squeezed my fingers, I thought about smiling.
"Let's go," he said, softly, looking into my eyes. "Come with me, okay? Don't look around. Just look at me. I'm gonna take you out of here, follow me and look at my jacket."
I nodded.
"Can you stand up?" he asked.
I nodded, and pushed away from the wall.
"Good girl," he murmured.
He let go of my hand and turned away, looking over his shoulder.
"Follow me," he said. "Just look at my patches. They're awesome, aren't they?"
I nodded.
He started walking slowly, telling me about how he'd gotten different patches and bars on his leather jacket.
I did as he said and kept looking at the jacket.
Once, I looked away as we were in a hallway.
I saw a figure slumped over a chair. There was a shiny dark pool underneath it, gleaming wetly.
"Look at my jacket," Merle repeated. "Look at me. Keep walking."
I hadn't realize I'd stopped.
I listened to Merle and I kept walking as he led me out of the club that had become a warzone. I couldn't tell if it had gone silent or if I'd just stopped listening to anything but Merle's voice.
Finally, Merle stopped. He turned, and I blinked.
He took my hand again, and brushed my hair away from my eyes with his other hand.
“ I’ve got you,” he said, softly. “We’re going outside now, and we’re getting in the car, and you’ll never fucking come back here as long as you live.”
I nodded.
“ That okay?” he asked.
I nodded.
“ I want you to be careful,” he said.
I didn’t understand why until he opened the door. It was so bright. I hadn’t really seen the sun in days, and the noon light beat down on me.
I followed Merle to the car, my eyes streaming with tears from the shock of the glare.
Finally buckled into the shotgun seat, I had no idea where we were going. I didn’t care. I pulled my feet up onto the seat and basked in the light like a lizard as we peeled out of the parking lot and headed away.
With every mile, I started to cry harder. Soon, I was sobbing, great, heaving silent gasps.
Merle took a hand off the wheel to stroke my hair.
A gentle touch, a sign of affection, was harder to take, and I could no longer even pretend to cry quietly.
He handed me one of the red-checked handkerchiefs that he seemed to always have, and I clutched it as the trees rolled past.
------------------------------------------------------------
Finally, he pulled onto an unmarked dirt road and it didn’t take long to get to a large clearing.
“ Home sweet home,” Merle said.
I’d caught a glimpse of the cartel’s headquarters through my streaming eyes, it was all concrete and neon and barbed wire.
This looked more like…
“ A summer camp?” I asked, incredulously.
Merle grinned.
“ Yeah,” he said. “It was super cheap, and had plenty of space to spread out.”
There were a few old gazebos that kids probably used to make lanyards for Arts and Crafts in, that now seemed to be storage for who-knew-what, covered with tarps bungee cords.
A huge metal garage with a few of the bay doors open dominated the scene, looking like an airplane hangar or mechanic’s shop transported accidentally into a wilderness idyl.
The swimming pool still looked, well, like a swimming pool. There were even deck chairs and pool noodles scattered around, the bright colors and cheerful domesticity striking me as completely surreal.
“ Oh,” I said.
It was all too much, after so much time in a cell.
I swallowed.
“ How long?” I asked, turning to Merle.
He sighed.
“ Nine days,” he said.
I nodded, slowly.
“ My parents must be freaking out,” I said.
He looked away.
“ Merle?” I asked. “Are my parents okay?”
“ Yeah!” he said immediately. “They’re fine. They’re… they’re mad. They’re really