Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,4

The winter brings snow so severe that the dirt road leading up to Hallelujah Junction is often closed down until the melt. I plan for those months and stockpile my goods. I look forward to those months.

Alone.

No one around me. No one but one other man who lives in isolation even further into the hills.

Scarecrow is like me. He needs no one and chooses to leave society behind. It is because of him that I know so much about the land I thrive on. He’s a one-legged bastard who hates everyone but the Lord, and maybe tolerates me. Refusing modern medicine to receive a prothesis for his missing appendage, he chose to stuff the bottom half of his pant leg with straw and call it good. Scarecrow showed me the secrets of Heaven shrouded in the sagebrush-covered hills.

This city I drive through, however, is a Godless city on a flat, dried land. Desert filth all around with no hope of salvation.

And then I see her… again. Poor little girl sitting in her own filth cross-legged in a field of weeds in front of a dilapidated trailer.

Spawn of white trash.

Forsaken.

Every month, I see her. Every month she appears to be alone. Today is no different except that this time I slow my truck so I can get a better look. She’s dirty. Dirtier than normal. Her blonde hair isn’t brushed and may have never been. Her clothes are too small, and she wears no shoes. Her wide eyes are blue as they look up at me as I lurk by. They scream desperate to me. They holler hunger and need. They shout for help over and over, so accustomed to never being heard. Her eyes. Her sad little eyes.

I drive on. I have to. I can’t stay. Sorry, little girl. I can’t listen to those eyes. Not today. Not ever.

I get my supplies and drive home. Home. Focus. Get the hell out of this pit of sin. But then I see the little girl again. She hasn’t moved. I suppose she has nowhere to move to. So, I stop. God help me. I stop.

Rolling down my window, I say, “What are you doing outside?”

She twists her head to look at the trailer she calls home. She then stares at me and shrugs.

“How old are you?”

She puts up five fingers.

“Where is your mommy? Your daddy?”

She shrugs. Her eyes grow even bigger as if they are screaming louder. So loud.

“Are you alone?”

She nods.

“How long have you been alone?”

She shrugs.

Those eyes of her demand. They command me to get out of the truck and walk over to where she still sits. She smells of urine and neglect.

“What’s your name?”

“Ember,” she answers with a slight whistle of air escaping from her two missing front teeth.

“Can you show me inside your house?” I say as I extend my hand for her to take.

Without pause, because why would a five-year-old fear anything at all, she places her tiny palm into mine. We walk to the trailer, and I wonder why I am. What do I expect to see? The front door is wide open, but I could see that from my truck.

“Where is your mommy?” I ask again as we enter the dirty tin can.

“She’s not here. She left a long time ago. She said her boyfriend was taking her on a trip. I wanted to go, but she said no. She said no kids allowed.” Her voice is fragile and so delicate that the timbre nearly splinters my soul.

I glance around the front room. Empty beer cans and discarded needles scatter the stained floor. Flies swarm around crusty plates painted with dried food. I walk straight to the refrigerator and open the door. It’s empty although I don’t expect to see anything but. I open the cabinets and find them bare as well.

“When is the last time you ate?” I ask.

She shrugs again. Her eyes beg to be fed. Her eyes… her eyes…

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes, please.” She’s not old enough to be afraid of me, but old enough to have manners. Although by the looks of her upbringing, she was never taught how to behave. It just shows that children are born good and pure until corrupted by the evil ways of man.

“Are you all alone?” I already know the answer, but I suppose I need to hear the reply from her tiny, chapped lips.

“Mommy said someone would come and get me soon. She said to just sit outside every day and a person would come.”