Free THIEF: Part 2 by Kimberly Malone Page A

eyes.
                  At some point, I’m not sure how much later, I hear a woman’s voice.  Then a little girl’s.
                  I push up on my elbow.  Across the lot, I see Abby climbing into her car.  She looks so different from that night at the bar: hair combed and straightened, a smart skirt-and-jacket combo, and crimson lipstick.  As much as I hate to admit it, she looks hot—like a sexy lawyer or professor.
                  Then, I look at the little girl.  She’s in a cute pink dress, and she’s holding a doll.  Stamping her feet, she whines, “Mommy, I want to stay!”
                  Abby gets back out, opens the door to the backseat, and barks, “Get in now.   I’m serious.”
                  And as the little girl turns, I see two things.  First is the locket—the one I left in my locker at Fox Ridge, the one that’s been sitting on Silas’s dresser the last few days, taunting me.  It glints in the afternoon sun, winking at me, just like the day I found it.  The second thing I notice: she’s missing one eye.  No socket, just a concave section of skin.  Smooth as stone.
                  “ Now , Emma,” Abby says sharply, and Emma gets into the backseat dutifully, but still pouting.  I don’t even wait for them to leave before I rush past, up the stairs to the apartment.
                  Silas opens the door before my hand touches the knob.  It takes him a millisecond to register who I am, and he jumps back, gasping, “Jesus, Erin, you scared the shit out of me!”
                  I’m panting, sweat streaming down my face.  At first, I don’t know what to say: a thousand possibilities enter my head at once.
                  “You…okay?” he asks, slowly.
                  My anger has reached its breaking point; incapable of screaming, my mouth whispers, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
                  He stares at me a few seconds, then swallows, flicking his eyes away from mine.  “I…I’m sorry, Erin.”
                  I step towards him.  He backs up and winces as I kick the door shut behind me.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask again.  It’s amazing how calm I might sound to a stranger, but to Silas, I must look terrifying.  He keeps backing up, inch by inch, even when I stop moving.
                  “Okay,” he sighs, finally, “you got me.  Emma’s my daughter.”  He glances at the window, like he can see them now, merging onto the highway.  “Abby and I…we’ve got a kid.”
                  “No shit!”  At last, I can scream.  The echo of my words, useless as they might be, make me feel a little better.  I stalk across the apartment, into the kitchen, and grab my half-empty rum bottle from under the sink.  Silas follows me.
                  “Don’t do this,” he says, in a tired voice.  Like I’m such a ridiculous burden.
                  I plunk the bottle onto the counter, about to reach for a glass.  Instead, I unscrew the cap and take a swig, then another.  My eyes don’t break from his the entire time.
                  “Thought you didn’t mind me drinking,” I snap, my voice so sarcastic, even I can’t stand it.
                  “I don’t,” he says.  He looks like he’s about to grab the bottle from me, then decides against it.  “I mind people drinking out of anger, though.”  He pauses.  “To cope with their emotions, instead of talking.”
                  “Oh, excuse me, Mr. AA—I forgot I’m talking to an expert here.”  I take another swig, then it hits me.  I lower the bottle, and for a brief instant, my anger gives way to curiosity.  “Why is it that Abby gets custody when she’s still an alcoholic?  When she's….”  I think back, to the day Silas told me about