by Flite, Nora
“Dammit.” The word slipped out louder than I'd have liked. I stole a glance at her to see if she'd woken. Flora's brows bunched together in unconscious disapproval, then she rolled over, still very much asleep.
Lies, deceit, ulterior motives, that was fine—part of the lifestyle—but this photo was something else entirely. Something I didn't like at all.
Flora was telling the truth.
Shit.
Cold reality sifted through me, piecing things together until they made a new quilt of shame. She's probably not even a junkie, then, just got shot up against her will. Nagging doubts about my deal with Roach began to weigh down on me.
Pacing closer to her side, I quickly placed the photo face down on the bed beside Flora, no longer wanting to look at it.
A pesky line from Paradise Lost drunkenly stumbled into my head. Abashed the Devil stood and felt how awful goodness is.
I needed a minute to think, to focus. In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that the diffused glow of natural sunlight through the blinds had cast me in a stark contrast.
Half dark. Half light.
I slicked my hair back and picked up my vest. “This doesn't change anything. She was telling the truth, so what? Remember what's important,” I whispered to my reflection, watching him shrug on the thick leather and tug at the patches, specifically one that read 'Nomad.' “Remember who you are.”
I didn't give her a second look as I fled into the hall and locked the door behind me.
****
“Leave me alone.” Flora's drowsy voice greeted me from beneath the covers as I pushed open the door to our room.
“So I take it an encore is out of the question?”
“Go away,” she mumbled.
“So you want me to donate these clean clothes to the local Salvation Army, then?”
Flora pulled the blanket down enough to look at me skeptically. I put the folded stack on the bureau across the room. “You washed them?”
“Turns out the maids only work weekends,” I said. “That's probably why we didn't get any mints on the pillows.” Not wanting her to read into the gesture, I quickly changed the subject. “Found your photo. You weren't lying about your sister, were you?”
Her face fell, eyes darting around in a mad search. When she found the photo on the table, she snatched it up protectively. “Why would I lie about something like that? Why would I lie about any of this?”
“Junkies have been known to stretch the truth from time to time,” I said flippantly.
“Stop calling me that. I'm not a junkie!”
“I know. I looked you over last night during that—” The recent vivid memory cascaded over me. Her silky form laying across the bed, the robe carefully left open, showing just enough milky skin for me not to care how clumsily blatant her attempt at seduction was. “—whatever that was.”
A smile brazenly carved its way across my face as I studied her covered form, picturing both the blanket she was currently wrapped in, and the robe beneath it, balled up on the floor from being tossed across the room. If we'd kept going last night, I wouldn't have to imagine it.
Flora seemed to wake up fully. Immediately she shrank, doing what she could to keep the previous night's embarrassment from marring her features.
I walked over to the window and drew the blinds. Light flooded in, bathing us both. I looked out over the long, quiet road that led to this quaint little building, the delicious fantasy of what could have been slipping from my head. “That's why I'm giving you what you want.”
Her eyes lit up. “You're letting me leave?”
“If I did, where would you go, exactly?”
She looked at me like I'd asked a trick question. “The brothel, of course.”
I fingered the cord attached to the blinds. “Do you have any idea how to get to the brothel from here? Or hell, do you even know where here is?
“No.” Flora perked up. “Tell me where we are.”
Glancing at her, I said, “New Jersey.” Her face screwed up like she was in pain. I quickly added, “Come on, this state isn't that bad.”
Shaking herself, she watched the floorboards. “No. It's just that... I'm further away from home than I realized.” Before I could even ask where 'home' was, she fixed a heated stare on me with renewed vigor. “It doesn't matter. I'll find a way back to that brothel somehow.”
In spite of my wishes, I was curious. “How did you get to the brothel in the first place?”
For a second, her eyes unfocused, perhaps deciding if she should answer me. “I went looking for Claudine at her boyfriend's house and...” Flora's lips tightened in disgust. “He drugged me. Fiddle must have been working for those men. I guess he was some sort of, I dunno, one of those guys who picks out the girls who get kidnapped. Sold.” She spit out the last word. I could see her heating up. This Fiddle-guy must have really gotten under her skin.
“Chloroform?” I asked tentatively.
“No.” She looked down at her blanket. “He put something in my drink.”
“Your drink? Hold up, lemme get this straight. You went to a strange guy's house to get answers for your sister's disappearance, he gave you some mysterious liquid, and you actually drank it?” I chuckled at how hopeless Flora was.
Hopeless... The laughter decayed in my mouth. The deal with Roach and the Knights was festering. This growing doubt was becoming an infection. If I didn't find a way to kill it soon, the poison would spread to the rest of me.
Flora's eyes flared wildly. She flew into a defensive anger. “You don't think I know how fucking stupid that was? I've had nothing but time to think about that!”
She was right, I hadn't stopped making assumptions about her since the moment I'd first laid eyes on her. I didn't know a damn thing about this girl, so I held my tongue and let her speak.
Seeing that I wasn't on the attack, she calmed down a bit and continued, this time more earnestly. “I get it. I know how crazy this sounds, I do, but you don't understand. I need to save her. No one cares about people like Claudine.” Flora looked down at her arm and ran a thumb over the fading pink dots. “Or, I guess, me too, now.” Her haunting gray eyes were glossy with water and a deep sadness that felt like more like an old wound than a fresh cut. “If I don't save her, no one will and...”
The finality that seeped into Flora's tone choked the last few words off, but she didn't need to say them for me to know what they were.
And she's all I have.
Flora's words from earlier reverberated within me, punching me in the chest so hard that I skipped a breath. “Yeah,” I said, stopping her from continuing. I needed to swallow the black lump in my throat before I could follow that up with anything.
This is a bad idea, Flora. The Knights are fucking monsters, and what they don't do to you, the people who hired them will. Your sister is gone. Do not go through with this. Those words burned in my mouth, but that's where they stayed. What could I say to her that wouldn't jeopardize the deal I'd set up?
I walked past her, opening the door to the hall. I needed some space from her and my conscience.
“Wait!” Flora cried after me. “You said I could go?”
“I said that I was giving you what you think you want. The Knights will be here to pick you up tonight.” I couldn't look her in the eyes, nor could I contain the somberness in my voice.
“Thank you—”
“Don't.” I put a finger up to stop her. “I'm no better than the rest of them.” I tossed my cellphone into her lap. “Here, call your parents. You have to at least tell someone where you are and where you're going. What you're planning on doing. All of it. It'll be damn near impossible for people to find you, otherwise.”
Flora looked at the phone thoughtfully, then snorted at the mention of her parents. She raised her eyebrows and cracked the saddest little smile I'd ever seen before looking at me wistfully. “I don't have anyone to call.”
She tossed the phone b
ack.
For the first time in my life, I was at a complete loss for words.
Crushing the cell in my fist, I forced myself to stop at the first audible cracking noise so as not to destroy the thing. This girl didn't stand a chance with the Knights, let alone with whichever fucking scumbag slavery ring hired them for transport.
Frustration couldn't begin to explain how I felt at that moment because, even if I wanted to do the right thing, whatever the hell that was, how do you save a person that refuses to be saved?
Flora wasn't hooked on any drugs, but she was still a junkie. She would chase her sister until it killed her. Fucking junkies.
One day, they really were going to kill me.
I needed to leave. I couldn't look at her anymore, I'd had enough failures for one lifetime.
“Are you going to lock me in again?” she asked.
I reached into my pocket and fished out the room's only key. Sparing her a quick glance, I flicked it to her before pushing the door open further and leaving completely. The sound of the straining hinge swinging the door wide was all the company I wanted on the long walk down the relatively short hallway.
I should've sent Roach up to deal with her laundry.
It'd been a mistake to go back into that room. I'd been making a lot of those, lately.
“I don't know what the hell you were doing in the kitchen, but make sure you clean up, you were using cookware that I didn't know I even had.” Roach's words wafted into the foyer, riding on an aroma of eggs and cheese from the breakfast I'd prepared while washing Flora's clothing.
Roach wore a poorly tailored, cuffed shirt with a satin vest that was a size too large—and that demanded a tie to accompany it—which was, considering who was wearing it, expectantly absent. Roach was a reptile in a human suit, playing at class and dignity while never fully understanding either meaning.
It must have been my expression, or the way I carried myself, but at the sight of me he stopped texting and closed his phone. He asked, “Everything all right up there? I take it your junkie friend didn't put out, huh?”
“I need another day,” I replied briskly, not breaking stride as I walked by him.
“What?” he blurted out loudly, his unusually chipper tone fizzling. “I—I can't do that!”
I stopped, turning to face him. My eyes narrowed, telling him in no uncertain terms to lower his fucking voice. The walk down the hallway may have felt long, but it really wasn't. With the door now wide open, the last thing I wanted Flora to hear was that I was pushing the pickup back.
I'd been running through the possibilities, but now, I was sure I knew what waited for Flora. It was much smarter for them to just retire her early rather than to worry about any connection she may have formed with me. I could sugarcoat it any way I wanted, but the raw truth was that they weren't picking her up to sell her, they were tying off a loose end.
The Knights were going to kill Flora.
Despite what was at stake for me, and the fact that I didn't know much about her, I didn't think I had it in me to watch them roll up and shoot her in the face. I was a selfish, prideful bastard, but it was the murdering of innocence that stayed with me, stubbornly refusing to be drowned in alcohol and pussy. It's what kept me awake in the small hours of the morning.
I wasn't looking for absolution. If Heaven did exist I probably wouldn’t see it. I just wanted to be able to sleep at night without the wrong person's blood on my hands. This whole thing was partially my fault. I had to figure out a way where she at least has some hope of surviving all of this, and for that, I needed a little more time.
“Tell the Knights that something came up and to pick her up tomorrow, instead.”
“You're not thinking of canceling, are you? No.” Roach shook his head and took up a stubborn tone. “I already told them! This is happening, I can't just change—”
I grabbed Roach by his ill-fitting, pompous white collar. “Come on, Lewis, you're good at working the angles, right?” Then I pulled him close enough for him to feel the hot breath of my adamant definitiveness on his beady, little eyes. “Figure it the fuck out,” I growled quietly through clenched teeth.
I didn't care how he did it. This wasn't a discussion open to debate, this was a command to be carried out.
Staring him down, I watched his steadfast resolve slip away like water down a shower drain. When he finally nodded, I shoved him aside and made my way towards the kitchen.
“Jesus...” Roach muttered under his breath when I was a safe distance away. He fixed his collar and added, “What the fuck happened to you?”
What did happen to me? My life used to be painlessly simple. I was the fucking breeze, just rolling in and out of towns whenever I pleased, beholden to no one but my pres. I wore my intentions on my sleeve and always knew the score. There was beauty in that, that utter simplicity.
Then Flora burrowed her way into my head and began clouding my decision making.
Roach didn't have much in the way of groceries left over from the weekend, but he did have a large, full kitchen to play with and enough ingredients left over to make due.
I always loved cooking. It was the one thing that relaxed me the most. The more chaotic and stressful my life was at the moment, the more elaborate I made my food to compensate. It allowed me to focus on the immediate and forget about all my other problems.
It was like transient art, but with a very necessary purpose; something beautiful that was ever changing.
I wrapped up the rest of the breakfast and had started washing up when Flora quietly pushed open the kitchen door. She appeared much more put together, the sallow color of her skin from the night before replaced by something pink, energetic. Combined with the clothes I'd washed for her—fresh jeans clinging to her legs and a fitted tanktop, her jacket no where in sight—Flora could have been a new person.
“That smells amazing,” she said.
My arms elbow deep in dishwater, I looked over at the timer. “It should be ready soon. There's some fruit on the table if you're hungry.”
“Oh god, yes!” Flora exclaimed. “I haven't eaten anything that didn't come wrapped in plastic in so long.” She made a beeline to the room's small food preparation table and immediately started picking at the chunks of melon and strawberries. “I never thought I could miss something as ordinary as fruit.”
In the faint reflection of the window before me, above the wash sink, I saw her lean over the table, press her eyes shut and roll the fruit around in her mouth, savoring it. She looked extremely satisfied.
I never thought I could be jealous of strawberries.
“Should I give you two a minute alone?” I had to break the mood, I didn't want a hard-on unless I was planning to use it.
Flora opened her eyes and regarded me with confusion at the question, then strained amusement once she realized it was just a joke.
“Pass me that mixing bowl,” I continued.
“Sure,” she said, getting up. Both her eyes and mine widened when she grabbed the mixing bowl. My gun was lying right behind it.
I'd honestly forgot all about setting it there. The more stressful the time, the more I focused on cooking to escape. That would be one hell of a way to go out.
I damn near laughed out loud when a vision of me shot to death, doing dishes, flashed in my mind. Of all the ways to die, I'd have bet a lot of money that it wouldn't have been in the kitchen. Although, considering it for the first time, a part of me found that strangely comforting.
Flora hesitated, not realizing I was watching her. Her expression betrayed an inner turmoil about whether she should go for it or not. I might've been able to reach her in time if she did, but for some reason, I didn't think it would come to that. As far as she knew, I was helping her. She was getting what she wanted, in the end.
The tension cracked as she reached down. I'd washed the knives first, so on instinct, my hand closed around the next sharpest thing left in the sink—what I hoped was the world's most lethal teaspoo
n.
Flora's hand floated right by the nine millimeter pistol and sank back into the fruit. She plucked out a piece of honeydew melon and brought the mixing bowl to me.
I let a long, slow breath out.
Washing the spoon, I dried it, then handed it to her. “Here, you're going to need this for the soufflé.”
“You're kidding, right?” she asked, popping the fruit into her mouth.
The oven timer buzzed as if to answer on my behalf.
I quickly cleaned the bowl, dried my hands and put on a set of flowery, white and purple oven mitts. With a stone-faced expression, I clicked the oven off and replied, “I'm deadly serious.”
Smiling wide, Flora stepped to the side to allow me to open the oven door. “Wow!” she gasped in disbelief when I removed the tray that held four ceramic cups with golden-brown tops, placing them on the table. “You made this?” Her incredulous tone came off sharper than I imagined she'd meant it to.
“Ouch.”
“I'm sorry!” Flora laughed, her face reddening as she sat down. “It's just, I never expected a guy like you to be so...” She pierced the eggy cake, then looked up at me, eyebrows raised high as she tried to suppress her smile. She shrugged. “Domesticated?”
“If you're going to wound me...” I took off the mitts and snatched my pistol up off the table. I popped out the magazine to check that it actually was fully loaded. It was. I snapped it back in, clicked the safety on again and held it out to her, mockingly. “At least use the gun.”
“No thanks, I'll stick to the spoon. Less chance of blowing my own foot off.” She took a bite and let her head lull back. “This might be the best thing I've ever put in my mouth.” Flora caught the mischievous look I shot her way. She chuckled awkwardly, immediately clarifying. “Food! The best tasting food I have ever... yeah. So, uh.” She shoveled in a heaping mouthful, stalling as she searched for a way to change the subject.
“Yes?” I smiled expectantly, cruelly keeping her on the spot. I wanted to see what kind of small talk she'd come up with.
