She heaves herself up and through the window, hitting the dirt with a flat crunch. She wishes that she were wearing more appropriate shoes for running, but she didn’t really get the notice necessary for such preparation; bloodthirsty perverts don’t often RSVP.
Esther has yet another decision to make: run out into the desert or deeper into town? The prospect of the desert deters her quickly; too harsh, both at night and during the day. The drawback of running into town is that she may bring the chaos with her, but that’s an inherent risk no matter where she chooses to go. If they expect her to go into town, she may as well actually go into town and be able to help if they make their way there.
So Esther sets off, squinting in the moonlight to try to step on the most tightly packed patches of dirt so as to minimize the noise she makes and to secure her footing.
Careful not to let herself be illuminated by passing cars’ headlights, street lights, or the occasional pool of light spilling out from a back window or a security light, Esther eases her way into Wometzia’s heart.
Dodging through the shadows, she thinks. If I survive this, maybe Remy and I can bond over it. The thought is facetious, but she holds onto it in a grim, austere way.
The sirens’ scream fills the night air, fills it right up, like Wometzia has never seen before. Well, except for the night Remy left, about a month ago. Maybe tonight will be the end of it, and Wometzia will return to its warm, sleepy tranquility after tonight—however it ends up resolving.
After she makes it farther into the city, she’s lost for where, specifically, to go. She can’t go to the police station (though that would have been her first instinct); they’ll definitely hunt her there, if they have any bodies to spare. She doesn’t know anyone, either. This is the result of not wanting to expose herself or endanger anyone, reinforced solidly by the tidal wave of apathetic depression that swallowed her when Remy and Todd and Odin left. She could go get a room at the bed and breakfast, but she suspects that she may be found there, too.
She could hotwire a car and drive away, disappear just as her son did—just as she herself has done so many times, starting with abandoning Remy (he was Jeremy back then) and Trina all those years ago.
Not this time, no. Esther is so good at running away that she’s confident she could make it up to the Canadian border without being caught. She knows she could, but…then what?
In that moment, difficult as it is, Esther decides to stay and fight—to assist in the eradication of these monsters. Her work has been important, no doubt, but never as anything more than an escape artist. The time to don her armor and stop playing from the shadows is now.
This moment, Esther stands in a mostly dirt lot, winded but not without the capacity to continue. Her resolution sharpens in her mind, strengthens. Permitting herself to feel such unfiltered emotion opens the way for one she didn’t anticipate: retribution. This time taking a lighted path, Esther sets off, back toward Remy and Todd’s house.
Twenty
Remy
I sit cross-legged on the floor of our apartment. The transition from ‘my apartment’ to ‘our apartment’ was fast, easy, and welcome, like a car pulling into its warm, sheltered space in the garage after being out in an unforgiving snow storm all day.
Even in an entirely new place (again), Odin settles quite quickly as well, evidently sharing in our sentiment that home is made by people, not geography. After polishing off a bowl of his favorite food (they didn’t stock it in Wometzia, so its availability here may have played some role in his settling in so fast), he licks his muzzle, stretches out, and lies down with his head on my lap. He may appear intimidating to others, but this little softie is just here to melt hearts. Scratching Odin’s head with my left hand and holding Todd’s hand in my right, a sense of correctness settles in my mind like a nesting bird.
Until a small tinge of unrest prods at me from the unreachable void spaces of my mind, like that rogue tickle at the back of one’s throat that they swear they’ve imagined until the full force of strep throat cripples them the next day.
These days, however, it’s not uncommon for this kind of anxiety to show itself, and my brain seems to specialize in the kinds of obsessions with no immediate solutions—or, in this case, no immediate problem. Even so, I flick through the familiar checklist in my mind: Todd is here, safe, with me. Odin is slipping into a comfortable doze.
I consider calling Beth, but I’m still not familiar with how far this whole thing spreads. If it’s far enough that they’re watching Beth’s phone, a call to her would invite throngs of these guys in a matter of hours, I’m sure.
But god I miss her.
Perhaps sensing that discomfort, Todd gives my hand a firm squeeze, scoots closer to me, and puts his arm around me. Todd has always been good at laying waste to my worries and insecurities, but even as I settle into him, I feel the persistent ember of doubt burrowing into my psyche, and even the rhythmic tranquility of Todd’s breathing and heartbeat aren’t enough to stamp it out entirely, each inhalation laced with the potential for some destruction yet unknown to me.
Even so, my position between Odin and Todd is a far sight more comfortable—physically and emotionally—than has been my standard over the past month, and even in the dull progression of the evening, I haven’t felt so alive since the day I left. The events in the coming days—or weeks or months or years, even—remain unknown to me, and while I’m not exactly okay with that, I also don’t have a solution to it; while Todd is skilled in speculation of the future and recollection of the past, he is not clairvoyant, and I am less so.
The lazy morning had blurred into a lazy afternoon with an anxious anticipation in the apartment—thrilling and with a sense of unrest, like cresting a tall roller coaster. Now, the day and evening have bled into night, where time always seems to hold still. Without the sun’s rays moving, intensifying, and relenting, night’s uniform inky darkness makes the world seem still and calm.
And then it’s morning. Friday morning. The plan to have Todd pose as a journalist has the hidden benefit of not having to fit him with a concealed microphone. Instead, he can use his phone as a recorder and worry about it no further. Nothing to hide.
“What does a journalist even wear?” he calls from the bathroom, his speech obstructed by the toothbrush in his mouth. Odin sits in the corner, watching us both, picking up on the anticipatory static in the air. Todd rifles through a few of his clothes, tossing each aside as he deems it unfit for the task.
“I have a casual jacket on a hanger in the closet,” I say. “Wear that with whatever shirt goes best with it. Maybe some slacks, but jeans will probably do. She’ll be expecting more of a hipster look anyway, I’d imagine.”
“Done and done.” He finishes dressing quickly. “What do you think?”
Todd always manages to look better in my clothes than I do.
“Fabulous,” I say with a wink.
Todd smiles and steps in front of the mirror to do his hair, then checks his watch. “I’d better be going. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” I say.
A knot I’ve been trying to ignore tightens in my stomach.
Last night, Todd asked me what I’m going to do with myself today. I told him I’d go with him, but he refused on account of the unknown number of people hunting me down. I hate it, but he’s right; even if I committed to staying in the background, there’s no guarantee that I’d be able to conceal myself to a satisfying degree. So, instead, I resolved to busy myself with tidying up the apartment. A part of me thinks into the future, of building a life with Todd here, but another, more hopeful, part dreams about being able to return to Riverdell, to the mild weather and to Beth. I long for this to be over, more than anything.
I kiss Todd goodbye and he heads out the door, and I amuse myself with how absurdly similar we would probably have looked to a normal couple—sure, this is me, just sending Todd off to work, getting ready to be the homemaker for the day.
Except Todd
is going to interrogate a potentially dangerous suspect in a decades-old murder case and I’m going to spend the entire day itching for him to return.
Unlike me, Creed is free to be seen by anyone he pleases, so he is going to accompany Todd on this errand. Of course, he won’t sit in on the interview, or even make it known that he and Todd know each other, but he’ll stand by in a shop in the courtyard where Todd set up the meeting with Ginger.
The day, time, and place were all deliberate. Around noon on a beautiful Friday like this, that courtyard is sure to be bustling with hungry patrons eager to have their last lunch before the weekend. In that much noise, Ginger will have less to fear in terms of passersby overhearing what she says, and if she becomes agitated, there will be far too many witnesses around for her to do anything.
Many people find comfort and purpose in being busy; the tasks they assign their minds and hands are enough to pull them out of whatever else is on their mind, even if only for long enough to complete the task. For some, this is an effective catharsis. For me, it’s a slow and frustrating torture, akin to the famous Chinese water torture. Busying my hands only creates a sort of background noise for my mind, allowing the rest of it to go wild with the possibilities of what’s happening in Cheyenne. I’ll keep checking my phone for updates throughout the morning.
But for now, nothing. I suppose I won’t hear anything until this afternoon, if even then. Hell, the car ride alone will take up most of what remains of the morning.
Cleaning is a bust. I toss the rag into the laundry room and surrender, resolving instead to spend the rest of the morning with Odin. Surely, I could take him for a walk. We only need to slip into the woods, and if we go now, we’ll have a nice, long time to be out before most people get off work. Todd must have forgotten his leash, but no matter—Odin is well trained and won’t stray far, if at all, and he always comes when called. We head out the door.
Once outside, I look around to see if any passersby are around, but the lot is deserted and quiet. Upon setting off, I decide to go back to the cottage in the woods to see if I can figure anything else out from what’s up there. Plus, it’s a long enough distance away that it will give Odin some good exercise.
The sense of bated breath and anxious anticipation from last night persists into the day, even more palpable now that I’m not experiencing it through the soothing filter of Todd’s presence.
Something big is going to happen today. I do my best to brush the thought aside; after all, of course something big is going to happen today, with Todd and Creed doing their business in Cheyenne.
Something bad is going to happen today, the voice persists.
Nonsense. This is just my well-practiced and well-lubricated anxiety roaring to life, flexing its muscles, baring its fangs. Even if something bad does happen today, I have no way of knowing that now. Plus, Odin seems happy, and if there is some sixth sense that picks up on impending doom, I’d sooner trust that of a canine than my own.
Odin makes more noise than I do trotting through the tall grass, what with having twice as many legs that aren’t quite long enough to hold his chest and body over it. He wades almost as much as walks through this grass.
As we approach the cottage, Odin tenses and growls. At first, I think perhaps there’s a squirrel, another dog, or even a bear or mountain lion nearby, but as it is, Odin is unmistakably glaring in the direction of the cottage, hackles raised. I kneel down next to him and scratch his neck to soothe him, but that doesn’t work this time. His lean, strong body is rigid and focused. So much for my dog’s happy demeanor.
Could it be Creed’s scent? Maybe Creed’s undercover work had, at one point, involved getting in close enough quarters with Odin that the pup picked up the scent. But then, wouldn’t he have smelled it on me over the past couple of days? That can’t be it.
Then maybe it’s someone else. Maybe we’re not as safe as Todd and Creed thought.
I creep across the porch and press myself against the outer wall; if there is someone inside, I don’t want them to be able to see me without coming outside themselves. I pull out my phone and see that I have no new messages or missed calls.
I tap out a quick message to Creed, asking about anyone coming by the cottage, then make sure my phone is on silent to ensure that, if someone is inside, they don’t hear my phone buzz with the reply.
Fortunately, my phone lights up within the minute and displays Creed’s reply: “Nobody’s been by but you and Todd.”
My phone then lights up with another text message: “My my, it looks like you’ve been busy.”
It’s from the number that was texting me before—not my mother, but the one telling me not to trust her. I decide to humor them this time—perhaps I’ll be able to pull some clues out and figure out who it is.
“No more than usual. Probably less than usual, in fact.” I hit ‘Send.’
The reply is swift: “You didn’t trust me before.”
“Nor do I now.”
“Shame.”
I wait a minute for another text or further explanation, maybe an appeal for my trust now, but none comes. But I need to keep them engaged. If danger really is set to unfold, I need to milk any source I have for all the information I can.
“Should I have?” I finally type.
“Should have then, and should now.” I can rule out anyone I ever formerly texted with regularity—none of them would have omitted subjects or even pronouns like that.
“Why is that?”
“Your lover, your friend, your mother—your whole world, really—they’re about to meet an end.”
“You told me not to trust my other stalker before, but that turned out to be someone helping me.” My heart pumps fiercely, and for that reason, I’m glad that this conversation is taking place over text rather than in person. I can’t lose Todd again. And while my relationship with my mom is tenuous, I’ve been warming up to her over time, and for once, I’ve been able to envision a happy future for it. I can’t lose her, either.
I have difficulty reading the reply, as I’m shaky and a bit sweaty now.
“Yes, I learned about her identity shortly afterward. That’s why I backed off—I knew you were in good hands.”
“But I’m not anymore?”
“Those hands aren’t available right now.”
What the hell does that mean?
“So what now?” I know that I can’t just trust them based on this conversation, but it can’t hurt to hear them out. Even if their whole goal is to lead me into a trap, I’ll have some insight into their resources and how they’ve allocated them.
“Are you armed?” My heartbeat doesn’t relent. I don’t know whether to lie, but if I do, I don’t even know which way to go. If this really is an ally and I tell them I’m armed, I may just be sent on my way into the crossfire of a crazy shootout. But if it’s an enemy and I tell them that I’m not armed, they know I’m a sitting duck. I sigh and decide just to tell the truth.
“Just with my pistol.” I guess that qualifies as a happy medium. Not armed to the teeth, but still able to defend myself if I must.
“That’ll do, for now. One of Keroth’s old cohorts is in Ghost Fork, and I suspect that more are on their way.”
“How many?”
“I’m still working on that. Their numbers are dwindling, though, it seems.”
Huh. I wonder if watching their leaders be put in prison or shot in the face might make them want out of that whole business.
“Why’s that?”
“It looks like the result of your handiwork, in addition to your mother’s.”
“My mother’s?”
“Get some firepower and find a place to lie low in town. They’ll be coming from the west, but they won’t be there for a couple of hours.”
“And what am I supposed to do, just put a clip into the next car that rolls in from that direction?”
“Do what you need to, Remy.”
Whoever it is knows that I don’t go by Jeremy.
“Who are you?”
But I’m left with no answer, save for the calling birds and whispering winds.
Phasing back into reality, I draw my weapon and head around to the window. When entering a potentially hostile area, a window is a fair bit riskier than a door; you’re left clambering through a hole without the cover of the door itself. However, I should have a reasonable vantage point from the window, and I can visually clear the room before I climb in.
Somebody else has definitely been here. There are Todd’s and my footprints, and Creed’s from when we forced him to enter downstairs rather than upstairs, but then there’s a set of humongous prints that sweep more than step from one to the next, like he has a bad limp but in both legs. Beyond that, there’s only one set, leading upstairs. My quarry (or perhaps my hunter) is still in the house, unless he took a different exit, and if so, I’ll have no trouble finding where.
I remind myself that I could still turn around and walk away—there’s a good chance that it’s just another curious soul, shuffling along and exploring, just as I was not long ago. But then again, my new mystery texter alerted me that someone from that crew was in town, and I don’t know how he would have known to look here, but this has been our meeting place of sorts for some time now, so it shouldn’t surprise me that someone might come looking for us here.
Vanishing as one person is easy enough, but there are three people hiding here, and we all traveled separately, offering triple the opportunities to have been spotted or followed.
I climb in through the window and Odin jumps in after me, the light fur on his broad chest just grazing the pane as he does so. His landing is muffled, but the sk-sk-sk of his clawed feet still cuts through the quiet. The footsteps do an awkward sort of foxtrot in the living room, then patter off to the kitchen, where they circle back toward the stairs. The prints are harder to find on the stairs, with so much more concentrated traffic, but I am able to pick them out, even in the limited light.
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