the all-purpose table wedged in a corner. Jobe had made a bit of ceremony out of unrolling a camp-style sleeping bag for himself on the floor.
Carmen pulled a book from her bag and tried sitting on Jobe’s bed, but the mattress was thin and lumpy, so after a few minutes she sank to the floor and into the sleeping bag, which was covered in flannel and filled with soft down. Exhausted, craving a sort of nest, she burrowed down inside, not even caring that the men were still watching. Once inside, she wriggled out of her jeans and tossed them out of the opening, onto the floor. Then she closed her eyes but didn’t sleep. Instead, she floated dreamily on the low murmur of their voices—once Tim and Jobe had resumed their conversation—the way she had when she was a child and her parents were talking in the front seat of the car.
She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she awoke in the middle of the night, abruptly, unable to figure out for a couple of minutes where she was. There were bodies above her, two large forms like shadowy specters. Still struggling to place herself, frantically trying to remember the night before, she wondered whether they were good or evil. She thought for a flash that she might have died somewhere along the way and was just becoming aware of it. Or perhaps she was underground in a cave, buried alive among foreign things.
She moved—it was excruciating, like stepping into a scary, dark chasm—and then became aware of a stickiness between her legs; the hazy, moonlit night beyond the windows; and the eyes of Tim, either awake or sleeping with them open. Maybe he
was
insane. She untangled herself from the sleeping bag, feeling with one bare foot the streak of blood that she’d oozed like slime.
Emerging like a trapped bug tearing its way out of a spider’s web, she gathered her shirttail and tried to cover herself, wrapping itaround the upper part of her legs where she imagined there were probably bright stains.
Lurching a little as she walked toward the door, Carmen rubbed her abdomen and moaned. How could it be that she’d never asked Jobe where the bathroom was? It had to be close; Tim had been gone only a few minutes when he used it. But was it for men only? Was it locked? And if so, where was the key? Carmen looked around the room, which became more real by degrees. The fuzzy illumination of a streetlamp came through the window. Tim blinked, his eyes yellow slits in the soupy light.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” She tried to sound tough, but she was beginning to panic. There was a heaviness in her gut, thick liquid on her legs, and she had to pee, urgently.
“What’s wrong, little girl? Not feeling well? Need some love?” Tim’s voice was low and sinister, and he pulled back the covers to show her that he was naked underneath. “Come on in. I’ll make everything better.”
Just then a cloud covered the moon and the door’s outline vanished into the murk. The room seemed to have sealed itself, like some sort of pod in a science fiction movie. She stood clenching like a kindergartener about to wet her pants. And she was furious, but for some reason this made her feel like crying. Tears and urine threatened to let down together. Then she heard a voice from above, low and as mean as a six-year-old’s and wrecked with sleep.
“Leave her alone, Tim.” There was a rustling of covers and now Jobe was standing beside her, his skinny chest bare and brushing her arm. Carmen clenched and managed to contain the liquid that threatened to spill out of her. “Here.” He grabbed her arm almost roughly. “I’ll take you.”
Jobe’s hand found a doorknob that materialized for Carmen the moment he reached for it. He pulled the door open and led her down the hallway to a tiny WC where he tugged a cord and an overbright light flooded the room. Carmen covered her eyes and whispered, “I need my knapsack, from back in the room.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in a minute. You
Carmen pulled a book from her bag and tried sitting on Jobe’s bed, but the mattress was thin and lumpy, so after a few minutes she sank to the floor and into the sleeping bag, which was covered in flannel and filled with soft down. Exhausted, craving a sort of nest, she burrowed down inside, not even caring that the men were still watching. Once inside, she wriggled out of her jeans and tossed them out of the opening, onto the floor. Then she closed her eyes but didn’t sleep. Instead, she floated dreamily on the low murmur of their voices—once Tim and Jobe had resumed their conversation—the way she had when she was a child and her parents were talking in the front seat of the car.
She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she awoke in the middle of the night, abruptly, unable to figure out for a couple of minutes where she was. There were bodies above her, two large forms like shadowy specters. Still struggling to place herself, frantically trying to remember the night before, she wondered whether they were good or evil. She thought for a flash that she might have died somewhere along the way and was just becoming aware of it. Or perhaps she was underground in a cave, buried alive among foreign things.
She moved—it was excruciating, like stepping into a scary, dark chasm—and then became aware of a stickiness between her legs; the hazy, moonlit night beyond the windows; and the eyes of Tim, either awake or sleeping with them open. Maybe he
was
insane. She untangled herself from the sleeping bag, feeling with one bare foot the streak of blood that she’d oozed like slime.
Emerging like a trapped bug tearing its way out of a spider’s web, she gathered her shirttail and tried to cover herself, wrapping itaround the upper part of her legs where she imagined there were probably bright stains.
Lurching a little as she walked toward the door, Carmen rubbed her abdomen and moaned. How could it be that she’d never asked Jobe where the bathroom was? It had to be close; Tim had been gone only a few minutes when he used it. But was it for men only? Was it locked? And if so, where was the key? Carmen looked around the room, which became more real by degrees. The fuzzy illumination of a streetlamp came through the window. Tim blinked, his eyes yellow slits in the soupy light.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” She tried to sound tough, but she was beginning to panic. There was a heaviness in her gut, thick liquid on her legs, and she had to pee, urgently.
“What’s wrong, little girl? Not feeling well? Need some love?” Tim’s voice was low and sinister, and he pulled back the covers to show her that he was naked underneath. “Come on in. I’ll make everything better.”
Just then a cloud covered the moon and the door’s outline vanished into the murk. The room seemed to have sealed itself, like some sort of pod in a science fiction movie. She stood clenching like a kindergartener about to wet her pants. And she was furious, but for some reason this made her feel like crying. Tears and urine threatened to let down together. Then she heard a voice from above, low and as mean as a six-year-old’s and wrecked with sleep.
“Leave her alone, Tim.” There was a rustling of covers and now Jobe was standing beside her, his skinny chest bare and brushing her arm. Carmen clenched and managed to contain the liquid that threatened to spill out of her. “Here.” He grabbed her arm almost roughly. “I’ll take you.”
Jobe’s hand found a doorknob that materialized for Carmen the moment he reached for it. He pulled the door open and led her down the hallway to a tiny WC where he tugged a cord and an overbright light flooded the room. Carmen covered her eyes and whispered, “I need my knapsack, from back in the room.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in a minute. You
Similar Books
