“Okay.”
The sheriff flung open the window and spat before taking another sip of liquor. “I didn’t ask for this, you know. Any of it.”
“Don’t touch the guns. Or the knives. Just … don’t touch things. At all.”
Samuel nodded. He’d learned the pattern. The sheriff sank down into the chair outside of the jailhouse and tossed Samuel the keys.
“Hope you brought something to protect yourself. I’m not giving you a gun.”
Samuel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the hunting knife. His father had told him to keep it, that he’d use one of the older knives for the rites. Perhaps it was meant to be an early birthday present.
“Good enough.” The sheriff took a swig from his flask. “Got more than a hundred active patrolmen currently serving in Haid. Half of them the mayor keeps stationed at his estate, most of the others I keep posted near the logging sites, and I’ve also got a few others I try and keep around the neighborhoods. You’ll be the groundskeeper for the jailhouse. That’s your job. Take care of the place and keep the incarcerated restrained and alive. You’re the only one besides the mayor and myself permitted on the premises until further notice. Understood?”
Samuel nodded as he fiddled with the collar on his neck, his body feeling too small for the sheriff’s collared plaid uniform. He tried rolling up the sleeves, but they kept falling back down.
The sheriff must’ve noticed. “Stop.” He licked his lips as he took out a handful of copper coins from his pocket. He counted out five of them and put them in Samuel’s hand. “Here. An advance. Buy yourself a shirt later. Tell the tailor it’s a rush order. Looks like a nightdress on you.”
The sheriff laughed at his own joke.
The coins felt heavier than Samuel thought they would. He’d never touched money before. If his father needed goods, he bartered for them. And there wasn’t a long list of people willing to trade with a cleric.
“Don’t you have some babysitting to do?” the sheriff asked as he reclined deeper into the chair, his eyes watching the sun peep out from behind the forest of pine.
Samuel nodded as he put the knife and the coins into his pocket.
When he came inside the jailhouse and went to the holding cell, the girl’s predator eyes were fixed on him. He straightened his collar once more. He was sure he looked as ridiculous as he felt. He got the green vial and the roll of gauze from the cabinet before walking inside the cell.
“Hey,” he said nervously, holding out the supplies. “I’m going to check on the wound. If that’s okay.”
The girl slid her arm back. She probably didn’t like men in uniform much. He tugged on the shirt’s fabric. “Oh. This? I got hired to be your caretaker. Officially, I’m a patrolman. But really, I’m just going to come here every day and take care of you. Do you understand?”
Her muscles relaxed slightly as she slid out her legs and spread them far apart. She turned her head as he got down and re-dressed the wound. He sprinkled the ointment across her open flesh. The bite marks were beginning to scab nicely, and the areas around the wound were gaining back their color. He was in awe.
“It’s amazing. You’re pretty much all healed up.”
Samuel reapplied fresh gauze, then wiped his hands across his jeans, trying to rid them of the sticky ointment. The girl slowly pulled up her hand and pointed to the black dress hanging in between the metal bars.
Samuel looked back.
“Would you like to put your dress back on? I’m sure it’s not very warm. But it’s yours. And I’ll keep the firepit going.”
The girl got up slowly, balancing herself on her good leg. She brushed her thick hair to the side as she coolly stripped off the shirt she was wearing. Samuel stared at the girl’s naked body for a moment before turning away to get the dress. Even with the scars and her missing arm, she was beautiful. He tossed her the ruffled dress and kept his head down. She wriggled her body into her clothes before sitting again. The shackles around her feet jingled as she doodled on the dirt floor with her index finger.
He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. How do you gain someone’s trust? What did the mayor expect him to do with her? Perhaps he wanted to have her behave without the shackles.
Samuel pushed his glasses against his nose.
“I’m Samuel. I don’t know if you remember my name. What’s your name?”
She didn’t answer.
“You can’t talk, can you? That’s okay. I’ll give you a name.”
The girl looked at him blankly.
“I mean, only if you want. I don’t want to call you demon. Or girl. I mean, I don’t know if you’re a girl. You were wearing a dress when you got here, and you look like a girl. I guess you’re not going to tell me what you are. Or your name. So, I guess I’m on my own here.”
Samuel crouched lower, thinking awhile about what to name her. “Can I call you Atia? It was my mother’s name. She was pretty like you. She’s dead now.”
The girl halted her drawings for a brief moment, but then continued with her dirt sketches, swirling her finger in large hoops, then accenting quick strokes. He didn’t want to talk anymore, so he got more wood to rekindle the firepit. The freckles on her cheeks seemed brighter in the firelight, her skin more milky, and her hair more red. We all deserve death. He recalled his father’s words, picturing the worry on his face. They were all prisoners, really. The girl, the sheriff, his father, him. It seemed like everyone had to answer to somebody. He wanted to tell her that, but he kept his mouth shut and decided instead to share the silence.
By the end of the week, the infection in her leg had all but cleared. Large scabs blanketed every bit of the torn flesh, the brown flakes occasionally damp with pus. The swelling had dropped significantly, and the color of the skin had returned to one shade. There was no need to call on the doctor. Samuel knew that the girl and her leg would survive. He worked hard to make her as comfortable as possible. Every day he rekindled the firepit, gathered fresh pillows and blankets for her cot, emptied her bucket, and served her water and food. She wasn’t a big eater, but she liked red meat. She used the restroom like any creature, only she did so from one hole.
In addition to buying fitted shirts for himself, Samuel bought Atia more clothes as well. The tailor eyed Samuel suspiciously for buying girls’ clothing alongside his patrolman uniform, but he didn’t ask any questions. He purchased several winter dresses, including another black one, but she always seemed partial to her original black dress.
She was never shy about dressing in front of him. He would try really hard not to stare, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. When he would look, she would watch him watching her strip. That always made him feel guilty, and he would quickly turn away, pretending he wasn’t at all curious. Her skin was so badly scarred. What had happened to her?
Every morning, when Samuel came in the cell, she never did anything to show his presence was appreciated. Then again, she didn’t seem bothered by him. His fear of her diminished with each passing day. He wasn’t stuttering as much when he talked to her. He wasn’t afraid to get close to her. He no longer bothered bringing his knife into the cell. It was becoming abundantly clear that she was no demon. And it was becoming harder to believe the mayor and the sheriff’s accusations of her being a murderer.