"Go on and get the fuck outta here… both of you. I ain't runnin' no hotel," he said, unfastening her wrist-cuffs.
With that, he strode upstairs, laughing softly to himself. Arlette drew herself closer to Monica, her face showing her confusion. Monica drew away slightly, ashamed of her embarrassment at once.
"Oh, come here, Arlette," she said, gathering her sobbing daughter into her arms. "We'll get out of here and talk. Jack won't bother us again, I promise."
"But… but that's the awful thing, Mother. I want him to… I want…" She couldn't finish the sentence because of her sobs.
"Hush. We'll talk about this at home, away from here," Monica said, petting her daughter's soft blonde hair with one hand. Yes, away from here, away from Jack. Perhaps they would have a chance if they banded together, mother and daughter against him, the savage. But did she really want to do that? How her mind raged, whirling like the Santa Ana winds blowing outside. She would have to think this over, away from here, away from Jack's savage influence.
"Mother?"
"Yes, we'll go now," Monica said, slowly and painfully gathering herself up and wondering if… and when… she would return to this horrible, wonderful cellar.