Take Us to Her

Ronan's first instinct was not rage. It was control.

He set his beer down slowly because he did not want the child to mistake sudden movement for danger. Then he turned in his chair until his whole body faced her.

'What's your name, sweetheart?' he asked.

The girl swallowed. 'Emma.'

'Emma what?'

'Doyle.'

Her voice was tiny, but the name changed the room.

The bartender, June Mercer, closed her eyes for one second. Everyone around that stretch of county knew Lila Doyle, the young woman who worked mornings at the feed store and evenings cleaning rooms at the motel. She smiled like she owed the world an apology for taking up space. She had come into the tavern twice, both times to pick up food, both times with Emma holding her hand.

Ronan looked at Mason. Mason was already on his feet.

Victor pushed his chair back, slow and heavy.

'Where is she?' Ronan asked.

Emma looked toward the open door. Rain blew across the floor and made a dark tongue of water toward the table.

'At the old rental by the creek,' she whispered. 'The yellow one. The lights went out. Mommy told me to hide, but I heard them yelling again.'

Ronan kept his face steady. He had learned in war, and later in prison visiting rooms, that children watched faces before they trusted words.

'Did anybody follow you?' he asked.

Emma shook her head hard. Then she looked ashamed, as if running for help had been disobedience.

'She told me not to leave the closet,' Emma said. 'But she fell. I think she fell.'

June was already dialing emergency services behind the bar. She spoke low, giving the address, the storm conditions, the child's name. Her hand shook, but her voice did not.

Ronan stood.

His beer glass struck the table with a solid sound that made the bar flinch.

He crouched to Emma's height. Not too close. Not crowding her.

'You did right,' he said. 'You hear me? You did exactly right.'

Emma's wet lashes trembled.

'Can you take us to her?'