Disclaimer: I claim no rights to the characters of Bridge to Terabithia or anything related to it. The name 'Samantha Parkington' is also not mine. I will, however, claim Atticus and the Covalent demons. No profit is being made from this story.

Chapter 31:

Joyce Ann's Story

Joyce Ann stirred against the cold concrete floor, pudgy legs getting tangled in the moth eaten coverlet that Leslie had draped over her to keep the chill of the damp cell away. Her head hurt, and from the moment coherence found her she felt fear grip her little heart, remembering the frightening voice that had drug the air away from her lungs. What if the monster was there waiting for her when she opened her eyes?

"Leslie, Leslie!"

The voice was definitely a man's, but it wasn't scary, like the voice that had taken her away. It sounded older, kind and wise, like her grandfather's had. He was whispering excitedly. Joyce Ann wondered what had him in such a good mood.

"Is something wrong?"

The other voice was much younger than the first, and female. She sounded tired, like she had just awoken from a slumber.

"I think she's waking up!" The male voice hissed, still excited.

"Back away, Dad. We don't want to scare her, remember?"

"Oh, right, right." Man whispered eagerly, and his footsteps shuffled quietly along the floor.

Joyce Ann listened to the sounds of the cell intently, now more awake. All she could hear was two sets of even breathing, obviously the father-and-daughter pair she had heard speaking a few moments ago. She was aware that the surface she was laying on was hard and icy cold. Someone, it seemed, had tried to compensate for the obvious discomfort by covering her body with something that Joyce guessed was a blanket or sheet. However, it wasn't very soft; the smelly fabric reeked of urine and blood and scratched like burlap where it came in contact with her skin. Frozen, putrid smelling air wafted all around her, filling her nose with the scent of stale water, moth balls, kerosene, dried sweat, and the cruor and piss mixture. She tried hard not to gag as her head swam with the nauseating odors, making her ears ring and her temples throb.

It seemed that the pain in her head had dissipated a bit, but in the act it had caused whatever aches had left her skull to travel to the rest of her body. Her limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, and every bit of skin stung, reminding her of the time the neighbor's cat had scratched her arm when she tried to pet one of her kittens. A wet, sticky heat seemed to originate from her back, but she was too weary to care.

"Why are you so interested in her all of a sudden?" Girl asked quietly.

"She's from another dimension." Man whispered back. "She knows a completely different life: one I've never seen."

"I've seen it," Girl seemed to be reminding him of this. "I've lived it. This is my Joycie, not the one you told me about. This is how she's supposed to be. Sweet, innocent."

"And that is how she'll remain, since she'll no longer have the chance to be Mary Aarons' pushover. Keep in mind my dear: the world I lived in is no different than yours. Had you survived death, had Jesse been with you, Joyce would've grown to be the spineless ignoramus I told you of."

"She's not like that." Girl said furiously. "She's not."

"She's not like that now," Girl's father agreed. "But that's what she would've become."

Joyce Ann felt fear spasm through her back. The thin coverlet suddenly seemed like evil, binding ropes, and terror swelled in her dry throat, causing it to crack as she choked on her saliva. She thrashed about until she was on her hands and knees, being strangled by her own spit and the sickening smells around her.

"Water!" She managed to choke out, forgetting her fear of the voices for a moment as the remaining salt and brine from the lake started a fire in her throat. "Water!"

The pain and heat in her back multiplied as retched about, feeling her wrists tremble with fatigue as she supported her full body weight.

"Water!" She screamed out, falling to her stomach. She rolled on to her back, convulsing with coughs. The bitter air only made her throat burn more, and even her nostrils stung, the suddenly over-powering smell of blood and pee making her spine arch, pushing her stomach towards the ceiling as her body formed into a bridge shape with the desire to vomit. Hot bile spewed into her mouth, and again she gagged, some of it making its way out through her desiccated lips and spilling down her cheek, chin and neck.

She rolled about on her back wildly, reminding Leslie of a roly-poly bug knocked from its feet. She ran to Joyce's side, looking worriedly into the wide eyes that opened and shut with each spasm.

"Tell me what to do!" She cried in panic, sliding to her knees and placing a hand on her heaving rib cage.

"Get away from her, first of all," Bill commanded from afar. "Most of this is fear. Once she calms down, give her some water. That should help her."

Leslie obeyed immediately, crawling speedily across the cell towards the door, where she grabbed the rusty handle of a tin mug, a bit of water from her last meal remaining in the bottom. She waited anxiously for the seizures to stop, heart breaking as the little girl withered in pain and fear on the floor, flopping about like a fish out of water.

"Water," Joyce gagged as large gulps of air rushed feverishly into her lungs. "Water, please."

Leslie advanced on her hands and knees slowly, the cup clanging gently on the floor, warning Joyce Ann of her approach. At first she tensed with fear, not believing that anyone would comply with her wishes. But as Leslie came closer sounds of liquid sloshing could be heard and she forced herself to remain still, though her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Whoever this was had water, and at the moment, that was all that mattered.

Leslie sat the mug near her head and then scampered quickly towards the front of the cell again, watching curiously. Joyce turned onto her side, reaching for the cup. She pushed herself up into a half sitting position, bringing the rusty cup to her lips. She sipped cautiously, wondering now if it was poison. But the drink that rushed into her mouth was most definitely water; though it was warm and tasted faintly of chlorine. After the hesitant first drink she threw her head back and chugged, allowing the bitter liquid to ease the pain in her throat and calm her nerves. Saliva became a part of her again, and she felt her breathing ease.

All too soon it was gone. As she stopped drinking her chest began to heave as she breathed fully and steady, enjoying the wetness that clung to her lips and dripped down the walls of her gullet.

Joyce Ann pushed herself into a full sitting position, allowing the now empty cup to clatter to the floor with a hollow clang. She looked around the smelly room, a bit curious despite the initial fear.

She seemed to be in a large cube made of concrete. The floor, back wall, and the two side walls were made of the smooth, unforgiving material, the cold almost radiating from them. The front of the room was made of rusty bars, with a large mail-slot looking opening in the center, with no handle on the inside. It was a cell, she realized. She seemed to be sitting in the back of the room, near a bunk bed that was as rusty as the bars. A rickety wooden bench ran along the right wall, a rusted galvanized bucket tucked beneath it. The only light seemed to be coming from the industrial fluorescence that lit the hallway outside. It did not penetrate the entire cell, so only the very front of the little room and half of the bench was illuminated. The bench and the bed were the only furniture pieces in the room; the rest of it was bare and hollow.

"Hello," Said the feminine voice slowly. Joyce Ann gave a start, and looked around for the voice.

It belonged to a girl looking to be about fifteen years old, dressed in a tattered and dirty white cotton dress that resembled a Grecian toga more than an actual item of clothing. Her feet were bare, callused and dirty, and her hands were thin and red from work. Her hair was long, nearly reaching her waist. Snarls wove through it, grease shining in the light. Her face was pale and cut up, dark circles rimmed her eyes. But she was still pretty, despite this, Joyce Ann decided. She had a natural beauty to her; one that Joyce's older sisters would've surely envied. Her hair was a pale corn silk and her eyes were a lovely shade of blue-green, reminding Joyce of the stained glass windows at church. Kindness and concern radiated from the uniquely colored irises, and the little girl decided on the spot to trust her, whoever she was.

"Hello," Joyce Ann repeated the greeting quietly, reminding herself not to be afraid of the blonde haired girl. She seemed like someone she could trust; she looked familiar, even. The shape of her face, the length of her hair, the kindness in her eyes…

"My name is Leslie Burke," Said the girl—Leslie. "And this is my father, Bill."

Joyce automatically turned her head towards the man Leslie gestured to. He was elderly, maybe in his mid sixties. Like his daughter, his face was pale and his eyes were sunken, he looked tired and overworked. The clothes clung to his wrinkly skin sadly, reminding Joyce of a homeless man she had seen on the side of the highway when driving through Roanoke with her mother. But unlike the homeless man, Bill Burke did not strike the little girl as frightening. There was something about the way his bald head shown in the light, the bushy white goatee and thick eyebrows that seemed grandfatherly, like his voice had. He would be a good grandpa, who would love his grandchildren very much, and would do more than just smoke a pipe and yell at the newscasters on TV like her grandfather did.

Leslie and Bill didn't really look alike, other than the tattered garments and pale complexions. Bill's eyes were an amber brown that shown with a soft, intelligent acceptance behind half-moon glasses that were partially cracked in one lens. No, they didn't look alike, but the goodness and familiarity overwhelmed Joyce Ann, so much so that she felt like rising and giving them both giant hugs for their unspoken kindness to her. She tried, but a hot pain shot across her back, and suddenly there did not seem to be enough skin to cover her spine. She fell back onto the concrete, a little moan of pain sliding through her lips.

"Leslie?" She whispered her name fearfully, feeling as though the maternal face might disappear.

"Yes?" Leslie was moving towards her in an instant, staring down at her kindly.

"My back hurts, and I smell like pee. Is something wrong with me?"

"Let me…oh, my…" Leslie drew in a shocked breath. "The beasts, torturing her like this…"

Joyce Ann's back was completely sliced open, oozing hot blood. Some of the incisions were rimmed in pale silver; dried venom from the demon's claws. The skin was pale from the trauma, bruised a deep violet where the blood hadn't reached. The same purple blemishes covered the insides of her arms, taking up so much space that it looked as though someone had colored them in with an eggplant colored Magic Marker. The beatings had obviously caused her to lose control of her bladder. Urine trickled down the insides of her legs, hot and fetid smelling.

"Joyce," Bill whispered calmly, edging towards the wounded child.

"Yes, Mr. Burke?"

Bill smiled at the girl's manners. Clearly, at this young age, Joyce Ann Aarons had been as polite as Jesse.

"Oh, no need to call me Mr. Burke, my dear. Bill will suit just fine. It is my name after all. Unless, of course, you'd like me to call you Miss Aarons…"

"Wait a minute," Joyce paused. "How did you know my name? I didn't tell you."

Leslie shot her father a dark glare. Now they'd have to explain.

"Well, Joyce, it's rather hard to explain…" Bill began falteringly, only to be cut off by the child again.

"I know why you seem so familiar, Leslie." She whispered in breathy astonishment.

"Why's that?" Leslie fought to keep her tone even, and had Joyce Ann been older, she would've noticed the fear in the blonde girl's eyes.

"When I fell in the lake, I had a memory of a story my older brother told me once. It was during a thunderstorm, and May Belle…"

"Your sister?" Leslie found it easy to play along as if she had no idea who May Belle Aarons was. As if she didn't know Joyce's older brother better than anyone in the world…

"Yes, May is my sister. We were afraid of the storm, cause Daddy wasn't home, and it was late at night. I wanted to go wake Mamma, but Jess…"

"Your brother." Her voice was hollow, dry. Again, Joyce Ann didn't notice. She was too busy piecing a puzzle together.

"Uh-huh. Well, Jess said that we shouldn't bother Mamma so late at night, and that he would tell us a little story that an old friend of his had told once."

"Do you remember the story, Joycie? Can you tell me?" Leslie felt tears building in her eyes again; and at the moment she couldn't figure out why she felt like climbing into bed and sobbing.

"Lemme think…um…I am moving gently forward, through a wild and…I can't remember the rest."

"That's enough, honey. I know which story your brother told you." A few tears trickled freely now, but in the darkness of the cell Joyce could not see them.

Jess, why can't you let me go? Not that I want you to forget me, Lord no. That'd break my heart. But…remembering me this much…you shouldn't need me after all this time. Terabithia should be enough, I should be fading…then again, things that should be happening for the both of us aren't. I shouldn't need you as much as I do, either. I guess that's another way we're alike…

"But while I was in the water, it went from a memory of him saying it to another voice, one that sounded exactly like you. And then…the story went away. And…another voice came. And he told me all about you, and how your name was Leslie Burke. And that you had died, and that Jess was right in thinking that it was his fault you had died…which doesn't really make any sense. But that reminded me of something that May Belle told me before I fell."

"What was that?" Leslie's voice was barely above a whisper, and she was well aware that her hands were trembling.

"I asked her why everyone got so nervous when I went around water, especially her and Jess. She wouldn't tell me, so I yelled at her. I told her that I needed to prove to everyone that I wasn't a baby, and that I wasn't going to die if I went near water. And then she told me something that I don't think she meant to tell me. 'It's not because we think you're a baby!' she said. 'It's because of Leslie!' I asked who Leslie was, and what she had to do with me swimming, and May Belle wouldn't tell me. So I went, and I fell, just like May said I would. But the voice…it told me that Jess was too scared and sad to tell me about Leslie Burke, because he loved her somethin' awful, and it was his fault that she died because he chose to spend the day with a music teacher instead of her, and that it just hurt him too much to remember her."

Joyce Ann stopped talking for a moment, thinking hard. "That doesn't make any sense though, really." She whispered. "Because sometimes at night, he'd wake up cryin' and screaming for someone named Leslie to forgive him, and May Belle would cry too, and then Daddy would go in with him and Mamma would take me outta the room and make me go sleep on the floor in my older sisters' bedroom. I'd ask Mamma if he was okay, and she would say: 'Of course baby, it's just a bad dream. Now go get the sleeping bag out of Brenda's closet and lay it on the floor and go to bed. Your brother will be fine in the morning, he always is.' but she never sounded like she actually believed it. And while I was in Brenda's closet Mamma would wake her and Ellie and say: 'Jesse's having that dream again; Joycie's in hear with you two for the night. I don't want a damn peep about the Burke girl, alright?' they would say alright, and Mamma would leave. Ellie and Brenda must have known exactly what Mamma meant, because they'd be nice to me. Ellie would help me get settled on the floor and Brenda would offer to get me a glass of water, and after I was all settled they would turn out the light and lie real quiet until they thought I was asleep. And then they'd start talking. 'If Dad had the money, he'd send him to a shrink.' Ellie would whisper. 'That girl is going to be the death of him, you know.' Brenda would say. Ellie would say 'Shh, we promised Mom.' and then they'd both fall asleep, and I'd lie awake wondering who the Burke girl was. And now…now I'm thinking the Burke girl is you, Leslie."

Leslie couldn't answer her. The tears were falling too fast; she abandoned the girl on the floor and climbed up the rusty ladder to Bill's bed. She lay down and cried into the pillow, unable to stop the confusing emotions that were swirling around inside her.

"What did I do?" Joyce Ann cried out in dismay, bewildered and angry that she had hurt the kind older girl.

"You didn't do anything, dearie." Bill rubbed her shoulder distractedly, watching Leslie huddle on the bed. "But your story forced her to come to terms with something she would've been much happier ignoring."

"What's that?"

"Your brother loves her just as much as she loves him."

"Why's that bad?"

"Because. She didn't realize how much she loved him until after she died. And now, knowing that he can't let her go makes her both happy and sad, because she doesn't want to be forgotten, but she doesn't want him to be in agony over her either."

"Poor Leslie." Joyce Ann whispered.

"Yes. Poor Leslie indeed."