Page 15 of The Hangman's Rope
“Oh,” I murmured, and took another drink from the can of ginger ale I’d opened about three enormous bites into my sandwich.
“Yeah, both doors out of this place are in here and there’s no porch outside the bedroom or bathroom windows. Nor any way to climb down, so don’t try it. I promise, as long as you’re here, you’re safe. I won’t touch you. No one else will touch you.”
“I believe you,” I said quickly. “Thank you for the reassurance. To be honest…”
“I prefer it,” he said and it caught me off guard. I sat there, mouth hanging open for a moment before I closed it. Ater studying him a moment and having him study me back, I finished what I was going to say.
“To be honest, I don’t really know or have anywhere else to go at the moment.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s true enough, I guess.”
“What happens now?” I asked after the seconds stretched into minutes of silence between us.
“Go to bed, Sweetpea. Try to get some rest. Let’s see what you can remember after a good night’s sleep.”
I nodded and picked up the can of ginger ale from where I’d set it back on the floor. I went to pick up the empty plate beside it but he stopped me with a quiet, “Leave it. I’ll get it.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I think he picked up on the fact I meant it more than just about taking care of my plate. He raised his chin slightly and gave me one of those nods that meant
“no problem” and I slipped off back in the direction of the bathroom to use it one more time before moving across the narrow hall to the darkened room that held a bed.
Moonlight and a faint glow from the streetlight outside the cemetery gates filtered in through the uncovered window glass, and I wondered at some of the strange things in his room. There were dressers, sure. A chest of drawers. So, nothing abnormal there. What was strange was the tripod-looking thing in the corner with pillows and blankets underneath it, a big silver ring hanging between the three poles, twisting lazily, the moonlight winking off the curve of it.
I don’t remember ever seeing anything like it before. I wondered, vaguely, what it was.
The still and the quiet of the house settled around me, and I was comforted by the vague golden glow coming from the living room, and of Hangman’s presence out there.
I believed him when he said he wouldn’t touch me.
I also believed him when he said he wouldn’t let anyone else touch me, either.
I honestly don’t knowwhyI believed him, other than, I guess, he just had an honest face.
I really liked it and his eyes.
Weird, I know.
Chapter Seven
Hangman…
I paused my game and picked up my phone off my chest, checking the screen.
“Yo,” I said, pressing it to my ear.
“She was dosed with that new shit,” Synister confirmed. That was Syn, cutting right through the shit and getting right to the point, always.
“Anything to be done?” I asked.
“Nope, just wait it out,” he said with a tired sigh. “She remember who she is?” he asked.
“Just that her granddad used to call her Sweetpea and that she hates the taste of green peppers and the texture of peas.”
Syn snorted and asked, “How the fuck did that come up?”
Shit.
“Just did, man. I don’t know,” I lied quickly. While I wasn’t keen on it, white lie though it was, the last thing I wanted was for Syn to get up my fucking ass for slipping up and getting too familiar with her too quick with the slip of the pet name.
