"This is the living room . . . and the dining room . . . and the kitchen . . . " Rowena spun around with her arms outstretched. Marcella looked at the things around her and noticed that everything flashed and danced in an urgent show of warning.

"You've only ever been here once before." Marcella turned away and touched a dusty windowsill. She felt it touching back and stared at Rowena.

"What? I may not dust often but I assure you, this is my home." She stomped a heel with a clack.

"'This'll do, boys.'" Marcella's voice took on a different tone as she stepped towards Rowena, dragging her finger along in the dust. "This'll do just fine."

"Marcy, please, you're starting to make me realize why your mother locked you up in the first place."

Marcella didn't say anything. She just stared at Rowena for a moment, then pulled her fingers off the windowsill.

"Now, would you like something to eat?"

"Like what?"

"Well, we've got some chocolate."

Marcella stopped speaking again, staring out the window. "You said 'we'."

"Sorry?"

"'We've got chocolate.'" She emphasized it this time.

"Oh, yeah, me and your grandpa."

"This whole thing is a lie."

"Please, sweetie, stop saying that!" Rowena clasped her hands and she pretending to beg.

"I know it, I can feel it, you can't lie, I can't lie. Lies hurt, you can't lie." Marcella's eyes shimmered and she clasped her face with her hands. "You can't tell lies! You can't! You're ALL liars!"

Rowena moved closer to her granddaughter, placing a spotted hand on her shoulder and Marcella fought back. She hit the older woman's hand away and lunged for the door, which swung open to reveal a man whose face was half molten rock. The lumbering giant of a man entered the room and Marcella turned towards a window.

"Get her!" Rowena said and the volcano man scooped Marcella up with one arm.

"Excuse me, Ro, but who is this?"

"Oh, Joe, this is Marcy!"

"Marcy!"

"Of course, I told you about Marcy -- Marcella?"

Joe peeled the magma from his face and said, "right, nice to meet you, Marcy!"

"Who are you?"

"You're grandfather!" The man's face was a regular human's again. "Well, step- . . . grandfather?"

"That's Joe, my husband." Rowena smiled and watched Marcella try to figure out the situation she was in.

"You two are married? You both live here?"

"Hence my saying 'we've' got chocolate." Rowena shrugged and smiled. "Sorry I didn't mention it earlier, what with the life threatening circumstance I felt like we had better things to talk about."

"You just had a face made of lava." Marcella pointed at Joe.

"Yeah, it was makeup. I work for a company that does special effects for movies. I was just testing out a new technique."

"Marcy, please stop being so paranoid." Rowena patted her granddaughter's back. "I love you, I want to help you. Just let me."

Marcella rocked back and forth and Rowena backed off to give the girl some space. "I'm not paranoid." Marcella closed her eyes. "Don't say that I am! Don't say it!"

"Okay, I'm sorry. But you have to admit you are definitely a little stressed out and exhausted. Why don't you lie down for a while and you'll feel good as new in the morning."

The canary seemed to take this as its own invitation as it dove from the woman's shoulder and took a perch in the corner.

Marcella pressed her fists against her temples and whispered to herself. She shook her head and the little yellow bird sang its happy song. She glanced towards it and the whispers stopped. She started to smile, but she held herself back. "Does he have a name?"

"He . . . not really. He doesn't." Rowena seemed to think deeply for a second before shaking her head. "He and I have been friends for some time, he's just never told me his name."

"And you never gave him one?"

"Not everything wants to be named Marcy. This little guy is plenty happy being a nameless thing."

Marcella tried to wrap her head around that fact. She refused to believe that a creature with such a beautiful voice wouldn't want a name to attach to it. She silently decided to call the bird Raphael for reasons beyond her comprehension. She also decided not to tell her grandmother.

"So would you like to sleep?" Rowena asked, "we've got a comfy bed set up for you in the cellar. It's not the cheeriest of accommodations, that's true, but it's all we've got to offer."

"I want to see my parents."

Rowena stood for a moment with her fingers unconsciously drumming against her breast bone. "We could arrange that." Flickering colors around her shift in a barely perceptible way.

"You're lying."

"I'm not. Really. We will see about arranging a visit, but you have to understand that your parents wanted you in that hospital. They may not be so pleased to see you."

Marcella felt an invisible hand punch her in the chest. She looked away from Rowena, who took a step towards her.

"I'm sorry to break it to you like that. It's just that . . . you should be prepared. They don't understand you like I do, they were afraid of you. You represent something unknown to them, but I can love all of you, not like they can."

"Just leave the girl alone, would ya, Ro?" Joe stepped between Rowena and Marcella. The girl was shrinking closer and closer to the floor with each of her grandmother's words, pulling at her blond hair.

"I . . . I'm sorry." Rowena turned and left the cabin as Joe bent to help Marcella to her feet.

"She can be harsh, but she loves you, you know. You're damn near the only thing she talks about, really."

"Where's my bed?"

"Uh . . . it's in the cellar, there's a trap door in the corner." Joe pointed and Marcella turned to go to leave. "Marcella, we're happy you're here."

Marcella didn't answer. She simply shuffled towards the trap door, lost in thoughts of her parents running from her; dropping her off in a hospital in the woods and fleeing as quickly as possible. She was alone with a grandmother she was sure she only half liked.

She felt her body craving the drugs that were a part of her life at the hospital. The weight pressing in on her heart and lungs seemed to cut off her air supply as she gulped through her anxiety.

"You okay?" Joe asked but Marcella just disappeared underground.

"Am I okay?" She asked herself as she found a small bed situated in the corner of the dark, damp space. "Of course I'm not."

She curled up on the musty smelling blanket and put her face in her knees. Her body shook as she cried and pictured the ripped open face of Dr. Crenshaw. She thought of the lunch she hadn't eaten at the hospital and wished it was there with her now. Then she let herself think of her parents again -- their terrified faces as she, almost magically, told them what they were thinking or where they had been.

She recalled the time her father came home in the middle of the afternoon. She was only five, she was eating a snack with her mother.

"Who's Janet?" Marcella asked.

"What?"

"Janet, she's all over you."

Her parents started fighting then. Now that she thought about it, they seemed to fight almost every time she said anything to them.

Why had she not learned earlier to keep things secret? Couldn't she tell that it made people uncomfortable? She cursed herself for seeing colors, for not keeping her mouth shut, for leaving with Dr. Crenshaw and being forced to think about it all over again.

She wanted some lorazepam. She wanted to feel numb and subdued.

She wanted peace.