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“I don’t think that's for me,” I say, trying to breeze past it. I feel like that's probably true, but I don't like to think about it.
Dustin shrugs. He rubs his palm across his stubbly grey chin and points with his knuckle at the far side of the bar. There's a group of three stragglers, teenage girls who don't realize that they look like teenagers. They’re huddled in a table the dark corner of the bar, probably trying to work up the courage to attempt to order a pitcher of beer. Probably trying to scrape their quarters together.
We get a lot of runaways. There are two highways that intersect here, and if you're lucky enough to hitchhike with a trucker, this is where they are generally going to drop you off. At the truck stop they point out here in this direction, and somehow runaways just end up here at Dustin's, the unofficial hub for people who feel like trafficking in earthly delights of a certain sort.
You would never know it from the outside. Just a cinderblock building, with a single lit sign that says Dustin on it. Cars out front. Gravel parking lot. You'd never even suspect that this is where half the missing children end up. Not for very long, though.
“Looks like I got some new converts for your cult,” Dustin chuckles. “I'll let you have them for cheap.”
“I don’t want them.”
“Sure you do,” he replies. “You’re always looking for new mates, aren't you? Gotta keep the genetic diversity and whatnot?"
“Not, I think we’re good for right now,” I observe grimly. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I look gray.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “Just that it's been sixteen years. Some of the young ones are just about ready to be married off. We’re gonna have a whole new generation in the kingdom in just about a year. Assuming we can keep everything going that long.”
Dustin nods slowly. Despite his gross exterior, he is one of the few people that actually listens to me. He's known me since I was a kid, and has treated me like I was a man since I was old enough to reach the top of the bar.
“Money’s tight?”
I don't say anything.
“Yeah, that happens,” he sighs. “But I tell you what, having a little wife he could really smooth over them rough patches, Owen. You should give it some thought. Really. If you got girls over there, ready… seriously. Give it some thought.”
I shake my head. Silas would never allow it. He's got this idea about how we’re supposed to be outside that part of life. Not the way Catholic priests are, but like Egyptian kings or something. How they didn't want to pick favorites among the peasants or whatever.
I don't know. Frankly, it sounds kind of weird to me sometimes.
But Silas has strong ideas about these things. He's afraid of what would happen if everybody in the compound got jealous of each other. He is afraid of what would happen if he took a wife, or if I did. They would think that they were Queens. There would be jealousy. There would be divisiveness.
He is probably right. But it is still lonely as hell.
“Come on, there is probably one you like, right? Big strapping boy like you? All those fresh, innocent faces walking by you every day? No backtalk, no status symbols, no Snapchat or rap music or anything? Fuck, Owen. You live in paradise on earth, and you're telling me that you don't want a little taste for yourself?”
I choke back another shot of tequila. Dustin won’t mind. Still going through my dad's old tab. The liquor warms my belly.
“Yeah, there's one. Maybe. It's hard to say.”
“Oh, now this is interesting…” he says. “What’s she like? Big tits? No brain? That’s what you religious types like, right?”
I shake my head. I shouldn't be thinking about her. If there was ever one, it would be Angel. She's just like her name. Just like an angel. She shines a light. She's beautiful, and so sweet her soul brightens the room. She makes me feel good in a giddy, stupid way.
“No. She's perfect. She's gorgeous.”
“You don't say,” Dustin says slowly. “Yeah, every once in awhile I guess he does get a real beauty there? One with all her teeth and everything?”
“You remember Melissa?”
He pushes himself back in his chair, crossing his arms. I see him go defensive. He remembers Melissa, all right. She came through here like the other runaways, with one black eye and a two-year-old that she tried to hide in the ladies room. Strung out and filthy. But somehow, irresistible.
“Hell yeah, I remember Melissa. You think she remembers me?”
I have to laugh. “Don't think she remembers much from those days, Dustin. Sorry to let you down.”
“Yeah… you guys got lucky you got her. Or I thought so at the time. Then again, I didn't have to pay her bail money or pay off her pimps, did I? Maybe I ended up getting the better part of the deal after all!”
