Here’s what Publishers Weekly had to say in a starred review of Laura Benedict’s new novel, The Stranger Inside: “Kimber’s complicated personality and unusual family life drive the ever-twisting, surprise-filled plot. Angry and jealous as a child and teenager, and now a cold, prickly adult, Kimber is the epitome of the unreliable narrator. Readers will enjoy vicarious chills in her company.”
In a review of At Home in the Dark, PW highlighted Laura’s story, pointing out that it “works a modern variant on Hansel and Gretel.” Here’s a taste of it:
This Strange Bargain by Laura Benedict
The children emerge from the misting rain on the right shoulder of the road, and I take my foot off the gas, trying to decide if I will stop. Inside the Buick it’s warm and dry and smells of cinnamon and chocolate, and the music is Satie, my favorite. I don’t want to share the pleasure of this moment with a couple of stringy brats who don’t have the sense to carry a flashlight or wear shoes with reflective bands on the heels. But this hesitation is only a game I play with myself. I’ll stop. I always do.
A boy and girl, I think, the girl much taller than the boy. Their hair shines platinum in the headlights. They hold hands, which might be touching to some. Sister and younger brother?
Slowing the car, I put the blinker on. I’ve always been conscientious. A rule follower.
The Buick idles, the Satie plays. I wait for them to reach me. Blondes. Always blondes. I wonder who decided that. I press the button to lower the passenger window.
But the children have abandoned the shoulder for the ostensible safety of the opposite side of the drainage ditch. The girl strides purposefully on. Stay away from us! might as well be blinking in lights above her. It’s the boy who is curious, and as the girl pulls him along, he stares, open-mouthed, at the car and me. His denim overalls are loose, the legs baggy and too short. He’s also barefoot, and the night is chilly, the grass wet. How miserable.
Turning down the Satie, I clear my throat before calling out, “Nice night for ducks!” I smile, assuming they can see me by the soft lighting of the Buick’s interior. “Do you need a ride?”
In response, the boy stalls and raises his hand in a tentative wave. Then he looks up at the girl, who jerks him forward.
Damn it. She’s going to play hard to get. I ride the brake, letting the car creep forward. The rain picks up.
“Where y’all headed? I hate to see you out in this nasty weather. Won’t you let me at least give you an umbrella?” The girl still won’t look at me. The boy is not so suspicious of middle-aged women in big cars, bless him. If he has a grandmother, I bet he misses her already. I bet she bakes him cookies and spoils him with presents. Though from the state of his clothing and his shaggy hair, I suspect that the presents—if there are any—are modest. She might even be a heroin addict, or a drunk who beats him. I lean as far as I can toward the passenger window to hold out a cheap folding umbrella.
The girl and I are both surprised when the boy jerks loose of her hand. She shouts as he hurtles down the bank, headed for my car.
“Braylee! Stop!” She sounds more annoyed than panicked. I put the car in PARK.
The sun-browned face that appears at my window wears a shy smile, revealing a gap where a front tooth should be. Excitement shines in his eyes, and his breath is quick and shallow. Braylee? Why do children’s names seem to get less dignified with each generation?
“Why hello, Braylee.” The words feel foreign in my mouth. I don’t want to know their names. “Here you go.”
After snatching the umbrella as though he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, he turns and jogs a few feet. But he stops and looks back.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He has an adorable lisp.
“You’re welcome!” I dislike adorable.
Turning his attention to the umbrella, he fumbles with the catch. Just as I’m about to offer my advice, the umbrella shoots open. He laughs, but the wind drops from nowhere and plucks the thin sound away. The umbrella is no match for the wind, and its dome fills in an instant, causing the boy to stagger sideways, out of my sight. Has it forced him into the dangerous road?
A curtain of rain crashes against the windshield, enveloping the Buick. Water pours into the passenger window before I can close it. When that’s done, I push open my door against the driving rain, and hold onto the car as I make my way to the boy, who lies motionless on the shoulder.
Why tonight? Why not a night filled with the songs of tree frogs, and the whinnying of contented horses in nearby pastures, under a bright moon.
The girl reaches him first, falling to her knees, her voice straining over the clamor of the rain. She flings a worn denim bag on the ground beside her. “You’re all right, you’re all right. It’s okay. I promise it’s okay!” Her hands flutter over the boy like moths uncertain where to land. Finally, she slips one hand behind his head and the other beneath his upper back. Rain streams down his face as she gently lifts him to her lap. I wait for him to open his eyes, or make some noise—a scream, or a rattling sigh. I doubt he’s mortally injured from such a simple fall, but I watch, just in case. That moment between life and death is so brief, so precious. When he finally opens his mouth, he sputters at the rain.
By some miracle the umbrella still rocks on its head only a few feet from us. I kneel at his side to hold it over the three of us, gravel pressing painfully into my skin.
When the girl pulls her hand from beneath his head, it’s smeared with blood, purple in the glow of the Buick’s taillights. My breath catches. Maybe it’s my imagination, but the blood’s sharp tang seems to linger in my nostrils until we get the boy into the car…
This Strange Bargain by Laura Benedict is one of 17 outstanding and uncompromising stories in At Home in the Dark. NB: Ebook and paperback editions are on sale now for immediate delivery. DON’T try to order the hardcover, as it’s sold out at the publisher, and while Amazon is still taking orders they’ll be unable to deliver.
