Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

now, though. All right? Just try to focus on that. I’ll stay with you till he shows up. Drink your tea. It’s good for you. It’ll help you calm down.”
    She looked at the glass in her hand like she’d only then become aware of it. She stared at it for a moment, then brought it to her lips and took a sip. Her hands were still shaking and she couldn’t keep an even flow to her mouth. She swallowed. Wincing, she put the glass down on the table.
    “It’s an acquired taste,” I said. Tears were welling up in her eyes now, waiting to fall. The shock was passing, her emotions beginning to free up.
    Her eyes pinched then, cutting loose two large tears that bounded down her young face. She stiffened, her eyes locked on me, as she held back the rest. She muttered as calmly as she could, “I want my father.” Her voice quivered, and for a moment she flashed with anger— at the tears, at the break in her voice, at what she had just uttered.
    She was her father’s daughter, all right, I thought.
    “He’ll be here soon,” I repeated. I didn’t know what else to say.
    She sniffled and wiped her wet face with the back of her hand. “I’m afraid.”
    “You don’t have to be.”
    “What if they follow us here?”
    “They’re not going to be following anyone for a while.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “You don’t have to worry. You don’t have to be afraid of them anymore. I promise.”
    More tears sprang free, rolling down her face. She immediately stiffened, as if that would keep others from following, but it was no good. There was no holding back now. Her shoulders hunched suddenly and finally she broke down and wept.
    I moved her to my couch, sat her down and put her under my wool blanket. She curled upon herself like a child. I lit a candle to give her something to focus on. I didn’t know what else to do. She was fifteen—just a child. A traumatized child, at that. I could treat wounds—my own wounds, another’s wounds. But this was beyond my experience. This was alien to me.
    I did the only thing I could think to do. I pulled up my chair and sat across from her, watching over and wondering where the hell Augie was.
    Around midnight Tina fell asleep, her skinny legs occasionally twitching violently, as if she were still trying to buck herself free of her three attackers. I held perfectly still in my chair, listening hard for the sound of footsteps coming down the long hallway outside my door.
    I had given up on Augie showing. I was expecting the police now. Despite my precautions before and after the attack, Tommy Miller had seen my face. It was only a matter of time before Elm Street filled with patrol cars. I was actually surprised that no one was here yet.
    I lost track of time, but at some point the candle burned out and I was left in the dark. Sometime after that I fell asleep sitting up in my chair. I don’t know for how long I was out, but eventually I was awakened by a sound.
    I lurched forward in my chair, startling Tina awake as well. She lifted her head quickly and looked around. She was groggy, but there was alarm in her voice when she spoke.
    “What?” she said.
    I whispered, “Wait.” I held still and listened. The night air was coming through my open windows, lifting my yellowed curtains and filling the apartment with the smells of spring breezes and musty cotton. I could hear the sound that had awakened me diminishing, but I was unable to identify it. I wasn’t even sure from where it had come. I looked toward my living room window as if the sound might have been outside.
    Tina whispered, “What is it?”
    I held my index finger to my lips. She looked at me but said nothing more.
    It took a moment, but then the sound came again—the creaking of wood being compressed under heavy weight. There was no doubt about it now, this sound had come from behind my door, from the hallway that ran from my apartment to the top of the stairs.
    I pointed to Tina and mouthed the word, “Stay.” Her eyes went to my lips. She nodded quickly. I got up from the couch and went to my living room window and looked down onto Elm Street.
    I saw nothing but the usual number of cars parked across the street. I saw no patrol cars directly below, and no flashing red and blue lights in the trees down the block, which I would have seen had a perimeter been set up.
    I checked my watch. It was close to three in the morning.
    I looked out my window again, this time toward the train station at the other