Daughter of Darkness

by V. C. Andrews

  “Frightened you? After what you’ve been used to seeing? He must have been something else. What did he do, come after you with a knife or a gun or something?”

  “I didn’t want to wait around to find out. It was very unpleasant for me, Buddy. I’m glad you didn’t go in with me, too. You would have lost your temper or something, and it would have turned out even worse.”

  “Yeah, but you fainted.”

  “I’m just tired, I guess, tired and weak. I should have eaten more. This has been terribly stressful.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t look as if he believed everything completely. “Do you think I should take you to see a doctor?”

  “Oh, no. I’m fine now.”

  “So, what are you going to do now? Will you speak to the police back home?”

  “Maybe. I’ll think about it on the way.”

  “Good,” he said. He reached for my hand. “I’ll be right beside you, no matter what, Lorelei.”

  “I know you will.”

  “I’m sorry you came all this way and didn’t find out what you needed to find out. Maybe, once you see the police and the police contact this orphanage, they’ll have to tell you things.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “Well, it’s late now. First thing I should do is get you something substantial to eat. Then we can see about a flight back, huh?”

  “Yes, that sounds good.”

  “You look tired,” he said.

  “I didn’t get much sleep, and this was quite an added ordeal.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Some warm food will help. Got to get you used to eating something other than that gruel your Mrs. Fennel gave you.”

  “Yes. I want to avoid all the things she gave me,” I muttered.

  We were back on a main highway leading to Portland.

  “Hey, see that roadside restaurant up there on the right?” he asked after a few miles.

  “Yes.”

  “Look at all the trucks in the parking lot. Truckers know the best places to eat. My father always said that. Whenever we went on long rides, he would look for trucks in parking lots, and it always proved to be good.”

  “Looks fine to me,” I said.

  We pulled into the parking lot and parked next to a tractor-trailer.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, fine. Let’s go eat,” I said.

  The restaurant resembled an old-time diner with a long counter and booths with red leather seats. There was even a jukebox at the far end. It was crowded and busy, but there was an empty booth on the right. A short woman with bushy white hair and thick-framed glasses greeted us and took us to the booth. She handed us menus.

  “I can’t believe how hungry I am,” Buddy said.

  “Tension builds your appetite,” I said. “Mrs. Fennel used to say…” I stopped myself. “Order me the meatloaf special. I’m going to the bathroom to wash up.”

  “What do you want to drink?” he asked as I slid out.

  “Oh. One of those lemonades.”

  “Done deal,” he said, and I went to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the small mirror above the sink. What Buddy had observed earlier looked accurate to me, too. I did look older. It was as if I had aged a few years. Whatever innocence had once been in my eyes was gone and replaced with a cold, hard look. I had the face of someone who might not laugh for quite a long time, if ever again.

  When I stepped out of the bathroom, I looked toward our booth. Buddy had his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. I was sure that this was the worst nightmare he had ever had and one that seemed not to have an ending. I told myself I had given in too easily when he had insisted on going with me. There were many reasons he was in danger now, and it had all begun with one thing. Ironically, Ava and Mrs. Fennel had been right. It was love that had brought Buddy here. Love could be poison when it involved us.

  He looked up and smiled as I started for the table. “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “I ordered for you,” he said. The waitress had already served the lemonades. I sipped mine. “Better than before, right? This is really homemade.”

  “Yes,” I said, smiling.

  “I told you. Truck drivers know exactly where to go to eat on the highway. They have the instincts for it.”

  “I’m sure they do.”

  “I’m going to wash up, too,” he said. “Be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  He slipped out of the booth but paused to kiss me on the cheek. “I do love you, Lorelei,” he whispered.

  “I know you do, and I love you.”

  I watched him walk toward the men’s room, and then I looked out the window at our rental car. I saw the driver of the truck next to it start to get into his cab. As if by reflex rather than thought, I got up and walked quickly out of the restaurant and to our car. I opened the door, took out my bag, and knocked on the truck driver’s passenger-side door. Then I opened it.

  “What’s up?” he asked. He was an African American man who looked to be about fifty, with graying black hair. He was tall and slim and had a white mustache.

  “Would you give me a ride?”

  “A ride? Where to?”

  “Where are you going?”

  He laughed. “Just anywhere but here, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hop in,” he said.

  I did, and closed the door. He put his truck in gear and started out of the parking lot. I looked back at the restaurant. Buddy had not yet returned to our booth.

  “So, don’t tell me you’re running away from home?” the truck driver said.

  “No. I think I’m running toward it.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Just that where I belong is somewhere out there,” I said, nodding at the road ahead.

  He laughed. “You young kids today,” he said, shaking his head. “What’s your name?”

  “Lorelei.”

  “That’s a beautiful name. My mother and father decided to call me Moses. Hey, maybe I’m taking you to the Promised Land.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  Ahead, the road seemed to stretch toward forever. The lights of the truck parted the darkness and drove it back. That gave me hope. Maybe I could be just as comfortable, if not more so, in the sunshine.

  “Can’t imagine what would put a girl as pretty as you on the road,” Moses said.

  “No. You could never imagine it.”

  Moses laughed. It was melodic and beautiful.

  I heard myself laugh, too.

  It was like hearing the laughter of someone I once knew, someone who was truly going home.