“Yes. I’ll take care of it.”

Ginny struggled to talk. Only half her mouth seemed to work. “I screamed, and he… he went away. I screamed and screamed.”

“Don’t talk, Ginny. Take it easy.”

“He said he knew about the… drugs…” She tried to pick her head up, neck limp, eyes unfocused.

“Take it easy. Just be still.”

Morgan ran to the bedside phone. He had to dial three times with shaking hands before he got the 911 operator.

The paramedics seemed to take forever but finally found them in the bathroom, Morgan cradling Ginny’s head in his lap.

By the time Morgan got to the hospital, they’d already taken Ginny back for X rays.

He paced.

Finally, a nurse came and told him that Ginny might have a concussion. The nurse was short with him. Cold.

She thinks I did that to her. Morgan felt sick in the pit of his belly. This must happen all the time. Violent parents, abusive spouses. He fell down the stairs. She ran into a doorknob. Isn’t that how it is in TV movies?

Morgan went to the men’s room, splashed water on his cheeks and in his eyes. The memory of Ginny’s swollen face was still too vivid, the bruises on her upper arms, the deep red welts on her legs and backside.

He went back to the nurses’ station, tried to appear benign. “Will I be able to see her soon?”

“It will be a while yet.” The nurse was tight-lipped, didn’t look at him. Shuffled papers into charts as she spoke. “I’ll notify you if she wants visitors.”

Morgan noted the if.

He sat at the end of a line of hard, molded plastic chairs. The sick and injured passed before him, two hours dragging his eyelids down into a doze.

“Mr. Morgan.”

His head jerked up, eyes focusing on the nurse.

She said, “You can go back and see her, but she’s still a little groggy. The doctor gave her a mild sedative.”

“Thank you.”

He followed the nurse back, and she pointed behind a plastic curtain. Ginny lay on the other side, curled on an examination table. A stool nearby. Morgan sat, reached to stroke her hair but pulled his hand back. She’d been bandaged, put in a hospital gown, a light blue blanket pulled up to her shoulders.

Her eyes flickered open. “Professor?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice flat, eyes dark.

Morgan couldn’t imagine what she was sorry about. “How are you?” The dumbest question in the world.

She told him, her voice small, each word precise like she was reading the ingredients to a complex recipe. They’d x-rayed her skull, nothing busted. No concussion. One cracked rib. Two stitches below her left ear. One tooth knocked loose. An orthodontist would have to be called in, but no complications were expected.

“What happened?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t have to talk. Rest.”

“He was looking for you,” Ginny said.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. He was crazy, asking about drugs and Annie.”

A chill crept over Morgan. “What else?”

“I thought he’d ask about the peach orchard, but he never did. He thought we had some drugs, I think. Maybe hidden. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted. I’d have told him anything, but I just couldn’t understand what he wanted to know.”

Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes, spilled down her cheeks, but her voice was flat. She was detached, huddled somewhere far away. Morgan felt crushed listening to the young girl. She must’ve thought the world her giant playground when they buried Annie in the orchard. Maybe she didn’t think of Annie as a person then, only an elaborate prop in the big-budget movie of her life. Now Ginny’s relationship with the world had dramatically changed. Her life was no longer a bright plaything. It was hard and real and had knocked the light of youth from her face. Maybe she’d never get it back.

Now she would only be scared all the time. Like him.

“Did he… did he make you…” The words eluded him. No will to speak them.

“He tried to,” she said. “He couldn’t get hard. He already had his belt in his hand, so he used it to whip me. When he bent down I kicked him in the… down there.”

Morgan felt a ghost pang in his balls, winced.

“I got away and locked myself in the bathroom,” she said. “He tried to get in, but I kept screaming. He must’ve worried about the noise and the neighbors and went away.”

Morgan couldn’t look at her, couldn’t stand it. He wished he’d never come to Oklahoma, wished he hadn’t been a teacher, that he didn’t have to see this young girl have the love of life beat out of her. He taught poetry. What the hell was that? What the fuck good did poetry do anybody?

He said, “I’ll take you home. You can stay with me for a while.”

“No.”

He opened his mouth to object, shut it again.

“I had the nurse call my parents,” Ginny said. “They’ll be here soon. Don’t worry. I won’t tell them anything.”

“Oh, I didn’t think- Okay.”

“You’ve got to be careful.”

He blinked. Did she mean about her parents?

She said, “It’s not me he’s after, Professor. He wants you. I just happened to be there.”

He nodded, bit his lower lip. Of course. He hadn’t thought beyond what to do with Ginny. The guy had something to do with Annie and drugs. It was all too much. Morgan didn’t want to go back to his house. Didn’t want to wait there for the guy to return.

“Professor, I think I need to sleep now.”

“Do you want me to wait until-”

“My parents will be here soon.”

“Okay.” Morgan swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Ginny. This shouldn’t have happened.”

But she was already asleep.

twenty-eight

Morgan left the hospital numb and scared. He drove his car, automatically heading back to his little house. Halfway there he thought, I can’t stay at home. That guy’ll come back.

He turned the car around, headed for the Best Western at the edge of town. Halfway to the motel he turned around again. He hadn’t any luggage, not even a toothbrush. He’d have to risk his house for twenty minutes, long enough to grab some clothes and his toilet kit.

His thoughts tumbled, wouldn’t line up straight. He couldn’t hide out at the Best Western the rest of the semester. Another thought. If the guy knew where he lived, he’d probably be able to track Morgan to his campus office. A night at a motel wouldn’t solve anything.

Fuck it.

One night at a time. That was all he could manage.

He parked in front of his house and ran up to the porch. The front door still stood open. He looked in, crept around the house, searching for intruders. Empty.

He ran to the bedroom, yanked a gym bag out of the closet. Two shirts, three pairs of boxer shorts, a fistful of socks. Into the bathroom next. He couldn’t find his leather toilet bag, so he swept his toothbrush and razor off the sink and into the gym bag. He already wore his coat. What else? He always forgot something.

“Professor Morgan?”

Morgan froze. The voice was male and deep, came from the front porch.

“Hello? Professor Morgan?”

Morgan made himself calm down. A killer wouldn’t call out. He’d just barge in. Still…

“It’s Sergeant Hightower from the police, Professor Morgan.”

Morgan realized he was holding his breath. He let it out. He walked slowly into the living room, clutching the gym bag to his chest. “Yes?”

Sergeant Hightower wore his straw hat back on his head. Big country-boy smile. Heavy brown jacket over a khaki uniform. Gun slung low. “Morgan, right?”

“Yes.”

Hightower still stood on the porch, leaned into the living room without actually stepping over the threshold. “I just came from the hospital.”

“Yes?”

Hightower pulled a pen and notepad from his jacket pocket. He flipped open the notepad. “I just need to ask a few questions.” He gestured into the house. “Uh… you mind?”