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“Aye. Pretty little girls shouldn’t be alone at night. Bad things happen to them. Bad men do bad things to girls who go out after dark.”
“Wrong. Any type of girl should be able to walk alone at night. Bad men shouldn’t be out at night doing bad things.” She sniffs. “I can smell the patriarchy coming off you.”
“If by patriarchy you mean our men look after our women, then yes. I’m guilty. We protect the weaker sex,” I say.
She side-eyes me. “Weaker?”
“You can’t deny a man is physically stronger than a woman.” I think of what I’ve heard on the television about LA. About America’s problems with crime and guns. Surely she’s not prancing around that city alone in the middle of the night. “Isn’t it the same where you’re from?”
“Sadly, yes. A girl wears a short skirt and she’s to blame. But things are changing. Quickly.” Disgust covers her face as she gives me a look up and down. “It’ll be a few more centuries before men like you catch up.”
“Men like me?” I ask.
“Men who commit crimes then make the witness out to be the villain,” she snaps.
“I don’t see you as a villain. I see you as a kid who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I don’t fault her for being out. Can’t remember a night I was home before morning at her age. “You were warned. And you chose to disobey me. Not to mention the fact that you lied. You told me you could keep quiet, but then you go and call the police.”
“I said I would keep quiet when I thought it was a few firebombs. Then you told me it was a murder.” Her voice goes distant. “Why did you all kill him, anyway?”
“Same reason I was sent to get rid of you. He was warned. And he didn’t heed the warning.”
“Oh.” She tries to hide the way fear instantly clutches at her heart, changing her posture, her spine going ramrod straight. She reaches up, plucking the rose from where I’ve laid it behind her ear. She holds the stem between her fingers, twirling it. Contemplating. “So.”
“What?”
“What… are you going to do with me. If you’re not going to...” She pauses a moment to swallow hard. “Get rid of me. Then what are you planning on doing with me?”
“Great question.” I heave a sigh. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
She gives a brave nod, slipping the stem of the rose into the open breast pocket of her coat, like a buttonhole at a wedding.
Or a funeral.
It’s only been minutes since I let Eamon get into my head, let those pretty brown eyes get a hold of me, and decided to make the rose a gift instead of a grave marker.
“Well?” I glance over to see her peering at me. Her face is startlingly white in the Simmer Dim.
Eyes on the road, I shake my head, ignoring her question. This kidnapping is starting to feel more like an investigation, her gaining control.
“No more talking.” I grip the wheel. “Just—be quiet now. Will you?”
“Sure. I’ll just be quiet and not ask any more questions about my life, even though?—”
The heel of my hand hits the wheel. “Enough.”
I give her the look.
She snaps her mouth shut, directing her attention out the window.
We’re close now.
I don’t need to be alone with her in this truck another moment. She’s too distracting. Talks too much.
I slow as we prepare to pass by King’s Castle. Front doors are closed. All the green shutters are latched tight save for the kitchen. There’s a light on over the sink, Crank washing a dish. Outside, I make out the figure of Eamon standing below the side stoop steps where we keep the rubbish bins, smoking a cigarette. Hearing the truck, he looks up.
Seeing either Crank at the sink, or Eamon at the bins, the girl bangs on the window. “Hey! Hey!” Grabbing the old knob, she tries cranking down the window as fast as she can, but it barely moves. Giving up on the crank, she leans up, shouting out the half open window. “Hey! Help me! Call the police! I’ve been taken hostage.”
I drive on.
