The Hummingbird's Cage Read Online Free Page B

eating well?”
    He laughed softly.
    â€œCome here.”
    â€œWe’re not supposed to talk.”
    â€œCome here.”
    â€œLaurel will be home from school soon.”
    â€œWe’ll be done by then. Come here.”
    His voice was pitched so pleasant, so light, he might have been talking about the weather. I started to shake.
    I moved toward him. When I was close enough, he told me to stop. He turned to the shed, opened the door and gently dropped the dog inside. Then he closed the door again.
    I could have bolted then, but to what purpose? Jim was faster, stronger, cleverer. And at that moment, I didn’t trust my legs to hold me up, much less handle a footrace.
    Before he returned, he grabbed something that was leaning against the shed. I hadn’t noticed it until then. It was a shovel—the one with the spear-headed steel blade he’d bought last summer when he needed to cut through the roots of a dead cottonwood tree. It still had the brand sticker on it:
When a regular shovel won’t do the job.
    When he came back, he offered it to me. I shrank from him and shook my head.
    â€œIt’s okay,” he said softly. “Go on. Take it.”
    The shovel was heavier than I’d expected, or maybe I wasn’t as strong. It weighted my arm and I had to grasp it with both hands.
    â€œFollow me,” he said.
    He led me behind the shed, just short of the six-foot wooden fence that lined the rear and sides of the property. He searched the ground for a moment, considering, as if he were picking out a likely spot to plant rosebushes. Then he pointed.
    â€œThere,” he said.
    â€œJim . . . I don’t understand.”
    â€œWhat’s to understand, idiot? You got a shovel. Use it.”
    His voice was mild, his mouth quirked in what might have passed for a smile. But his stare was like a knife. Like a spear-headed steel blade that would have gladly cut me in two if only it could.
    I didn’t dare disobey. I took a deep breath and stabbed theshovel in the dirt. I set my foot on the shoulder of the blade and kicked. I began to dig.
    The tool was built for plowing through rough ground with the least resistance. Spear it in, kick the blade deep, carve out wedge after wedge of red earth. It was easier work than I would have thought, except for one thing: I wasn’t sure what I was digging.
    But I had an idea.
    A ragged hole was getting carved out, the pile of fresh dirt along the edge growing bigger, when Jim dragged his foot along the ground, drawing invisible lines.
    â€œHere to here,” he said.
    I straightened and wiped the sweat from my face with my forearm. I leaned on the shovel handle, panting, and considered the perimeter he’d just marked off.
    A rectangle. Just big enough to hold a grown woman, maybe, if her arms and legs were tucked tight.
    A grave.
    One wedge of earth at a time.
    Jim had pulled a bare stem from the bougainvillea bush near the fence and was twirling it aimlessly in his fingers.
    â€œYou aren’t done yet,” he said.
    I could hear scratching coming from inside the shed. Tinkerbell was pawing at the door, anxious to escape. I turned in desperation toward the wood fence that was boxing me in. With Jim. With no way out. I knew how the dog felt.
    â€œThat goddamn hole won’t dig itself,” Jim said mildly. “Ticktock. You want Laurel to see?”
    Instinctively, I glanced at my wrist, but I wasn’t wearing my watch. My mind reeled. I could try to stall until the school bus came. A busload of children, a driver—I could dash out andscream for help. Jim wouldn’t dare do anything then, would he? Not in front of witnesses?
    No, of course he wouldn’t.
    But what he would do was take no chances. The second we heard the rumble of the bus engine, he’d do exactly what he’d come here to do, before I had a chance to run away or make a peep. Before the bus ever got close.
    And after the bus had