Needy Little Things(79)

He don’t gotta speak twice. I scream for him as loud as I can.

“Sariyah? Where the hell are you?”

The light coming in from the kicked-out vent cuts out as someone runs by. Fitz. He probably saw Dad coming as soon as he made to leave.

“Daddy, watch out!”

The back door opens and closes.

“Who is that? Sariyah?”

“No, Daddy, we’re down here!”

“Hi, Mr. Bryant.” Fitz sounds totally different. Cheerful. Innocent.

“Fitzgerald? What are you doing here, son?”

I cling to the distrust in my father’s voice.

“What are you doing in this house? On my property? I don’t recall you asking permission.”

Fitzgerald snickers. “I don’t need your permission.”

“Boy, where—”

There’s a loud clunk that makes my next scream catch in my throat. “Daddy?” The word wobbles out.

It’s silent for several painstaking seconds, and then there’s a commotion, a struggle. Shoving and grunting and sliding and cursing. I bang on the hatch, shouting for my dad, praying my voice will keep him pushing.

A loud thump. A body hitting the floor. I scoot a few feet over to where I heard the sound and stare up at the floorboards, listening, waiting, afraid to speak. Afraid that doing so will confirm what I already know. If Dad won this fight, he’d be calling for me. My eyes cloud with tears as a drop of something dark and warm and tacky seeps through the planks and lands on my arm.

“Daddy?” I cry.

“Daddy?” Fitzgerald mocks. “He ain’t dead. Just a little cut. Head wounds are dramatic. I’d know. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do now, though. I’m going to go get that bag of yours and you’re going to give me what I need. That, or I’ll give your daddy’s wound something to bleed about.” He laughs at himself.

I can’t give Fitzgerald what he needs. What he needs can’t be pulled out of a bag. But as if in protest to my own thoughts, once again something stirs around the periphery of my mind, brews there. It’s uncomfortable. I wish whatever it is was for Deja again, but I know it’s not. And I don’t want to know. Once I hear it, it can’t be unheard. I don’t want this connection to this man. Still, the sound of the first letter breaks through. R. “Stop,” I draw out. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”

Deja grips my wrist to keep me from digging my fingernails into my temples.

I turn onto my side and rock back and forth, try focusing on any random thing, but my mind bounces aimlessly. Physics. Dad. School. Jude. Afro Alt. Ice cream. Ring. Secrets. Lies. Malcolm. Ring. Jojo. Casey. Tessa. Ring. Ring. RING.

My nose burns, then runs, as I hold back my emotions. Why can’t I turn this off? Why can’t I turn it off for people like this? I want to be stingy. Choosy. Selective. Because this ability is an extension of me. I have the right to be particular about how much of myself I share with others. But this is a compulsion. And I’ve never been taught how to manage it. And I wonder if that means it’s not meant to be managed. If I’m not meant to resist it.

Ring. Ring. Ring.





CHAPTER 34





Fitzgerald returns with Santa Bag. His need relentlessly circles through my mind. Is he really going to use a ring provided by me to propose to Crystelle? I can’t think of any other use for it. A little bile forces its way up my esophagus.

“You got some interesting stuff in here,” he says. “Where do you get it all?”

“Let me come up.”

He doesn’t respond.

“I have to hand the item to you. There’s no room down here for me to find it. I can’t see.”

It’s silent for a minute, then the hatch swings open. Deja and I shuffle out of his view.

He laughs. “Girl, don’t be scared. We go way back. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Not if you give me what I need. That’s the plan, right?” His voice goes dark and threatening.

“That’s the plan.”

“Okay. Then we don’t have any problems. Come on out.”

I still hesitate, eyeing the bloody spot on the floor where my father lies. “You’ll let us all go after?”

“Got no reason to keep you, do I?”

I want to call him on his bluff. If this man believes he can let any of us go and not get reported to the police, he’s a damn fool. But he’s not foolish at all. He just thinks I’m stupid. He’s one of those cocky men who think they can manipulate anyone into anything. He thinks I’m humbled at his feet. That I’ll do whatever he wants, that I really believe catering to him will get me what I want. I don’t believe it for a minute, but my best shot at a fight is getting out of this hole. And just like Daddy said it would, I feel my desperation melt my fear away.

“There you are,” he says when I stick my upper body through the opening. There’s a swollen knot and a smear of blood across his face from where I hit him with the toolbox. His devious expression looks bizarre paired with his fluffy cheeks and long lashes.

He stands a comfortable distance away while I climb all the way out. The open closet door blocks my view of Daddy, and I’m thankful.

Fitz and I both take a step toward each other. He smiles wryly and pulls some rope from behind his back. “I see you already hobbled your ankle, so this is just for your wrists. You understand, right? Can’t have you getting yourself into trouble before you fulfill your end of the deal, can we?”