Say You're Mine

Dutch hands me another photo, and it’s the same woman only this time she has a little girl on her hip. There’s a tall man in a suit standing behind her, and they’re in front of a Christmas tree. There's a black cat stretched under it, and I touch the photo.

“Boogeyman,” I whisper.

“Huh?” Dutch asks.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I had a black cat when I was younger. He looks just like him. His name was Boogeyman.”

“Strange name for a kid’s cat.”

“You know when you hear things at night and you get scared when you’re little? Kids think it’s the boogeyman.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it was. He was sweet and fluffy and nothing to be afraid of at all.” Dutch nods his head in understanding.

“What happened to him? Is he still around?”

“I don’t know.” I hand the pictures back.

“You don’t know? Like he ran away?”

“I don’t know. Is that so hard to understand?” I shout, and I’m surprised at my outburst.

“No, it’s a lot to take in. Your mind is trying to piece things together.”

“There’s nothing to piece together.”

He keeps going, ignoring me. “You were four when you were taken. If I had to guess, you don’t know what happened to that cat because the cat was with your real parents.”

“No, that’s not it at all.” I shake my head as I try to search my mind.

“You’re mixing up the early memories or your real parents with the ones who stole you.”

“That’s enough,” I cut him off. I hate the doubt I’m feeling in my own mind. This man is getting into my head. Those pictures could be fake.

“I thought you wanted answers from me?” he says, but I don't respond. “You’ll see for yourself soon.”

I don’t think he meant it as a threat, but for some reason it feels like it.

Chapter Six

Dutch

“Let’s get you some food,” I suggest, and her scowl softens long enough to nod. I want to tell her she’s once again like a kitten because she’s irritated when she’s hungry. I somehow don’t think that would go over well. “As long as you stay with me, you’re safe.”

“Why does that sound like a warning?”

“Because the family you lived with had a reason for taking you, Iris. They stole you, and they won’t be pleased when they find out I’ve taken you. I have no doubt they’ll come after you, and when they do, they won’t be as gentle as I’ve been.”

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” She wraps an arm around her stomach, but I reach out and take her hand.

“You’ll need something, then you can sleep.”

She doesn’t protest as I take her out of the sleep car and through the train. It’s not made for people my size, and I’m constantly having to duck between doorways and where the trains connect. Once we get to the front, there is an empty table next to a window.

“Sit here.” I point and hold her steady through the rocking path until she’s seated.

There’s an attendant that comes by and gives us a menu with a few items on it. There are hot sandwiches and snacks, so I order everything. Iris looks at me with wide eyes, and I shrug as the attendant leaves.

“I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” She straightens her silverware in front of her and moves the fork to the other side. Then she adjusts her waterglass and places the napkin in her lap.

“It’s a train, not a formal dinner.”

Her cheeks heat as she rolls her eyes. “Just because it’s not fancy doesn’t mean we can’t be civilized.” She reaches over and does the same to my place setting.

I find myself grinning as I watch her little hands move around the table, making it into a production. It’s cute. Fuck, when was the last time I used that word even inside my head?

“Do you like to be civilized?” I tease as I take a drink of my water.

“I don’t know, it was the way I was brought up.” She lets out a quick breath and looks at me like she’s making a confession. “I never understood all the pomp and circumstance of all those etiquette classes I was forced to take. If I’m honest with myself it was always more for my mother than anything. I wanted her to be proud of me, and it seemed that one way to do it was to excel at it.”

“Let’s pretend you can do whatever the fuck you want,” I say, and her eyes snap to mine. Leaning forward, I push her fork so that it’s crooked. “Let’s say that right now you can make the choice. What would that choice look like?”

The corner of her mouth turns up, and I see the hint of a dimple that is so like her birth mother’s. There’s also a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Why do I enjoy her defiance when all I want her to do is obey?