Page 3 of Inflict

“Sorry,” the gentle voice said.

Connor found where the voice was coming from as soon as he righted himself fully. A wee lass with a pink and white dress, bright-yellow rubber boots, and a white bow tying up her almost-white hair, stood just off the path, hidden in the thickets and brush. Her clothes, pretty and frilly, held similar marks as his—muddy handprints across her tulle skirt, smeared dirt on the satin bow in her hair.

She was almost as tall as him, but not quite, as her wide eyes looked up at him when Connor moved closer. She had really green eyes.

“Hi,” Connor said.

She peered behind him, back the way he had come from. Her eyes widened even more, making her look like those porcelain dolls he’d seen once in the toy store when his birthday had come around, and his father had taken him to pick something out. Except she was different looking, too, as her cream skin was splattered with dark freckles, and her lips were more red than pink like the dolls’.

“Were you at Miss Carol’s?” she asked in a whisper, seeming almost afraid of saying the old woman’s name too loud.

Connor shrugged, not wanting the girl to be afraid. “Not for long.”

He didn’t think mentioning the dog would help.

“Daidí says not to go that far.”

“He’s probably right.”

She looked down at the ground where Connor still stood on the path. “I’m not supposed to go this far, too.”

Oh.

Connor’s father didn’t put boundaries about where he could and couldn’t play, but he thought that was mostly because his father liked when he was out of his hair, more than when he was stuck inside the house.

But if she wasn’t supposed to be this far …

“I can walk you home,” Connor offered.

“Not supposed to talk to strangers,” she said simply.

Connor frowned. “But we already are.”

And he was a lad, not a stranger.

The lass looked like she was considering his statement before she blurted out, “My name is Evelyn.”

“I’m Connor.”

“I like to draw.” To show her point, Evelyn held up a dirty notepad in one hand, and a pencil with a broken lead tip in the other. “But I broke my pencil when I sat on it. Not supposed to bring my pencils and paper outside when it’s wet.”

She had a lot of rules.

Connor pulled out a pocket knife from his jeans, and took Evelyn’s pencil when she offered it to him. A few quick scrapes of the sharp blade against the wood, and it had a new tip, ready for her to draw in her notepad again.

“Here,” Connor said.

Evelyn’s amazement lit up her doll-like features as she took the pencil back. “You have a knife?”

“Not supposed to play with knives?”

She shook her head slowly.

“They are sharp,” Connor said, his gaze catching the scar on his palm from where he’d cut himself learning how to peel an apple. There had been a lot of blood, so much it painted the counter, but his father had only laughed, while Connor had been entranced by the sight until the pain started. “Maybe that’s a good rule to have, Evelyn.”

Evelyn smiled up at him. “We’re not strangers now.”

“We’re not?”