To be is to be cornered—EM Cioran
I didn't explain shit to her. We got to Betsy's, got a booth, ordered breakfast, and after Anna had ordered one of everything on the menu, she let Betsy leave, placed her menu in the holder near the wall, and lightly slapped the palms of her hands on the table.
"I passed your test! I passed your test!"
"Nobody's ever passed my test."
"But I did, didn't I?"
I looked at the Glock on the seat beside me, between me and the wall.
Then I looked at Anna.
"Are you gonna turn me in?"
"No," she says. "I'm gonna fucking kill you."
I lean forward.
"You're gonna kill me? How would you even begin?"
"I've learned," she says, "by watching you."
We lock eyes.
"I hope you never kill anyone."
"Why not?"
"Because it would probably ruin your life."
"It didn't ruin yours," she said.
And I said, "How do you know?"
She sips her ice water, and I notice she's shivering from head to toe.
Her eyes narrow to slits.
"I could scream out. I could run. Why did you bring me here?"
" 'Cause I want to show you something."
"Well show me 'cause I got the itch to end your career right now."
"I want you to look across the street."
Anna twists in her seat.
"Tom's Tool? What's that?"
"It's a hardware store. Look right in front of that."
Anna looks. And looks. And then she finally sees it.
"That's where you first saw me."
"The bus stop."
"Where were you?"
"I was at the counter. When that bus pulled away..well..I was very attracted to you."
Anna looks at me with tears welling in her eyes.
"What are you thinking?" I say.
She shakes her head and cries in the palms of her hands.
"Are you thinking: I've wasted a month of your time? I've ruined your life? What?"
She looks up at me, angry, broken, sad, scared for her life.
"You're really not going to shoot me?"
"I promise."
I hold up my hands.
"You're the fucking weirdest person I've ever met. But I've come to.."
She shakes her head.
"It's called Stockholm syndrome," I say.
"Look, I don't have as much schooling as you so I just call it you fucking with my head."
"Fair enough. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Why don't you just tell me the purpose of our little field trip. A short stack of pancakes ain't gonna make me forget that there's no fucking way you brought me here for breakfast."
"That's right."
"So what the fuck did you bring me here for?"
"Look across the street."
"I see. Bus stop. Hardware store."
"You didn't look. You just described what you remember from when you looked before."
"O-kay," this girl says, and she looks across the street.
The Greyhound pulls up. It comes to a stop.
Anna looks back at me.
"How did you do that?"
"I told you earlier we were on an extremely delicate timetable."
Anna turns back to the bus. It sits for a while and pulls away, black smoke coming out the back.
And there, right in front of the hardware store, is a woman about 16, 17, a suitcase in each hand, looking left, looking right—looking up and down the street.
"But there's only one place for her to go," I say.
"She's too young," Anna says.
"Well I disagree and I'm in charge, so."
Anna turns to me.
"She's coming in here."
"I know. You're going to introduce me."
"Fuck that!"
"She'll trust you," I say.
"You make her trust you yourself. You're good at making people trust you and then fucking up their lives."
"It'll be so much easier if you do it though."
"I'm sorry but you can fuck yourself. I'm not doing that."
"Yes you are."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because I'm asking you to."
Anna looks over at the girl. And sure enough, she's crossing the street toward Betsy's.
"Help her with the door."
Anna looks at me with more hatred than at any time I've seen her in the last month and it makes me want to fuck her like a slave, remind her of her submission to me.
She slings her cup across the table and the ice water spills, she slings it so fast.
"I've got it, I've got it," I say, and I'm pulling out napkins.
Anna picks up the tall plastic cup and sets it gently on the table.
She puts her hand on the table and uses it to lift her body from the bench.
She doesn't look at me.
I'm cleaning the table with about a hundred tiny paper napkins.
Anna goes to the door. She opens it. She goes outside.
She's talking with the dead girl.
Anna takes one of the dead girl's suitcases and the two of them bumble into Betsy's Diner. Betsy points to a place under the counter where they can put the suitcases, then she gestures to the booth I'm sitting in, in the corner. Betsy is so helpful—she doesn't even know how helpful she is.
Anna and the girl come over to my booth.
Anna says, "This is Kimmie. My new friend. And this is.."
"Matthew," I say.
I don't extend my hand for a shake.
Kimmie slides into the booth across from me, then Anna sits on the outside, next to Kimmie.
"Anna and I are having breakfast. If you want anything, go ahead. Anna's buying."
Anna kicks me under the table—hard.
"Alright," I say. "I'll buy."
I smile.
Kimmie says, "Really?"
"Yeah, everything's cheap here anyway," I say. "You know how they say if you can eat ten dollars worth of food at Taco Bell, you've got a problem? Well at Betsy's it's like eight dollars so..go crazy. I mean it's not like I'm going to kill you if you go over."
I laugh and look at Anna.
Kimmie is perfectly happy, perfectly safe—Anna guarantees that. If Anna is with me—for whatever reason—that is Kimmie's insurance policy that I'm an alright guy. She has no idea there's a Glock sitting on the seat right next to me.
In fact, she has no idea about a lot of things.
I look her over while she's reading the menu. Seventeen probably. Minor drug user. Thinks she's a badass. Not a virgin. I try to imagine her pussy based on her face.
"So what do you think you might have? The French toast is excellent."
Kimmie asks Anna: "What are you having?"
"One of everything. I've been locked in a torture chamber for a month."
Kimmie laughs.
"I know what you mean. That bus is like a torture chamber after about the first 16 hours."
"Where are you coming from?"
"Eugene."
"Oregon?" I say.
"Yeah," Kimmie says, face deep in the menu.
"Why would you leave Eugene, Oregon to come to Pain, South Dakota?"
"I'm not going to Pain. I'm just stopping here overnight."
"Oh," I say.
And Anna looks like she's about to make a run for it.
"Why leave Eugene in the first place?"
"Well," Kimmie says, looking directly at me, "I hate motherfucking pot-smoking wannabe neo-hippies."
She laughs.
I think about what it would be like to fuck her.
"Is that reason enough?" she says.
I smile.
"Sure is."
She has freckles and blond hair—a hemp choker. I imagine myself choking her for real with my leather belt around her neck and fucking her ass while she's unconscious.
All of this can be arranged, of course.
And trying out her pussy for the first time while she's fully conscious, looking in her eyes as I rape her—gently at first and then like a gorilla—this is what fills my thoughts.
Kimmie the anti-hippie smiles at me and I smile back, then smile at Anna. Anna has her head on folded arms, and she's looking away from Kimmie, at the door.
"Anna, baby, is this upsetting you?"
"Very much," she says without looking at me.
"Kimmie, what kind of perfume is that?"
"Clinique Happy."
"That's one of my favorites. You mind if I get a closer smell?"
Anna looks up to see what the hell I'm doing.
I lean across the table and Kimmie leans forward, too. I smell her neck. I used to have a girlfriend who wore Clinique Happy. Then—and Anna is watching me closely as I do this—I put my nose next to Kimmie's nose and I breathe in.
Kimmie—as a matter of reflex—breathes in too.
Then we both lean back in our seats.
"It's a wonderful smell," I say.
"Thank you," Kimmie beams.
Betsy comes over and asks if we need anything.
"Yes, something warm to drink for Anna—she's shivering from all that ice water. And whatever..Kimmie..wants."
Kimmie orders pancakes and a few minutes pass.
Then I ask Kimmie a question.
"Kimmie, would you like to leave? All of us together?"
Kimmie says, "Yes, I think I would like that."
And Anna says, "But what about our food?"
"Kimmie?" I say.
"Yes."
"Would you like to go to my house with Anna and I?"
Kimmie looks around a bit and then just says, "Yes."
Anna looks to her left at this new girl.
"Would you like to go now?"
She shrugs her bare shoulders and says, "Sure!"
Anna looks at me like: what the fuck?
"Kimmie would like to go,"I say.
Anna looks at Kimmie and chops her hand on the table.
"You just met us. What if we're some kind of serial torture murderers and you're just going to come to our house?"
I say: "Kimmie, you would like to come to our house, wouldn't you?"
And Kimmie says, "Yes."
Anna asks me with her eyes: What the fuck is going on?
And I just smile.
And Anna's eyes get big and I can see some new kind of fear and admiration growing in her.
We all get up from the booth. The girls grab the suitcases. I pay the bill. And Betsy gives me that smile like part of her is happy I'm always picking up young women at her diner and I love Betsy for that. In a life like mine, you need people like Betsy who aren't really paying attention to what the fuck is going on.
Anna went ahead and showed Kimmie my truck. They put Kimmie's bags in the back and got in. Anna sat next to me and gripped my thigh tight with her beautiful little hand—and it wasn't a grip of trust, it wasn't a grip of love—it was a grip pleading for protection, like a scared girl of her father, from whatever this new evil was.
"Kimmie, ready to go home?"
Bright, aware, happy, Kimmie said: "Yes!"
"Doesn't she deserve her view?"
"What view?"
"Her view. The large headspace. All that bullshit."
"Oh! Wagner Canyon! You want to go to Wagner Canyon?"
"Yes, I want to go to Wagner Canyon."
"What about you, Kimmie, wouldn't you like to go spend some time outdoors? There's a place Anna and I love to go. It's called Wagner Canyon. Doesn't that sound like a great idea to you?"
"Yes, it sounds like a great idea to me!" Kimmie almost shouted.
Anna's grip tightened on my thigh.
I could feel her fingernails.
It was the grip of someone scared shitless, and it made my blood run hotter than it had in decades.