twelve-year-old boy in a doorway, a needle still in his arm. Remaining outwardly docile, Pam had struggled to cut her drug use. Henry's other friends hadn't complained. She was a much better lay this way, they thought, and their male egos had attributed it to their prowess rather than her increased level of consciousness. She'd waited for her chance, waiting for a time when Henry was away somewhere, because the others got looser when he wasn't around. Only five days earlier she'd packed what little she had and bolted. Penniless - Henry had never let them have money - she'd hitched her way out of town.
'Tell me about Henry,' Kelly said softly when she'd finished.
'Thirty, black, about your height.'
'Did any other girls get away?'
Pam's voice went cold as ice. 'I only know of one who tried. It was around November. He... killed her. He thought she was going to the cops, and' - she looked up - 'he made us all watch. It was terrible.'
Kelly said quietly, 'So why did you try, Pam?'
'I'd rather die than do that again,' she whispered, the thought now out in the open. 'I wanted to die. That little boy. Do you know what happens? You just stop. Everything stops. And I was helping. I helped kill him.'
'How did you get out?'
'Night before... I... fucked them all... so they'd like me, let me... let me out of their sight. You understand now?'
'You did what was necessary to escape,' Kelly replied. It required every bit of his strength to keep his voice even. 'Thank God.'
'I wouldn't blame you if you took me back and set me on my way. Maybe Daddy was right, what he said about me.'
'Pam, do you remember going to church?'
'Yes.'
'Do you remember the story that ends, 'Go forth and sin no more'? You think that I've never done something wrong? Never been ashamed? Never been scared? You're not alone, Pam. Do you have any idea how brave you've been to tell me all this?'
Her voice by now was entirely devoid of emotion. 'You have a right to know.'
'And now I do, and it doesn't change anything.' He paused for a second. 'Yes, it does. You're even gutsier than I thought you were, honey.'
'Are you sure? What about later?'
'The only 'later' thing I'm worried about is those people you left behind,' Kelly said.
'If they ever find me...' Emotion was coming back now. Fear. 'Every time we go back to the city, they might see me.'
'We'll be careful about that,' Kelly said.
'I'll never be safe. Never.'
'Yeah, well, there's two ways to handle that. Yon can just keep running and hiding. Or you can help put them away.'
She shook her head emphatically. 'The girl they killed. They knew. They knew she was going to the cops. That's why I can't trust the police. Besides, you don't know how scary these people are.'
Sarah had been right about something else, Kelly saw. Pam was wearing her halter again, and the sun had given definition to the marks on her back. There were places which the sun didn't darken as it did the others. Echoes of the welts and bloody marks that others had made for their pleasure. It had all started with Pierre Lamarck, or more correctly, Donald Madden, small, cowardly men who managed their relations with women through force.
Men? Kelly asked himself.
No.
Kelly told her to stay in place for a minute and headed off into the machinery bunker. He returned with eight empty soda and beer cans, which he set on the ground perhaps thirty feet from their chairs.
'Put your fingers in your ears,' Kelly told her.
'Why?'
'Please,' he replied. When she did, Kelly's right hand moved in a blur, pulling a.45 Colt automatic from under his shirt. He brought it up into a two-hand hold, going left to right. One at a time, perhaps half a second apart, the cans alternatively fell over or flew a foot or two in the air to the crashing report of the pistol. Before the last was back on the ground from its brief flight, Kelly had ejected the spent magazine and was inserting another, and seven of the cans moved a little more. He checked to be sure the weapon was clear, dropped the hammer, and replaced it in his belt before sitting down next to her.
'It doesn't take all that much to be scary to a young girl without friends. It takes a little more to scare me. Pam, if anybody even thinks about hurting you, he has to talk to me first.'
She looked over at the cans, then up at Kelly, who was pleased with himself and his marksmanship. The demonstration had been a useful release for him, and in the brief flurry of activity, he'd assigned a name or a face to each of the cans. But he could see she still was not convinced. It would take a little time.
'Anyway.' He sat down with Pam again. 'Okay, you told me your story, right?'
'Yes.'
'Do you still think it makes a difference to me?'
'No. You say it doesn't. I guess I believe you.'
'Pam, not all the men in the world are like that - not very many, as a matter of tact. You've been unlucky, that's all. There isn't anything wrong with you. Some people get hurt in accidents or get sick. Over in Vietnam I saw men get killed from bad luck. It almost happened to me. It wasn't because there was something wrong with them. It was just bad luck, being in the wrong place, turning left instead of right, looking the wrong way. Sarah wants you to meet some docs and talk it through. I think she's right. We're going to get you all fixed up.'
'And then?' Pam Madden asked. He took a very deep breath, but it was too late to stop now.
'Will you... stay with me, Pam?'
She looked as though she'd been slapped. Kelly was stunned by her reaction. 'You can't, you're just doing it because -'
Kelly stood and lifted her by the arms. 'Listen to me, okay? You've been sick. You're getting better. You've taken everything that goddamned world could toss at you, and you didn't quit. I believe in you! It's going to take time. Everything does. But at the end of it, you will be one goddamned fine person.' He set her down on her feet and stepped back. He was shaking with rage, not only at what had happened to her, but at himself for starting to impose his will on her. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Please, Pam... just believe in yourself a little.'
'It's hard. I've done terrible things.'
Sarah was right. She did need professional help. He was angry at himself for not knowing exactly what to say.
The next few days settled into a surprisingly easy routine. Whatever her other qualities, Pam was a horrible cook, which failing made her cry twice with frustration, though Kelly managed to choke down everything she prepared with a smile and a kind word. But she learned quickly, too, and by Friday she'd figured out how to make hamburger into something tastier than a piece of charcoal. Through it all, Kelly was there, encouraging her, trying hard not to be overpowering and mainly succeeding. A quiet word, a gentle touch, and a smile were his tools. She was soon aping his habit of rising before dawn. He started getting her to exercise. This came very hard indeed. Though basically healthy, she hadn't run more than half a block in years, and so he made her walk around the island, starting with two laps, by the end of the week up to five. She spent her afternoons in the sun, and without much to wear she most often did so in her panties and bra. She acquired the beginnings of a tan, and never seemed to notice the thin, pale marks on her back that made Kelly's blood chill with anger. She began to pay more serious attention to her appearance, showering and washing her hair at least once per day, brushing it out to a silky gloss, and Kelly was always there to comment on it. Not once did she appear to need the phenobarbital Sarah had left behind. Perhaps she struggled once or twice, but by using exercise instead of chemicals, she worked herself onto a normal wake-sleep routine. Her smiles acquired more confidence, and twice he caught her looking into the mirror with something other than pain in her eyes.
'Pretty nice, isn't it?' he asked Saturday evening, just after her shower.
'Maybe,' she allowed.
