Darling Page 8

  “I am calling the cops,” Eleanor said flatly.

  “NO!” Wendy lowered her voice immediately. “No. Let me finish. So, after I get individually introduced to these kids—and by the way, one of them can’t be any older than maybe seven—I get told that Peter provides for them, and they’re basically all orphans or something? And Peter rehashes the story of how we met and, like, it’s very clear that these really are just kids in a really bad situation. No—I see the look on your face, don’t hang up and call the cops, Eleanor.”

  Wendy paused and breathed.

  “So, one of the kids was making dinner—which, by the way, I am in the bathroom because I’m supposed to be washing my hands for it, and Peter was like, Oh, we’re still going to the party. Go to Tinkerbelle’s room and change clothes so you can look cooler or something.”

  “I will kill this man,” Eleanor said.

  “Then,” Wendy continued, “here is the wildest fucking part! So you know how I told you that Tinkerbelle was kind of a bitch? APPARENTLY, she was only being like that to try to get me not to come to the party because something really dramatic is going to happen tonight!”

  “What could be more dramatic than this?” Eleanor hissed.

  “Dude! I don’t know! That’s high-key the craziest part!” Wendy said hysterically. “Anyway, she’s like, You can’t leave or you’ll ruin everything. I’m gonna help you. And she was so fucking serious about it. She did my makeup and hair because she thinks that will help make things safer for me? She’s also started giving me survival tips, like … Eleanor. I think I walked into, like, a sting operation or something.”

  Eleanor was just shaking her head back and forth. “No. No, no, nope. Not at all, none of this at all for you,” she said. “You need police. You need your parents. You need to contact the FBI or something, but this shit needs to end right now.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?!” Wendy asked. “I wouldn’t be locked in a bathroom whispering at you if getting out of this situation was that fucking easy. I would already be sprinting home. Dude, and not only did Tinkerbelle start giving me a bunch of warnings, but she also saw that I was texting you and said that it was good and to turn on my location so someone can track where I am. This is so serious.”

  Eleanor put her head in her hands and gripped tight as she thought frantically. “So,” she started, “there’s a commotion outside that’s distracting the cops from being able to effectively focus on you. You’re outnumbered by enough people who have already proven they can physically constrain you. Peter has proven to be unreliable and has a temper, and you’re trapped in his house in his neighborhood, so he knows the terrain better than you. Public transportation is out of the question, and I can’t send an Uber to pick you up if they keep moving you. Peter also knows where you live, so if you don’t figure out a way out of this situation, he could 100 percent just randomly show up at your house.”

  Wendy looked at the bathroom door and at the time on her phone. It had been almost five minutes, her phone was dying, and if she didn’t want anyone to start looking for her, they needed to wrap this up. “Yes.”

  “It’s only been, like, an hour. How does stuff like this even happen to you?” Eleanor groaned.

  “I don’t know, but I do know this: Tinkerbelle said she was going to help get me out of here permanently, and I believe her. Also, even if I didn’t trust her, I trust that she doesn’t want me to fuck up her plans badly enough that she’d actually help me, even though we aren’t even friends. I swear to God, the instant I get a moment away, I’ll run. But I need you to start monitoring my location.”

  “And regarding calling the authorities?” Eleanor asked, rubbing her temples in anguish.

  “If you don’t hear from me, and something seems wrong, I’m giving you permission to share my location detail with them. But, I have to go, now; I’m running out of time,” Wendy said. She flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet.

  “If you live, and we meet in person, I’m going to physically fight you for putting me through this,” Eleanor said, scowling.

  Wendy nodded seriously. “If I live, I’ll let you. And just for the record, I want you to know you were right.”

  Eleanor nodded and clenched her eyes shut tight. “I love you,” she said. “Please, please stay safe.”

  “I know,” Wendy said. “I’ll try.”

  She hung up and turned off the faucet. When she opened the door, Tootles was standing outside it.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” he said accusatorily. “Why were you in there talking?”

  Wendy opened her mouth to concoct an explanation, but Tinkerbelle came up behind Tootles and pushed him aside so Wendy could get out.

  “She was reciting poetry, Tootles. Darling’s an artist. Maybe if you’re good, she’ll do some for you later,” Tinkerbelle said, giving Wendy a warning glance.

  “Oh! Okay!” Tootles instantly accepted that explanation and closed the bathroom door.

  Tootles isn’t very bright, Wendy thought, but at least that’s convenient.

  She followed Tinkerbelle back into the kitchen. The other boys were sitting at the massive table made of two doors, waiting for them. The table was crammed with homemade candles in a way that made it look like a beautiful fire hazard. Slightly had filled all the bowls with the soup she’d seen him making earlier, and to Wendy’s surprise, it smelled very good. In addition to the soup, there was a hunk of dried, smoked meat that Slightly was currently carving slivers of. There was also a giant, steaming loaf of bread that couldn’t have come anywhere but straight out of the oven. Wendy suddenly realized how hungry she was, having gone to bed without eating.

  Peter was at the head of the table, and he was doing some sort of magic trick for Second, opening his hands and showing a coin, then blowing on the coin and pulling it out of Second’s ear. Then he clapped, making the coin disappear entirely. First had his chin in his hands. He glanced over at Wendy and Tinkerbelle reproachfully for making him wait to eat. Slightly, Nibs, and Curly were seated next to each other. Nibs looked less angry now, and more bored. Curly stirred his spoon in his soup, but like the rest of the table, he was waiting to eat. Prentis was sitting farthest away from Peter, near the empty spaces where Wendy and Tinkerbelle were clearly supposed to sit. He jumped up from his seat and pulled Wendy’s and Tinkerbelle’s chairs out for them as they approached.

  “Thank you,” Wendy said softly.

  Prentis smiled, blushing gently, and settled down into his own chair.

  “Tootles!” Peter shouted. Wendy jumped. Tinkerbelle pressed her hand to Wendy’s leg under the table to settle her, but pointedly didn’t look at her.

  The toilet flushed down the hall, and Tootles ran into the room, flinging himself into his chair. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

  Everyone at the table bowed their heads, while Wendy watched suspiciously.

  “We love our bread, we love our butter, but most of all, we love each other,” they recited in unison instead of saying a traditional grace. When they finished, everyone began eating, talking loudly, and passing the plates around.

  “You should try the bread,” Prentis said. “Slightly is a great cook, but Curly is an amazing baker.” He passed the plate to Wendy to take the first piece. When she tore off a piece, steam erupted from inside the loaf and filled the room with a yeasty aroma that literally made Wendy’s mouth water. Tinkerbelle nudged the margarine over in Wendy’s direction.

  Wendy picked up her knife and slathered the steaming bread with a smear and took a bite. It wasn’t in Wendy’s repertoire to be particularly hyperbolic, but in the moment immediately after biting it, she swore she could see God. She could also see Tinkerbelle out of the corner of her eye, grinning. Curly was also watching her hopefully as she chewed.

  When Wendy finally swallowed, she pointed at Curly. “I forgive you, specifically, for the kidnapping.” She gratefully crammed more bread into her mouth.

  Everyone at the table laughed. Curly
pumped his fist in the air and went back to eating. The soup was amazing as well, Wendy noted. A thick, creamy broth with chunks of potatoes, carrots, onions, and corn; it was unexpectedly a little spicy, which elevated it immensely. It went well with the dry meat everyone was eating. She hadn’t expected to like that dish at all, but it matched the rustic flavors of the bread and the soup in a way that was really satisfying.

  Slightly beamed as he watched her wolf everything down.

  When everyone seemed like they were close to being finished, Peter stood up. “So, Tinkerbelle, Nibs, Curly, and I will be going out tonight and won’t be back until late. First, Second, Tootles, and Prentis: Slightly is in charge, as always.”

  Slightly nodded. First put his head down on the table dramatically, so Second flicked him in the back of the neck and he sat back up.

  “As you know,” Peter continued, “the pirates are swarming the streets tonight. It’s dangerous, and I’ll have no one leave the house while we’re gone. Is that clear?”

  The boys nodded, but Curly raised his hand. “If … the pirates are out and it’s dangerous, am I allowed to stay home? Nibs and I have been talking, and—”

  Peter cut him off. “The answer is no. And we’re meeting up with Omi and her team, so I figured you’d be excited.”

  Curly immediately went pink and slouched deeper into his chair. Nibs smirked and elbowed him hard in the side.

  “Quit it.” Curly lurched away from Nibs’s elbow and focused very hard on his soup.

  “Some kind of team?” Wendy asked quietly.

  Prentis leaned over. “Some more of Peter’s friends. They play football for Luther South High School.” He glanced over at Peter—who was still talking—and said much quieter, “Curly has a crush on one of them, but we haven’t been able to figure out who. There’s a girl on the team this year, so it could be her, but that situation is … complicated.”

  Wendy looked over at Tinkerbelle for more explanation, but to her surprise, Tinkerbelle was also a bit pink and was keeping her eyes firmly on the table.

  Wendy turned back to Prentis, who said, “I would know more about it, but Peter won’t let them come by the house, so we’ve never met. Slightly has met them, though, and he says they’re nice, but—”

  “Prentis, stop talking,” Peter said loudly, having finally noticed their separate conversation.

  Prentis shut his mouth immediately and turned away from Wendy.

  “Anyway,” Peter continued, “the Crocodile is also out tonight, which should be more incentive for some of you to stay inside. It’s close to payday, and as you know, he is always a bit techy around then. Does anyone have any more questions?”

  Wendy started to raise her hand, but Tinkerbelle pushed it back down.

  “The Crocodile is a bounty hunter that Peter pays for protection,” she said, answering Wendy’s unspoken question brusquely and quietly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Tootles raised his hand, hopping up and down in his seat.

  “Tootles?”

  “I finished all my soup, and I didn’t spill anything. Tinkerbelle said that if I was good, Darling would tell me a poem,” Tootles said proudly.

  Peter locked eyes with Wendy from across the long table. “Oh?” he said.

  “Yes,” Tootles said. “I was waiting for the bathroom, and Darling—”

  Tinkerbelle interrupted Tootles loudly. “Darling was taking too long and Tootles was upset, so we promised him a treat if he went to the bathroom and got to the table on time.”

  She squeezed Wendy’s knee hard under the table as Wendy tried not to have a panic attack.

  “I see.” Peter’s eyes were bright and intelligent as he looked between Wendy and Tinkerbelle. “Well, we should really be leaving, but I think we have room for a treat. Come on, Darling, share some of your poetry with me and the boys.”

  Wendy looked desperately at Tinkerbelle, whose frantic grip was beginning to pinch. Then she looked back at Peter, who was staring at her wolfishly, and wondered how on earth she had thought a person like this was vulnerable when he was in her home. She couldn’t even remember what he looked like crying, even though that had happened less than two hours ago.

  The entire table was staring at her now, and from the feel of Tinkerbelle’s hand, she was running out of time. “Um.” Wendy was stalling. “Are you sure you all want to hear it? It’s not very good. I could just—”

  “Yes,” Peter said firmly.

  Wendy wracked her brain for something to say. Her mouth felt unbearably dry even though she had just finished eating.

  “Give us a poem about anything,” Peter said challengingly. “Your favorite flower, your favorite food. One of your dreams. Come on, Darling.”

  “Come on, Darling!” Tootles echoed excitedly, completely oblivious to the mounting tension at the table.

  Wendy closed her eyes and, by the grace of God, snatched on a memory of something her mom had sung to her as a kid. Hopefully it was good enough.

  “I wish I had a pretty house,

  The littlest ever seen,

  With funny little red walls

  And roof of mossy green.”

  Tinkerbelle loosened her death grip on Wendy’s knee and looked so relieved that she seemed like she was about to faint.

  “Next I guess, I think I’ll have

  Gay windows all about,

  With roses peeping in, you know,

  And babies peeping out.”

  None of the older boys looked particularly impressed with this poem, but Tootles seemed enchanted. Wendy paused and looked at Prentis, who seemed just as relieved as Tinkerbelle that Wendy had come up with something.

  “One more line,” Peter said quietly. He stared at her unblinkingly from across the table, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. “For Tootles.”

  “Um…” Wendy wracked her brain desperately.

  “I’ll have a chimney big and tall

  With black smoke at the top

  To share the warm hearth with you all

  And … I would like to stop.”

  Peter burst into laughter at her last line, tossing his head back winningly—reminding Wendy, with startling clarity, just how distractingly beautiful he was when he smiled. When Peter finished laughing, he looked at her differently: cheeks gently flushed and golden eyes hazy. Closer to the way he’d looked at her when he was inside her house. “Darling, you really are something else, aren’t you?” he said, his voice rough and warm. Familiar.

  Tinkerbelle reached under the table and squeezed Wendy’s hand tenderly. This had clearly been some sort of test, Wendy realized, and she had just barely passed.

  The cool tension had lifted from the table, and Curly stood and began picking up everyone’s plates to bring them to the sink.

  “Grab your stuff. We’re heading out,” Peter announced. “Those football meatheads are downstairs, and I don’t like to keep them waiting. Curly, change out of those pants and into something else. They don’t fit, and you look ridiculous.”

  Curly scowled, but headed off in the direction of his room.

  Slightly leaned over. “I’m not sure if I’ll see you again after this, Darling, but I just wanted to say that it was nice to meet you.”

  Slightly and Prentis were so different from the other boys. Prentis reminded her of someone who could easily have gone to her old school, or maybe even somewhere fancier. Slightly, on the other hand, acted much more like an actual adult than anyone his age she’d ever met, and seemed like he had his life way more in order than even Peter. Prentis said he had just arrived, so that sort of made sense. Slightly, on the other hand, had been the one who was tased in Peter’s train story. So he had to have been living here for at least three years.

  Wendy stuck out her hand to Slightly. “It was nice to meet you, too. You’re an amazing cook, and I really hope you … do well.”

  Slightly smiled warmly, his dark cheekbones sharp in the candlelight. “Me too,” he replied.

  Pre
ntis stood to pull Wendy’s chair out again. “You look really nice,” he said. “I hope you have a good time at the party.”

  “Thank you.”

  Prentis looked over her shoulder at Peter, who was putting a few things in a messenger bag across the room.

  “I hope you have a safe time at the party,” Prentis said, so quiet that Wendy could barely hear him.

  “Same,” she replied, just as quiet. “See you around.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Wendy didn’t recognize the area she was in at all when they got downstairs. It made sense, because she’d had a T-shirt over her head, but it was disconcerting to realize that she really and truly did not know where she was. Nibs and Curly had changed quickly before they’d left. Curly had braided red ribbon into his pigtails and was wearing a pair of torn black jeans that looked suspiciously like they were Peter’s. He was also wearing a blue denim jacket with some patches sewn to it and what appeared to be hand-stitched embroidery.

  Nibs had thrown on a leather jacket that had white bones painted on the arms. He’d pulled his chin-length red hair into a half ponytail and was wearing a bandanna over his mouth to obscure his face.

  Now that they were in the street, Wendy noticed that Nibs and Curly liked to be shoulder to shoulder and walked in lockstep with each other. She wondered how the two boys had met, and if they had been friends—or “brothers”—for long.

  Peter was walking in front. He’d put on sunglasses, even though it was night, and wore the black messenger bag she’d seen him messing with in the kitchen. Wendy watched the backs of the three boys in front of her and thought about how Tinkerbelle said they roamed the streets watching out for her, and understood how that would make her feel safe.

  In the house, in the comfort of family, they had looked young and a bit playful. But lit only by streetlights and the moon, Peter, Nibs, and Curly looked strong, coordinated, and threatening.

  They turned at the end of the block, and the neighborhood started to look more familiar to Wendy. They actually weren’t far from the train station. They were coming at it from behind and from the opposite direction that she’d left it, but she had an extremely rough idea of where she was now. Not enough to run off on her own, but maybe enough to consider trying.