“Took me to this rambler in the suburbs to show me the lodgings. I walked in the door and never walked out again until they put the bag over my head and threw me in the van.” She turns her head toward me. “What about you?”
“Said they could get me work with a guy they knew. Dropped me off for a trial, promised to pay me the next time I went back for a shift, then did the same again. It went on for a month before I threatened to take them to the authorities. That’s how I ended up in the van, too.”
“Assholes.”
“Right?” I glance at her, finding Darla staring into the night again. “How bad was it? In the house, I mean.”
“Probably exactly what you’d imagine.” Her eyes tighten, words stiff as she avoids the memories.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.”
I look away from the wasted food, frustrated after the first proper meal I’ve had in days. I didn’t lie to Darla. More told a half-truth and let her fill in the blanks however she wished. Still feels just as shit.
“What do you think you’ll do?” she asks. “After this?”
“I’m not sure.” The end to my ordeal hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve got a while to go before I can entertain those kinds of hopeful thoughts. “Hadn’t thought about it at all.” Aside from knowing where I want to live one day.
Maybe Alaska would suit the vibe?
“I’m worried about what’ll happen to The Kid if the authorities can’t find her family,” Darla muses. “Hurts my heart to think of her in a home.”
“Better than being where we were. At least she’d have an exit date when she ages out.”
“Do you think they’ll get her to talk? Find out where she came from?”
I shrug. “If I were her age, I wouldn’t trust anyone enough to talk.”
“True.”
“Hi, ladies.” The older woman who arrived in the past hour pokes her head out the door. “Everything okay?” Floss, I think, was her name. Obviously a nickname.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I say.
“Me too.” Darla smiles. “Thank you for asking.”
She looks at each of us in turn as though assessing whether we’re a flight risk.
“Do you know how much longer we need to be here?” I ask. “Like, are we free to go when we want?”
She softens into something warm and welcoming. Something like I’d imagine a kind and cozy grandma to be.
I never met mine.
“Chaos would like you to talk to the sheriff in the morning. Tell him what you can about where you’ve been, who you’ve seen, what they did to get you there. I know it’s scary, but they’ll keep you out of harm’s way.”
“Who’s Chaos?” Darla asks.
“Our President,” Floss answers, stepping onto the porch properly. “The man with the bi-colored hair and eyes.”
“Oh.” Yeah. He was kind of hard to miss. “Who was the guy who brought me back here?” I ask, softening toward what I really want to know. “The guy with the wavy, dark blond hair.”
“Jinx. The Vice President.”
“And the young guy I rode with?” Darla says.
“Darko.” Floss frowns, seemingly trying to work out if we have an ulterior motive for our line of questioning.
