The barn is darker than the night around it; it looms, a boxy shadow between the trees. I clear my throat, though I've probably made enough noise traipsing through the woods that Betty heard me coming minutes ago. The forest creatures have fallen silent, thanks to my intrusion. I've startled the animals, so I'm sure I've startled Betty, too.
“Betty?” I call, taking each step slowly, my hands stretched out in front of me. A branch scratches at my ankle, and I swear under my breath. “Betty, it's me—Bella.”
She must not have heard my approach, after all, because she doesn't reply.
I think about the times we played in this barn, about all of the adventures we had. The memories make the setting feel less scary, but something strange happens when kids become adults.
Kids think they're immortal. They don't expect anything bad to ever happen to them.
Adults?
Yeah, they know better.
So goosebumps break out on my arms when my fingertips tap the old wood of the barn. I take a deep breath; my heart is beating fast, the rush of blood practically roaring in my ears.
“Betty?” I call again, and I knock on the side of the barn with my knuckles.
From deep inside, I hear a whoosh of wings, the startled cooing of mourning doves, probably taking off from the rafters.
And still...Betty doesn't answer.
I follow the barn wall until I feel a gap in the wood. I stumble a little when my foot hits a beam, and I curse again as my phone falls out of my pocket. But then I'm cursing myself, because I brought my phone with me. And my phone has a flashlight app.
Obviously.
I roll my eyes and pick the phone up from the ground, wiping off the dirt. Then I open the screen and turn the flashlight app on: suddenly, my surroundings are lit up with police precision, as if I'm looking over a crime scene.
I shiver.
“Betty?” I call again, stepping through the hole in the barn's wall and into the barn itself.
The space is large, but it doesn't have any rooms, doesn't have anything at all inside of it. It's just four walls and a floor.
And no one's here but me.
Betty and her kids are gone.
I look around, doing a three-sixty spin. My hand's shaking, causing the light to shudder, making the stark shadows all the more frightening. The barn is cold: in the light of the phone, my breath stands out in the air like a weird hologram.
Okay. So. Betty's not here. Maybe she got hold of someone who could help her, someone who offered her a place to stay. Obviously, housing her kids in an abandoned barn was the last resort; she'd do anything to avoid it. Hell, maybe she called Child Protective Services on herself. That's the kind of noble thing Betty's capable of doing.
I don't know.
She's just...not here.
I draw in another deep, shuddering breath, gripped by an intense paranoia that rises almost instantly from my chest. What if someone found Betty and her kids here and...hurt them? Chased them? Took them? Yeah, everyone knows everyone in Paris, and we don't get too many strangers in town... But what if some sicko was cruising through?
Granted, this is an unlikely scenario, but it's got my heart thumping pretty fast. I swallow, lick my lips. My tongue is as dry as if I had a mouthful of saltines. I bring my messages screen up on my phone and stare down at the last text that Betty sent me.
Betty, are you guys okay? I type out quickly. I grip my phone, hoping she'll answer. I wait for a long time, or for what feels like a long time, but when I glance down at my phone's screen again, I realize that only three minutes have passed.
And she hasn't replied.
I glance around the barn's interior, shine the bright light of my phone everywhere, just to make sure I'm not missing anything, and then I duck outside and stumble around the perimeter, looking for... Well, I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for.
Teeth chattering, I glance at my phone's screen again. I only have about eight percent left on my battery, so I turn off the screen, pocket the phone and rub at my arms.
Did it get colder out?
It feels so much colder.
I grow still and listen very hard for a moment. The whole time that I was searching the barn, the animals and insects of the woods were quiet, except for the crickets. The crickets kept on singing.
Now, as I stand in the darkness, I realize that the crickets, too, have fallen silent.
The phrase as silent as the grave races through my head.
I feel as if something is watching me. And that's entirely possible, given that I'm in the woods. It's likely that there are several pairs of animal eyes on me right now. Hell, there are probably quite a few mice who live in that barn staring at me with betrayed little faces (a certain Mr. Cheese comes to mind).
But this feels different than being glared at by a mouse.
The tigress.
I swallow a little, curling my hands into nervous fists at my sides.
The tigress in the zoo stared at me, and her stare had weight.
That's how I feel right now: this gaze is powerful enough to activate my fight-or-flight instinct.
But I know there's nothing dangerous in the woods. I mean, maybe some black bears, and there are rare sightings of bobcats...
I draw out my phone again and shine the light a little wider around me. Nothing. There's nothing here, of course, besides some messy bushes, fallen tree limbs, undergrowth that's been flattened by snow. The woods are thick around the barn; that's what made playing here as kids so inviting. It felt like we were stepping into another, wilder world.
I try to tell myself—sternly—that I'm making a big deal out of nothing. My nerves are just rattled because of the awful, emotional day I've had.
Still, something feels...very wrong.
I clear my throat, lift my chin. “Betty?” I call out into the trees.
The darkness and the cold seem to have sucked the life right out of the woods. My words hit a wall of velvet, the nighttime muffling my voice. “Betty?” I say again, louder this time. “Are you there?”
No reply. All remains silent.
And then...
A sound.
If I weren't listening so closely, I would have probably missed it.
A twig breaking.
Probably a deer. These woods are full of deer. We always have problems in town with them darting out in front of cars.
But when I hear another twig breaking, I know it's not a deer.
Don't ask me how I know. Call it woman's intuition. Every hair on my body is standing upright, every inch of my skin is covered in goosebumps, and I hear my blood pound a staccato rhythm through my veins.
I'm freaked out.
There's something here in the woods with me.
So I need to get the hell out of the woods.
I pocket my phone—and then I take it out of my pocket five times, nervously, before I finally decide that, yes, using the flashlight is the best plan. I considered finding my way back to the road in the dark because light might reveal my location to whatever is lurking out here. But...light will also help me hightail it faster.
I hold the phone about shoulder-height as I traipse through the woods. The unnatural whiteness of the light beam makes my surroundings look stark, eerie, like the set of The Blair Witch Project. Every tree seems to be hiding something behind it...and not something nice, like a unicorn.
I hope that I'm overreacting, because if I'm overreacting, that means that there's nothing watching me, following me.
But, deep in my gut, I know that there is.
I stop, pressing a hand over my heart. My pulse is racing. I glance to the left and right, pressing my lips together to hold in a sigh of exasperation. Did I get turned around? That's weird—this copse of trees doesn't look familiar.
Okay, get a grip on yourself, Bella. You're only making things worse.
I grew up surrounded by mountains, by forest; I know that it takes only a few missteps to become very, very lost. And I've hear
d stories about people getting lost in these woods.
Dying in these woods.
I start to roll my eyes at my melodramatic musings, but then I glance ahead of me, into the beam of light.
Whoa.
No.
What?
I couldn't have seen what I think I just saw.
I take three quick steps backward.
Stop. Think rationally.
I just saw...
Did I just see...a dog?
Yeah. Like, a big dog.
I lift the phone higher, above my head, the light illuminating a wider space now.
Nothing.
Okay.
I saw a dog. Whatever. There are a lot of farms inside and outside of Paris, and what's a farm without a dog? Some of the farmers let their dogs roam off of their property, because there isn't much traffic around here. And that's probably what set the wildlife on edge, too, what made the crickets go quiet: they know there's a predator in the woods. A dog. A farm dog.
Absolutely.
I swallow.
I insist upon this fact so forcefully that I almost believe it.
But the thing is...even if it is a big dog—loose, wandering away from its farm—I don't know if it’s friendly.
Okay, for the second time this week, I feel like I'm a horror movie, and I really don’t like horror movies. (When I saw Poltergeist as a kid, I was terrified of the television for a whole month.) My heart is pounding so hard that I kind of wonder if I’m going to have a heart attack. Deep breaths aren't enough to calm me. I’m pretty sure horse tranquilizers would fail at calming me right now.
Again, I hold my phone aloft—and it starts beeping at me. And the flashlight cuts out. The phone brings up the “powering down” screen...
Great.
And in the dim light of the screen, right before my phone dies completely...I see it.
I could attempt to convince myself, for the rest of my life, that what I’m looking at, what just melted between two trees right in front of me, is a dog.
But I’d never believe it. There’s no lie big enough or bold enough to change this truth.
The creature in front of me is no dog.
It’s a gray wolf.
Chapter 12: The Wolf
The animal appears in my line of sight and disappears just as quickly, along with the light, but I know what I saw.
It was a wolf. A wolf, prowling. If I had extended my arm, I would have been able to brush fingers over the long gray fur on its back.
I don’t know what to do.
Fear freezes me in place; I’m as still as a statue, incapable of twitching a muscle.
There’s a wolf.
There’s a wolf here.
There’s a wolf here, next to me.
I don’t hear a thing, aside from my beating heart.
Now that I’m in the dark, I start to rationalize. Wolves don’t attack people, right? Didn’t I hear that on a wildlife documentary? They have to be starved to come after people, because they’re naturally afraid of us.
But if they are starved... There was this show on PBS; wolves up in Canada attacked a researcher because there weren't enough elk for them to eat.
Okay. There are plenty of deer in these woods. The forest around Paris is full of prey animals. Surely this wolf isn't hungry...
Wait—why is there a wolf in Vermont? And this close to town?
Was it just a coyote?
I’m still trying to convince myself that I didn’t see what I know I saw. The brain’s funny like that. When you’re in deep trouble, it tries to figure out a way for you to escape. Even if it's by indulging in baseless fantasies.
I’ve never felt stupider in my whole life. My brain can grapple with the facts all it wants, but there’s no wishing this wolf away. A terrible thought chooses this moment to assert itself, and once I think it, I’m standing straighter, my hands balling into fists.
Did Betty and her kids... Did this wolf hurt them? Is that why they aren’t in the barn?
I take a step forward, and though I just saw a terrifying creature in the darkness, I raise my voice. Panic makes the words sound as sharp as glass: “Betty? Betty, are you here?”
My fingertips brush against a pine tree branch, the needles prickling over my skin. I gulp down air, call out again, “Betty, are you okay? Are you here? Kids? It’s me, Bella.”
No answer.
I'm alone with a wolf. The forest animals have taken cover, instinct driving them to make themselves small, quiet, invisible. My own instinct is telling me to run. But I can’t run through these woods; a tree branch will clock me in the head. I’ll be knocked unconscious, and, well, wouldn’t any wolf appreciate an easy dinner?
I move forward, adrenaline pouring through me, demanding that I walk faster. When I glance up, searching for the moon, I'm surprised by the fact that the stars are gone, swallowed up by storm clouds. A flicker of lightning lances the sky. A storm is on its way, and I’m going to be stuck out here in the rain...with a wolf.
A great wave of emotion drowns me. A tear streaks down my cheek, falling away into the darkness.
No. I’m stronger than this.
I lift my chin, take a deep breath.
“Betty?” I try again. “Kids?”
And then, from far away...I hear a voice.
“...lo?”
Oh, my God. Is someone calling out, “Hello”?
I lean forward, straining to listen, but there it is again, this time clearer: it's a woman’s voice.
I recognize that voice.
And it’s not Betty's.
I take a step toward the sound, my heart in my throat.
“Bella?”
Yes.
Yes, it’s Grim’s voice. And though it’s distant, I can tell where it’s coming from: straight ahead. I walk on, and when a tree branch claws at my shoulder, another at my hip, a root trying to trip me, I hardly notice; I’m starting to move quickly, quickly...
“Bella?” The voice sounds closer. Grim sounds closer.
It’s so dark that my eyes haven’t adjusted to the blackness. So when my fingertips press against something warm—well, hot, actually—I can’t help it: I scream.
And then there are hands on my arms, and Grim’s talking, her voice frantic with concern. “Bella, Bella, it’s me. It’s Grim. Are you okay? What are you doing out here?”
She feels safe. I have the impression that this is someone who could take on a wolf.
That’s exactly how I think of Grim, I realize, as another tear squeezes out of my eye.
And for the second time tonight, I step forward into her embrace.
She stiffens again, but then she’s wrapping her arms around me, so tightly that a little of my air rushes out. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a more comforting hug. I breathe out, breathe in, breathe her in, the scent of her, of all that’s wild. I find it impossible to distinguish the scent of the forest from the scent of Grim. They're one and the same.
I’m so grateful that she’s here that, for a long moment, I just hold her, trying to calm down, to get my erratic heartbeat under control. But my adrenaline is still too high. When I take a step back from her, I’m panicked again.
“I...I saw something,” I tell her, slurring the words. “And I can’t find Betty and her kids. They were staying out here. In that old barn...” I point vaguely. “I saw something...” I repeat, trailing off, uncertain as to whether I want to tell her more. It would just sound crazy.
Grim still holds my arms with her long fingers, and she tightens her grip now. Overhead, another flash of lightning arcs through the sky, and for one split second, her face is illuminated. There’s a slash of shadow across her brow; she’s staring down at me with a deep frown. And her eyes... The lightning is reflected in her eyes, just for that heartbeat, and they look...
Well, I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes look like that before.
I take a step back, gasping, breaking Grim's hold on me.
I'm ove
rwrought. It was just the lightning, just an optical illusion.
Her eyes looked so wild.
Too wild.
“Wait. Why...” I press a hand to my forehead. “Why are you out here, Grim?” I ask, my mouth as dry as dust.
Electricity crackles in the air. Thunder causes the ground to shake, just slightly, beneath us, an ill wind threading its way through the pine boughs. The clouds above are going to erupt. This storm is going to drench us. But we stand beneath it, in the center of it, and stare at one another in the dark.
“I like to take walks at night.” Her words are low, a murmur. “It...clears my head. Helps me think.”
I narrow my gaze. “You were just out walking?”
“What did you see, Bella?” Grim asks quietly, avoiding my question.
And I’m about to tell her, about to tell her that I thought I saw a wolf... But a shocking roll of thunder makes me jump—and then the heavens open up above us.
I feel like I'm beneath the world's biggest showerhead; the raindrops pelt us mercilessly. I glance up, shielding my eyes. Grim holds one of my arms again—this time, to help steady me—and she takes off through the forest as if she knows it well, even in the dark. I follow her without question. Her surety is something I need right now.
Within a matter of minutes, we’re back on the road.
Grim releases my arm as our feet find the pavement, and together, sopping, shoulder to shoulder, we walk back toward town.
The rain curtains around us, the drops splattering up from the road. I can’t hear my heartbeat anymore, can’t hear my own breath. As we walk, soaked to the bone, I get colder and colder. I’m shivering by the time we reach Paris proper, and when we come to Grim Tower, situated on the edge of Paris, I’m shaking so hard that my teeth are chattering.
Grim holds the front door of the building open for me. She steps in, too, and when the door settles closed behind us, the silence is deafening. It’s almost as if someone pressed the mute button on a remote.
Beauty and the Wolf Page 12