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But right now, I’ve got a lot of shit piling up in my head and no shovel to dig any of it out. Which makes me moody.
I storm back to my office, needing something to do. Something productive. Something to clear my mind.
Why I think that means opening my laptop to watch the camera feed from Clara’s new room is beyond me.
She’s still sound asleep, lying on top of the sheets as her body continues to fight the fever. She moans softly and the sound makes me swallow. Hard.
Her legs slide against each other, then spread. It’s a natural fall of her knees, just a result of her feverish dreaming, but it’s enough to make other things about me very hard, too.
At ease, asshole. She’s sick.
The tent in my pants demands to know what we’ll do when she’s better. I’m not even going to entertain those fantasies. The only thing I need to focus on in regards to Clara Everett is whatever the hell we pull up about her past.
25
CLARA
Everything’s burning.
Arms, legs, head, all of it.
Maybe it’s because Mama forgot to turn the stove off when she made me grilled cheese. I love grilled cheese. Mama makes it special for me when Daddy’s at work. He hates grilled cheese, so it’s just our thing.
No. That’s not right. Mama’s gone. And I’m not a little kid anymore.
It’s gotta be the courthouse. The courthouse is always so hot in the summer; why don’t they ever put in air conditioning? The fans hanging from the ceiling don’t do much and the sweat in my hair is stinging the cuts on my face.
But Daddy says I gotta do it. I gotta go up there and tell the truth.
I don’t know what to say. I didn’t see much. It was scary inside the trunk of that dusty old car.
It was even scarier inside the box.
And it hurt. I got splinters.
I remember the man… the man who opened the box and asked me if I was okay. He told me I’d be okay—I just needed to stay there and be a good girl.
I’m a good girl. I’m always a good girl.
He’s here at the courthouse, too. He remembers me. He looks like it’s too hot in here, too. I don’t blame him. I try to smile at him, but Daddy squeezes my shoulder too hard and tells me not to look at him and now, I want to cry.
It hurts. Daddy always makes me hurt.
There’s too many questions. I don’t know how to answer them. They ask me if I saw the nice man at the warehouse… but what’s a warehouse? I was in a box. I saw him in the box.
They ask me what else I saw.
I don’t know, though. I don’t remember. I just remember what Daddy helped me remember… and I can’t forget, or he’s going to make me hurt again. I forgot things last night when we were practicing and now, I hurt all over… but I have to be a good girl and tell the truth.
I’m always a good girl.
So I tell them what Daddy helped me remember.
The nice man looks so sad. I thought he was angry at me, but when he looks at me, he just looks sad. I don’t know why he’s sitting there, where the bad guys usually sit. He’s not a bad guy. Where is the man who tried to kidnap me? He should be sitting there.
Wait.
This… this isn’t right.
