Wanted by Amanda Lance Page B

Or would he avoid it, knowing it would probably only deteriorate her health? I wanted to laugh—it was probably the only time in my life that it was good to have so few people that cared about me.
    “Are you done yet?”
    “Almost.” His brow was furrowed and his back was hunched. He bit his lip with such concentration I thought he might bite a hole through it. As he worked, I thought about the other sketches of me. Though I wanted to ask him about them, I still didn’t feel comfortable about it. I resolved to put it off until later, telling myself that I had enough time to get around to it.
    “How about now?”
    He smiled. “Yeah, I’m done.”
    I felt as though I had to be careful with the flimsy pages. It was easy to see he had done something amazing in such a short amount of time. Charlie had made an image of me. Well, almost me. And yet it wasn’t me at all…it was so much more than me, it was better than me a thousand times over. And while I could see pieces of my features at the foundation, every line and smudge was according to some grand detail that was beyond any genuine depiction of myself. Everything was illuminated by the shadows he created on the surface of the figures that made me up.
    “Wow.” I was breathless. “This is…incredible.”
    He stood up quickly and took a cigarette from his pocket. From the corner of my eye I saw that he looked at it for a moment but then put it back. Instead, he took a torn duffle bag from under the bed and began throwing clothes inside.
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “I mean it.” I slid off the bed to get a better look under the lamp. “How did you do this?”
    “Do what?”
    I flipped the book upside down. It even looked amazing from this angle. “Make me look this good?”
    His smile became sly, dangerously clever. “I just draw what I see, is all.”
    I swallowed hard and tried to pretend like I was brushing the hair behind my ears. There was no way he couldn’t have seen me blush in that small space.
    I put the sketchbook down and reached for my sling bag hanging on the back of the door. I have never in my life been so relieved to have my hairbrush. I detangled the unruly mess of knots as gently as I could and wished for conditioner. It was only then that I noticed what Charlie was packing.
    “Um, wh-what are you doing?” A new, unequivocal anxiety found me with the two concepts of Charlie and away combining. I didn’t like the idea of Charlie going anywhere, at least, not without me. Even though he was the reason I was there and that my life had been put in serious jeopardy, my instincts told me he was honest. Well…as honest as a thief could be. And given that I had no other choices at that moment, those instincts would have to be good enough.
    “Across the hall. I’m takin’ Polo’s cabin. You’ll, ah…stay here.”
    I froze. “Wh-what about your other friends?” I thought about Wallace and put my hand to my throat. Fear had no trouble climbing back into my heart. I realized it probably had never left. I didn’t even want to say his name out loud—like an urban legend, it might make him appear.
    He read my mind again. “Wallace ain’t on this ship.” Charlie’s voice was flat. “A lot of things were leadin’ up to it, but he ain’t working with us no more.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief without even realizing it. I smiled and tried to get back to the conversation.
    “If you take his cabin, where will Polo sleep?” It seemed like the next, most logical thing to ask.
    His smiled widened a bit. “Who cares? It’s just Polo.”
    Charlie broke out laughing and threw the duffle bag over his shoulder. “He’s a little slow sometimes. But he’s a good kid—he won’t hurt ya or nothin’.”
    “Good to know.”
    There was a visible hesitation before he walked out the door and for a terrifying instant I was afraid he would tie me up again. I tried to think of reasons for him not to. If I had to, I would plead a case for myself. I would