Very Wicked Things

I glared. If he thought for one minute, I was going to tell him about…

“He wants to see you again. Only this time, it’s different.”

I froze, my brain conjuring up all kinds of different. The Man had seemed normal, as far as normal goes for an older guy who liked to have virgins. But perhaps he wanted stranger things now. Darker. And that made me squirm.

“Please explain,” I asked politely.

His eyes gleamed. “It’s all been arranged. You’re going to Vegas tomorrow, and he’ll meet you there.” He shuffled some papers around and stuck one out at me. “Here are the instructions for your flight and hotel, all paid for by him, as well as incidentals. You will do as he says. You are his.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Don’t throw-up. “And then it’s over?” Will we be free?

He rubbed a spot on his desk, thinking. Silence ticked by, and I imagined I could see the wheels turning in his head, calculating figures. My eyes burned into him.

We locked eyes, and when I didn’t drop mine, I think he could see that I was different.

“Yes.” Simple and short, it sent a wave of relief through me.

“You will leave us alone?” I had to hear it again.

He gave me a small nod.

Without another word, I whipped out of his office. I walked past them all, got in my car and drove home.

WHEN I GOT back, Heather-Lynn met me at the door, a cup of tea in her hand. She hugged me but didn’t ask where I’d been. Maybe she knew by the set of my face or the slump in my shoulders. She gave me a squeeze and we went to the kitchen.

Sarah bounced around the kitchen, talking about dinner. She never asked where I’d been because she hadn’t realized I’d been missing. We decided on spaghetti and salad. But Sarah couldn’t find some of her pots. I found the pan for the noodles, and Heather-Lynn conjured up the skillet to brown the meat.

After we had everything simmering, I got paper, pen, and tape out. We wrote out labels for the cupboards: pans, utensils, plates, bowls, dry goods, medication. Heather-Lynn found a country station on the radio, and we listened as we busied ourselves adhering the pieces of paper to the drawers and cabinets. There. Now, Sarah could find whatever she needed.

In the face of what Sarah dealt with every day, my problems were nothing.

Later, after we’d eaten and Sarah had gone on to bed, I told Heather-Lynn about The Man and Vegas and how I was flying out see him in the morning. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, maybe just a few days I hoped. She said she could swing watching Sarah until I returned.

I’d decided to tell Sarah—if she asked— that I was leaving for a sudden audition with a ballet company in Atlanta. There had been a company there we’d looked at. I hated to lie, but it would kill her to know the truth.

Heather-Lynn helped me pack. We tossed in pants and shirts and dresses and shoes, neither one of us caring if things matched or not. Things were moving faster than I could think, and I was on auto pilot mode, pushing the right buttons.

I may have seemed calm, but I wasn’t. I busied myself because if I took the time to sit down and process everything, I might have lost it.

The next day, I rose at seven, showered, and dressed in comfortable clothes. I called a cab, went to the airport, and boarded flight 328 bound for Las Vegas, arriving at three in the afternoon Pacific Time. It was practically done.

“If I can have her, there’d be no reason to fear the dark.”

–Cuba

I WENT HOME that day after we’d made love in the barn, my head swirling with how to help her in a way she’d let me. I went round and round with it, testing out theories. One option was to tell my father and let him handle it, but he’d want to get the police involved. I kept replaying what Dovey had said about Alexander having cops in his pocket. I was afraid to take the chance. I didn’t want her running forever.

Other ideas flitted in and out, and it wasn’t until the next morning when I parked in my spot at BA that it dawned on me. So simple.

I jerked the car in reverse and squealed out, but slammed on the brakes when I saw Spider exiting his Range Rover. I paused, thinking about him and all these years he’d been Dovey’s friend.

I rolled down my window. “Get your scrawny British ass in here.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me but came over to the car, his gait long, eyes wary.

Dude looked beat and I knew why. He loved her like I did. No, wait. He didn’t. Because no one loved her like I did.

“This Englishman kicked your arse,” he snarked, leaning his arms on my car, smudging it up.

“Sucker punch, asshole. Get in here. Dovey needs us.”

“You her knight in shining armor?”

Yeah. “Hell yeah.”

He straightened up, gave me a weird look, but crawled in on the passenger side. I slid my eyes over him. “We good?”

“Can I smoke in here?”

“Fuck no.” I whipped my silver baby out of the lot and onto the highway.

“You suck, football boy.”

“We both suck, guitar prick,” I said.

Because I should never have let her leave our barn yesterday.

He peered out the window. “About what happened. She’s got a shitty past, and she’d never do that if she wasn’t in a corner. You get that, right?”

I took my eyes off the road to examine him. “I love her, man. I don’t give a shit what she did or who she did it with or why she did it or how many times. I can’t fucking breathe without her.”