so angry, and I saw my opening and I took it. I don't think I realized I was really running away until I stopped running, when I found a road. And by then I was too scared to go back. I didn't know that she wasn't going to get back up, Pascal. I thought she would come after me to bring me back."

Against her knee she rubbed her nose and sniffed wetly.

"They kept me in a hospital for a while. I don't think they knew what to do with me. They asked me a lot of questions, and I didn't even know how strange I probably sounded. I didn't know they found the cottage until they brought Mother to me. They said I had to confirm it was her, Pascal. And she looked terrible, all waxy and stiff. I didn't know she was dying. I would have stayed if I knew she was about to die.

I'm so sorry."

Even as she cried into her own knees, she could feel Pascal climb up her pant leg to rest his tiny head on top of hers.

In the morning, Rapunzel swung her guitar behind her, over her backpack, which contained only a few things she'd picked out of her belongings to take with her, and started the light hike back to the road with Pascal perched on her shoulder.

As she left the clearing, she didn't look back over her shoulder at the cottage. After eighteen years, she doubted her memory of it would ever fade.

"It's easier getting out this time, Pascal. Can't you hear the noise from the city?"

He clung especially hard to her shoulder. There was no longer a curtain of hair in which he could hide.

"It's all the cars, and machines, and people."

Pascal made an unmistakable grumble next to her ear.

"Don't worry, Pascal. It's nice to be out where all the people are."

Rapunzel thought about that as she stepped over thick roots and errant ferns. It was nice to be places full of the warmth and noise of company- even if the company wasn't exactly hers. Her apartment wasn't stifling, but it seemed like a sad little nook in the city she otherwise found interesting.

"My apartment's okay, Pascal, but we don't have to stay there all the time. I go to work, and to the library, and sometimes I go places with my friend Flynn."

"Mmrrrrrrrrr."

"I'll introduce you. He's really nice." Introducing him to Bastion and Melina at the coffee shop would be a little more difficult, since they didn't allow animals inside. She'd have to think of something to do with Pascal while she was on the clock.

Rapunzel walked all the way back into the city; no one stopped on the way to offer her a ride, and she didn't try to wave any cars down. Even when she got within reach of the busline, she kept walking. Pascal changed on her shoulder to blend in with her faded purple shirt, but she felt his head graze her cheek as he looked around them.

All the way to a park near the library she walked, really feeling the heat of the summer afternoon, and the ebb and flow of crowds around her. There was an ice cream truck at the corner, so she bought a popsicle that she and Pascal split beneath a shady tree.

While Pascal examined the manicured grass around them, Rapunzel turned her phone on, now that she was again in range of the city's phone towers. The battery was on its last legs, but she was really only curious about the time.

3 missed calls.

Flynn, Flynn, and Flynn.

4 messages.

A picture of Flynn's bamboo, still green and short.

Didn't see you at the coffee shop this morning, text or call if you're up for dinner, from Flynn.

There's a movie about ghosts at the theater if you want to go see it this afternoon, from Flynn.

Let me know if you' can work tomorrow night- someone's sick, from Bastion.

She hadn't realized how steady her contact with Flynn had become. And she hadn't even told him she was taking off for a bit. What would she have told him, though? I'm going to the abandoned cottage where my mother died after keeping me locked there all my life to pick up some of my stuff. Nope.

Anyway, wasn't freedom coming and going as one pleased?

Pascal scrambled up Rapunzel's arm as a few pigeons landed nearby.

More, she thought, or less.

Note: At first writing this chapter was like pulling teeth; then it was like getting a head wound to stop bleeding. If that makes any sense. This wasn't even supposed to be a chapter, but I think it has a lot of important stuff I wanted to include about Rapunzel in it. I'm excited for the next chapter, since I started this story just to get to it.

Shoutouts are required for Song of a Free Heart, tabbykatroses, Tangledgirl, and the mysterious Ashe. Your reviews are little treasures. Thank you to those who have favorited/followed this story in the interim since the last chapter. They only make me want to write more.

And, hey, everyone: if you're reading this story, I'm equal parts sorry and thankful for you. Sorry because I have got to be one of the worst updaters ever. Thankful just because you're readings the story. Truly.

10/6/13