cut a giant hole in it, a skylight to the world. I stare at the ceiling until my eyes droop and I fall, restless and twitching, into sleep.
CHAPTER 31
ANNIE
THE HOUSE IS clean and shiny. Annie notices the waxed wood floors, the shiny kitchen appliances, and the entire fridge full of food. For a girl without a mother, Dana has a home that seems just about perfect. Her father watches them from his place in the doorway. Annie shifts her backpack nervously, feeling out of place in the shiny home. They had ridden here in Dana’s father’s SUV, a shiny vehicle with power windows and leather seats that warmed when you pushed a button. He had gotten them ice cream, letting Annie pick her own flavor and add extra toppings, and hadn’t gotten mad when sprinkles had fallen on the seat.
“Annie, just leave your backpack on the table. Why don’t you girls swim in the pool?”
“The pool?” Annie’s eyes brighten. She hasn’t swum in a pool since last summer, when her mother had taken them to the YMCA on a Sunday afternoon.
The girl beside her groans. “The pool? I’d rather go upstairs and show her my toys.”
Her father frowns. “We have a pool out there that you never use. Go upstairs, find a suit for Annie, and then head out back. I’ll fix some lunch.”
The brunette pouts, huffing dramatically and grabbing Annie’s small hand. “Fine. Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you my room while we change.”
“Change quickly,” the man warns, an edge in his tone. “I don’t want you girls up in that room all day.”
They change in a room filled with dolls, frills, and pink. Dana thrusts at Annie a bathing suit that is tags-still-on-it new. She pulls on the sparkly suit carefully, not wanting to stretch the fabric, and examines herself in the mirror. With the sunny room behind her, the hot-pink suit bright in its unwashed glory, she feels transformed, as if she is living a different life, in a different world not her own. She feels momentary guilt at the surge of want, envy, the desire for this life over her worn and faded one.
They swim in crystal-clear water, eat burgers and potato chips with ice-cold Cokes, and pose for pictures poolside. It is, as best Annie can ascertain, a perfect life.
She hopes she is invited back.
CHAPTER 32
I STAND UNDER the weak spray of the cheap shower and try to wash away my day. For at least the twentieth time, I contemplate moving out of this shithole. When I decided to sequester myself, I was unsure of my financial position. I had $649 in my checking account and no clear source of income. This apartment had been cheap, with no deposit required. Now, with a bank account balance comfortably in the seven-figure range, it is ridiculous that I live in a place with occasional hot water. But moving seems an insurmountable task. And I chalk it up to a penance of sorts. I killed, so I am punished.
My last cammer of the day, RalphMA35, had been the typical “young experience” client. I should be used to creeps, should be able to brush it off and move on. Maybe it’s because he had been the last of the night, but for some reason I can’t let the session go. I can’t forget the hoarseness of his voice, the need I heard through the speakers, or the hungry emphasis on the name he called me. Annie. It was my third chat with Ralph and the second time he used that name. It isn’t often that clients use a specific name. It isn’t often that I take the place of a specific person. When he uttered her name, spoke that sweet name in a tone that was anything but, it ripped my heart out—grabbed it, squeezed it, then yanked it out, leaving devastation in its wake.
I turn off the spray, grab the towel off the hook, and rub down my wet skin. I flip off the light and walk naked through the loft till I reach the edge of my mattress. I start to reach for the blanket to pull back the sheets and crawl in. But I stop. I stop and think—a foreign and complex push and pull of emotions battling inside
CHAPTER 31
ANNIE
THE HOUSE IS clean and shiny. Annie notices the waxed wood floors, the shiny kitchen appliances, and the entire fridge full of food. For a girl without a mother, Dana has a home that seems just about perfect. Her father watches them from his place in the doorway. Annie shifts her backpack nervously, feeling out of place in the shiny home. They had ridden here in Dana’s father’s SUV, a shiny vehicle with power windows and leather seats that warmed when you pushed a button. He had gotten them ice cream, letting Annie pick her own flavor and add extra toppings, and hadn’t gotten mad when sprinkles had fallen on the seat.
“Annie, just leave your backpack on the table. Why don’t you girls swim in the pool?”
“The pool?” Annie’s eyes brighten. She hasn’t swum in a pool since last summer, when her mother had taken them to the YMCA on a Sunday afternoon.
The girl beside her groans. “The pool? I’d rather go upstairs and show her my toys.”
Her father frowns. “We have a pool out there that you never use. Go upstairs, find a suit for Annie, and then head out back. I’ll fix some lunch.”
The brunette pouts, huffing dramatically and grabbing Annie’s small hand. “Fine. Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you my room while we change.”
“Change quickly,” the man warns, an edge in his tone. “I don’t want you girls up in that room all day.”
They change in a room filled with dolls, frills, and pink. Dana thrusts at Annie a bathing suit that is tags-still-on-it new. She pulls on the sparkly suit carefully, not wanting to stretch the fabric, and examines herself in the mirror. With the sunny room behind her, the hot-pink suit bright in its unwashed glory, she feels transformed, as if she is living a different life, in a different world not her own. She feels momentary guilt at the surge of want, envy, the desire for this life over her worn and faded one.
They swim in crystal-clear water, eat burgers and potato chips with ice-cold Cokes, and pose for pictures poolside. It is, as best Annie can ascertain, a perfect life.
She hopes she is invited back.
CHAPTER 32
I STAND UNDER the weak spray of the cheap shower and try to wash away my day. For at least the twentieth time, I contemplate moving out of this shithole. When I decided to sequester myself, I was unsure of my financial position. I had $649 in my checking account and no clear source of income. This apartment had been cheap, with no deposit required. Now, with a bank account balance comfortably in the seven-figure range, it is ridiculous that I live in a place with occasional hot water. But moving seems an insurmountable task. And I chalk it up to a penance of sorts. I killed, so I am punished.
My last cammer of the day, RalphMA35, had been the typical “young experience” client. I should be used to creeps, should be able to brush it off and move on. Maybe it’s because he had been the last of the night, but for some reason I can’t let the session go. I can’t forget the hoarseness of his voice, the need I heard through the speakers, or the hungry emphasis on the name he called me. Annie. It was my third chat with Ralph and the second time he used that name. It isn’t often that clients use a specific name. It isn’t often that I take the place of a specific person. When he uttered her name, spoke that sweet name in a tone that was anything but, it ripped my heart out—grabbed it, squeezed it, then yanked it out, leaving devastation in its wake.
I turn off the spray, grab the towel off the hook, and rub down my wet skin. I flip off the light and walk naked through the loft till I reach the edge of my mattress. I start to reach for the blanket to pull back the sheets and crawl in. But I stop. I stop and think—a foreign and complex push and pull of emotions battling inside
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