Rachel sat at the kitchen table, listening to the wind in the eves. It sounded musical, like birdsong, though perhaps that was the Percocet at work. She plucked an ice cube from the cereal bowl of ice cubes Felix had put out for her with the same care and pride and love he would have shown if he’d prepared an exotic gourmet dish.
She sucked on the ice cube, letting the cold water trickle down her ravaged throat.
Felix and her father sat at the table with her.
No one spoke.
Rachel’s voice was hoarse and it hurt to speak.
Besides, what was there to say?
She’d tried to sleep but was too tired and too tense.
She wished she could sleep. Her body begged for it, but her troubled mind played the foil.
Her father sipped a Labatt Blue from the bottle. Felix joined him, drinking from the bottle Rachel’s father had cracked open for him. Rachel could tell Felix didn’t have a taste for the Canadian pilsner, but he drank it anyway.
She hoped her father’s phone would ring soon, a call to tell him Boyd Pratt had been arrested.
The couple was deranged. As Rachel understood from her father, the husband had a thing for young girls. A violent, psychosexual thing that entailed luring and grooming and manipulating girls younger than Rachel. Much younger. Like his wife had been when he’d met her.
Rachel was an exception, the wife had confessed, because Boyd liked risk. And did not like to be told what to do, by anyone. Especially a cop. Boyd had targeted her for who she was, the daughter of a nosy cop making trouble for him. What better challenge than to fuck with and try to fuck a nosy cop’s daughter. It sickened Rachel.
How stupid she’d been.
How stupid she was.
No. Not stupid. Confused. An emotional and mental wreck from the Preacher business. Whoever had killed him had done the world a favor.
Sick with guilt, she looked at Felix, even though she’d, technically, done nothing wrong. All she’d done was talk to the guy. Taken a ride. Still. She did not want to live on technicalities. She’d betrayed Felix, that was the truth. She swore to herself she’d never do it again. She would never lie to him, never hide things from him again.
Drowsiness was creeping up on her.
She longed to sleep in her old bed, in her old bedroom.
Safe and sound.
Felix looked at her, smiled. He lifted the beer bottle, as if in cheers.
Her father raised his bottle toward her, too.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
Rachel let out a long sigh to stifle a sob.
“I bought a gun,” she said. “A thirty-eight revolver.”
Felix and Rachel’s father stared at her.
“It’s in my backpack,” Rachel said.
Her father and Felix nodded.
“I thought you should know,” she said. “I wanted you to know.”