Everything Under The Sun

She pursed her lips and took another drag.

“The usual,” she began. “Wondering why you never sleep with them. Lanie said I must have some kind of miracle pussy.”

I laughed lightly.

Evelyn smiled. “You’re a handsome man, Atticus Hunt; I can’t say I don’t enjoy the shit out of their jealousy.”

She stepped up closer, swishing her hips as she walked. “But out of curiosity,” she said, batting her eyes, “is it the pussy? I mean, could Loose Lanie be right?”

I just shook my head. Any other day I might play along with her, let her work her magic on me to put me in a better mood, but I had too much on my mind.

I sighed.

“Rafe’ll be heading to Cincinnati soon,” I said. “I’ll be taking over while he’s gone.”

Evelyn sat down on the edge of the bed, facing me, and she drew her legs up to sit cross-legged; the springs creaked underneath her movements.

“And that’s a good thing?” she asked, wary. “Isn’t it?”

My eyes met hers.

“I like the position I’m in,” I said. “I don’t have to make any of the decisions—I just follow orders.”

Evelyn smiled craftily as smoke rose from her lips; she cocked her head to one side. I already knew what she was about to say, and mentally I prepared myself for it.

“Following orders doesn’t exempt you, babe,” she began, always honest, always the voice of reason I often ignored when alone. “You’re still guilty of whatever you do—or don’t do. Blood is on your hands as much as anyone’s.”

I hated that she was right, because the ‘following orders’ excuse was all I had to keep me sane. I knew deep down I was still guilty just for being a part of it, even if my part was and always had been small, just enough keep the shadows of suspicions off me.

“So, what are you going to do?” she asked.

I raised my back from the chair and leaned forward, propping my forearms on the top of my legs, letting my rough, work-worn hands dangle between them.

“I’m going to do my job,” I said simply. “I’ll command security, make sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing—discipline those who aren’t—and if a scouting party comes back with supplies, then I’ll make sure everything gets inventoried and stored away; nothing much different from what Rafe does.”

Evelyn chuckled, took another puff of her cigarette and then set the rest in the ashtray next to the bed.

“Rafe does a lot more than that, and you know it.”

I shook my head, wanting to forget about the rest of what Rafe did as Overseer.

Evelyn stood up, came over to me and sat sideways on my lap, draped an arm around the back of my neck. Absently, I hooked an arm around her, my fingers splayed against her bare thigh. I stared out ahead, too bothered by my thoughts to give her my full attention.

She touched the side of my stubbled face. “You’re a good man, Atticus,” she said softly and with burden. “But being a good man doesn’t do anything but get him killed anymore.” She fitted her long, slender fingers underneath my chin, turned my head to face her.

I looked at her through eyes that hid a lot of pain. But Evelyn always knew that it was there, even when, like now, I wasn’t showing it.

“You don’t have to rape or murder or act like a barbarian like the rest of them do,” she pointed out, “but you can’t show weakness, Atticus. You have to be firm and merciless when the time calls for it, or they’ll eat you alive.”

I looked away, forcing her fingers to fall from my face.

I knew this truth more than she did, but sometimes I needed her to remind me of it. I was firm and merciless when I had to be—that was no question—but in a leadership role, proving I was fit for the life the men led here, would be much harder to pull off. My every move and decision would be watched and judged by dozens of pairs of eyes. Men would want to see me make mistakes, to show weakness, and to fail.

Evelyn patted my shoulder and then stood from my lap. Taking her half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray, she slipped it back in-between her fingers and then walked to the open window and sat against the windowsill.

“I’ll do what I have to do,” I said, more to myself than to Evelyn.

“What about the girls?” she asked.

“Like I said, I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Soldiers’ll be lined up along the street like people used to do back in the day to be the first to get a fancy new cell phone.” Smoke streamed from her lips; she flicked ashes over the windowsill. “Are you sure you can seal the girl’s fates like that even when they’re down on their knees begging you to let them go?”

“Are you doubting my ability to lead, Evelyn?” Wounded, I gazed at her from across the short distance.

She shook her head. “No. I would never doubt your ability to lead, but I’ll always doubt your ability to treat those women with the same cruelty and barbarism that every other soldier in Wolf’s army does.”

I looked away.

Evelyn was one of those women once, three years ago when a scouting party brought her here. She had been lined up with others against her will, placed in one of four groups: warrior, worker, wife, or whore. Considered too weak to be a warrior, too old to be a wife, and too pretty to be a worker, Rafe sent her to the brothel that day. I was her first customer.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Evelyn said.

I gazed across the room at nothing for a long time, lost in thought, and then something occurred to me.

“If the Overlord makes Rafe General and gives him the army to lead on a permanent basis,” I began, “there’s a good chance I’ll be promoted permanently as well. I could easily be the one taking over Rafe’s operations here in the city.”

“Yes, that’s a possibility,” Evelyn agreed.

I stood and paced the floor; my boots tapped as I walked back and forth over the weathered hardwood.

“If I become Overseer,” I went on, “I’ll have the opportunity to begin making changes.”

“You could,” Evelyn said, “but not the changes you’d like to make.”

I glanced over.

Evelyn smoked the cigarette down to the filter and then crushed it out on the windowsill. She looked back at me, preparing an explanation—for once I just wanted her to agree with me, but I knew I was fooling myself.

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