I nod, edging him to the door. I watch him get into his car and pull out before taking a deep breath. If I hadn't come back to my place tonight, he would have gone to the fucking ranch. That was too close of a call. This is why I don't do—didn't do—kidnappings.
Five minutes after I am sure he's gone, I grab my things and drive back towards the ranch to finish Vesper's new home.
Working on a client's front porch this morning, I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Awww Sam, you look exhausted,” Ms. Dawkins says. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
I shake my head no, but then I put my finger up and shrug. No, thanks. Wait, I've changed my mind. You know what? Sure. Usually I make an effort to talk, but I've done work for Emilia Dawkins for years and I really don't have the energy for conversation. The stuttering gets worse when I'm nervous or overly tired. In her case, it's the latter: Mrs. Dawkins is old enough to be my grandmother. Even if I was attracted to her, I'm smart enough to never go after a customer. But normally, on a clear day like this, I'd be keeping an eye out for women at home while their husbands or boyfriends are at work, trying to narrow down who'd I'd like to hunt.
Ever since I took Vesper, however, I am the one being hunted. Conveniently, Ms. Dawkin’s house is just minutes by car from Vesper’s home. It’s the perfect excuse to drive by on the way back and see what the police are up to — if they are finished combing the house for evidence, if there are patrol cars still sitting outside her house. I know how this all works. I just have to wait it out, let things cool.
Fuck it. The truth is, all I can think about is getting back to Vesper. Everything else, including keeping an eye on the cops, is just a distraction. I spent the entire night finishing her new home. I got maybe an hour of sleep. I just need to add some finishing touches. I can't wait to see her again. I have new gifts for her.
There's a school across the street and they've broken for recess. The quiet playground erupts with screeching children. That sound still makes me uncomfortable. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I had a soft spot for Johnny, mainly because he doesn't have a voice. I know what that's like. Well, at least until he decided to have a conniption fit. I don't blame him though. If I had a Vesper at his age, I wouldn't want to lose her either.
I glance over at the children playing. A group of them have formed a circle and are running in the same direction.
I stand in the middle of a circle of my schoolmates. My stomach hurts. I hate recess.
“Stu-stu-stu-stuttering Sam!” they chant. I nervously fidget, my eyes dart around looking for Scooter. He's playing with his own friends. Most of the time he doesn't talk to me at school. He has lots of friends; the older crowd. I think he's embarrassed by me. So at lunch, I usually sit alone. “Stu-stu-stu-stupid Sam!” some of the others chant.
Just before we broke for recess, Ms. Juniper called on me to read out loud. She said she wouldn't treat me differently. That my dad insisted on that. The class waits for me to get out a few sentences. It makes my stomach hurt. I'm afraid I'll pee in front of everyone because when I'm nervous it makes me have to pee. I pee the bed almost every night, and it makes dad angry when he finds out. When the kids giggle at me reading, Mrs. Juniper scolds them, but it just makes me more embarrassed. They wait and they wait for me to get through the paragraph. This time I didn't finish until five minutes into recess. This makes the kids really mad at me. At lunch, they like to call me names because they know I can't answer fast and they like to hear me struggle. It's easier to pretend I don't hear them.
When they tease me at recess, I stand there quietly, the pain in my stomach getting worse as they laugh and shove me.
When there's a break in the circle, I make a run for it. They all chase me around the playground, but I am fast. Faster than any kid at this school, even the older ones. I run past the teachers and off the playground. No one can catch me as I run into a yard and climb over a fence. I keep running and running, until the sounds of the school yard disappear.
I stop to catch my breath in someone's backyard. When I look up, I am facing a window. A woman is standing there, holding a baby. She's looking down at it, rocking it back and forth. I duck behind some bushes. I don't want her to see me and send me back.
She's wearing a white dress. It's loose and stops at her knees. After a while, she pulls down her top. She has big ones, and I feel something in my stomach that's not pain. She lifts the baby to one of them, and I watch the baby suck. I wish I was in there in her arms, but this is almost as nice. Quiet. No one making me talk. Alone, but not alone.
“Here's some iced tea!” Mrs. Dawkins hands me a glass. “I'm going to run some errands now.”