Page 59 of Thief of Night
She didn’t have the keys to the Porsche and she was far too drunk to drive anyway. She definitely didn’t want to face Red. So she kept walking, her body hot with shame.
Charlie got about a block away before realizing that it was much too cold for her temper. And that if she went farther, she would come to the end of the tether that bound her to Red.
As she turned, bright lights swung her way. The Porsche drove up beside her. Adeline was in the passenger seat.
“Get in,” Red said.
“Leave me alone,” Charlie told him, as impossible as that demand was.
He sighed. “You know I can’t do that.”
No, neither of them could escape one another. Her head hurt and she felt stupid. And she was sure that in the morning, she was going to feel much, much worse.
“I’m sorry things went so badly tonight,” Adeline said, although Charlie didn’t think she was sorry at all. Of course, Charlie wasn’t in the most generous state of mind.
“It’s cold, Char,” Red said, his voice gentler. “Please get in.”
Vince used to call her that. “I could make you feel something,” Charlie said mulishly, opening the door. “I could fucking make you.”
“You make me feel plenty,” he told her.
She got into the tiny back seat. Her feet stung in the air blown from the heater, signaling just how cold they’d been. She rested her head against the window. Not looking at Red. Not looking at Adeline. Keeping her gaze focused on the blur of moving lights.
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[DRAFT] Transcription via AI from recording by Madurai Malhar Iyer
Malhar:Tell me about Adeline.
Red:I don’t want to talk about her.
Malhar:Why not?
Red:My thoughts are messy. The memories I have of her feel like puzzle pieces that don’t go together.
Malhar:Are those Remy’s memories?
Red:His, and mine. She did things to me—with me—and Remy didn’t—well, maybe he—I don’t know.
Malhar:[silence]
Red:I don’t want to talk about her. I said I don’t want to talk about her.
Malhar:What about Remy’s grandmother?
Red:I don’t want to talk about Fiona either.
Malhar:Can you tell me why?
Red:When Remy didn’t want to feel something anymore, he put it into me. Some—a lot—of those feelings were painful. He especially didn’t like to be sad. When we left his grandmother’s place, he missed it, missed her, missed not being afraid. Then he gave all that to me and he didn’t feel it anymore.
Malhar:But you did.
Red:Those feelings aren’t real. They’re not mine. Or at least they’re not all mine. Is that enough?
Malhar:Tell me about Charlie then.
Red:She makes me angry.
