Free Darkest Before Dawn by Stevie J. Cole

direction.
    “That if he goes on and kills their folks, well, we ain’t gots to worry much about Frank Donovan.” He laughs.
    I take another gulp of beer before slamming the can down on the tabletop. “Guess not.” I stare at the can, tracing my finger against the dark blue lettering.
    “Think she’ll take long to break?” he asks. “Got this one guy wants a new girl, she’ll do just right for him.”
    “A new girl?”
    “Yep. A new girl.” He takes another swig of whiskey.
    “What happened to the one he had?” I ask.
    Earl shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t care. He’s a paying customer and ain’t no business of mine what the hell he does with them after he pays for ’em.”
    Exhaling, I toss my head back. I hate this. I hate every-fucking-thing about this. Something about that girl gives me this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Call it intuition, a gut feeling—paranoia. But something very bad will happen as a result of her being here. I do believe that.
    “Aw.” Earl sighs. “Come on now, Max. Don’t you got some fancy degree or some shit? What is it, psychic mumbo jumbo?”
    My teeth grind against each other at this fucker’s ignorance. “Psychology. I got a degree in psychology when I had fucking ambitions.”
    “Yeah, that. You know people’s fucked up in the mind then. People that’s right in the head don’t buy these girls. Just the sick-o’s and perverts.” Earl laughs, his eyes gleaming with something similar to pride because he’s one of those sick-o’s. “People like them, people like us”—he points at himself then at me—“we’re what makes people appreciate the good ’cause they gots to have something bad to compare it with.”
    My stomach turns over like a dog playing dead. I don’t want to be one of those people, but the thing is, I’ve been in this game my entire life. Before I could walk, I was desensitized to most shit that would make people lose their damn lunch. I have no empathy, no capacity for it. To me, all this shit, well, it’s normal.
    There’s the glug glug glug of Earl tilting that bottle back again, and for some reason, I just want to yank it out of his weathered hands, smash him in the fucking skull with it, and watch him bleed. But I don’t.
    “Yep,” he says, hitching his pants back under his gut. “People are fucked up.”
    And I sit here in silence, drinking, trying to rationalize the fact that I’m just as fucked up as Earl.

12
Max
    Day 16
    T he alarm clock on the bedside table goes off. I groan. I curse. I toss and turn, pulling the comforter over my face. And finally, when the damn thing gets so loud I can actually see my pulse in my closed eyelids, I get up. I turn the alarm off. I take a shower, brush my teeth, get dressed. Today is an important day. Today I show her I am kind . I show her I care . In a world where everything is bad, I will make her see me as good. As a god. And as her only fucking hope.
    The house is quiet. No one is up yet, except the dogs who are following me around like a shadow. I grab items from the pantry and cabinets, and when I start to cook, both dogs sit on the floor beside the stove, staring at me and wagging their mangy tails. Thirty minutes later, two plates are full of scrambled eggs, biscuits, and bacon. I turn around and a piece of bacon drops to the floor. Rufus snatches it up and Bear nearly knocks me over chasing him through the kitchen to steal it.
    “Watch it,” I warn as I open the door to the cellar.
    When I reach the door with both plates, I stare at the lock. Well, fucking hell. I didn’t think that through, did I now? I balance one plate on my forearm, nearly dropping it as I unlatch the locks. She’s still asleep when the door swings into the room. I attempt to shut it quietly, but when the lock turns, she jumps up in the bed, dazed. For a moment, the confusion is evident on her face. Her gaze bounces from my face to the plates to the door and around the room. She’s