Free Forests of the Night by James W. Hall

does. They make their own. That’s what creativity is, Mom, in case you haven’t heard, breaking the rules. What you’re trying to do is suffocate me. Push all the air out of my lungs, sit on my chest, and turn me into some kind of mushroom fungus. A goddamn toadstool, that’s what you want me to be.”
    â€œOkay, I’ve listened to you, now you listen to me. Go to your room right now, Gracey. I’m not mad at you, I’m not punishing you, and I won’t try to keep you from doing what you want with your life, but right now, this second, you have to go to your room, lock the door, and stay there till I come for you. Okay? There’s something going on. It’s a volatile situation, sweetie, and I want you to be safe. In your room. Now.”
    Gracey bent her arm backward and dug her thumb at her bra strap, tugging it back into place. The artless gesture of a child wrestling with a twenty-year-old’s body.
    When the strap was fixed, Gracey swung toward the built-in bookshelves in the corner of the room.
    â€œI told you what the bitch would say. Didn’t I tell you?”
    â€œGracey, stop that.”
    Staring at the bookshelf, she lowered her voice to a whisper, only a few words audible. “My life. Bruises. Haven’t forgotten.”
    Charlotte reached out for Gracey, then let her hand fall. Fighting the instinct to wrench her daughter’s arm, shake her hard, do whatever it took to drag her back from that dark oblivion.
    Gracey stared at the spines of the books and listened to the phantom voice, and nodded and mumbled some reply, then by slow degrees her eyes resurfaced and her gaze drifted from the shelves and settled on Charlotte. A grim mask tightening into place on her child’s face. Stanwyck, Bogart, the lifeless look.
    â€œThis is about him, isn’t it? That phone call, how you’re acting. It’s about Jacob.”
    Charlotte glanced up at the ceiling, hearing it, the thrash of blades somewhere within a few blocks.
    â€œI know who he is, Mom. I’ve got eyes. I’m not a kid you have to hide things from. You should’ve come out and told me. But no, you think I’m this little girl in gingham frocks, some goody-goody you have to protect. Well, it’s too late for that. I can see who he is. I’m not stupid.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about, Gracey.”
    â€œYou’re such a liar. I just talked to him in the hall and asked him straight out, and he said yes. He admitted it.”
    â€œIn the hallway? Just now?”
    â€œGoddamn it,” Gracey said. “Why doesn’t anyone listen to me? You think if you ignore me, I’ll just go away. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Well, okay, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just leave. I’m wasting my time here anyway. The way you’ve tried to turn me into a privileged little brat. Always so goddamned worried about protecting me. Well, it won’t work, Mom. Know why? Because I don’t need any of this shit, and you know what else? I don’t want to be protected. Not by you. Not by anyone.”
    Gracey gestured at the room and the house beyond it, then her head rocked back, shoulders trembled, eyes blinking rapidly. A full-scale meltdown. The tears welling, quickly brimming over, her nose running. Gracey fragmenting.
    Charlotte put an arm around her shoulder, pulled her into a hug, spoke into her hair, into the smell of clover and rain. The girl shivered and twisted against Charlotte’s embrace, a token resistance, then she grew still.
    â€œLook, sweetie, I want you to stay right here in my office till I come back for you. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t move. You’ve got to promise me.”
    Gracey spoke through her tears.
    â€œI need to e-mail Mr. Underwood, tell him I’m going to do ride-alongs. He agrees with Steven. I need more seasoning, more bumps and bruises.”
    â€œNobody needs