“Where to?” the smiling driver asks as he puts down his tatty-looking spy book.
Rabbit rustles in her pockets and picks out her new address. “Here, please.”
The driver nods and waits for her to get in the back. “No suitcase?” he asks.
“No, just me.” Rabbit, like all Wonderlanders, travels light. Clothes and effects would be waiting for her at her new house, all associated with her new identity. The only “Rabbit” item that she always carries is her pocket watch. The gift had been a joke present from her parents, one small enough to conceal on jobs but sentimental enough to carry inside a spark of who she really is.
“You’re real pale, sweetheart, are you okay?” asks the driver, glancing in his rearview mirror.
“I’m fine, thanks. I just don’t like the sun.”
“Then you picked the right time to come here.”
“Why’d you say that?”
“We’re just coming into our three months of night.”
“Cold and dark, fabulous.”
Rabbit’s new house, although technically in the town of Little Bell, is still miles from anywhere, just like all the houses that the Alaskan Abductor has targeted. And after the initial novelty of time by herself wears off, Rabbit decides to explore the town, to talk to the locals about the abductions.
The town is busier than she expected. People in massive feather-stuffed jackets pound the snow-covered paths; they are so padded that they all appear like safe little dolls that could slip and fall at any moment but would be able to get straight back up again, no harm done. She heads to the grocery store and starts making conversation with customers. There are various responses to her questions about Marion’s disappearance:
“Wolves took her, damn shame. She was pretty,” says the butcher as he cleaves apart a pig’s foot in one blow. The smell of new meat reminds Rabbit why she became a vegetarian.
“It was her husband,” says an old lady as Rabbit helps her reach a can of peas from the top shelf. “He has beady eyes and drives a truck, like that other serial killer, what’s his name.” Although many killers that Wonderland has come across have indeed driven trucks, she isn’t completely sure which killer is being referred to, so she just smiles and nods.
“It was the Kushtaka. It’s a half-otter, half-man creature that lures you into the forest,” says a man who looks a hundred years old, his folds of wrinkles jiggling as he speaks.
“She was a gambler. She owed money to the wrong people.” This from a middle-aged man with a belly so large he appears to have consumed a balloon.
“She got lost in the woods and eaten by animals. Happens more often than you think out here,” another man says, who was queuing behind her at the checkout.
And finally, “There have been quite a few women disappearing from their homes round these parts,” offers the checkout girl. She’s young but appears saner than the rest, so Rabbit decides to press a little deeper.
“What do you mean?”
“My friend Laurel went missing last year. Her body hasn’t been found yet either, but she wouldn’t have just left us all without saying goodbye. And she wasn’t stupid enough to go wandering in the woods at night.”
“Not been found, eh?” Rabbit rolls this piece of information around in her mind, like a piece of clay starting to take shape. Was she dealing with a collector? The thought of taking one down is intoxicating. Ever since Mouse bagged one first time out, Rabbit has been dying to get her hands on one. Not only do you get the flower for the killer, but you get to see loved ones returned home to their families.
“That’ll be fifty-three dollars, please,” says the checkout girl.
Rabbit hands her the money. “Thanks.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Shilo
Bob and Jon live a three-hour flight away, so it gives Shilo some time alone in the open world. Every first Sunday of the month they would visit him in the hospital and play cards. He could have easily won every hand, with Mr. Custard behind them watching their hands, but he didn’t like to cheat, so his imaginary friend would usually make himself scarce when Bob and Jon came to visit. They wouldn’t talk about Kayla, about what she was doing, how she was getting on with her adoptive parents. Instead they would just play games and laugh.
While Shilo waits for them, Mr. Custard points out hiding places and reasonably fresh food for Shilo to scavenge from garbage cans. Excitement begins to fill Shilo. He’s never been so free to do his own thing before and even eating a piece of cold pizza at two in the morning becomes an epic achievement in itself. He tastes things that remind him of his mom, when she took him out for birthdays. Fast food that keeps just a little hunger still in your belly, making you want more. He’s cold, though, so Mr. Custard points out a store with lax security. Although not condoning stealing, Mr. Custard says their mission is much greater than a slight thieving hiccup.
When Bob and Jon arrive they bundle Shilo into their rental car and start their journey back by road. It takes days but it gives Shilo a chance to feel free. If the Kushtaka kills him, at least he’ll have the memories of eating in plastic-looking chain restaurants and playing I Spy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rabbit
Rabbit theorizes that, if she is dealing with a collector, she has to be spotted to be collected and just sitting around the house—miles from anything or anyone—is simply not going to cut it. So, with renewed vigor she begins to explore the town. She visits the library and checks out a few books. She sits and reads in a coffee shop, then eats at the diner, then has a hot chocolate at the other coffee shop. Not for the first time, she wishes Mouse was with her. She misses her dry remarks and exaggerated eye rolls. They may not have been sisters by the usual blood, but more than enough had been spilled between them to make their bond even stronger.
In padded boots she crunches snow as she stomps the streets, but lingers by a small museum. A word, one she has heard before, leaps from the poster in the window. “Kushtaka,” she reads aloud. The poster itself depicts an odd-looking monster of fur and claws, its eyes black and its mouth crammed with thick teeth. It reminds her of her crocodile in the Nile.
“You shouldn’t do that,” a man says behind her.
She turns to find a bulky figure in a dirty orange jacket.
“Excuse me?” Rabbit raises an eyebrow at him.
“You said his name.”
“Who?”
“The creature,” the man replies, pointing at the poster.
The man edges around Rabbit and pulls out a key. He opens the museum door. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure, why not.” She shakes off the feeling that she should stay where she can be seen. She’s worked hard today and deserves a slice of myth and magic.
“So, what’s this Kushtaka anyway?”
“I told you not to say his name,” the man whispers as he ushers her into the building.
“Oh, is it like some Bloody Mary kind of deal, or Candy Man?”
“Yes, only the Kushtaka is real. Those others are just an urban legend and a bad movie.”
“What? Candy Man was awesome,” Rabbit says, hands on her hips.
The man snorts, then bends to pick up a leaflet. “Here, read this,” he says, handing the brochure to her.
She looks at it, turning the cheap paper around and around in her hands. “Thanks.”
“It might just save your life.” The man glares at her.
The front of the leaflet has an almost childlike drawing of an otter hybrid creature; it would be cute, if its long talons weren’t dripping blood.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mouse
Killers for me fall into two categories. There are the ones who are almost dead behind the eyes, like something unnatural is eating them from the brain stem out. And there are the ones who exude a poison savagery that explodes about them like fireworks, a crackling fire that consumes their sanity, stretching out to burn all those unfortunate enough to cross their path. I’ve
put down seven of those type of killers and two of the dead-eye variety. Sometimes I sit and worry if it has affected me, each death bringing me closer to that edge, so that one day I might look in the mirror and see a dead stare, or worse, the embers of insanity glowing behind my pupils.
Bob and Jon knew there was blackness in me. That something dire had inched its way in between my molecules and was festering there. They tried so hard to turn me back into that innocent little Tlingit girl who would throw snowballs and play hide-and-seek with her brother, but they couldn’t. She was lost forever, her potential childhood replaced by the image of her father’s body swaying in the winter breeze from the red cedar tree that stood between the backyard and the forest beyond. He’d used a rope that had always hung in his tool shed. Frayed, yet still managed to do the job. He dangled off its branches like a macabre Christmas decoration, his face purple and frosted with snow, his body stiff but swaying. He had a note in his pocket, but neither I nor Shilo ever had the chance to read it. The sheriff had quickly read it, then hidden it from us.
I’m sure my father, Dwayne, was an intelligent man, but love had made him dumb. When my mother had left with her ex-lover that day, it had broken him.
It was five days later when I found him dead. I tried to run back to the house to get help, but my foot was so heavily bandaged that I tripped, falling facedown into the snow. A raw numbness instantly gripped me, and instead of getting up, I just rolled over onto my back and stared at the sky. That was how Shilo had found us both. Later he had said that he thought the Kushtaka had killed us and that his relief to see me breathing was so overwhelming he only slightly noticed that there was no stool or ladder discarded beneath the tree that father could have used to hoist himself up there. The sheriff had said that he had climbed, and that he had taken the coward’s way out.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rabbit
There’s a tap on the living room window. Rabbit pulls back the curtain, but there’s nothing there. Just a beautiful twilight glow lighting up the trees outside. She never used to like the dark, but it’s a major part of her job, so she’s grown to at least appreciate it. This dark is different, though…
Tap.
The noise comes from another downstairs window. She sprints over to it and opens the curtain; nothing again. Alaska is beautiful but far too quiet. She prefers the noise of the city, the consistent sounds of life, like being inside a pinball machine.
Tap, tap.
“Good grief!” She moves to another window and performs the same curtain pulling routine. She knows she should go outside. It will happen quicker if she takes the bait. But part of her is shrinking at the thought. A chill takes her body, so she pulls her thick wool sweater tighter across her chest.
Tap.
This time it comes from the first window again. She scrambles over to catch whoever is doing it, but again there’s nothing.
“I tell you what,” she shouts, pushing her face against the glass, “you keep doing your window tapping, and I’ll go to bed and watch TV. How does that sound, sicko?”
Right in front of her face, behind the glass, a large animal head appears. Rabbit stumbles backward. She can’t tear her gaze from the snout and teeth. And just when she starts to get a hold of her fear, a long claw rises up. Tap.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Mouse
The squawk of an undead bird rings through the air. Blood drips from my foot, staining the ground. I push on. The trees, large and sinister, seem to reach toward me, faces in the bark snarling, baring their woody teeth. Darkness surrounds me. I have no idea where I am. Where I’m going? If anyone even knows I’m still out here. He had let go of my hand. Cold grips my limbs, icy fingers dancing over my skin. I push on to find him. I keep running. My breaths are ragged and raw, and each inhale hurts like a scouring pad being thrust down my throat. I stop. I look around, spinning to see if I recognize anything. I’ve never been this far into the woods before; how far do they go on for? I stop turning, realizing that, as all the foliage looks the same, I don’t remember where I started. I cry. Soft whimpers at first, with cold tears stinging my checks, then wailing thrusts out from my small body. The unknown bird squawks again. And I wake up. Was that my cell phone ringing? I scramble off the bed to check but find I’ve not even left it switched on.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rabbit
It moves through the window as if the glass were made of tissue paper. A huge, hulking figure covered in fur, mud, and shit.
“It’s real,” Rabbit whispers as she scurries away from it. She runs up the stairs. Her cell is up there. She has to call for help, at least tell them what is happening to her.
Although bulky and awkward, the creature ambles after her. It strains as it lumbers up the stairs, its breaths barely making it through its mask.
Rabbit grabs her cell, flips it open, and dials Mouse’s number, but the monster is quicker than she thought. It’s suddenly there in front of her. The phone is ripped from her hands. It bounces off the carpet and falls broken underneath a nearby dresser.
The stench around her attacker makes her gag but her training kicks in. A roundhouse to the chest makes it staggers back and swear beneath the layers of shitty fur. On the offensive, she runs at it like a linebacker, catching it square in the torso with her shoulder. It tumbles off-balance and crumples to the floor. She looks for the sweet spot of its throat but only finds layers of encrusted furs. “What the hell?” Rabbit starts searching the creature to see where it’s vulnerable. As she does she feels a wet, sticky dripping on her skin. She looks down to see its talon piercing her chest. Her white sweater blooms with red. She stumbles back, clutching her wound and wheezing.
With a low, rumbling chuckle the creature wiggles itself upright. It lifts its claw and slices a diagonal line from Rabbit’s eye to her hip. Her limbs shake as an odd warmth invades her body.
She barely focuses as she’s lifted over its shoulder and jostled down the stairs, out the window, and into the woods. The cold air slaps her exposed tissue. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so warm anymore.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mouse
Cheshire is five years older than me. He was brought to the Kanes as a toddler, addicted to cocaine and with two broken arms where his mother had yanked him from his crib. His cheeky grin earned his nickname of Cheshire Cat. He’s much taller than me and when he hugs me, I forget that those strong arms had even been broken. He’s put twelve flowers on that frame, but he doesn’t talk about working for Wonderland, not like Rabbit and I do. He prefers to keep his work separate from his family life, but right now, he doesn’t have a choice…
“Rabbit is missing,” I tell him. We are both in her room. I’m not sure why. We just ended up there.
He doesn’t answer. I sit on the bed alongside him.
“Will you tell me, how do I find my way out from here?” I quietly ask.
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.” He mutters back his favorite character quote.
“I don’t much care where.”
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.”
I must have been stroking my chip as he then motions at my arm. “Getting lost isn’t a worry anymore?”
I glare at him.
“It’s not a secret, Mouse. But hey, if you never know where you’re going, you can’t really get lost, now can you?”
“I hate your cat logic,” I mumble.
“It’s my character. I can’t really help that either.”
He should be grinning by now, but he’s not. There’s only a grimace.
“Mouse, come downstairs, please,” Mom calls from the hall.
Cheshire gets up and slips his hand around mine. “They’ll tell us officially now,” he says.
We had both caught the news item last night about a beautiful Albino girl called Lucy, who had been abducted from her home. Blood was found. Too much blood. I hadn’t slept, the details of the case rolling around my min
d like a thorny tumbleweed. “Has this happened before?” I look up at him.
“Only once that I know of. It was a while ago, though. Gryphon disappeared. He was bait for an unsub who liked to create zombies, people to do his bidding without question. They never found Gryphon’s body.”
“He could have lived? Ran away? And is now living a normal life somewhere with a family and a dog? Right now he’s having a picnic with them,” I offer.
“Yeah, Mouse, he could have run away. Found his way out of Wonderland and back into reality again. Although he was never one for picnics. He hated eating outside.” Cheshire smiles at me, but all too quickly a veil of sadness slithers over his expression. The last thing to change is his upturned lips.
“Mouse!” Mom yells again.
“You better go,” Cheshire whispers, but instead of getting out of my way, he pulls me into his arms and hugs me. It’s uncomfortable at first; I suddenly feel very conscious about my body, how it’s reacting to the hug, how it must feel to him. He lets me go just as I realize I should have simply enjoyed it and stopped overanalyzing. My face warms, and I drop my gaze to our feet. He’s wearing very shiny expensive brown leather shoes that have the slightest hint of red in them.
“They’re Italian,” he whispers.
The heat in my cheeks intensifies, so I slip past him and walk downstairs. I find Mom and Dad with Bob and Jon; they’re sitting around the table. I’m just about to rush over to them when I see another person in the room, a tall, dirty shadow lingering by the mantel, staring at our Alice with wild eyes.
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