Someone Like Me

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Someone Like Me Page 33

by M. R. Carey

But Fran had to hope that the magic medicine existed. Because she and Liz were linked by something that nobody but she and Bruno Picota could see. Liz was her future.

  And if that was how she was going to end up, maybe Bruno had been right after all.

  Maybe she was a skadegamutc.

  Liz was a silent witness to this meeting, standing in the densest of the sumac thickets as though she was something shameful and unnatural that had to hide from the light. She was completely invisible, but that was still a queasy novelty to her.

  Tonight, when Zac left the house, she had followed him to the desolate, unfinished railway siding behind Lenora Street, and she had waited with him on the bare concrete platform until Fran Watts arrived. She had no idea until she came who it was he was waiting for, but she was pleased to see the girl. It perplexed her that Fran seemed to have slipped out of Zac’s life. They had seemed to be such fast friends, and so good for each other.

  But Fran didn’t come alone. There was a small dog loping along at her side. A dog, or else …

  It was a fox. A very strange fox with a long, slender body and an impossibly luxuriant brush. In her amazement, Liz shifted all her attention from the girl to the animal. Which was when something even weirder happened.

  The fox checked and sat up on its haunches. It looked straight toward Liz, its ears pricking up. The girl noticed this too, and stopped in her tracks to talk to the fox, bending a little to bring herself down to its level.

  That first direct glance seemed to have been a fluke. The fox looked around in all directions, almost comically quizzical. If it was aware of Liz’s presence, the awareness seemed to be based on something other than actually seeing her.

  Fran and the fox continued on together. Zac greeted the girl and ignored the animal, whose existence he didn’t seem to suspect. Liz tried to ignore it too, since it seemed to have become aware of her existence when she first looked at it and thought about it.

  But as she drifted closer so she could listen in on the conversation, the fox tugged at her attention more and more. From this close up, it was a very strange creature indeed, its features simplified and exaggerated in the manner of a children’s cartoon. The texture of its fur was odd too, seeming mostly to be a single block of color across which narrow chevrons moved to simulate the effect of fur rippling in the wind. Except that the wind in this narrow, manmade gulley blew resolutely from west to east: the chevrons just did their own thing at random intervals.

  Once Zac and Fran started to talk, though, Liz forgot the anomalous animal altogether. They were talking about Beth. Zac had noticed she was acting strangely, and he had news that was more recent than anything Liz had seen herself.

  Then she heard the thing that twisted her thoughts into tangles of terror and despair. “I think she’s hitting Molly.”

  It was too much to bear. It was like a weight placed on her soul, so heavy that it bent in two. It reduced Liz’s floating consciousness, for long moments, to a rolling boil of anguish and confusion.

  Caught up in that crisis, she lowered her guard. She didn’t register the fox’s movement until after it jumped. In an instant, it had passed right through her.

  Fleeting though it was, the contact jarred Liz to the core. If she had a mouth and a voice, she would have gasped or screamed. She hadn’t felt pain or any other physical sensation since the night she had been locked out of her body. And what she felt now wasn’t pain exactly: it was a discharge of energy, like the static charge that shot into your fingers sometimes when you touched your car’s door handle on a warm day.

  The fox seemed taken aback too. It landed awkwardly, its outlines blurring for a moment. Before it could collect itself, Liz recoiled, pure instinct carrying her backward more quickly than she would have thought possible. From the platform into the bushes, then through them and through the fence behind into the back yard of a house, past a swing set and some rose bushes from which the flowers had fallen long before, in among thorns and weeds and broken, discarded plant pots.

  To her horror, the fox was now coming after her. Its eyes glowed amber in the dark like cat’s eyes on the interstate. Its jaw was gaping, its long pink tongue hanging down to taste the air.

  Liz sank down into the damp and cluttered undergrowth and stayed very still. She didn’t think the fox could bite her, but it had hurt her just by touching her. It might look like a cartoon but she was sure it represented an actual threat.

  Fortunately, it seemed to have lost track of her again. It padded back and forth along the flower beds a few times, then sat still at the edge of the lawn, its narrow face ranging from left to right and back again.

  Finally, it gave up and loped off in the direction from which it had come, back through the fence toward the railway line. Liz stayed where she was for a long time after that, only coming out at last when Zac—alone now—emerged from the bushes into the alley on the north side of Lenora.

  She hovered in the air, irresolute. Her first instinct was to stay with Zac as long as she could. To walk beside him as far as the front door of the house, then turn away and wait for morning.

  But what about Fran Watts and her animal familiar?

  Fran could see the fox, and the fox had been able to see Liz. There was a chain that led from Liz all the way back into the real world. But the fox had attacked her on sight. Could she possibly tame it? Make it accept her? How did you pacify a ghost animal, or win its trust?

  And what was Fran, if ghost animals consorted with her?

  Wrestling with wild speculations, she slowed to a halt. She would lose Zac in any case once he got home and stepped inside. Perhaps she could do more if she stayed with the girl and her phantom guardian.

  She turned and went in the opposite direction, back through the fence onto the railway line. The two retreating figures were still just about in sight. Accelerating to her pathetic top speed of about three miles an hour, Liz followed them.

  Lady Jinx knew very well that she and Fran were being followed.

  When she had seen the weird little thing, the turbulence in the air, the almost nothing, she had been only a little curious. But when it looked back at her, she was on the alert at once.

  And she had pounced on it, because an almost-nothing hiding in the dark was sure to be up to no good. It probably wanted to hurt Fran. Anything that tried to hurt Fran would end up in Jinx’s jaws or on the end of Jinx’s sword. That was what Jinx was for.

  But when she jumped, the almost-nothing ran away and hid. The scent of it was still strong, but it was hard for Jinx to tell which direction it had taken. There had been a moment when her teeth had all but closed in on the thing, when she could have dragged it down and bitten it until it stopped moving. Then, almost immediately, it was gone.

  Frustrated and out of temper, she returned to the railway platform where Fran and the boy were still talking. She licked her front paw and pretended nothing had happened while she thought the whole incident through.

  Fran would want to know about it for sure, but Jinx was afraid of what Fran would do if she found out. She seemed addicted to risk these days: telling her secrets to a stupid boy, going back to that terrible place and now talking about meeting … him. She was already putting herself in terrible danger. And now she was being tracked by an almost-nothing that came out at night and hid in the dark.

  Jinx had sworn her oath and she knew her duties. Sometimes you protected people with your sharp, sharp teeth, but sometimes you did it by not opening your mouth in the first place. She decided to say nothing. If Fran asked her why she had run off into the dark, she would say she had been chasing birds, or bats, or fireflies.

  But Fran was still engrossed in silly nonsense talk with Zac Kendall, and she didn’t even seem to have noticed that Jinx had been away. Jinx felt a pang of unhappiness and resentment at that. Who was Zac Kendall anyway? Had he sat by Fran’s bed every night, guarding her against her own past? Had he tracked down the scary memories nesting in her mind and eaten them whole before they cou
ld hurt her? Had he pledged his sword and his heart to her the way Jinx had?

  No. He hadn’t. He probably didn’t even have a sword.

  The conversation seemed to go on forever, but eventually it wound down.

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Not even an apology?”

  “No. You gave me that, and I accepted it. Remember?”

  “But I … I’d like us to be—”

  “We’re good. Don’t sweat it.”

  Fran turned and left. At last! Jinx went with her, giving Zac Kendall an insulting wiggle of her hind quarters as she stalked away. Ha ha ha! He didn’t even know she’d mooned him.

  There wasn’t much to laugh about, though. Fran wasn’t happy about the stuff Zac had told her, and Jinx wasn’t happy because all of this was dangerous and stupid and the exact opposite of what Fran should do. They walked along in silence. Fran had her hands jammed into her pockets and her head down against the cold: in solidarity, Jinx leaned hard into the wind she didn’t feel.

  Then she realized with a thrill of indignation and excitement that the scent from the railway platform was in her mind again. Just a fugitive whiff of it, coming and going at the limit of her perception. The almost-nothing was creeping along behind them, keeping its distance and hoping not to be noticed. She didn’t know Lady Jinx!

  But Jinx had to be clever. The thing was so close to being nothing that it could hide very easily. If Jinx turned and attacked, she would probably fare no better than last time. She had to trap her enemy, and she knew the way to do it.

  She slackened her pace, falling behind Fran little by little. Fran was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice. The almost-nothing probably did, but it had no choice. It had to slow down too, or else it would soon come within reach of Jinx’s strong jaws.

  Now came the trick. Jinx hunched up her shoulders and lowered her head, her huge brush waving behind her like a hypnotist’s pocket watch.

  First you step, then you slide, back to front and side to side. Her practiced paws came down exactly where they needed to, advancing by gradual degrees into the un-places she had explored as a cub, so many years before.

  The almost-nothing followed, not knowing that it was being led astray. The world was falling away one small detail at a time, and if you didn’t know what was happening it was easy to miss it. Everything that was lost was replaced by a gray haze that was neither light nor dark.

  Ha ha ha!

  Jinx sped up again, breaking into a rapid trot. And now the almost-nothing followed because it had to. Because there wasn’t anything else here but the two of them, and if she lost sight of Jinx she would be left alone in the gray.

  Which was closing in on all sides.

  Jinx broke into a dash. The almost-nothing sped along in her wake. It must be desperate now, realizing how Jinx had tricked it but knowing that Jinx was now its only hope. If it got lost here, it might stay lost forever. Perhaps it thought that Jinx was deliberately trying to shake it off. Nothing could be further from the truth. Up ahead of them in this no-place, there was a place that Jinx had hollowed out with her paws and her furious will.

  She dived into it now, and the almost-nothing arrived close behind her. When it came, Jinx was waiting. Her front paw came down on it and pinned it in place. They were in her den now, and her rules were the only ones that mattered. In the real world, she had jumped right through the almost-nothing as if it wasn’t there at all. Here, if she wanted it to be solid, it would be solid.

  She couldn’t make it show its face, though. It was still only a squidgy mass, almost invisible to the eye, but pungent and obvious to Jinx’s other senses.

  Oh good, she growled. Just when I was starting to feel hungry.

  Don’t! the almost-nothing cried. Please don’t! I’m not your enemy!

  No, you’re not. You’re my dinner.

  Oh God! Listen to me, I … I’m Liz Kendall! I’m Zac’s mom!

  Don’t lie. I’ve seen her. You’re too small to be her.

  This is … part of me. What was left after she—

  Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Zac’s mom is a monster.

  The other one is a monster. I’m the real Liz Kendall. Her name is Beth. She stole my body and she won’t let me back in!

  Jinx squeezed harder, and the almost-nothing spasmed in pain. You’re not fooling me, Jinx told it coldly. Nobody fools me. I won’t let you get close to her.

  To …?

  Fran. You won’t hurt her. Not while I’m here.

  I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to get my life back!

  Jinx snuffled contemptuously. Why should I care about that even if I believed you? You and the other one are both the same to me.

  The almost-nothing didn’t like that. It squirmed under Jinx’s paw, but couldn’t get free.

  All right, it said at last. Just let me go please. And I won’t go near Fran again. I promise.

  You promise? Jinx gave a cold laugh. Why would I believe anything you say? You won’t go near Fran again because you’ll be here, forever and ever. Or until I eat you.

  She took her paw off the thing, but at the same time she swatted it across the den with her other paw, so it sank into the soft walls and was stuck there.

  By the time it struggled free, Jinx was gone. She heard its scream as she trotted quickly away.

  You mad little bitch! Let me go let me go let me

  That takes care of you, Jinx muttered smugly. Monster.

  “I’m really sorry to bother you,” the cheerful man said.

  He was standing at Beth’s table, leaning right in, showing her a state of Pennsylvania private investigator’s license in the name of Arthur Vance. Showing, too, no inclination at all to move.

  Vance didn’t look the way a private detective was meant to look. He had the uncanny cleanliness of a Mormon door-knocker, white shirt and gaudy tie included. He wasn’t wearing the backpack, but he was sure as hell wearing the smile. And carrying a venti cup of coffee, as though he was daring Beth not to invite him to sit down.

  Her co-workers were looking on with undisguised fascination. The food court in the middle of the morning was less than half-full, and most of the people on the tables closest to Beth were people she knew. People she had to work with. Maybe Arthur Vance was relying on that fact to keep her tractable and quiet while he asked his questions. If so, he was on the lower slopes of a steep learning curve.

  “What’s this about?” she demanded. “I’m on my break here.”

  Which was stating the obvious, but then again it was a sore point. Beth had almost decided not to bother going in that day. She was on a half-shift, which meant hauling her ass across to Bakery Square for the pleasure of spending four hours vacuuming carpets and unblocking toilets. There was still some slack in the credit cards, and the dark clouds had a lock on the sky that made staying indoors and firing up a blunt seem like a great idea.

  But she had done the responsible thing, and this was her reward. This smirking apparition jumping right up in her face, all sandy hair and freckles and perfect teeth.

  “You’ll be doing me a huge favor, Ms. Kendall,” he said, “but if this isn’t convenient …”

  The people all around were still half-swiveled in their seats to face in Beth’s direction, their curiosity pinning their good manners to the mat. Whatever she said was going to have an enthusiastic audience. But she needed to know what this bullshit was all about, and sooner was better than later.

  “Sure,” she said. “Whatever. Sit down, why don’t you? But I’ve only got ten minutes.”

  Vance thanked her kindly and sat down with alacrity. Leaving his coffee untouched, like a prop that had served its purpose, he set out his stall.

  “I’ve been engaged by Ms. Jamie Langdon to find her former partner and your ex-husband, Marc Kendall. She believes he may have met with some kind of foul play. That he could have been murdered or abducted. She wants me to get to the truth in any case, and to tell her whether
he’s alive or dead.”

  Vance’s tone was irritatingly patronizing, as though he was explaining all this to a child. Beth felt like she had to push back a little, just for the sake of her self-respect.

  “Most people think he just ran out on his bail bond,” she said. “You know, rather than go to jail.”

  “Ms. Langdon is well aware of that possibility. And she understands why the police consider it to be the most likely scenario.”

  “But she doesn’t buy it.”

  “No, she does not. And she’s of the opinion that the official investigation—since it started from that assumption—has failed to thoroughly explore other avenues.”

  Such as that Marc is now fertilizer in his own garden plot, Beth thought.

  “I don’t think I can help you, Mr. Vance,” she told him. “I don’t believe my ex-husband got croaked or kidnapped. I just think he’s in hiding.”

  “May I ask if he’s been in touch with you?”

  “No. I would have told the police if he had.”

  “And he hasn’t contacted Ms. Langdon either. Or anyone else in his family who she’s spoken to.”

  Beth felt a sudden, cold shiver of anger. Jamie was way too free and easy about strolling into other people’s lives. “She got in touch with Marc’s mother?”

  “And his step-sister. And some gentlemen he used to drink with over in East Liberty. Fellow entrepreneurs.”

  Beth gave a short laugh. She just couldn’t keep it in. “Entrepreneurs? That’s a polite word for what Marc was.” She caught herself on that last word, the suggestive use of the past continuous, but decided to let it lie rather than draw attention to it by correcting herself.

  “Honestly, I don’t have an opinion on that,” Vance said, holding up his hand like he was bearing witness to God. “You and Mr. Kendall had your disagreements, obviously. But he belongs to a community, of sorts, and Ms. Langdon thinks it’s significant—telling, even—that he hasn’t made contact with anyone in that community. Or anyone at all, for that matter. When you skip bail it’s sensible to lie low, but it’s unusual for an absconder to cut himself off from every aspect of his former life. I mean, you’d expect him to reach out to his mother just to reassure her that he was still okay. Ms. Langdon too, arguably, especially as his failure to deliver himself to the court put her in severe financial difficulties.”

 

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