Page 34 of Property of Fang
I give a curt nod and let him resume his exit. Some of the men had assembled in the living room before they all walked outthe same way, which makes me think they prepare for church. The house seems rather normal, kitted out with comfortable furniture and everyday essentials. There’s no sign of a meeting room indoors that I’ve come across, which makes me think they get together somewhere else on the property.
Weird.
I turn and skip up the stairs, darting into Fang’s room before anyone sees me with the phone. It’d only be fair that some of the other girls might ask to use it if they knew I had one, but that’s not the point of this.
I don’t want to get in touch with my father because I want to. I do it because Ihaveto.
Sure enough, the device powers up when I press the right button. I stash the packaging deep in the back of Fang’s wardrobe where the dust tells me he hasn’t been in a while, and push the phone up my baggy sleeve.
Mila sits before the fire with The Kid when I hesitate on my way past the parlor, Nandi still tucked on the sofa.
“Where’s Darla?”
Mila glances to where I hover in the doorway. “Having a shower. They found her some clean clothes that fit.”
A thin woman with vibrant yellow ghost roots lifts a hand from the chair by the front window. “Hi,” she sings in a soft, sultry voice. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Jezabel.”
One of the club girls, at a guess. Sexuality oozes off her, as does a strange sense of comfort. A perfect mix for a man tired from the road. “Hey,” I greet, lifting the hand without the phone briefly. “Jenna.”
“You need anything, you let me know.” She seems genuine. Soft.
I’m in trouble of growing fond of her.
“Thanks.” I head for the porch instead, but even in the chair I occupied last night I don’t feel secluded enough.
Some of the men turned left when they dispersed earlier, and straight opposite where I stand is the open barn where they park their bikes. I head right and follow the wraparound porch toward the far side of the house to survey the surroundings. A quaint little cottage with a busy but bright garden sits across the road a way. The dirt access road continues back toward the junction which leads into town, but the fields to the right, behind the house, are perfectly vacant.
My legs ache from yesterday’s impromptu sprint session as I lift first one then the other over the railing, and gently drop down to the dirt below. The frail three-wire fence does little to stop me gaining access to the overgrown field. Somebody has turned over the one beyond—maybe the Amish Fang spoke of—but this smaller section lies scattered with dead wildflowers and thick brown stalks peppered with clumps of overgrown grass.
I pick my way deep into the heart of it and settle amongst the dying overgrowth, legs folded atop a grassy mound to avoid the muddy dirt below. Winter shows no sign of letting up; the previous snow shower barely melted, yet the clouds promise an imminent flurry. I gaze back to the house, a dominant shadow in the distance. It feels as though I could cry, even scream, out here and nobody would know. Probably even care.
It feels isolated.
I love it.
With a deep breath, I shake the burner phone from my sleeve and study its screen. Thumb shaking, I tap out my father’s digits and then lift the phone to my ear. He doesn’t answer, so I try again. And again.
He picks up after the third attempt. “Wrong number.”
“Are you sure about that?”
My father pauses, painful seconds stretching as far as the thick, white clouds overhead. “Jenna.”
“Hi.”
He says nothing more, clearly expecting me to lead the conversation.
I shove down the pang of disappointment at his apparent lack of relief and continue. “I wanted to check in since it’s been a while. Let you know I’m okay.”
“Figured you were busy,” he states.
Sure. Because when you send your daughter in to disrupt a criminal trafficking ring, and she falls radio silent for weeks, that’s your first thought—she’s busy.
“You could say that.” My middle fingernail picks incessantly at the side of my thumb. “I don’t know what happened, but I think they might know something.”
“What do you mean?”
“They stopped me before my shift and said they needed me to cover for someone else. They shipped me. Put me with a bunch of girls and moved us interstate.”
