Page 45 of Antihero
“Who did this to me?” My jaw works. “Sterilised me.”
I feel him pause out of my sight. Another sighed sentence. “I don’t know. He was at the asylum around the same time, of course. But I don’t know if he did that. Or just the lobotomies.”
I inwardly flinch at that word, too. “Your son went in around that time too.” Another pause. “Did you ever think Harry could be the one to treat him?”
Goodry finishes applying the new bandage, fixes my shirt and steps back as I twist to sit up. “Paige,” he says in a tone familiar enough that I know he’s about to tell me to live and let live. “Dwelling on these things, imagining them… it aids nothing. What would knowing the answer to that do for me? What would knowing do for you?” I open my mouth, to counter that ignorance can’t always be bliss, but he goes on, closing his pen on the top of his clipboard, “You should enjoy the time you’ve got, dear. Not be wound up with the past.”
I lower my gaze, feeling berated but not deterred, and sit on the edge of the bed. I think Harry killed Goodry’s son, just like I know he killed my sister. If he was the one to sterilise me too, all the better. He lost. He’s dead.
“I’ll call you in when we get the results,” Goodry offers with a kindly smile. “Try to relax.”
“Mm.” I don’t waste time leaving. The sooner I’m out, the better. I’ve got things to be doing, things that are in direct contest to Goodry’s words.
Out in the reception room, I pass James, who breaks off from his anxious stare around to room to beam a big smile at me. “How are you, Miss Paige?”
I give him a smile back. I regret being so hard on him in the past. It’s not his fault he got a bad genetic hand when it came to smarts. He’s been nothing but kind to me, after all. MaybeTristan, all the sex, the ‘sleeping’ together have started making me soft. Or into a better person.
“I’m good, are you alright?” I ask, because like me, James ishere.
He grimaces. “Just in for a checkup.” He lowers his voice, but not by much, and asks in the middle of the room, “I hope you haven’t had any more break-ins, Miss Paige.”
“Shh.” I hold my finger to my lips, and he ducks his head, glancing around. A couple of old ladies reading their magazines give me a look but say nothing. “That’s our secret, right?”
“Right,” he nods enthusiastically. “Our secret.” He grins.
Turning for the door, I give his arm a friendly pat. “See you around, buddy.”
***
Needler
I’m already waiting for Paige when the window rattles.
I cross my arms, leaning back on one of the twelve fancy cars in this giant basement-garage, and watch as the frosted glass, too small for me, but just big enough for her, silently lifts open from the outside.
It was going to be one of the windows, and now that I know which one, I’m quite happy to wait for her to drop herself right in. The hood of her black hoodie has been thrown back off her head as she lowers herself silently to the cement floor, still blissfully unaware of me here, waiting and watching.
A mirror, the full height and width of the back wall, reflects the cars, making it look like there are twice as many of them. It’s garish, to say the least, as are the coloured lights rimming the ceiling, on a constant rotation between every colour. Right now, it’s melting from orange to red, towards purple. On the wall Paige catches herself against, back to me, full-size posters of women in various states of undress leer into the garage. If taste alone was enough of a sign of guilt, I’d have to let Paige at the owner of this house and all these fancy cars.
Paige rights herself, turning into the garage. That’s when she sees me.
For a brief moment, she’s like a shocked rabbit. She can’t go out the way she just came in, the window is too high, and the only other exit… Her eyes give her away before she’s made so much as a move, flicking towards the door and the stairs up into the mansion proper.
But she’s not getting away that easily. When she springs, I’m ready.
There’s a car between us. I dart around its hood, landing myself between her and her escape route. Paige course-corrects fast, lunging backwards and keeping a Porshe in my way.
Casual, ready to dive for her at any moment should she make a move, I straighten, waiting. The predator to her prey.
“You were supposed to be busy,” Paige says, though I don’t miss her glance towards the huge roller door. Firmly shut, the manual controls are on the other side of the garage. Even if she could press the button, opening the roller door would alert her potential victim. Make this harder for her.
I shrug and cross my arms. “You’ll have to think of something more creative than a firecracker in my rubbish bin if you want to buy yourself time.” A week of her clearly choosing to keep a distance from me, andthat’swhat I get from her.
So much for giving her the space she needs. There’s being nervous about commitment, and then there’s arson. Like always, she’s done things by extremes.
Paige’s jaw works. “How did you know to come here?”
“Like you said, I was a detective before anything else.”
