Page 42 of Everything Under the Sun

“Open the door!” I heard the Overseer say, and the lock rattled again.

I went over to let him in; decided I had to act normal while I waited for news from the woman who would be my ticket out of this prison.

Atticus walked straight into the room when the door came unlocked, barely giving me enough time to move out of his way.

“I-I didn’t feel safe being in here alone,” I stammered.

His lumbering movements as he made his way across the room toward his desk suggested he might be angry, or maybe just in a hurry.

“I don’t care that you locked the door,” he said as he sifted through the contents of his desk. “It’s best that you do from now on anyway; I should’ve woken you up and told you to lock it behind me when I left this morning.”

He took the large map and moved it aside. Then he took up a warped notebook that appeared to have been wet at one time, and flipped through the buckled pages.

I went over to my cot and sat down nervously, and watched him with private glances.

Atticus scanned the text, as though he were only skimming sections, looking for something, but then he looked up suddenly, glancing at the half-eaten plate on the table by the wall.

“Who was in here?” he probed.

I raised my eyes but was slow to answer.

“I…don’t remember her name,” I began. “One of Rafe’s wives.”

Atticus went back to reading the notebook.

“Well don’t open the door for her anymore.”

“But how else am I going to eat, or get a bath, or use the restroom?” There was a slight edge to my voice.

“I’ll bring your food from now on,” Atticus said without looking at me. “And when you need to use the facilities, I’ll take you and wait outside the door—no one other than me is allowed in this room.” He looked right at me then. “Is that understood?”

I wanted to argue my point until I realized I didn’t have one. At least not one I could argue with him. I couldn’t tell him I needed to see this woman because she was going to help me escape.

“I understand,” I agreed. I would figure the rest out later.

Atticus set the notebook down and went over to the food on the table. He looked at me and then back at the food. Lifting the plate, he placed it underneath his nose and inhaled deeply.

“It’s already cold,” he said, setting the plate back down. “How long ago did you eat from it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hours maybe.”

“Good, then you’re probably safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Atticus went back over and sat down at his desk; he was so tall he sat awkwardly in the chair, hunched over slightly with his legs taking up all the space between him and the desk.

He glanced at me. “I doubt they’d try to kill you here, but it’s been almost two weeks and you still haven’t cracked, so naturally the claws will start coming out.”

I stood up and went toward him. “What are you talking about? They’ve been really nice to me—you were the one who sent them to care for me in the first place.” Weren’t you?

“Don’t let them in here anymore,” he said simply. “Now, I have work to do, if you don’t mind.”

Angry at his non-answers, but too intimidated by him to let him know just how much, all I could do was nod. Could what he said be true? Would Rafe’s wives want to kill me? I thought it absurd, after they’d been so kind. Plus, the many opportunities they had to kill me already—it didn’t make any sense. And I didn’t want it to be true, not now especially, after I had a way out of this city with the help of one of them.

I tried another approach.

“Well, I was going to suggest that I be allowed to stay with them, actually,” I said, with absolutely no confidence. “I think I’d feel safer with them. Not to mention, it would be, well, more appropriate than staying here in your room, sir.”

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