Claire closes her eyes. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“It’s nothing, really. I don’t like the idea of monsters messing with you.”
Claire looks up at the ceiling. She feels warm. Flushed.
“Anyway,” Julie says. “Do you still want to see Aliens next week? At the theater?”
“What? Aliens?” The word clangs in her head for a moment like a warning bell. Then she remembers. The first one was Julie’s favorite movie. Monsters—fake monsters—stalking through a spaceship. They’d watched it together. It was good.
“Sure. I know it sounds nuts, but movies with made-up monsters always make me feel better about the real thing. It’s like—if you make a movie about monsters, you can control what they do, y’know?”
“I guess.” Claire rubs at her forehead. “But yeah, I’ll go see it. Is there really a movie theater here?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty crap and only has one screen, but they like to show old movies every now and then, and we are super lucky to get Aliens.”
“Cool.”
“I know! Friday night only. Do you want to come with me?”
“Sure,” Claire says, and then her brain fills in, It’ll be like a date. She blinks. Why did she think that?
“Awesome. I’ve already taken some time off work. I promise seeing this movie will make you feel better. It always does me. Works like a charm.”
Claire isn’t sure about that, but she still likes the idea of spending an evening out with Julie. It’s a little glimmer of light in today’s darkness. “I’ll just have to butter up Grammy a bit. Do plenty of chores. But she did unground me, so I should be all right.”
“Excellent.”
They chat for a few minutes more, mostly about the movie and all of Julie’s favorite parts. But then the conversation shifts, away from monsters entirely. They wind up talking for another hour. When Claire finally hangs up the phone, she no longer feels empty.
CHAPTER
Twelve
JULIE
Julie goes over to Lawrence’s house as soon as she gets off work the next day. It’s the middle of the afternoon, the sun blazing in the sky, heat radiating off the street in waves. She knocks on the door and waits. She called the sheriff’s office before she left the exterminator’s, and a gruff old man told her Lawrence isn’t working today. She hopes he’s home and not out on a date.
The door swings open. Lawrence stands on the other side. He looks pale and drawn, like he hasn’t been sleeping. His hair is mussed too, which isn’t like him.
“You okay?” Julie says.
“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” Lawrence smooths his hair back. “What’s up? I don’t have time to really hang out—Audrey’s coming over in a little bit.”
Julie makes a face at the mention of Audrey’s name.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Whatever. Look, I need to talk to you. It shouldn’t take that long.” Julie slides through Lawrence’s door without waiting for an invitation. “How’s Aunt Rosa?”
“She’s doing well. Reading in her room.”
Julie nods and moves into the living room. Lawrence switches on the standing lamp, and it floods the room with dim, golden light. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Everything’s okay with me.” Julie turns to look at him. “A monster attacked Claire two days ago.”
Lawrence stares at her from his place next to the lamp. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Is she hurt?”
“No.” Julie collapses down on the couch and scowls.
“Did you—want her to get hurt?”
“No! God. It’s just—since no one got hurt, Mr. Vickery won’t do anything about it. But the monster flung itself at her window! It broke the glass! That’s got to be outside the treaties.” She looks over at Lawrence. He’s still staring at her, still has his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s why I’m here.”
Lawrence sighs.
“Come on, man! Serve and protect, right?”
Lawrence drops his hands to his sides and walks over to the couch. Sits down beside her. “Yes,” he says. “But the monsters are outside our jurisdiction. You know that.”
Frustration wells up inside Julie. Of course she knows it. Everyone in Indianola knows you don’t call the cops when you see a monster. You call the exterminator.
“Please.” Julie looks up at him, pleading. “This isn’t normal monster stuff. They’re targeting her. They know her name. Well, her grandma’s name. But they’re coming for her.”
Lawrence frowns, a line forming down the middle of his brow. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve seen it!” Julie throws her hands up in frustration. “And I keep trying to tell Mr. Vickery, but he doesn’t listen, and Dad’s been out of town for the last two days, and you’re my last hope.” She shakes her head. “I even went to Aldraa back when they first started—”
“Who? Aldraa?”
“The head monster. I went to him and—”
“You talked to the head monster?”
“I was dropping off another monster that I’d picked up. I’ve talked to him before. It’s really not that big a deal.” Julie glares at Lawrence. “But he didn’t make any sense—big surprise there. I’m sure something terrible’s going to happen to Claire and no one cares and I can’t get any answers.”
“Calm down,” Lawrence says, holding up his hands. “Back up. How do you know something terrible is going to happen to Claire?”
“I told you, a monster attacked her house yesterday morning. It broke her window. Forrest went out there to check it out but the monster was gone by then, but he still told me about the damage. And apparently the monster said something about astronauts, and that the astronaut was coming for her.” Julie fixes Lawrence with a firm gaze. “It was a threat.”
“It might have been a threat,” says Lawrence thoughtfully. “Or it might have just been monster nonsense. Why would she be in danger from an astronaut?” He gestures out with his hands. “You see any astronauts around here?”
“You’re not listening,” Julie says. “I want you to do what cops do and investigate. Find out what the monsters want. The exterminator’s not set up to deal with that kind of crap because we’re just exterminators. No one thinks the monsters are anything more than a nuisance. But what if there’s something else going on?”
“So that’s why you want the sheriff’s office involved,” Lawrence says. “Because you think something else is going on?”
“Yes!” Julie pulls at her hair. “I mean, I don’t know. Claire is scared, and I promised I’d help her. And the committee won’t do crap, and I’m not going to Aldraa because he could be the one sending them, and that just leaves you.” She juts her thumb at him. “You, or the sheriff’s office, or whatever.”
For a moment Lawrence looks at her. Then he says, “I think you’re overreacting here. No one was hurt. If the monster could break the glass, then it could easily have hurt Claire or her grandmother. But it didn’t.”
“But—”
Lawrence holds up one hand. “You’re only upset about this because you’ve got a thing for this Claire girl.”
Julie’s cheeks flush hot with anger and embarrassment. “That is not the only reas—”
The doorbell chimes, rippling through the house. Julie starts at the sound of it.
“That’ll be Audrey,” Lawrence says. “You’re going to need to skedaddle.”
“Who the hell says skedaddle?” Julie snaps.
Lawrence rolls his eyes and then gets up to answer the door. Julie sits on the couch, marinating in her anger. She knew this would happen. Lawrence is an adult now. He’s content to sweep the monsters under the rug like the rest of the adults in town. Keep his distance. Let the treaties do all the work. He doesn’t care that Claire’s life could be in danger.
It’s not just because I like her, Julie thinks. It’s not.
Lawrence steps back into the living room, his arm wrapped around Audrey’s
waist. Julie glares at them, but Audrey just smiles back.
“Hi Julie,” she says. “I hope you’re doing well.”
“She was having a minor emergency,” Lawrence says. “But we’ve got it sorted now, don’t we?”
“I had a wonderful time with Claire yesterday,” Audrey says. “Absolutely wonderful. We played a game.”
“Good for you,” Julie says. And even though she knows Claire was only at Audrey’s house because her grandmother made her go, part of her still stings with jealousy. “And no, Lawrence, we don’t have my minor emergency sorted. No one’s doing a damn thing to help—”
But Lawrence isn’t listening. Audrey has wound her arms around his shoulders and is standing up on her tiptoes so she can nibble at his ear. Lawrence laughs softly, his face turning toward her.
“Dammit,” Julie mutters. Audrey kisses Lawrence on the neck, and his cheeks turn pink as he glances over at Julie and then glances just as quickly away.
“I can see you’re busy,” Julie says, with as much ice as she can muster.
“I told you, Julie, I’d help you if I could, but it’s outside my jurisdiction. Talk to your dad.”
“Dad won’t help.” Julie stands up. Audrey’s still kissing Lawrence, but Julie can see her glancing Julie’s way too, her eyes bright and mischievous. Julie hates this. She hates that she’s going to have go call up Claire and say there’ s not a single force in town that will help her.
Not a single damn one.
Claire says she’ll be able to get away from her grandmother’s house for a few hours. She tells Julie to wait for her at the beach, and Julie does, sitting up on the gazebo that was built and dedicated to the bird watchers of Indianola. The only birds she can see are seagulls.
“Hey! Julie!”
Julie jumps at the sound of Claire’s voice, then twists around to find her wheeling her bike across the sand. The wind whips her hair away from her eyes, and her legs and shoulders are bare, her skin gleaming in the blazing sunlight. She squints up at Julie and then props her bike against the side of the gazebo.
“You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”
Julie shakes her head.
“I told Grammy I wanted to go out and get some exercise. She didn’t question it.” Claire hops up onto the gazebo. She looks so hopeful that Julie doesn’t want to tell her the bad news. “So, did you find out anything? About that—that monster?”
Julie turns back out to the sea. The waves roll into the shore. “No,” she says. “No one’ll help us.”
“What?” Claire sits down beside her, close enough that Julie can feel the warmth of her body. “Why not? Isn’t that their jobs?”
“That’s what I said.” Julie slumps forward on her knees. “The committee won’t do anything because no one was hurt—”
“My window broke!”
“Yeah, apparently they don’t get bent out of shape about property damage. I went to Lawrence too.”
“The sheriff’s office,” says Claire with a sigh of relief. “They have to do something.”
Julie glances over at her. Claire’s eyes are big and trusting and Julie hates every adult in Indianola for letting her down.
“They don’t, actually.” Julie sighs. “Not within their jurisdiction.” She says it in a high-pitched, mocking voice, and she thinks about Lawrence letting Audrey climb all over him. Figures that he’d turn out to be a typical guy after all.
“Not within their—” Claire is gaping at her. “But the monster attacked me. It came straight at me. I just—I can’t believe this! What sort of cop doesn’t care about that?”
All of them, Julie thinks. She looks out at the ocean again. “It’s the adults in this town,” she says. “They get used to the monsters. They don’t imagine anything could change.”
Claire makes a frustrated noise in her throat. “We should call the FBI or something.”
“I told you, that won’t work.” Julie shakes her head. “I think the monsters do something to us. Like, not just to our memory.” She frowns, turns back to Claire. “You can feel it, can’t you, the way you just want to accept everything?”
Claire hesitates. Then she nods. Her cheeks are pink—from the sun or from exertion, Julie can’t tell. They make her look like a girl in a magazine. “My thoughts go fuzzy, if I think about the monsters too much…”
“Exactly.” Julie hesitates. Claire is still watching her, still looking hopeful. “We can’t depend on the adults.”
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
Julie thinks about this. The wind blows in off the sea, salty and cool. Claire is still looking up at her, like she expects Julie to have all the answers. Julie takes a deep breath.
Then she throws her arm around Claire’s shoulders. Her heart hammers, and she can’t believe she’s doing this. But Claire only leans against her, and Julie can feel her bare skin against hers and it makes her brave.
“We’ll just have to figure things out for ourselves,” she says. “That’s all.”
The waves crash up against the shore. Claire doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t pull away either.
CHAPTER
Thirteen
CLAIRE
Claire takes her time riding her bike back from the beach. Her thoughts ricochet around inside her head.
She thinks about the day of the monster attack, after the exterminator left. She wanted to call the police. Grammy told her not to bother, that the police didn’t deal with the monsters. That as few people as possible are supposed to deal with the monsters.
Claire never did call, but she always assumed that had been one of Grammy’s lies. And now Julie’s confirmed it.
The police don’t care.
The monster committee doesn’t care.
And who else is there? Grammy seemed as unsettled by the monster attack as Claire was, but she hasn’t mentioned it since it happened; in the end, she doesn’t care either. Claire knows what will happen if she calls her mom: The monster’s strange magic will work on her, and she’ll ignore any comments about them and chastise Claire for not caring about her own grandmother, for being lazy and not wanting to work. She’ll tell Claire this summer’s good for her and then she’ll say she’s got a house viewing and that’ll be it. And Claire knows Julie’s right about calling for outside help: She’s seen for herself what happens when she brings the monsters up to someone outside the city.
Claire pulls up to Grammy’s house. She stops in the driveway. The cicadas rattle in the trees, and the sound makes her tense, because it’s a sound she’s come to associate with the monsters. But the yard is empty. She hops off her bike and wheels it into the garage.
She goes inside. The house is dark and quiet. No chatter of voices from the TV. Claire slips into the hall and checks on Grammy’s door—closed, and Claire can make out the soft hum of the fan behind it. Grammy’s taking her afternoon nap, sleeping through the hottest part of the day.
Claire walks into the kitchen and checks the pillbox. The little white aspirins are still there, just like they were at lunchtime. Claire shoves the pillbox back on the windowsill. Another thing that makes no sense. Grammy doesn’t look well. Most days, her skin is almost translucent, the dark shadows under her eyes deep. She barely moves from the TV to the bedroom to the kitchen table. She’s practically a ghost.
Claire knows she can’t keep feeding Grammy aspirin when she’s so obviously sick.
She looks over at the phone numbers listed beside the phone. Her heart thumps. She wants there to be someone in Indianola who can help her, who can do what they’re supposed to do.
Grammy’s doctor’s name and phone number stare at her, written out in her mother’s neat handwriting.
Claire takes a deep breath. And then she walks across the kitchen and dials the number.
A woman answers on the third ring, voice bright and perky. “Dr. Byrne’s office, how may I help you?”
“I’m calling about my grandmother,” Claire says. “Myrtle Sudek?
She was diagnosed with a wasting disease a couple of months ago and I’m her caretaker. My name’s Claire Whitmore.”
“Myrtle Sudek?”
“Yes. She was supposed to give permission for me to access her medical files.” Claire’s mother had insisted. “I’m really worried about her. She’s not taking her medication.”
The woman gives a sympathetic hum. “You poor thing. Let me check the records. Please hold.”
The phone clicks over to tinny elevator music before Claire can respond. She leans up against the wall, her heart hammering, one ear listening to the music and the other listening for Grammy in the hallway. But why feel nervous about Grammy? Claire is just trying to check up on her.
The music clicks away. “You said your name was Claire Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she did give you permission for her files, but other than that—there’s nothing here. She hasn’t been into the office in nearly eight months.”
A heavy thud falls to the bottom of Claire’s stomach. “What?”
“That’s what it says. It looks like she gave you permission a few months ago, but she hasn’t come in, and Dr. Byrne hasn’t written a prescription for her. What’d you say she was diagnosed with again?”
“A wasting disease,” Claire says, but the words are mealy against her tongue.
“You mean she’s losing weight? There’s really no such thing as a ‘wasting disease’—you’ll need to have her come in to see Dr. Byrne if you want to know—”
“I don’t think she’ll do that,” Claire says. She doesn’t want to be on the phone any longer. Her head is spinning. Grammy was diagnosed right at the end of the school year. She remembers the phone call, her mother sitting down at the dining room table, nails tapping as she nodded her head with the phone pressed against her ear. “Thank you.”
Claire hangs up.
For a moment, she can only stand there, trying to breathe. Then she turns around until she can see the white pillbox sitting on the counter.
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