SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE early hours, the girl starts moaning and whimpering. Her words are mangled, almost distorted—emerging from her throat like a wet cough. ‘I see the devil now. I whisper to him … The names. Teddy, Eddie, Brian. Violet.’ She keeps repeating the last one. ‘Violet, Violet, Violet …’
There’s no sense in it.
Amy stands over the girl’s bed, praying she’ll resettle. When she doesn’t, Amy lies down beside her, cuddling the girl from behind, the way her brother Will used to console her back in the bad old days. It seems to work. The girl’s voice drops, and her whispering peters out. Amy wants to tell the girl it’s going to be okay, but for the life of her she can’t remember her name.
The girl’s murmuring starts up again. ‘Lenny. Joel. Violet, Violet, Violet …’
Amy touches her face, and it’s slick with sweat.
She stirs. ‘Where … what?’
‘It’s okay. You were having a nightmare.’
The girl goes quiet, then she rolls over and touches Amy’s cheek—just as Amy has touched hers. The girl gently kisses her on the mouth.
‘Go back to sleep,’ Amy whispers.
She gets out of the girl’s bed, moves back to her own sweat-drenched sheets and stares into the black void of the ceiling.
The next morning, they’re back in the car and heading south. It’s more of the same. More grass fields and shit towns, all dry as a match and devoid of mystery. Even the radio doesn’t work out here.
The girl stays quiet for two hours, but Amy knows she’s working up to something. She’s not as zombified today. Whatever they gave her in the mental hospital is wearing off.
Amy is so bored she gives her a nudge. ‘What’s your name again?’
The girl says nothing.
‘They told me, but I forgot. Do you know my name?’
‘Amy Owens.’
‘Okay.’
‘You work for Colleen Vinton. You take dirty pictures for her. I know who you are. I remember you.’
Amy keeps her eyes on the road. ‘It’s not all I do.’
The girl doesn’t comment.
‘I do background checks, find people, dig stuff up. It’s not all … So we’ve met before?’
‘At Tropical Touch,’ says the girl. It’s one of Colleen’s brothels.
The road bends, but only a little. The landscape stays the same. It looks like fucking Mars out the window. Amy lights a smoke and sucks on it.
‘They took my baby away,’ says the girl.
‘What?’
‘They took my baby. That’s why Colleen is sending me to Adelaide. I had a baby before I went to the hospital. They gave it to some cop. Colleen said it was for my own good, but …’
Amy exhales. ‘You can’t tell me this stuff.’
‘Because of Colleen?’
‘Fuck yes, because of Colleen.’
‘You do whatever she says?’
‘I do what she pays me to do.’
The girl looks over at her. ‘I’ve got money. What if I paid you?’
‘To do what, exactly?’
‘Find my baby.’
‘What are you going to do with a baby? How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty? When you get to Adelaide, you can start over.’
‘Start what over?’
Amy lets it go. She wipes wet hair from her brow.
‘What do you reckon?’ says the girl.
‘Tell me your name first.’
‘Sarah. Sarah Utton.’
‘Who’s the father?’ Amy says, but then shakes her head. ‘Fuck. Don’t answer that. Forget I asked.’
‘Can you help me?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Just … no?’
‘That’s right, Sarah. Just no.’