Florist

George is moving. We have been sitting here for some time now. The woman is not yet back. There are many people outside the automobile. Too many for me to distinguish her sounds from the surroundings. The last thing I heard of her, was a bell ringing; presumably the doorbell of the apothecary where she went in to buy medicine. She smelled nice. If I hadn’t sated myself on the guards in the alley, I might not have been able to hold myself back. There was no fear in her. No malignancy. Still, her absence worries me. I give George a hard shove. He doesn’t wake up. I shake him harder. He starts moaning. He is coming to. I shake him more and speak out his name.

“Whaa... what?”

“George! Can you move?”

“No... yes, I think I can.”

“Good. You need to wake up. Look out the window. We were rescued by a young woman, but I don’t know where she is. Can you see her?”

“Eh, hang on... aw... that cattle prod hurts like mad. Auuw... what does she look like?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see. She went into a shop here.”

“The drugstore?”

“Is that an apothecary? Yes, that is where she went.”

“Mmhhh, there is a woman gesticulating in there. I think she is giving directions?”

“To whom?”

“I can’t see that. The clerk I guess.”

“I think she has been there too long now. Could she be telling about us?”

“Yeah, she could. Hang on. She may have left the keys in the ignition.”

George is getting up from the broad back seat. He is complaining but the pain appears to be subsiding. At least he is not so much moaning as he is cursing.

“Aw, shucks. It doesn’t have a starter. I have to start it from the outside.”

He engages something on the dash and opens the door. It is obvious that he is trying to be stealthy but I still think he makes too much noise. A moment later, the engine is starting to make a sucking noise. I wonder if the woman can hear it. More noises from the engine and then it springs. It only takes George a second to get back inside the automobile. He slams the door shut and revs up the engine. The second he puts the car in motion, the passenger side door opens.

“What the hell are you doing? This is my car!”

The woman must have heard us from inside the shop and run out in time to catch us. I can hear them scuffling in the front seats while the car is speeding forward.

“You were ratting on us! We could see you! Get out or I’ll throw you out!”

“I did no such thing. The pharmacist wouldn’t let me have the morphine. He called the hospital. They wanted to know what had happened.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice one, lady. Now, get out!”

“I most certainly will not! You stop and get out.”

The commotion in the front seat gets more animated. George is having trouble keeping the car steady. Then there is a loud rap and the moving stops. George sighs.

“That’ll keep her quiet.”

“Did you hit her?”

“Yup. Just a tap on the cheek, is all. She’s a nice broad, I tell ya. We might still have some fun with her yet.”

My hunger often gets away with me; makes me do untold things. Still, I don’t like the tone in his voice. There are different types of hunger. Not all of them should be fed.

“Let’s find a place to stay first. Do you know of any?”

“Nah, I haven’t lived here long. I don’t know any. At least not anyone alive.”

“Me neither.”

“Perhaps the dame has some identification. Can you have a... oh, sorry. I forgot. I will turn at the next junction and stop there to have a look-see.”

He speeds up and after a while brakes and turns left. There he halts completely and begins rummaging through the woman’s belongings - and, judging from his openly contented mutterings, inside her garments.

“Here it is. Her driver’s license. She doesn’t live far from here. I think it is close by. I have tied her hands with her coat belt in case she wakes; hold on to your hat. We’re outta here!”

He makes a U-turn, much faster than is safe or comfortable, and speeds around the corner from where we came and continues our previous course. We drive for some time. He slows down as if to get his bearings and turns a couple of times. I can hear the woman groaning faintly in front of me. I lay my palm lightly on her neck. Feel her blood in her veins. My cool skin against her feverish trigonum. Sooth her. Then we stop.

“This is it. She a fucking florist. It’s a flower shop!”

George jumps out of the car and a moment later he jerks the passenger door open.

“Upsy Daisy... shit, she ain’t as light as I thought.”

I feel around for the door handle and get out of the back seat. The concrete pavement is uneven and the sunlight makes me dizzy. I stumble uneasily away from the car and get in the shade of a building. I can smell flowers. Their scent fills the air. Not even the sour smell of traffic can overpower it. Next to me, George is breathing hard, carrying the unconscious florist.

“Yes, the key fits. It is here. Hush. If her husband is home, he’ll have it coming.”

“Husband?”

“Yeah, she has a ring. A wedding band.”

“Oh. I see.”

He opens the door and we swiftly enter and close the door behind us. The coolness of the shop tells me that the shades are down. This is wonderful. I move slowly so as not to tip over anything. I take off the one remaining mitten and I keep my hands low and let my fingers reach out. There are plants everywhere I touch. Then a counter. I reach up and remove the hat and rag bag from my head and lay them on the table top. Off to my side, I can hear George opening a door. Then he enters it and calls for me in a low voice.

“This way. This is the private.”

I pick up my things from the counter and follow him into a narrow walkway. I pass a door. There is a smell of mould and dirt. It must be a cellar. I make a note of it. A good place to recuperate. I follow him further. He turns and walks up a staircase. Still no other sounds. We are almost certainly alone. We enter a room and George slows to a halt.

“George, can you close the drapes? It is awfully bright in here.”

I back up to get back in the shade of the landing outside the room.

“Yeah, sure. One sec. Gotta drop this here nugget on the bed.”

I can hear him throwing the woman unceremoniously down onto a spring mattress. Then he moves around for a while, opening and closing drawers. I can hear the shades being drawn.

“There ya’ go. I have tied ’er up and gagged her - and drawn the shades for you. Let’s have a look at this place... see if they have some giggle water ’round.”

I let George pass me as I enter the bedroom. I walk around slowly and let my senses get a feel for the small room. It doesn’t smell like there is anyone else living here. Apart from George’s poignant odour, I sense only the sweet smell of the young woman. Not just her actual smell but a pervasive presence in the room. I walk to the bed and put my hands down. It appears that George has just dropped her onto the duvet and left her coat on. Her breath is still shallow. It must have been quite a blow if she is still unconscious. I put my hand to her throat and touch lightly with the tip of my fingers. Her pulse is slow but steady. Then she jerks violently. She is awake! She starts moaning. Tries to scream through the tightly bound gag. Her breath has turned erratic. Twisting. The knots must be well done to keep her down like that. She reminds me of the strapped down patients at the asylum. Except that this one I feel sorry for. I contemplate how one person is an anonymous source of blood and the other a sympathetic being. What is it that makes the difference? How do I decide? I lay my hand on her brow and shush her.

“Be still, girl. We will not harm you. I will not let him.”

Her wiggling lessens but does not stop.

George is calling from somewhere. Downstairs, perhaps.

“I found brandy. And food. And you know what else? There ain’t no husband ’I can see. Her name is on all the letters. We’ve hit the big one here man.”

“That’s good, George.” I shout back, “but what about the shop?”

“What about it?”

“Won’t people notice if it stays closed?”

“Nah. It’s good. Come down here and eat some.”

“I don’t need to, George. I will stay here in the dark.”

I sit down on the bed next to the woman. Her arms are tied together and onto the bedpost above her head. I put my hand on her arm to calm her.

“If I untie the restraint, will you promise me to keep quiet? It is for your own safety. My young friend does not appear to be of sound mind.”

I can hear a sound. As if she is moving her head.

“I am blind, remember? I cannot see you.”

I move my hand to grab around her fingers.

“Squeeze my fingers to say yes.”

There is a pause. Then she squeezes my hand. Hard.

“Okay. Keep still.”

I put my hands behind her head to find the knot. I can hear her breath quickening. What has he used to muzzle her? I grope around and find a clasp. A belt buckle. It is very tight. A wonder she can even breathe. There. The buckle comes loose. Aside from the leather belt, he has stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth. As I remove it, she gasps frantically for air. She must have been close to asphyxiation. I feel another surge of empathy swell within me. It has been numberless years since I last felt that emotion. Centuries. Yes, there is definitely something wrong with me.

“Please help me!”, she whispers. “Untie me. Please!”

“I can’t. Not yet. We need an understanding. George and I are fugitives. You know that already, don’t you?”

“Yes. But I won’t tell. I promise.”

“I believe you. But George is not likely to. But rest assured, that I will not let him come near you again.”

“But you said it yourself. You are blind!”

She is hissing that last word. Blind.

“Yes, I am blind. But I have other senses. Don’t fret.”

I straighten up and listen for sounds downstairs. George is shuffling around. Chewing. Sometimes I can hear a belch. Sometimes a gulp. Suit him. Him being drunk when he comes up here only makes things that much easier for me.

“Liza - don’t fear. I will have George cooled down soon and then I will free you. But I still need your help. We are fugitives, yes. But we are not criminals. We were held captive in a hospital against our will. I implore you to see it in your heart to help us. Tied down, you won’t do anything rash. Think instead.”

I pad her lightly on her belly and stand up. I smile in her direction. I don’t know how I look. I hope that I am not too scruffy and that the smile imbues her with at least some comfort.