by Katie French
She nodded toward the leather satchel Big Mike made her carry. He strode over, pulled out the jerky and took a bite. He gnawed the dried meat with his back teeth and winced. “God. Weren’t a great cook, I take it?” He gestured toward the darkness where he’d taken Big Mike.
She shook her head, dropping her eyes. This was her game: act like a simpering idiot until he let down his guard and then get her hands on his knife or a log from the fire. She’d killed her share of rapists. She’d given Big Mike a concussion when he’d found her so sick in that cave. It was the reason her hands and feet were nearly always bound.
Her eyes strayed to the rough twine spooled around her ankles. He frowned at the red welts beneath the rope. “He do this to you every night?” he asked, pity creeping into his voice.
She nodded. “Hurts.”
He turned back to the fire, clearly thinking as he gnawed his lower lip, his hands peeling the leaves off a dead twig. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, a gesture she’d find cute if she weren’t certain he was about to rape her.
He stood slowly, his boots shuffling the dust. “If I cut the bonds, will ya run?”
She shook her head, her breath quickening. He considered this for a moment, probably taking in her bare feet, thin frame and scrawny legs. What threat could she be after all? he was probably thinking. Then he stepped over and began cutting the rope at her ankles.
She watched the flex in his tan arms as he sawed, smelled him – the scent of horse and chewing tobacco. He must’ve ridden in and tied the horse a ways off.
Finally, the last threads frayed beneath his blade and her ankles parted. Her legs spilled open, dirty feet digging into the dust as she adjusted stiff joints. He didn’t move, just sat an arm’s length away, staring at her. His eyes traced her body, stopping at the triangle of bare skin above her button-down shirt. His chest rose and fell faster. He licked his lips. One hand splayed in the dust near hers as he moved in and closed his eyes.
She took off running.
She sprinted into the darkness, her legs prickling, heart racing. Brambles cut at her ankles. Above, the moon was a sliver and the dark ate up the firelight after a few paces. She scrambled through the scrub grass, darted around a boulder and sprinted down a small ravine. Something skittered away as she tore past a shrub. The moonlight lit the buttes to the west; their dark outlines stood out black against the night sky. She’d find his horse, or a cave and hide out until he exhausted himself.
Then she heard him behind her.
Panting, lurching through the darkness, loud footsteps marked her pursuer. He was clumsier, but just as fast.
No… she realized. Faster.
Her heart pounded as she dipped around scraggly cactus arms. He was behind her now, cursing. He had the revolver. He could shoot out her leg and drag her back to town. She was worth a lifetime’s wages. No man would let go of that kind of money. She pushed forward in a burst of speed, her lungs burning. Run or die.
She bolted around a boulder and he was on her. Arms circled her waist and hauled her down. They hit the ground hard, her jaw snapping, her elbow plowing into something sharp. His body landed on top of hers, knocking the wind away. The world spun as terror found her. What would he–
“Goddammit,” he grunted, flipping her over. Then he was holding down her wrists, legs pinning hers. His shirt was ripped at the sleeve and covered in dirt. His hair clung to his head, slick with sweat. He panted, his chest heaving.
She thrashed, but he held her easily. With one hand he reached down and unfastened the top button of her shirt. He trailed one finger from the hallow of her throat to where the fabric folded.
It was as if the skin beneath his finger burned, as if every nerve ending connected to the patch of skin where his finger rested.
Then he leaned down, pressed his mouth to hers.
Kissing, that’s what this was. His mouth was wet and supple. Big Mike had never kissed her, never even tried. He tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, before pressing his lips back to hers. She stopped thrashing, stopped clawing at him. He kept kissing, warm and wet and intriguing.
She’d lived on her own and starved. She’d lived with Big Mike and was brutalized. Maybe this young handsome stranger was her meal ticket, her ride to a better life.
When he tugged off her pants, she found herself giving what he’d intended to take.
When she missed her monthly bleeding, she knew she was in trouble.
Months with Marlin had flown by: days of lying in beds, a tangle of arms and legs. Of kisses. Of breakfast in bed with Marlin’s hand on the small of her back as he ate ravishingly and then fell back in bed with her.
She’d let him keep her, for now at least. He’d hid her in the town brothel and bribed the madam to keep the other men away. Sure, the other ladies, forty years older with scars and missing limbs, glowered when they brought meals, but what did she care? It was better than starving. Better than Big Mike.
Her cage was an eleven-by-thirteen room with a four poster bed, threadbare sheets, and an old four-drawer bureau. A rickety end table beside the bed held a vase of desert flowers Marlin had presented a few days ago. Outside the barred window, the pavement bustled with men. Men selling goods, men riding horses or driving pieced-together vehicles, men shouting and yelling and coming into the brothel to get their one and only taste of a woman before going back into a world almost completely void of them. The window held little interest for Nessa. Instead, she turned her energies to the books Marlin dropped on her bed after days of being away: chunks of novels, hardcover textbooks with yellowed pages on subjects like computer programming and biology. She read everything, every scrap, every novel with half its pages dashed to the wind, the crinkled paper delicious between her fingers. She wanted to know. It was as if somehow expanding her mind might make her more than what was between her legs.
But, then her blood didn’t come. One month. Then two. The swell under her navel told her all she needed to know.
A problem, one she had to take care of.
The next time one of the brothel’s sex slaves came in, Nessa got up and walked over to take the tray. The delicious aroma of smoked meat and fresh milk sent her stomach rumbling, but she set the tray on the dented end table and smiled at the woman who’d brought it. She was in her fifties with graying hair, wide-set, mousy eyes and a twitchy mouth. She wore tattered underwear and brazier that was standard issue of house. When she turned to go, a dimpled, white butt cheek peaked out at Nessa. The lives these women were forced to lead.
Nessa stood up. “Wait. Beth, isn’t it?”
Beth nodded dully, her saggy breasts quaking in the black push-up bra.
“Beth, why don’t you sit down? They run you ragged all day, don’t they?” She pressed on a smile.
Beth nodded, her mouth agape showing several missing teeth. She slumped onto the bed, her bare stomach folding into three doughy rolls. “Thanks,” she said, not looking at Nessa. “Got two customers waitin’, but if I hang back, dem other girls ’ll havta take ’em.”
“Rough work. Trust me, I know.” Nessa fumbled with the frayed edge of the bedspread, swallowed hard and continued. “I haven’t seen any children around the place. Any babies lately? I’d think there’d be some with your… occupation.”
Beth shrugged. “Most girls is dried up down there, I reckon.” She pointed to her lady parts. Nessa lifted her eyes to the ceiling, but Beth didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. “Demi’s not, though. Madam don’t like chilluns in the house.” She blinked with expressionless, milking cow’s eyes.
“So,” Nessa scooted a bit closer on the bed, the old springs creaking beneath her, “what happens if someone gets in the family way?”
Beth leaned back and looked at Nessa full on for the first time. Her wide eyes narrowed. “You ’xpectin’?”
Nessa shrugged, fighting the sudden urge to touch her abdomen. What was happening inside her right now? Was life stitching itself together? Little arms and legs? A head? Sh
e reached out and put her hand on Beth’s arm. “You have to help me.”
Beth ran a hand through her gray hair, coarse like wire scrubbing pads. “You tell yer man? Some men like a son ’round. Make you valuable for least eight months more.” She gnawed at a red sore on her lip and shrugged.
Nessa shook her head, digging a finger through a hole in the sheet. “I can’t keep it. Being pregnant would make me slow, clumsy, and dependent on everyone. If Marlin doesn’t want the baby, he’d have to get rid of me and if he does, then what? I have this…this person I’m supposed to keep living in an awful world? No.” Nessa squeezed Beth’s arm until she looked up. “Can you get me what I need?”
“Demi’s got the evening primrose. Says it’ll take a baby out.” Beth gave a little shrug, one of her bra straps dislodging and sliding down. She thumbed it back up. “Prolly give it to ya. I kin ask.”
Nessa nodded, her hands circling her abdomen. “Please. Soon.”
Beth returned a week later with a dinner tray and tin full of yellow primrose powder.
That night Nessa clung to the chamber pot and tried to bear the pain. Her bowels cramped; her stomach churned. Sweat dripped from her forehead and trailed down her neck as she held herself over the pot. The evening primrose tore through her body like a plague. It would devour her insides and leave her hollow. Another cramp hit low in her gut. She bit her lip and moaned. She needed to vomit, but worried she’d wake Marlin snoring in the bed across the room. She dropped her head to her knees. Goddamn Beth. Probably poisoned her out of jealousy.
Another cramp twisted her bowels and Nessa began to pant. Her shaking arms finally gave out and she slumped to the floor, shivering in pools of cold sweat. As she curled into a fetal position, her eyes focused on a blackened whorl in the wooden plank that looked strangely like the Christ-man her ma was always cursing. Nessa would pray if she knew any words. Instead she tucked her head to her chest and tried to fill her lungs.
Of all the ridiculous ways to die.
She woke to arms lifting her.
Her eyes fluttered open. Marlin held her to his bare chest, his youthful face wrinkled in concern. Dawn light, seeping in the barred window, painted the room a dull orange. She’d slept the night on the floor and felt it, too. Every part of her ached. And her bowels… She placed her hand to her stomach and moaned. A team of horses was playing tug of war with her insides.
Marlin laid her on the bed and hovered over her like a fretful mother. “What happened? Are ya sick?” He brushed a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead.
“Water.” Her throat felt like desert hard pan.
Marlin ran over, tugged on a shirt and barreled out the door. His footsteps thumped loudly as he plunged down the stairs.
Nessa closed her eyes and breathed. Please don’t let me soil Marlin’s bed, she prayed.
The door banged open and Marlin stomped through, dragging Beth behind him. Beth’s face contorted in fear as he flung her into the room and shut the door. She scuttled to a corner, arms around herself.
Nessa propped up on her elbows and raised a questioning eyebrow at Marlin.
“This cooz says to me in the kitchen, ‘How’s the ol’ lady doin’?’.” Marlin pulled Beth forward, his hand squeezed a red ring around her arm. “So, I asks myself, how the hell she know you’s sick less she had somethin’ to do with it?” He squeezed Beth’s arm until she gasped.
Beth sagged under his gaze. One trembling hand pushed back a wild lock of hair. “I jist did what she tol’ me to.” She shot a desperate gaze at Nessa. “She’s the one who wanted the baby gone.”
Nessa froze. Now he knew. What would Marlin do to her?
Marlin released Beth’s arm, his jaw dropping. Beth staggered to the bureau, her head down, motionless, like a lizard trying to blend into the dust until the predator moved on.
Nessa wouldn’t be so lucky.
Marlin clomped to the bed and laid both hands on either side of her. His eyes were wild, violent as he hovered over her. Fear fluttered in her chest. He’d strike her. Strike her, or worse, drag her out into the street and let the dogs have her. She pulled back into the mattress, but there was nowhere to hide.
“What’s she sayin’?” With his morning stubble and venomous scowl, Marlin was every bit a gunslinger.
She stammered a response, willing tears into her eyes. “I…I didn’t want to burden you.” She was very aware of his big hands inches from her throat. “I didn’t think you’d want me after…” she dropped her eyes, “after I was round as a stuck pig and twice as useless. I thought I’d take care of it.”
He said nothing. When she found the courage to meet his eyes, they were wet. She didn’t understand until he lowered himself down gently beside her. One hand found her stomach as the other wrapped around her shoulders.
“My son,” he said, kissing the swell of her belly just below the navel.
She smiled, but inside she shivered.
A baby. Dear Christman Jesus, how?
Once Marlin knew she was pregnant, he was a different man. He came home more nights, often laden with books. In later months he found endless joy in feeling the baby kick and talking about the escapades he and the boy would go on. Always he and the boy. Nessa grew certain once the boy was pulled squalling from her loins the two of them would be off into the sunset without her. She’d be ruined, perfect roadside trash for someone to pick up and use again. Someone just like Big Mike.
Nessa did not find the whole process so amazing. Her belly swelled like a watermelon. Her arms and buttocks grew flabby despite the daily hour of calisthenics she did beside her bed: leg lifts, dips, sit-ups until she could no longer peel herself off the floor. The baby sapped her strength both day and night. It pressed on her bladder until she spent half the day on the chamber pot. At night the thing rolled inside her. She found it so bizarre, this alien being taking over her body.
One night as Nessa slept, Marlin came in and laid a hand on her cheek. She blinked up at him.
“I got a surprise,” he said, beaming.
Nessa pushed up on her elbows. What in the world could make him so pleased with himself?
He held up a black trench cloak. “Get up. I’m takin’ ya somewhere.”
Nessa shook the sleep from her head and stared at him. She hadn’t left the brothel since he brought her here seven months ago. “What’re you talking about?” She hauled her body up, throwing her swollen legs over the side of the bed. She glanced out the window. The full moon lit up a quiet street. “What time is it?”
“Late,” he said, pulling her up.
“Marlin, I’m tired. What’s so important?”
He shook his head, handing her the shapeless slippers that barely stretched over her feet. “You’ll like it,” he said, his hand on the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. “We gotta hurry.”
Nessa sighed. She let Marlin lead her down the stairs and out the back door where a rusty truck with no doors idled. Nessa raised an eyebrow. “You got a truck?”
Marlin smirked, his blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “Borrowed it. We’re headin’ outta town for a bit. Git in.” He nodded to the door-less cab.
Nessa grabbed the handle and hauled herself in. She hadn’t walked further than to the bureau or chamber pot since her pregnancy. Only now did she see how slow she was. If she were forced to run or hide, she wouldn’t get three feet.
“Where are we going?” she asked, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
Marlin didn’t look at her. Moonlight flashed off the hood as he pulled the truck out over the pitted road. “Keep that cloak tight on ya. And you might want to buckle in. Road gets pretty rough outside town.” He turned and winked at her mischievously.
Nessa pulled the trench tight around her swollen belly and glowered into the night sky. This had better be good.
Marlin drove for a half an hour over pitted, sand-splashed roads that grew steadily worse the farther they drove. The moon was full and bright, reminding N
essa of her large melon of a stomach she struggled to hide beneath the fluttering trench coat. She sat upright, eyes flitting across every dark corner, marking every shadowy rock formation. Road gangs roamed this time of night. If someone were to stop them, it would take seconds to spot her as female. She eyed the revolver Marlin kept stuffed in the front of his pants. What errand could be so important that he would risk exposing her?
They approached a desolate town. Broken buildings lined both sides of the street, their glassless windows like sunken eyes. Sand had eradicated most of the road. Marlin turned down a side street and Nessa spotted a body that had decayed to a clothed skeleton lying on the sidewalk. She reached for Marlin’s arm.
“I got you,” he said, not looking over. Such utter confidence.
He pulled up to a two-story brick building, parked the car and got out. Nessa stayed put, staring at the decaying store front. What could he possibly want to show her?
Marlin appeared at her door and held out his hand.
“Marlin, what are we–”
“Goddammit, Nessa, jist get outta the truck.” He thrust his hand out again. This time she took it.
He helped her up the crumbling concrete steps to the entrance. She looked for signage, but found none. Marlin led her into the open entryway and then fumbled with the gas lamp he had brought. Nessa stood in the near-pitch darkness waiting and listening. She wrapped her arms around her body and felt terribly vulnerable.
The gas lamp flared to life and Marlin lifted it high. The room vast, with high ceilings and little furniture. A few dusty plastic chairs were piled by a window. An armchair, faded and peeled down to its springs, sat by an open window. The floor was scattered with paper and debris. Nessa spotted a broken shelf and a tennis shoe before Marlin swung the light away.
He took her hand and nodded toward a dark stairwell. “This way.”
He led her to a shadowed hall. The stairwell below ended in a puddle of blackness. The hairs on Nessa’s neck rose. “Marlin, I’m not sure I want to see.”
