Filthy liquid dripped from Zei’s skirt and hair. He grabbed a black dress from the hope chest and reluctantly opened the gate. He swallowed as he threw the dress over to her. She did nothing to catch it, and it fell on the muddied ground. Samuel wiped the sweat forming on his neck with the collar of his shirt. He shoved the key for the cell in the lock, but his hands were wobbly, so it took him twice as long to unfasten the bolt. The gate screamed as it slid back. He reached into his pocket, his fingertips grazing the end of his hunting knife. Would she attack him? Would she tear into him like Claudette’s father? He felt like he didn’t know her at all.
“I’m coming in,” he announced faintly.
Zei cocked her head, but otherwise kept her position against the wall. Samuel watched his feet as he scuttled over to the body. He bent down and took a long breath before fighting to drag the corpse out. He’d barely moved the carcass a couple of feet before he lost his grip and fell. His hands were too sweaty and his muscles far too weak to do this alone. He went back and took hold of the arms, but he accidentally caught sight of the gored torso. “Don’t look,” he told himself. He squeezed and gave the hardest tug he could muster. He’d managed to move the body another few feet before the same thing happened.
Samuel’s eyes burned as he gritted his teeth, allowing his saliva to spill out as he clutched the body’s tattered shirt. He got on his knees and fought to scoot Claudette’s father out of the cell. He wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t lose it. He had to get the body out of the cell. He’d gotten the corpse to move halfway to the gate before he lost his hold once more. He fell backward, his back and arms on fire. He sat on the wet floor and slapped his hands over his face, struggling to hold himself together.
“Come on,” he said to himself, his blood rising. His words offered little motivation or encouragement. He’d never felt so lost in all of his life. He started crying again. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t bring himself to keep it together. He wept uncontrollably for several minutes, his mouth tasting salt and snot. He hit the ground with his fists. He couldn’t do this.
“What are you?” he asked, wiping his eyes repeatedly.
Zei watched him from the end of the cell, her body dripping wet. Her face was unreadable, an expressionless statue. Samuel had always been so patient with her, but he couldn’t be any longer.
“Are you a demon? Tell me, Zei. If you’re not a demon, what are you?”
He sprinted to the hope chest. He dug out Zei’s sketchbook and pencil and then hustled back into the cell. His heart was beating so loud he could feel it hitting across his ribcage. He held out the pencil and notebook for her to take. She didn’t move. He flipped to a blank page, dabbing the pencil’s point on the paper.
“Write something. Draw something. I have to understand. You just killed someone, Zei, and I need to understand why. Is the mayor right? Are you scared of him? Were you trying to protect me?”
Zei stared blankly.
“Do you like it? You like killing? Are you a demon, Zei? Are you a girl? What are you? Are you anything?”
Zei took the pencil and paper as if she was contemplating what to do. She waited for a moment before scribbling two words.
They hungry.
Samuel frowned. “What?”
Zei did nothing.
“Who is they? Are you asking for food?”
Zei turned to the side. Samuel reached out and took hold of her hand. Her skin was smooth and cold as marble.
“Please. Try again. A picture.”
He let go of her hand. Her fingers relaxed, and the pencil dropped to the floor. Why wouldn’t she answer him? Why was she doing this? Hadn’t he done enough for her? He wanted to yell at her, to throw the sketchbook across the room like he’d done with the scriptures months before. But he didn’t. He picked up the pencil and put it and the notebook back inside the chest.
He somehow found the strength to drag Claudette’s father out of the cell.
The sheriff sat by the kitchen table with an open green bottle and a drink glass half full of liquor. The whites in his eyes were lined with redness, and his cheeks were wrinkled. He wriggled the glass around in circles before bringing it to his lips.
“You’re late,” he said before taking a long sip.
Samuel stripped off his coat and hung it on the coat rack. He pulled out his hunting knife and placed it beside his cot.
“The body,” he said with a scrunched face. “It’s in the hallway at the jailhouse. I could only get it out of the cell room. I couldn’t do any more.”
The sheriff nodded as he downed the liquid in his glass. He poured a fresh serving of liquor and held it up near his nose. Instead of drinking it, he lowered the glass onto the table and scooted it to the other side. Samuel paused before taking a seat opposite the sheriff. He gingerly lifted the glass, twirling the liquid inside. He remembered how it tasted, and his jaw stiffened. The sheriff picked up the green bottle and held it up high.
“To the mayor of Haid,” he said before swigging from the bottle. “Asshole.”
Samuel took a drink as well, the liquid sliding into his throat. It burned hard.
“What do I do now?” Samuel asked.
The sheriff reclined into his chair and wiped his peppered mustache.
“You do your job.”
Samuel gulped down another sip, the second more bitter than the first. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth, trying to neutralize the sting of the alcohol.
“I couldn’t help him. I tried. What am I supposed to tell them? Claudette and … ”
The sheriff lowered his arms onto the table and slouched forward, his hands open.
“Look, kid. You like that Litten girl, don’t you?”
Samuel nodded.
“How do you think she’s going to feel if she hears how you stood there and watched her father die? I’ll tell you. Every time she looks at you, she’s going to think about her dead daddy. Regardless of whether or not you did anything wrong. Hey. Samuel. I need you to understand. You did nothing wrong. You did your job, and that’s exactly what you had to do.” The sheriff scratched his neck. “This world is not all black and white. It’s a lot of gray. Sometimes … how do I say this, maybe it’s best to not volunteer facts. Sometimes, ignorance is the best option.”
Samuel blinked heavily before taking another sip. He wanted his mind to go quiet. He wanted the pain to go away.
“What do I say to her? When she asks me questions?”
The sheriff lowered his shoulder, groaning.
“Fuck. Kid. Lie, okay?” He waved his hand as if it were a fluttering bird. “You were never there. You got called away. You didn’t see anything. Put it all on me. I don’t give a shit. Everybody in this town hates me anyway.”
Samuel cupped the glass with both hands. He put it back to his lips and forced himself to drink the rest of the liquor. He coughed a bit before sliding the glass back onto the table. His skin tingled, and his breaths loosened. The sheriff poured him more.
“I can’t move the body outside. Not by myself.” He swallowed, forcing himself not to cry. “I’m not strong enough.”