The new girl didn't say anything, but she narrowed her eyes and studied Roger as though he were a strange creature in a zoo. He wished he hadn't said anything about the last girl. He didn't know if it was right to mention her. It might scare the new girl too much, and the look on her face told him that it probably had.
"This is a good place to live," he said. "The house is nice, and there are woods, and I can go to town and get the groceries and the newspaper while you take care of things inside here."
The girl started shaking her head. Her lips quivered in a strange way, and Roger thought she was going to cry, just like the last girl had when he first brought her home. Roger hoped she wouldn't. He hated the crying most of all, even more than the times he had to hit them.
But the new girl wasn't crying. She started laughing. At first, it was just a series of low snorts, but then it spread through her body and became something deeper, something from her chest that came out loud and almost boisterous, the way she might laugh at a party or a comedy show.
It went on for a few minutes, the girl laughing and Roger watching. He felt his face turn red. When the girl calmed down, she looked at Roger again.
"You're serious, aren't you? You really want to keep me here."
"I won't hurt you," he said.
"Look, I can tell that you might be a little confused about some things." Her voice was lower, softer. It sounded warm and almost friendly. "Maybe you saw me and you thought I looked nice, but I'm not. And I can't come and live with you. I go to school, and I have friends and parents and a life of my own. Now if you just take me back to my bike and let me go, there doesn't have to be any trouble. I'll tell the police you didn't mean to hurt me—"
"The police?"
The girl stopped talking. She blinked her eyes a couple of times.
"Okay," she said. "I don't even have to tell the police. I'll just say I fell off my bike and hurt myself, and I'll pretend like I never met you..."
Roger shook his head. What she said sounded good and made sense, but he knew he couldn't do it. Dad was right—they would never understand. And like his mom used to say, I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night. The girl would tell. She would tell just as soon as she could.
"You're staying," he said. "Here with me. As my wife."
Roger tried to sound firm, the way his dad used to sound when he gave orders around the house. When his dad talked, everybody listened.
And it seemed to work. The girl looked at him for a minute, and then she nodded her head as though she finally understood what was going on. Roger shifted his weight a little, easing up on her more. Maybe she'd come around quickly, he thought, just like the last one did. Maybe he just had to talk to her a little bit.
"I need to go to the bathroom," she said.
Roger hadn't thought of that. He hadn't thought to offer her something to eat or something to drink. He had been so concerned with just getting her into the house and up the stairs that he hadn't thought about anything else she might need or want. He reminded himself that this was all new to her, that the last girl pretty much did what she wanted around the house because she'd lived there for so long, but this girl was new. Hell, she was still a guest, and his mom had always made a big point about the right way to treat guests. Roger couldn't remember exactly what he was supposed to do for guests since he hadn't had any in so many years, but he figured that letting a person go to the bathroom when they wanted had to be part of it.
"Okay," Roger said. "You can go."
"Where is it?"
"Here."
He leaned forward and took her by the arm, helping as much as pulling her to her feet. The girl grimaced and made a squeaking noise. He realized he'd pulled too hard.
"Sorry," he said, but he kept his hand on her arm and walked with her out of the bedroom and to the left toward the bathroom. He turned the light on for her when they arrived. It was bright, but the bathroom wasn't very clean. The sink was dirty, and Roger smelled a hint of pee in the air. Nothing had really been cleaned for weeks, maybe months. He thought about asking the new girl to start in the bathroom but decided to give her a day or so to get used to being there.
"My hands," she said.
"What?"
"I can't do this with my hands tied. You need to cut them loose or something."
"Oh."
Roger hesitated. The knife was in the bedroom, and he didn't want to leave the girl alone. But how far could she run with her hands tied? He'd hear her in the hallway moving around. He went and got the knife, moving as quickly as his big body would let him. When he came back to the bathroom, the girl was still there. She hadn't moved a muscle. Roger slit the tape that held her hands together at the wrists. He folded the knife and waited in the doorway.
"Excuse me," she said.
"What?"