Deployed with my real cell phone that looked like a toy, and a plastic doll concealing a knife, I walked the streets, looking forlorn and like an easy target. It was on the second day of my fifth week that a compact car pulled up alongside me.
“Are you lost, sweetheart?” he had asked.
Now he could have been a concerned citizen, but we’d been trained to trust our gut. Believe me, your gut is never wrong. Mine went off like a fire alarm. I could have sworn I even smelled smoke.
“Mommy has a friend over. She told me to come back later.” I pushed some dirt around with my pink frilly laced shoe.
“How about we go for ice cream, then? Would you like that?”
I knew not to make it too easy for him; killers have guts too.
“Mommy says not to talk to strangers.”
“But I know your mommy. She’s real pretty, just like you.”
“Okay,” I said, then got in the car. We drove for ages, me asking about ice cream and him being all sinister and quiet. When we got back to his house he took my hand and led me in, like it was nothing, natural even. Inside he got me a drink laced with Rohypnol, and I drank it. It wouldn’t affect me like a girl of eight and my body had been conditioned by expert doctors to withstand just about any drug on the open market. I feigned sleepiness and he led me to a small room. I took note of everything I saw as I was walked to it. There were several other doors that looked just alike. As he went to lock me in, I pulled my knife from my doll and dove at him. Caught off guard, he barely had time to hold up his hands to defend himself. Stabbing someone is much more difficult than you might think. Even with a sharp knife the organs and bones are hard to penetrate and it took several jerky thrusts for me to get him on the floor. I stabbed him once through the heart, like I was taught. For days after, my forearm and wrist were heavy and achy because of the exertion.
When I called the automated service, the Suits were at the house within an hour. By that time I had opened the other doors and found all the missing girls. My first hadn’t actually been a killer, but a collector. I’ve never really decided if that was worse.
Chapter Fourteen
Kushtaka
It can hear the dog howling for its owner. The loud, fretful whine makes its incisors ache. It hoists Marion’s body further up its shoulder. She’s heavy and, not for the first time, it wishes it could have brought a car. It would make life much easier, quicker, and would mean less muscle strain. But it would be a silly risk. Cars can get stopped on these roads; all it would take is a broken taillight and a diligent police officer or a slip on a stray ice patch to slide out of control to put an end to its hobby. Also, a large, hairy monster behind the wheel would probably draw attention. No, the path through the woods is much safer, albeit less convenient.
Shifting Marion’s weight from one shoulder to the other, it walks a little out of the way to avoid the couple it saw earlier. Dark thoughts provide warmth against the bitter breeze, and it starts to hum a little tune to itself. Its fur is itching a little, but stopping to scratch might wake Marion up. Then it would have to punch her again and if it is not tender, it may kill her. The fun would be ruined. So it resists the tingling annoyance and lets its mind wander to Marion, the lovely lost lady who was not from around here. She had been so lost when it first saw her. If anything, it was doing her a favor. Her husband didn’t love her. If he did he wouldn’t be gone so much. He wouldn’t have left her alone in the cold. This is all his fault, really.
It feels the gentle rise and fall of Marion’s breasts on its shoulder and for a moment it imagines her husband’s face, the look he’ll have when he realizes that he could have stopped it, that when he finally gets back the shattered shell of his wife, he’ll think to himself, “I did this.” That is, if it decides to leave enough of Marion to be found. That decision makes it grin. As it does, one of its teeth catches its bottom lip and it tastes a drop of blood. Darting out its tongue, it laps at the small wound and wonders why its blood never tastes as good as someone else’s. It moves faster through the trees. The crunch, crunch of its clawed feet breaking the fresh snow apart seems absurdly loud against the quiet wilderness.
The dog’s howls are now smothered by the expanse of the forest. The Kushtaka is home. Stooping, it carries Marion in as if she is a new bride and tonight is their first of many nights together.
Chapter Fifteen
Mouse
Cheshire sits on the sofa with me. We’re watching the end of a silly sitcom. I get into the habit of laughing when the fake audience laughs, and I see his stare float over to me.
“Feeling like having a chat?” he asks.
I shrug.
“You could tell me the story again.” He edges next to me and turns the sound down on the TV.
“What are you talking about?”
“The story, the one your mother used to tell you. I like to hear monster stories. Makes what we do more … vital.”
My fellow Wonderlander has always picked at my mental scabs and although I mostly prefer to forget my childhood, I can’t resist Cheshire’s grin and mischievous eyes.
“You want to know about the Kushtaka?”
He nods.
“My mother used to tell me that all the lost belonged to him. It was said that it would take on the form of someone you loved and tempt you away from your home and into the wilderness. That it preferred children best but would take whoever it could when it got hungry. If you fell for its malevolent trick, it would take your hand and lead you to its lair. It liked its food fresh, so would stuff you into a mound of snow and retrieve one frozen limb at a time. It would crack your icy skin and suck off your flesh, like it was eating a salty Popsicle. You would watch in helpless numbness as essential parts of you disappeared down its gullet. It could take weeks for it to finish you off, as the last thing it would eat was your soul. That delicacy it would slurp out through your empty eye socket. You would belong to him forever then. Although not lost anymore, you’d wish you had never been found.”
Cheshire’s grin is huge. I know why. As much as the story scares us, it excites us too. If the Kushtaka is real, then there is magic in the world. And magic opens everything into a great chasm of wonder, a place where my father didn’t keep leaving and where I didn’t hear my mother’s tears at night. A fantastical place where Cheshire wasn’t born addicted to drugs and swung around so hard by his arms that they both broke. Monsters equal magic and magic equal something good could still happen.
My brother, Shilo, believed in magic. He researched stories about the Kushtaka. He drew gory pictures and plastered his bedroom walls with black-and-red drawings that crept into my nightmares.
It became more than just our bogey man. Shilo said that it hid in our yard; it watched us from between the brown, bare tree branches in the winter, as well as from the green, lush limbs of summer. Now that I have the hindsight of age, I know the stories my mother told were designed to keep little Tlingit kids from wandering off into the wide, wild woods of Alaska. The Kushtaka wasn’t real. It wasn’t to blame for any of the dangers that befell me then or since.
I’m not saying that all monsters are make-believe and only live in a child’s dark imagination. I know there are real monsters in the world—I’ve dispatched quite a few—but they are not as obvious as the Kushtaka with his hideous body hair and wily tricks. No, real monsters camouflage themselves in a cloak of “normal.” You don’t suspect them till it’s too late. They do prey on the lost, though. It’s still good advice to not stray from the path.
Cheshire turns the TV back on and we both start to laugh on cue.
Chapter Sixteen
Shilo
“I think that went well,” Mr. Custard says as Shilo curls into the lounge sofa of the hospital’s shared living room. The room is huge and painted a shade of decayed split pea green soup; although most of the patients have been there so long that they don’t even notice its nauseous hue now.
Shilo nods and stares at the blank TV screen.
>
“You need to ask the nurse to put the TV on. Come on now, Shilo, don’t let it slip away. We’ve worked so hard to get you out of this place. We’re so close now I can almost smell the fresh air.”
“Why now? I kind of like it here. It’s safe.” Shilo pulls the collar of his sweater over his chin and begins to chew on the edges.
“I know you think that, but you need to get out of here. You’re needed somewhere else. Do you understand?” Mr. Custard crouches in front of the sofa, trying to catch Shilo’s eye.
“I can help later. Now I want to watch my program,” he says.
“Okay, let’s watch your program.”
“Mr. Custard?”
“Yes?”
“Can you ask them to turn it on?”
“They can’t see me, remember? Please, let’s not start that again. We’re almost free.”
A nearby nurse moves closer to them. “Do you want me to turn the TV on, sweetheart?” she asks.
“Yes, please.” Shilo grins up at her.
She walks to the corner and retrieves a chunky remote, then presses the sticky buttons. The sudden bright light on the screen makes Shilo jump and he quickly wipes away a tear.
“She heard you talking to me,” whispers Mr. Custard. “You have to be more careful.”
“Why?” Shilo stares at the TV. His sweater, now sodden with spit, is hanging limp against his throat like a lazy noose.
“We have to get out of here. Time is running out. It smelled her blood, and it’ll come for her. You need to get out. You have to warn her.”
“Who?” Shilo mutters.
Mr. Custard moves to face Shilo. He blocks out the TV and Shilo strains to look past him.
“Your sister. We need to save your sister.”
“She doesn’t need saving. She can save herself.” Shilo jerks forward to be able to see the screen but falls off the couch.
“Oh my, are you okay?” The nurse rushes forward and helps Shilo up.
“Don’t abandon her again, Shilo. We need to find her before it is too late. She’s not like you. She doesn’t believe in monsters anymore. It’ll sneak up on her. You could be the hero this time, Shilo. You can save her, but only if you’re a good boy. Are you good?”
“I’m good,” Shilo whispers, but instead of looking at the nurse, he stares past her at Mr. Custard, who grins and puts his thumbs up.
The nurse looks behind her, then raises an eyebrow.
Chapter Seventeen
Mouse
Everyone is now in bed. The house is so quiet you could hear a mouse, although no one really cares that I’m still up. Never knowing when I could be called out on another operation, I take the time to have nice long bath to ease my muscles. Covered in far too many bubbles, I stare down at my feet, the only part of me I can still see.
I have a strange-shaped scar on my right foot. It is three deep, faded white lines now, but I still remember the pain of when it happened. I can’t help that I’m reminded of it every time I put my shoes on. The tissue beneath is still hard and lumpy, and even now, after I had exorcised the memory of what happened that night, it still throbs where my sneakers rub the raised nubs.
It happened as I ran through the trees, lost and alone. After he had let go of my hand. I kept pushing forward, further into the unyielding green and brown and snow. I was running so fast. Then suddenly I was face-first on the ground, the tremor of the impact still vibrating through my flesh and bone. I picked myself up and looked down to find three claw-like gashes across my shoes, through the leather to my soft foot. Blood swelled out, staining the white snow and spreading out like a scarlet ink blot. Back then I was convinced that the Kushtaka had reached for me, that it lurked somewhere out there between me and my mother and brother. At the time my fear had persuaded me that it had done it, but doctors later said I’d probably fallen over some sharp tree branches. Shilo was convinced otherwise. “How can bark cut leather?” he’d screamed as they’d injected him with yet another sedative.
The bath water is too cold now. I get up and resign myself to go to bed. Rabbit will be back tomorrow.
Chapter Eighteen
Rabbit
“How doth the little crocodile improve his shiny tail, and pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spreads his claws, and welcomes little fishes in, with gently smiling jaws!” Rabbit giggles at her Alice in Wonderland quote and grabs at Mouse, her arms outstretched and moving in a chomping crocodile motion.
Mouse laughs and pushes her back. “I’m too tired to play,” she says.
“Oh, but are you too tired for a gift?”
Mouse jumps off the sofa and starts to scan the living room for her present. Rabbit has a habit of buying gifts after every mission. They are usually tacky tourist crap, so Cheshire stays seated on the couch and pretends to read his book.
“What did you get me?” Mouse grins.
“Hmmm, let me see,” Rabbit says, then reaches from behind the couch and hands Mouse a shoe box.
“You know me so well,” says Mouse, tearing into the box to find the latest Dior pumps. She sits on the floor and pulls off her heels, then tries them on. They fit beautifully and even hide most of her scar. “Thanks.”
“Dare I ask what I got?” Cheshire looks over at Rabbit, who rustles in her pocket and produces a plastic fridge magnet in the shape of Florida. She hands it to him with a smile.
“Thanks, always good to have a reference of what Florida looks like.”
“It kind of looks like a…” Rabbit says, but is cut off by Mom walking into the room. She has a file in her hands.
“Sorry, girls, but this is urgent and on our doorstep.” She hands the file to Rabbit, who loses her smile.
“How come you didn’t give it to me?” Mouse asks.
Their mom bends down to rustle Mouse’s hair. “It’s for both of you,” she says and starts to get up. “Nice shoes.”
“No rest for the wicked,” Cheshire says with a grin.
Chapter Nineteen
Mouse
The relentless beat of bad techno attacks my ears. Rabbit and I are patiently waiting in line at the entrance of a local club. At the front of the queue a doorman with more muscles than are natural lets in Rabbit but puts his massive hand up to stop me from following her.
“ID,” he says.
I fish about in my purse. I pull out my wallet and show him my driver’s license.
“Seriously, kid? You think a fake ID will fool me?”
I roll my eyes. I’m not even sure why I bothered trying to get in the front doors when I could have just slipped in through the back of the club.
“Don’t be like that, handsome.” Rabbit drapes her arm around the mountain man’s thick neck. He doesn’t flinch. I’m betting he can hardly feel her weight beneath the pounds of hardened, steroid-soaked muscles.
He takes a breath, then shakes her off and opens the dirty red velvet rope guarding the crappy half-ass decadent party beyond. “You look after her in there, no alcohol.”
Rabbit salutes him. She puts out her arm to me and skips in, dragging me behind her.
This was meant to be a night off, but if it were I wouldn’t be on a barstool in a beer-soaked nightclub, trying to attract a serial abductor. Three girls who had been kidnapped and seriously assaulted had gone to this pit of cheap booze and body odor, probably more that hadn’t even reported it. It was a simple bait operation. The only thing exciting about tonight will be which one of us he is going to pick, if he shows up at all.
We sit at the bar, Rabbit sipping a cocktail, me nursing a flat Coke.
Two guys in tight shirts smile over at us. Rabbit smiles back. I watch as she dangles one of her glittery sandals off her foot. I briefly wonder where she bought them from and if they come in blue.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’m acting like bait, like we’re supposed to. What do you think?” She motions to the tight-shirted duo.
&n
bsp; “Yeah, they’re hot, but we shouldn’t flirt with random guys.”
“You’re such a grouch. You used to be much more … muchier. You’ve neglected your muchness, Mouse.” Rabbit sips her drink and turns her crazy eyes on me.
“Lost your muchness, not neglected it. Shit, if you’re going to give me a Wonderland quote, at least get it right. And by the way, that’s from the movie, not the book.”
Rabbit purses her lips and winks at me. “Eat me.”
“Nice. Oh and what if they’re killers, huh? We’re not prepared for two unsubs,” I continue ranting at her.
“Chillax, Mouse. The file said it was just one.”
“Yeah, the one we’re looking for. Maybe those two,” I nod in their direction, “just haven’t made the list yet.”
“Not everyone is a criminal. Learn to trust a little.”
“I only trust Wonderlanders.”
“We could at least act like we’re having a good time,” she complains, squinting her alien-looking eyes at me. Tonight she has opted for yellow lizard contact lenses.
“Well, I totally have a crush on Travis in English, but I hear he’s got a thing for that slut, Tanya.” I mock a sweet girly laugh at her.
“Totally bitchin’ tragedy, baby. Tanya is such a skank.”
“The queen skank,” I agree, catching my drink’s straw with my slick, glossed lips. We continue our inane babbling while deliberately ignoring our drinks, which are now conveniently pushed beyond our natural line of sight. We leave them out there dangling for a while, then reel them back in and taste. Mine was drugged.
Lost in Wonderland Page 3
