Callie turned around. The candles had distracted her. The smoke and mirrors. Walter’s unmoving form in the hallway. She hadn’t noticed that some of the mattresses had been moved. Three of the larger ones had been stacked on top of each other. They were exactly where the couch used to be.
She felt Andrew’s breath on the back of her neck before she realized he was standing behind her. His hands were on her hips. The weight of his touch pressed into her bones.
His hands spread across her belly. His mouth was close to her ear. “Look at how tiny you are.”
Callie swallowed down bile. Buddy’s words. Andrew’s voice.
“Let’s see what’s under here.” He worked the snaps on her satin jacket. “Do you like this?”
Callie felt cool air on her stomach. His fingers slid under her shirt. She bit down on her lip when his hand cupped her breasts. With his other hand, he reached down between her legs. Callie’s knees bowed out. It was like sitting on the flat end of a shovel.
“Such a sweet little dolly.” He started to pull off her jacket.
“No.” Callie tried to move away, but he’d caught her in a vise-like grip between her legs.
“Empty your pockets.” His tone had turned dark. “Now.”
Fear seeped into every corner of her body. Callie started to shake. Her feet barely touched the ground. She felt like a pendulum on a clock, hinged only by the hand between her legs.
He tightened his grip. “Do it.”
She reached into her right pocket. Sidney’s blood was sticky on the knife. The loaded syringe brushed against the back of her fingers. Slowly, she pulled out the knife, praying that Andrew didn’t go looking for more.
Andrew wrenched the knife from her hand. He tossed it onto the bar top. “What else?”
Callie couldn’t stop the trembling as she reached into her left pocket. Her dope kit felt so personal that it was like taking out her own heart.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“My-my—” Callie couldn’t answer. She had started crying. The fear was too much. Everything was bubbling back up. Her rosy, faint memories of Buddy were colliding against the cold, hard anger of his son. Their hands were the same. Their voices were the same. And both of them had taken pleasure in hurting her.
“Open it,” Andrew said.
She tried to pry up the lid with her thumbnail, but the shaking made it impossible. “I can’t—”
Andrew snatched the kit away from her. His hand slipped out from between her legs.
Callie felt hollowed out inside. She staggered over to the pile of mattresses. She sat down, pulling her jacket closed.
Andrew stood in front of her. He had opened her kit. “What’s this for?”
Callie looked at her tie-off in his hand. The brown leather strap had belonged to Maddy’s father. There was a loop on one end. The other end was chewed where Larry, then Callie had grabbed it in their teeth to pull the tourniquet tight enough to make a vein pop out.
“Come on,” Andrew said. “What’s it for?”
“You—” Callie had to clear her throat. “I don’t use it anymore. It’s for—I don’t have any veins left in my arms that I can use. I shoot up in my leg.”
Andrew was silent for a moment. “Where in your leg?”
“The f-femoral vein.”
Andrew’s mouth opened, but he seemed incapable of speaking. The candles made light flash across his cold eyes. Finally, he said, “Show me how you do it.”
“I don’t—”
His hand gripped her neck. Callie felt her breath stop. She clawed at his fingers. He slammed her back onto the mattress. The weight of him was unbearable. He pressed what little air she had left out of her body. Callie felt her eyelids start to flutter.
Andrew was above her, scrutinizing her face, feeding off of her terror. He had her pinned down completely with one hand. Callie could do nothing but wait for him to kill her.
But he didn’t.
He released his hold on her neck. He ripped open the button on her jeans. He yanked down the zipper. Callie stayed flat on her back, knowing she couldn’t stop him as he tugged down her jeans. He brought one of the candles closer so he could see her leg.
He asked, “What’s this?”
Callie didn’t have to ask him to clarify. He jammed his finger into the Band -Aid Dr. Jerry had used to cover the abscess. The incision split open, sending a sharp pinch through her leg.
“Answer me.” He pressed harder.
“It’s an abscess,” she told him. “From shooting up.”