by P. T. Phronk
Florence shook her head.
“Medication makes her nauseous in the morning,” Paul said.
Florence sighed. There was a long, painful silence.
Annie mentally prepared herself to bring up Stan, to see if Paul had checked up on him. But then Paul’s radio beeped. He had to squeeze past Florence in the doorway to go get some privacy in the next room.
“Looks like another gloomy day,” Annie said.
“Mmm hmm,” Florence said. She didn’t talk much. The silence let Annie pick up pieces of Paul’s conversation:
… in the forest? Again?
… DNA tests back yet?
… Okay, I’ll be right there.
When Paul left, after saying goodbye to Annie and barely looking at his wife, the silence felt as thick as the fatty bacon she forced herself to chew down.
Florence busied herself tidying up the kitchen while Annie ate. She did this a lot: making excuses to keep an eye on Annie without actually talking to her.
“I think I’ll go into town. See if anybody is hiring,” Annie tried.
“Hmm,” Florence said.
“Maybe the grocery store is hiring. I should’ve asked Paul to check while he was there.”
“Yep.”
“What you got goin’ on today?”
Florence sighed. “Nothing.”
Which was a lie. At first Annie had thought Florence was just shy, but she was the same way around her husband. She’d reveal only what she needed to, and sometimes less. One night she was gone until midnight after saying she had no plans, and Paul had no idea where she was. Not that he seemed to mind; when he and Annie stayed in and watched a movie, him with a big grin on his face as he lapped at an ice cream cone, she felt like she got a glimpse of what he was like as a teenager hanging out with Stan.
Most full-time humans would probably dismiss it as a marriage that had passed its expiration date. But Annie had spent years as a tracker, which involved watching Stan jump on any conspicuous resistance to telling the truth, and that’s when the juiciest pieces of information came out.
When Florence got annoyed enough to leave the kitchen, Annie had her chance to explore that resistance. Paul’s wife said she wasn’t doing anything today, but there was a dot on the calendar stuck to the fridge. The same blue dot that was there the last time she took off without explanation.
Annie felt bad about going through Florence’s mail, but Stan’s mom was still missing, and Wilcox was still out there, so privacy would have to just sit the fuck down for a while until she figured things out. Last time Florence took off, the letter had given the date and time for the monthly meeting of the Luce County Heritage Society at Our Redeemer Church on Maple Street. A newly opened letter gave another date and time—tonight—but this time for an emergency meeting.
She finished the bacon while writing a note for Paul, telling him that she’d be home late tonight. After leaving it in the messy bathroom that only he used, she headed for the door.
Florence blocked her path. Her severe gaze bounced up and down, then her expression softened. “You can’t leave like that. Your face is covered in grease.” With the sleeve of her yellow sweater, she wiped the corners of Annie’s mouth. “People are talking out there. This town likes to talk. Here,” she said as she handed Annie a crisp stack of twenty dollar bills. “Use this to buy a nice outfit, and put it on before you talk to anyone about a job.”
A jolt of guilt made Annie’s belly hurt. Maybe this lady wasn’t so bad after all. She stuffed the money in her black shoulder bag. “Thanks, miss. I mean, miss Florence. Thanks.”
Florence rushed past Annie, adjusting a picture frame as she muttered “good luck.”
Annie had a feeling she’d need more than luck.
The lady at the clothing store was actually really nice, and she helped Annie pick out some respectable clothing. Using Florence’s money, she bought a black blouse that was frilly at the top, lacy at the sleeves, and adorned with oversized silver buttons. It looked just goth enough that she felt like she was fitting in without giving in, and it matched her black jeans and black boots.
The clothing store lady even gave Annie some makeup and brushed her hair, after she mentioned that she was on her way to get a job.
She didn’t actually want a job, but she headed toward the IGA grocery store to keep up appearances. If Annie came up during Florence’s secret town meetings, it needed to seem like she was a friend of Paul’s who didn’t make it in New York and decided to start a small town life, staying with Paul until she got on her feet. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. So maybe she did need a job?
Her stride felt more bouncy than shuffly as she headed down the street in her new clothes. She passed Tweed’s Diner, which had a brand new window and some bricks that didn’t match the rest of the building. Bree sat at a booth behind the window, looking miserable as she picked at a salad. She spotted Annie and scowled. Maybe it was supposed to be intimidating—a warning that Annie shouldn’t tell anyone about what she’d seen—but just thinking about what she’d seen made her want to growl with rage, so she wouldn’t tell anyone about it anyway.
Fuck that bitch. Annie bounced along. She spotted the teen girls she’d seen at the record store earlier, and instead of being all catty again, one of them looked her up and down and said hello. Past the high school, a couple of old men sitting on a bench in front of Town Hall leered, their gazes following the bounce of her breasts under her blouse. She hadn’t been leered at in a long time, but it was still pretty rude, so she barked at them—arf arf arf!—and hurried along.
Toddlers played in the park across the street. Past that, she could see the steeple of the church where Florence’s Heritage Council meeting would be.
Horse Boy dug through the garbage beside the ice cream shop. He had a bag full of broken ice cream cones beside him. Hopefully he would be at Ducks Bar later, because she really wanted to know more about him, like whether he had a house or if he lived outside, with no job, like an animal, free.
By the time she reached the grocery store, she felt rather free herself.
She drooled at the variety of food. Stan had always gone shopping without her because of that stupid no pets allowed rule, so it had been years since she’d seen this much food in one place. It was glorious. But she’d spent most of Florence’s money on clothing, and needed to pay that back before going on a shopping spree, so she asked around until she found the person who gave out jobs.
“I’d like a job, please,” she said to the manager.
The manager looked her up and down. “Experience?”
“I dealt with a lot of tough customers at Walmart,” Annie said. It was technically true.
“Well, if you’ve got retail experience, you’re better off than most of the kids working here. Can you start Monday?”
“Oh. Um.” She hadn’t expected to actually get offered a job. “Monday, sure. As good a day as any.”
The manager lent her a creased binder of employee policies and told her to read it over the weekend, then come dressed down a bit for the cashier job. Annie had never needed to dress down before.
With a few bucks left in her pocket and the promise of more money coming, this called for a celebration. She crossed over to Timber Jack’s, which she’d heard didn’t have burgers as good as Tweed’s, and was more expensive because it was all for tourists, but it was worth a try. She certainly didn’t want to go to Tweed’s now, with Bree there ready to shoot eye venom at her just for being in the wrong place at the wrongest time and catching her with Stan.
Except Timber Jack’s was even worse, because Stan was there. He sat at the bar by himself, where the bartender poured him a breakfast beer. He hadn’t shaved in days. His eyes were baggy and his skin was greasy.
Annie turned away. She hated to see him like that. Trying to go back and work things out a few days ago went nowhere. She’d even got Paul to drive her, thinking maybe all three of them could hug and make up. But Stan was drunk,
and kept saying things like it doesn’t matter. Just go. We’ll figure it out after we find the body. So that didn’t go so well, and he didn’t look any more sober or happy now.
Finding Linda was the only thing that could start fixing whatever the fuck was happening.
She’d really felt like she was fitting in here, but her bouncing steps faltered as she realized she was barred from two places by two people she couldn’t be around. Maybe she was fitting in too much, assimilating into a small town where everyone knows everyone, and half of everyone hates half of everyone else. Well, there was still one place where nobody hated her yet. She headed to Ducks.
“You look weird today,” Dean said as he passed Annie a bottle of Labatt Blue, which was becoming her usual.
“Why thank you, kind sir. I’ve acquired myself a new wardrobe, which helped me secure employment just moments ago.” She took a dainty sip of her beer.
“Why are you talking like that?”
“Fuck if I know. Seemed respectable ‘n shit,” she said, then chugged half the beer.
He smiled that twinkly smile of his. She told him all about her day—how she found a new place to stay, and was feeling like a part of the town, for better or worse. Dean seemed to actually listen and care, so she kept talking, stopping only at the part where her skin was getting itchy and she would have to transform into a dog sometime soon.
Later, Horse Boy, whose actual name was Mike, showed up like she hoped he would. He sat at the bar beside her, staring ahead at the television in the corner with his mouth slightly open, like the idea of a TV was fascinating to him. Annie caught herself staring at him the same way. He was fascinating.
When Mike finally looked her way, she smiled. He smiled back before quickly looking away. The guy didn’t want to talk, which she understood. She spent years not talking. So instead of trying to say hi, she just passed him over a drink, then ordered another one for herself.
“Thanks,” he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. She nodded at him without looking over. When he finished his drink, he headed to a seat closer to the jukebox to sit, nodding along with the music.
Maybe it was the drink, but Annie had a feeling of … something. Progress, maybe. She was comfortable with Dean. The weird kid was becoming comfortable with her. To celebrate, she chugged her drink.
Darkness fell outside the bar’s small, grimy windows. A chill seemed to fill the air before Annie consciously knew anything was wrong. Even after that, Annie was the only one in the bar to realize that danger was coming. A rumble was barely audible over the music. But it was the smell that hit her—just for a moment, when a breeze blew outside and forced its way through the cracks around the door.
When she was a dog, she’d smell things from across the country. As a human, she could only smell what the wind brought her. But she could still recognize a scent when it had been seared in her memory like a brand.
Wilcox.
He walked in like he owned the place. He wore a leather jacket marked with gouges—signs of a dangerous life lived by a dangerous person. Annie found herself surprised that everyone just kept talking and drinking like he really did belong there. She half-expected them to scream and start flipping tables for cover.
But they didn’t know what he was capable of.
She tried to control her breathing.
Dean looked at her and raised an eyebrow as he passed. Wilcox sat at the other end of the bar, where Dean went to serve him, like he was just some normal customer.
There was the scar on his neck, white and jagged like shark teeth. Annie’s mind flashed through images of tearing through the flesh there. She could almost feel the tug of his skin trying to resist her, then the rip as it failed. She could taste his blood, dark and bitter, like his scent.
While he waited for his drink, Wilcox lit up a cigar. It was longer than most cigars, and there were letters carved on its side.
She tried not to stare. She tried not to whimper. She tried not to bolt up and scamper away.
“Nice night out,” Wilcox said to nobody in particular, but with a sidelong glance at Annie.
“Mmm hmm,” she said. She took a sip of her drink, willing her hand not to shake.
The smoke from his cigar hit her. Just like that, his scent was gone. Not masked by the smoke, but gone from her mind. Another sensation hit Annie, and she was reminded of the guy in the pig-fucking hat and the record store owner, how they could only vaguely remember Wilcox spending time at the bar. As the smoke filled Annie’s lungs, her thoughts about Wilcox became hazy, despite him being right there.
“Mister Shaw. The usual, please,” Wilcox said to Dean. Moments later, Annie could still remember that he had said something, but she didn’t want to remember it.
This was one of those tricks. Like what Bob did. Like the barrier that kept Stan out of Damien Fox’s hideaway. Like what vampires used to conceal their locations. These tricks fucked with human minds, rerouting thoughts away from the trickster.
But like those dudes doing magic on the streets of New York, once you know the trick, it’s easy to spot it. Annie concentrated. She forced her thoughts to focus on Wilcox—to review every word he said, clutching onto his presence.
He caught her staring. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be here,” he said.
She blushed despite herself. “Okay, thanks, I guess.”
“Seriously. This town, I’m telling you, it’s got a rotten core. I can tell a sweet apple like you isn’t from around here.”
He didn’t recognize her, of course. He’d only seen her when she was a dog.
“You’re too kind,” she said.
“I’m really not. Maybe I used to be. I had a family, you know. Did you know that, Mister Shaw?”
Dean wandered over, into Wilcox’s cloud of trickster smoke. It must have been making him forget that no smoking was allowed inside and he could lose the bar if the city folks discovered it. “No sir, didn’t suspect it,” he said.
“Yes. A wife, kids, a house, a cottage, even a couple of mini vans and a Mustang. It was a perfect life, looking at it from the outside, and there were times when I did love it. I even loved the wife, on good days.”
This was all part of the trick. Wilcox knew he could be open, because he thought anyone listening would soon find their minds wandering, forgetting all about the conversation. They’d give up information with no regard for long-term consequences. Annie forced herself to pay attention, to rehearse every detail.
“So what happened?” Annie asked, taking a sip of beer, keeping him talking.
“You don’t want to hear about me,” he said.
“I do,” Dean said.
“Wouldn’t mind either. How’d you end up in this rotten-cored town?” Annie asked.
Pain flickered behind his cold blue eyes for a moment. “My semi-charmed life was taken from me. I’m not entirely free of blame—my job took me to some dangerous places, and I chose to continue returning to them. On the bad days, when I did not love my wife and my life, I needed that danger. That distraction.”
“So I’m guessing that danger is what took it from you,” Dean said.
“No,” Wilcox said. He sipped his drink. “It was not the undefined danger of my chosen profession. It was a specific person. It was Stanley Lightfoot. You’ve heard of him, yes?”
Dean nodded, avoiding Annie’s gaze.
“Stanley took it from me. He got in my way, I underestimated him, and he stabbed me in the gut. I’m speaking literally. He put me in a place beyond danger—a place I can never come back from. See this scar?” He pointed at his neck. “He did this. I’m broken, and I can never go back to where I was. I’m part of a different world. The danger is everything now—not just a release that facilitates the perfect life. That life is gone, thanks to Stanley.”
Annie’s lips tightened. He wasn’t even giving her credit for ripping his throat out. The beer hit her hard, and it took all her mental effort to focus her attention and avoid saying anything t
hat gave her away.
“I apologize, pretty lady. You don’t need to hear about these nasty things.”
She nearly spit up her drink. “Fuck, I can handle it, believe me.”
“Am I underestimating you?”
“I don’t think you’re estimating me at all.”
Dean laughed at that.
“Well then,” Wilcox said. He sucked deep from his cigar, then let out a thick cloud around him. “You can handle this truth: I’m in town for Stanley Lightfoot. I’m going to take everything from him, then use it for myself. And you small-town redneck morons are going to help me.”
The smoke filled Annie’s lungs, scrambled her brain, and made her forget his insult immediately, leaving her only with a vague rage.
Mike watched from his corner, making himself small and cautiously shooting glances at Wilcox, like a shy dog around a stranger.
Words poured from Wilcox’s mouth, but the smoke was too thick and the drink too strong; despite fighting it, Annie slipped into a haze where the only moment was the present. She muttered responses to questions that she forgot a moment later. When she realized she should’ve been the one asking questions, trying to find Stan’s mom, she may have tried to do so, but couldn’t really remember.
Wilcox took something out of one of the many pockets lining his jacket. A piece of paper. The smoke cleared for a moment as he read it. Annie concentrated and leaned close. She couldn’t read the letter, but she could see the letterhead—it came from the same church on Maple Street that Florence was meeting at tonight.
He was heading to the same meeting. There was something to that meeting. She rehearsed it in her mind: go to the church on Maple Street. Go to the church on Maple Street. Go to the church on Maple Street.
When he puffed his cigar and the mental haze returned, the church mantra managed to stick around like the lyrics to a shitty pop song. Baby can you feel the heat, go to the church on Maple Street.
Wilcox finished his drink. “Well, Dean, you’ve been quite useless, as always, but it’s been a pleasure.” He turned to Annie. “You going to be here later? I could use some company tonight. A sweet round apple like you is just what I’ve been craving.”