Page 94 of Peak Cruelty

“No.”

She nods once, like that tracks.“Some names don’t get paper.”

“No.They don’t.”

She sips her coffee.She doesn't pry.

I move to the couch.

“Here,” the woman says.“I charged your phone.”

I power it on and then open the app.Click on Rachel’s profile.A post with a caption saying she’s taking a break from social media to reconnect with family.Go figure.

I flip through recent posts, looking for something I missed—some clue, some overlooked thread that could tell me where Marlowe ended up.Where they took her.

But nothing pops out at me.

“I fucked up,” I say.

The woman looks at me.“You saying that for my benefit?”

“No.I think I’m trying to admit it to myself.”

I click the phone off.Set it on the cushion beside me like I’m scared it’ll detonate if I move too fast.

My side seizes.I double forward and cough.It’s deep and wet, but there’s no blood this time.

Progress.

She crosses the room.Drops two pills in my hand.“Muscle relaxer.You’re going to end up worse if you don’t.”

I take them dry.

“I’m sorry to overstay my welcome,” I say.“This wasn’t the plan.”

She cocks an eyebrow like she’s waiting for the punchline.“I can’t imagine it was.”

“It’s a long story.”

She tilts her head.“And it’s eating at you.”

I don’t answer right away.Just press a hand to my ribs and let the silence draw out until it stops being awkward and starts being honest.

“My mother used to take me to the hospital,” I say finally.“Said I had seizures.Said my immune system was fragile.Said I needed tests.”

The woman doesn’t move.Just listens.

“I was fine.But she needed me to be sick.Made her feel needed.Special.The nurses used to compliment her—how attentive she was.How selfless.One even gave her a pin.Some survivor thing.”

I shake my head once.“She wore that pin like a badge of honor.Like being the cause of the chaos made her immune to it.”

The woman crosses her arms, leans against the counter.She doesn’t ask questions.Smart woman.

“Eventually, someone caught on.CPS got involved.I ended up with my dad for a while.Then a string of places after that.Clean houses.Empty rooms.Nobody touching me at all was somehow worse.”

I tilt my head back, stare at the ceiling.

“Guess I thought if I found the others—the ones like her—I could do something with it.Warn someone.Intervene.Be the guy who stepped in when no one had for me.”

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