Page 41 of Chaos

The door slams closed behind him, echoing like metallic thunder, and the words die in my mouth.

He’s prettier than he has any right to be, with a bony jaw and full lips, a long nose, freckles on high cheekbones, and the same rich copper red hair. Lanky. Big hands and feet, and the memory of his scream clashing through my ears when Ben lifted the hammer. It cracked and warbled, lost pitch.

He positions himself at the back wall, his slashing eyes hard on me.

“But in order to stay, you need to answer some questions,” Yorke’s still talking. “Can you do that, Ephie?” he asks.

“Maybe.” I bring my cuffed hands to my mouth to chew on a thumbnail, then blush when Shane’s bold blue gaze lingers around the cuffs. I shove them under the table.

“If you help us, we’ll go easier on Ben.”

I shrug like I don't care.

“Tell me how Ben earned your trust,” Yorke says softly.

I don’t want to think about the time after my little sisters died or the guy I met who was flabby and faded, and smelled like refried beans and gave me first choice of any food we found, let me pick which room I wanted in whatever house we got to. I really don’t think he started out wanting to touchme, but he started drinking and … I left him in the middle of the night with smashed-in gonads, stole his car, and drove until I saw lights in the distance.

And that was Thornewood.

Ben was in the lobby when I walked in. He … he gave me a room with a lock on the door.

“I’d like to know.”

“Too bad,” I snap.

“Okay. We’ll try another question. Do you feel loyalty for Renata?”

“Nah. She hates me.”

Yorke studies me, gaze slowly shifting from my left eye to my right and back again, then sets something small down on the table. “You know anything about these bullets?”

“I’ve seen a lot of bullets. Looks like all the others.”

“Was Ben short on bullets?”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone’s short on bullets.”

He shuffles around his papers. “Tell me about the pigeons.”

“They’re fat and they warble.” I could talk about pigeons all day. I did a paper on them in school. “You know they were beloved pets from before ancient Roman times up to around the early 1900s? And thenpoofpeople abandoned them the second the telegraph was invented.”

“That’s interesting, Ephie. Tell me where they came from, and we can make it the last question of the day. You can go after you answer it, get some water, some food, some sleep.”

I shrug. I want all that, and there’s nothing they’ll get out of anything I’m about to say. “They came about a week before your people attacked ours outside the gym.” I say that slowly just to make sure they remember they may hate Ben and everyone with him, but we have our own version of things. Ben’s methods may have been harsh, buttheystarted it. They refused to pay their taxes.

“Where do those pigeons go?”

“He never said.”

“I think you have an idea.”

I do have an idea, and it’s enough to keep me up at night. “You said last question. I answered it.”

There’s a metal scrape as Yorke stands up. He probably expects me to stand up now, spouting gratitude, but I stay in my shitty hard chair. “You going to uncuff me?”

“No. But you should know, no one here blames you for what happened to Frankie or to Shane. You can have a fresh start here.” He stalks out the door, which thuds, hollow and ominous as thunder, behind him.

My face goes red hot.

---