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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 150 из 213I had the urge to take her in my arms and rock her like a child. Whisper lies, about how everything would be alright.
When she left here tonight, she was still going to be a whore. A crippled whore. How could that be alright? I shook my head more at me than at her.
"You want some Kleenex?"
She nodded.
I got her the box from the kitchen counter. She wiped at her face and blew her nose softly, very ladylike.
"Can we talk now?"
She blinked at me and nodded. She took a shaky sip of pop.
"You know Harold Gaynor, right?"
She just stared at me, dully. Had we broken her? "If he finds out, he will kill me. Maybe I don't want to be coffin-bait, but I sure as hell don't want to die either."
"No one does. Talk to me, Wanda, please."
She let out a shaky sigh. "Okay, I know Harold."
Harold? "Tell me about him."
Wanda stared at me. Her eyes narrowed. There were fine lines around her eyes. It made her older than I had thought. "Has he sent Bruno or Tommy after you yet?"
"Tommy came for a personal meeting."
"What happened?"
"I drew a gun on him."
"That gun?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yes."
"What did you do to make Harold mad?"
Truth or lie? Neither. "I refused to do something for him."
"What?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter."
"It can't have been sex. You aren't crippled." She said the last word like it was hard. "He doesn't touch anyone who's whole." The bitterness in her voice was thick enough to taste.
"How did you meet him?" I asked.
"I was in college at Wash U. Gaynor was donating money for something."
"And he asked you out?"
"Yeah." Her voice was so soft, I had to lean forward to hear it.
"What happened?"
"We were both in wheelchairs. He was rich. It was great." She rolled her lips under, like she was smoothing lipstick, then out, and swallowed.
"When did it stop being great?" I asked.
"I moved in with him. Dropped out of college. It was … easier than college. Easier than anything. He couldn't get enough of me." She stared down at her lap again. "He started wanting variety in the bedroom. See, his legs are crippled, but he can feel. I can't feel." Wanda's voice had dropped almost to a whisper. I had to lean against her knees to hear. "He liked to do things to my legs, but I couldn't feel it. So at first I thought that was okay, but … but he got really sick." She looked at me suddenly, her face only inches from mine. Her eyes were huge, swimming with unshed tears. "He cut me up.
When she left here tonight, she was still going to be a whore. A crippled whore. How could that be alright? I shook my head more at me than at her.
"You want some Kleenex?"
She nodded.
I got her the box from the kitchen counter. She wiped at her face and blew her nose softly, very ladylike.
"Can we talk now?"
She blinked at me and nodded. She took a shaky sip of pop.
"You know Harold Gaynor, right?"
She just stared at me, dully. Had we broken her? "If he finds out, he will kill me. Maybe I don't want to be coffin-bait, but I sure as hell don't want to die either."
"No one does. Talk to me, Wanda, please."
She let out a shaky sigh. "Okay, I know Harold."
Harold? "Tell me about him."
Wanda stared at me. Her eyes narrowed. There were fine lines around her eyes. It made her older than I had thought. "Has he sent Bruno or Tommy after you yet?"
"Tommy came for a personal meeting."
"What happened?"
"I drew a gun on him."
"That gun?" she asked in a small voice.
"Yes."
"What did you do to make Harold mad?"
Truth or lie? Neither. "I refused to do something for him."
"What?"
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter."
"It can't have been sex. You aren't crippled." She said the last word like it was hard. "He doesn't touch anyone who's whole." The bitterness in her voice was thick enough to taste.
"How did you meet him?" I asked.
"I was in college at Wash U. Gaynor was donating money for something."
"And he asked you out?"
"Yeah." Her voice was so soft, I had to lean forward to hear it.
"What happened?"
"We were both in wheelchairs. He was rich. It was great." She rolled her lips under, like she was smoothing lipstick, then out, and swallowed.
"When did it stop being great?" I asked.
"I moved in with him. Dropped out of college. It was … easier than college. Easier than anything. He couldn't get enough of me." She stared down at her lap again. "He started wanting variety in the bedroom. See, his legs are crippled, but he can feel. I can't feel." Wanda's voice had dropped almost to a whisper. I had to lean against her knees to hear. "He liked to do things to my legs, but I couldn't feel it. So at first I thought that was okay, but … but he got really sick." She looked at me suddenly, her face only inches from mine. Her eyes were huge, swimming with unshed tears. "He cut me up.