Wren

She'd never been sure she'd be able to find it again, but there it was, just as she remembered. She'd only seen the front of Brad's house twice. Both times at night, dark like this, when she came a year ago and when she was being taken away.

It was the same except she could see by the moonlight a truck parked just off the street. A light was on in the living room and she was sure Brad was alone, watching TV or reading a comic.

The pistol was in her jacket pocket, feeling cold and heavy, amazingly heavy for such a small piece of machinery. Wren's hand was on it as she walked up to the front door. She knocked and everything she'd meant to say went and she was left alone and cold on his doorstep, waiting for what would happen.

The door opened and she said, "You'll invite me inside because we need to talk for a minute, don't we? And then you'll give me my rucksack and I'll leave."

"A gun, no less. Is it loaded?"

She fired into the wood floor. "One down, five to go."

"Then by all means, do come inside." He stepped aside. "Dog shit."

"It's been a year now and I can't help but think you could have been a mite more creative." She pointed with the gun. "On the couch."

"Honey, we all do the best we can with what we have. You weren't much to work with, you know." He sat.

It was too warm. She remembered that. She shut off the TV and leaned against the set. "Just like I remembered."

"Your stick is in the bedroom. Let me know when you want to play fetch."

"How's Luther?"

"Broken hearted but he manages. Scott's married and has a squalling kid. Doer's working at Port Arthur. I still pump gas."

"Impressive. Where's my rucksack?"

"I burned it and what was left of your clothes after the police visited."

"No one said you could do that to me."

"No one said the police had to get involved. It was just a bunch of old crap."

"My crap. You burned everything?"

"Everything. Out back. Your dog house too. People kept coming and bothering me."

Her shed. She wanted to see it before she left Texas. She had memories of this room, the kitchen, that night when he cut her hair, the bedroom a little bit, and her shed. He'd been most creative here, when others had been watching.

"You're a shit."

"Takes one to know one." He grinned. "Dog shit."

She lowered the pistol.

"Everything?"

"There was a journal and some lurid photographs."

"Yes."

"You're not a very good writer but the pictures were swell. I hated to burn the pictures. Tempted not to, but a little bird told me I'd better. All up in smoke. I hated to burn the shed. It was useful to me."

"You've never made a bit of sense."

"The snapshot of you, I'd know that ass anywhere, tied to the tree and the two naked perverts. That was my favorite. I knew from the beginning who you were."

"You had only the slightest idea, Brad."

"There were moments. Remember? Won't you play fetch for me for old time's sake?" He grinned. "Dog shit."

"I see you have a truck now."

"I blew the engine months ago and it's sat there ever since. It was fun while it lasted."

"It wasn't a good idea to come here. I wanted my rucksack and I wanted to put you in your place. You're already there and my stuff is gone. No girlfriend?"

"You're kidding. I pump gas at night. I get laid when I want to but nobody even halfway serious."

"So my time here was your claim to fame."

"Many fond memories."

"You're such a fuckup."

"I could say something about you wandering into the station and following me home late at night. What'd you seriously expect?"

"Something better."

"This is Texas. Sorry, we're big on big but aren't that big."

"You know what I mean."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. I have my fond memories. You have yours. Maybe they match. Why don't you get us some beers from the icebox?"

"I'm not drinking with you."

"Mind if I do?"

"Go right ahead. We can talk in there just as well as here." She raised the pistol. "Go on." Following him she asked, "All you do is watch TV?"

"Read."

"Your comics."

"A book now and again."

"I can imagine."

"I kept your bowl as you see."

Her bowl was in its corner. "We'll sit at the table." She waited for him to get his beer and sit across from her.

"I liked it better when you were on all fours."

"I bet you did."

"Naked with ample signs of use."

"Most girls wouldn't take that as a compliment."

"You do."

"Do I?"

"Too bad you couldn't have been prettier, stacked and not such an inept fuck."

"I'm feeling really let down. Don't push me, Brad."

"A hint of violence, dog shit. You're feeling an urge to gnaw on master's leg, are you?"

"You stupid fuck."

"You could have said no any time. Left any time. Done anything you wanted. What you wanted was for me to tell you what to do and to do it to you. I did."

She remembered his rages, the times he whipped her, the implicit threat that was always there. In his favor there was no apology or begging forgiveness. Against him was how badly he'd misunderstood her. He drank his beer, his pale eyes watching her.

"I could have left, you're right. Naked and it was late spring and I didn't know anyone, where I was, or if the next one wouldn't be worse than you."

"Ah, the salesman with the naked drunk fucked slut in his back seat. Does he take her back to her home or does he do what he really wants to do? She is passable after all, and after sampling, willing. I was planning to do that for you, eventually. Take you up north. At a bar or club leave you in someone's car. I hadn't quite figured out how. Drunk? Bound? Or just willing."

"You never knew what to do with me."

"I did the best I could with the opportunity offered and in spite of all your shortcomings everything worked out okay. No one was hurt. We're able to chat. I have memories, your stick and your bowl. You have memories too."

"Memories and what I wish I could have called memories. What you didn't, weren't able to do." She waved the pistol. "You're done with your beer."

"What if I said I kept a picture?"

"I want it right now."

"Maybe the journal too. I'd need to hunt around in my bedroom."

"I can do that."

"What if I said I didn't burn your dog house? That it still stands, in all its majesty, in back, the grass dead from all the feet marching in lockstep to use you. Shall we check?"

"I can do that, Brad, without you."

"But can you, again, play fetch for your rapt audience, eat from your dear bowl?"

Wren remembered him shoving her face into it.

"Or extract the come of thousands? Without me?"

"It wasn't thousands."

"It could be if we moved to some better place. You'd be famous." He grinned.

"I want something else, Brad."

"Dog shit. You're sitting there with that frown and you look so goddamned cute. I want to strip you, tie you up, and fuck you with this bottle. Think about it." He raised the bottle and twisted his wrist.

She raised the pistol and sighted it.

"Go ahead and you'll never know what I really think."

"You're right, Brad. I'll never know." She fired the pistol.

He grinned at her and the bottle in his hand did a little jig.

"I could almost like you, Brad."

"Another name. Less scatological? Hole? Cunt? Town's fish pond? Tail? Piece? Slut? Whore for quarters? Let's see. Ummm. Mind's gone blank."

She fired again.

He fell from his chair clutching his chest, rolling on the floor in all the din from the shot. He looked up at her, where she stood by the table. "Wren. Please. For a dying man. Please play fetch."

"You asshole," she pointed the pistol at him. "I didn't shoot you."

He sat up. "It doesn't hurt to try."

"I want my journal and photographs."

"And I want to be in your journal and add more pictures."

She was tempted. "I can't trust you."

"That's an honest statement. When have I ever done you wrong?"

She fired the pistol almost hitting her bowl. "I don't trust you."

"I'm listening." He leaned back on his elbows.

She'd been hunting all over in Texas for a name and a place and his wasn't it, this wasn't it, but for some reason she'd come closer here than anywhere else. She knew there must be better somewhere, and Brad had rather severe limitations in some departments. She'd never thought it would work out and didn't think he did either. "Boyfriend, girlfriend first. Just that. No doggy shit, no shed, no friends of yours, no being left in a stranger's car."

"You're serious."

"I said you didn't understand me. Never did. You were interesting, Brad, when you weren't boring me to tears. I'm willing to take a chance. First serious misstep and I leave."

"You always could."

"Brad, you were the one who got rid of me. I didn't leave you. I know you were scared at the idea of having me, so you never did."

"Scared? Interesting."

"You never seriously fucked me. Luther did."

"And look at poor Luther now."

"Actually, surprisingly, Brad, I wouldn't mind looking Luther up."

Brad winked. "A threesome?"

"A twosome first before we let things get interesting."

"And I'm in your journal no matter what? You know, there were pictures taken." He raised his eyebrows.

She hadn't known. She wondered when and lowered the gun. "I want them. Copies or whatever. You are already in my journal, Brad."

"The truck runs. I fixed it."

"That's good."

"You'll play fetch?" Brad stood.

She tossed a card on the table. "My apartment. You can take me there in a minute. And yes, you can bring my stick."

He smiled. "An apartment, no less."

"But first I want to see my shed."

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