“Does this place have a bed?” she asked. “A real bed?”
It reminded me of my childhood, sometimes homeless, where all I wanted was a bed. Not a couch. Not the backseat of Mom’s car. A real bed. But I couldn’t let my memories dampen my orders. Hazel would be protected. I needed to get her to the clinic.
Ten minutes passed. Hazel snored in the backseat. Despite the circumstances, she seemed peaceful. I kept my eyes on the road, feeling more placid myself. At least she was willing to sleep now. Once I dropped her off, I wouldn’t see Hazel again, unless it was my duty. And that was comforting.
Hazel. Why couldn’t I stop calling her by her name? She was supposed to be a prisoner. Nameless. Faceless. Someone easily forgotten.
The backseat creaked from shifting weight. Right as I glanced in the rearview mirror, a fist swung towards my face, knocking me in the eyebrow. The blow pulsed in my head. I swerved off of the road, the wheels vibrating over the gravel to dirt and back again. Steering the car back to the lane, I glanced at her, and she swung again, aiming for my nose. I grabbed her wrist and held it, squeezing it tight, my other hand steering the wheel. She screamed, and a car blared its horn at us, and I swerved again, missing oncoming traffic by a few mere inches. I pulled over into the dirt. I grabbed the chloroform-soaked rag from the side compartment and shoved it over her nose and mouth, holding the back of her head in my grip. Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating, and the chaos to fight back took hold of her, struggling for control, then her eyes rolled back, and she was loose in my arms. I sighed.
Restraints, then.
***
a few months later
Coming to the clinic and seeing Hazel, offering her and her sister, Heather, new lives—I should have expected this to happen. Heather, the sister, was reasonable. But Hazel fought at every chance.
I held gauze up to my eyebrow, which was trickling with blood. Hazel smirked from the other side of the room. In her mind, she had won. Though her hospital gown had been ripped in the confusion, exposing her to the staff and me, not a scratch was left on her.
As soon as I had mentioned not wanting to create a spectacle in the middle of the clinic, she had made it her mission to create a show. But it was over now. We had been given a large private room with two twin beds on opposite sides. Zaid had prepared me for a situation like this. Until we heard back from Zaid and Heather and received confirmation that Eric was dead, we were to stay at the clinic. Together. Hazel and me.
A pain in my ass doesn’t begin to describe Hazel Maben.
“Listen,” I said, trying to find any ounce of reasonable thought left in her. “I’m here to help you.” I folded the gauze and wiped my brow again, then shoved the soiled remnants into the wastebasket next to me. “You and your sister can start new lives, with new identities—”
“Fuck off with your savior crap,” Hazel said. “I don’twanta new life. I don’twanta new identity. I don’twantyour help. If you think doing those things will fix this mess you’ve created, then you are a truly stupid sack of shit.”
It took everything I had not to let my frustration explode in a roar. Eric would be gone soon, and then, this would be over. Take the identities or discard them, Hazel would not be my responsibility anymore. She’d be on her own.
But a thought irked me, reminding me of my mother. How could I let someone like Hazel go without first making sure that she was living a steady life?
But I knew how. Because Hazel Maben would never live a ‘steady’ life. She made that abundantly clear.
“You’re not going to say anything?” she asked. I stared at her, knowing the silence made her more irritated by the second. Her limbs tightened and she leaned forward. “Did you forget how to talk? Too busy abducting innocents and lifting weights?” I crossed my arms, and her eyes flicked down, taking in my bulky forearms. She sighed, shaking her head, and turned away. “You’re the worst.”
As are you, Hazel Maben.
And for now, I count the days until we part.
