She knew how the sentence ended; it was the same question she had been asking herself for hours: Wasn’t there someplace she could go?
She had thought about it from the moment she had woken to the police attacking the camp, and she wasn’t any closer to an answer.
She had walked all night, hunched over against the wind, arms tightly wrapped around herself. There was no place for her to go: everything was closed, and what little money she had was lost in her backpack.
She had left everything.
The thought of it salted her eyes, burned inside her nose, but she refused to cry.
So she had walked.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, not really caring if he could even hear her.
She couldn’t tell him that she was waiting.
She hated being at the courthouse. She hated the way people looked at her, the way they stepped around her like she was a pile of dog shit in their path.
She would rather have been anywhere else, but she knew that when everything calmed down and Skylark tried to find her, this would be the first place she would look.
It had taken Cassie a while that morning to understand that she was looking for Skylark. That was why she hadn’t stayed in Chinatown, crouched in the doorway of the restaurant, out of the wind. That was why she had walked all through downtown, criss-crossing her steps.
Not only had she not found Skylark, she hadn’t seen anyone. No one from the camp was on the street anywhere. It was like they had all disappeared, melting into the shadows when the police came.
Cliff crouched down in front of her, tilting his head. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deliberately gentle.
“I’m okay,” she said, trying not to meet his eye.
“But—aren’t you cold?”
She stared at him for a long moment.
He shook his head and looked at the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was stupid …” His voice trailed off. “I just meant, isn’t there a place where you could get a coat? Like a shelter, or a-a-a soup kitchen?”
She couldn’t very well tell him that she didn’t want to move from that spot, not even to get a coat. What if Skylark came looking for her while she was gone?
“I don’t know,” Cassie said. “I’ll figure it out.”
Wolcott shifted on his feet, his hunkering obviously starting to get painful. “Listen,” he said. “Why don’t I just … When I get in, I’ll call my wife and she can bring you a coat or something.”
“No, that’s …”
He straightened up. “I’m sure she’s got something she’s not—”
“No, I’m okay. Really.”
“But listen, until then—” Drawing his coat back, he reached into his front pocket and withdrew a slim leather wallet. “Here,” he said, extending a twenty-dollar bill toward her. “Take this.”
Cassie looked at the bill pinched between his thumb and forefinger. She imagined him losing his grip, the wind catching hold of the bill, blowing it down the block.
“Please,” he said.
She shook her head.
“Please,” he repeated. “Use it to get yourself something to eat. Warm up.”
She stared at the bill, watching it ripple and twist in the wind.
“Please,” he said for a third time.
She took a deep breath and reached out for the money. It felt strange to her, taking it. Pocket change was one thing, but this was different.
But she took the money and slipped it into her front pocket.
“Thank you,” she said, grateful that he had stood up. There was less chance of accidentally meeting his eye now.
He shook his head. “I just wish there was more I could do.”
He stood there for a long moment in the uneasy silence that followed, waiting for her to say something.
But there was nothing for her to say.
“I should get inside,” he said finally, making a show of checking his watch. “I’ve got a meeting.”
“Okay,” Cassie said.
“But I’ll call my wife—” He shook his head as Cassie started to speak. “It’ll probably be an hour or so.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Get some food,” he said, almost a command. “And I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”
He waited.
“Okay.”
He smiled before turning away.
He looked back at her as he turned up the main steps into the building. She tried to make it look like she wasn’t watching.
Cliff Wolcott seemed like he was genuinely trying to help. You don’t give twenty dollars to a stranger unless you really mean it, right? You don’t offer to have your wife bring down a coat.
She sighed and leaned back against the railing.
She would wait. She would wait for Skylark, and she would wait for the coat, and she would wait for whatever happened next. She had nowhere else to go, and nothing—
She caught the red out of the corner of her eye. A red-and-black-checked flannel jacket, across the street, farther down the block, coming toward her.
She recognized the coat. She would have recognized it anywhere.
The coat, the hair, the stride, the way he held himself: her breath caught in her throat.
“Daddy?”
She pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the screaming of her legs as they unfolded. Glancing back at the approaching figure, bile burning in the back of her throat, she ran.
She didn’t mean to step inside the deli, but she needed to get off the street. She needed to hide, even if only for a moment.
A bell tinkled as she entered.
She stopped in the doorway, almost overwhelmed by the smells and the heat. Steam settled instantly on her cheeks, and her stomach growled.
She looked around to see if anyone had heard, but the only people in the deli were a man in a suit at the counter paying for his coffee and the heavy-set, hair-netted woman taking his money.
Neither of them looked at her.
She walked slowly up and down the narrow aisles, looking at every item on the shelves, studying every label, trying to blend in, pretending to belong. She browsed until she noticed the woman behind the counter looking at her, studying her.
Taking one last breath of the warm air, she turned and pulled the door open again. The bell chimed as the cold wind rushed in and she stepped back outside, looking carefully up and down the sidewalk.
She couldn’t spend it. That twenty dollars was all she had in the world, and she wouldn’t just squander it on food. It was almost enough to get her away. She could disappear. And this time—But not before she found Skylark.
She knew it was stupid and wrong.
She should go now, while she had the chance. And the money. Make a clean break of it.
She should just go, like she had done with Mom and Heather. Just walk away.
She pictured the twenty-dollar bill. She could be gone, just gone, across the water before sunset.
But she couldn’t do it. There was no way she could go without seeing Skylark.
Just to be sure she was all right. Just to say goodbye.
She had already abandoned one sister without saying goodbye.
She was only beginning to consider what that meant when the minivan pulled up alongside her.
The passenger window slid down as it stopped.
“Hey,” the driver said, leaning over the empty passenger seat. “Are you all right?”
Cassie’s first instinct was to run. First her father, now this—it was all too much.
No, running would cause a scene. Hurry away as fast as she could, not looking back.
But there was something familiar about the driver. Where had she seen him before? Sometime in the last few days …
So many people, all their faces blurring together.
“Yeah,” she said, putting on a brave face. “It’s not so bad.”
“Here,” the driver said, and the
lock on the passenger door clicked loudly. “Why don’t you get in and warm up?”
Cassie stared at him, not quite able to process what she was hearing, what he was asking. Right here? In broad daylight? He expected her to—“Oh, shit,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. That was … Here.” He reached into his Gore-Tex jacket and pulled out a leather wallet. He flipped it open as he extended it toward her.
When she saw the police badge, things clicked into place and she nodded, exhaling a misty breath. “Right. Officer Harrison.”
“Chris,” he said. “And it’s Constable.” He smiled as he tucked the wallet away. “I’m sorry. I guess I look different out of uniform.” He gave a sheepish half shrug. “But good for you, not getting into a car with someone you don’t know.”
“Yeah, well. Not getting rides from strangers is pretty basic, isn’t it?”
“You would think,” he said. There was a sharp edge to the words.
The wind cut through Cassie and she shivered despite herself.
Harrison smiled. “Come on,” he said. “Hop in. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
She didn’t move. He waited.
Finally, he sighed.
“Well, here,” he said, leaning between the seats and reaching into the back. “You should put on a coat, at least.”
He passed her a crumpled grey bundle through the window. It took Cassie a moment to process what she was feeling. “Oh my God,” she said, letting the coat fall open, holding it tightly as it was caught by the wind. “This—”
“Yeah.” His smile was wide and open.
“This is my coat!” All of the tears that she had been holding back almost broke through as she slipped her arms in, as she tugged the coat closed and close around her. “How—”
“It’s cold,” he said, shrugging again. “And you ran off without your coat, so I thought I’d …”
“You were there?”
He nodded. The look on his face told her not to ask anything else about what had happened the night before.
But the thought of the flashlights, the shouting, the voice over the megaphone made her shiver.
“Thank you,” she said carefully, remembering her manners. “But won’t you get in trouble for giving this back to me?” She kept touching the front of her coat. For a moment, she was so happy she wanted to twirl.
His brow tightened. “Trouble? Why?”
“Well, for taking evidence or whatever?” He started to laugh, but pulled it back in, shaking his head instead. “Evidence of what?” he asked. “You haven’t committed any crime.” He stopped. “Have you?”
The question made her stomach tumble. “No,” she said quickly. “Of course not.”
“Well, we’re fine, then,” he said, and it took her a moment to realize that he was teasing her. “No, they put all the stuff people left behind in the lost and found. I think they’re going to bring a van around tonight to see if anyone else wants to claim their stuff.” And then, as if remembering: “Oh, I’ve got this too.”
Reaching behind the seat again, he pulled out her backpack.
Cassie felt her knees buckle and reached out to the window frame for support.
“Oh my God,” she said, her vision blurred with tears. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she said, reaching in through the window. “I can’t—thank you.” Reaching for it.
But Harrison held it back from her, just out of reach. “Listen,” he said seriously, but still warm. “Why don’t you hop in? I’ll buy you a coffee. There’s some things I want to talk to you about.”
She only hesitated a moment before opening the door.
He drove them to a coffee shop a short distance away, and hurried a couple of steps ahead of her to hold the door open.
He didn’t give her the backpack. It dangled at his side, where he held it by the loop. He seemed to have forgotten that he had it.
Cassie didn’t take her eyes off it.
She stood with him while he ordered a coffee, a hot chocolate and a breakfast sandwich at the counter, despite his suggesting that she should get a table. She went with him to the self-serve bar, watched as he put cream and sugar into the largest coffee she had ever seen.
She didn’t let more than a few feet come between her and the backpack. She had lost it once, she wasn’t going to lose it again.
But Harrison wasn’t letting it go.
When they sat down, he set the bag on the floor, tucked between his feet.
He slid the breakfast sandwich across the table to her.
“Here,” he said.
She wanted to argue. Instead, she devoured the sandwich so quickly she barely tasted it.
For a long time, then, neither of them said anything. She stirred the whipped cream slowly into her hot chocolate with the wooden stir stick. He sipped tentatively from his coffee.
“So,” he said finally. “Are you all right?”
For some reason, the question struck Cassie as bizarre, if not outright hilarious. She had to hold in the bubble of laughter that rose in her throat.
“Am I all right?” she asked, realizing only as she heard the words that she sounded like Skylark.
Thankfully, he smiled too. “I just meant, after this morning. Is there someplace you can go?”
It took her a moment to connect things, to realize that by “this morning” he was referring to the police attacking the camp. She considered for a moment.
“I’ve been thinking about going to Vancouver,” she said.
He nodded. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Things are a bit hairy out there right now.”
She thought about the stories in the newspaper, and she was about to speak, but then she thought of Sarah, her body in the dry fountain, the blood on the snow.
She could feel the knife in her hand, the stuttering hesitation as it cut into Sarah’s throat.
Then she thought of Skylark.
“I don’t know, though,” she said instead. “I don’t want to leave quite yet.”
He nodded again, more slowly this time. “Okay,” he said, drawing out the syllables. “Did you want me to take you to a shelter? I know—”
“No,” she said flatly. “I’m not going back to the shelter.”
He wasn’t surprised by her words. “You’ve said. But I know some people—” His face drew in on itself with concern. “Did something happen?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, bridging the distance between the two of them.
“Nothing happened,” she said, emphasizing the second word. “Exactly.”
He didn’t say anything. He took a slow sip of his coffee, set the cup carefully on the table, and all the time he just looked at her.
She knew what he was doing: waiting her out, knowing that she would eventually say something, anything, just to fill the silence.
So she took a sip of her hot chocolate and set the mug slowly, carefully, back on the table, all the time looking at him.
“So what,” he said, “do you mean by ‘nothing happened exactly’?”
She had tried not to think about it. It was what, a week ago, at most? But she had done everything she could to put it in the past.
“Nothing,” she said, looking down at the pale wood tabletop.
“Cassandra?” Her name in his voice was startling. “What happened at the shelter?”
She sighed. “Nothing really happened. I just never felt safe. Some of my stuff got stolen, and I reported it, but they didn’t do anything, they just told me that I needed to be more careful. And there were these guys …”
“Did someone hurt you?” For a moment she had a flash of him in his uniform.
“No one hurt me.” She thought of that afternoon, the three men in the stairwell, the animal smell of them as they had closed around her, their hands on her. “Not really.” The way the leader, the toothless one, had smiled when he said they knew where to find her, the way they had all laughed when she tried to pull away. “But I never felt safe, you know? I figured that if they didn’t
do anything when my stuff got stolen, well, what if something else happened? They weren’t exactly …” She shook her head. “I just didn’t feel safe.”
He nodded. “There are other shelters,” he said, testing. “But yeah, I get that. Listen—” He shifted in his chair. “Cassandra. About your options.” Reaching down between his feet, he lifted up her backpack and held it on his lap.
She couldn’t help staring—it was so close. She had thought she would never see it again, and here it was, just out of reach.
It was strange: she knew that the bag was hers. She recognized everything about it, from the scuff up the left side to the piece of yarn tied around the handle, but there was a strangeness to it, an unfamiliarity. Perhaps it was because she had given up hope of ever seeing it again, or because she was seeing it now, for the first time, separated from her, with someone else holding it.
But none of that mattered. She just wanted it back.
Harrison held on to it as he asked, “What about going home, Cassandra?”
The question rang like a slammed door, and she leaned back in her chair, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the cop without running out of the coffee shop.
“No,” she said.
“I talked to your mom again this morning,” he said. “She—”
Cassie jerked forward. “You talked to my mom?”
Harrison nodded and started to reply, but she cut him off. “How could you?”
“Cassandra.” He held up a hand.
“I’m not going back there.”
“Cassandra.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. I’ll just—”
“Cassandra.” Loud enough this time to make people in the coffee shop turn. Loud enough to get her attention.
She leaned back in the chair again, her mouth a tight line.
Harrison turned his head slowly around, meeting people’s curious gazes. When he made eye contact, he didn’t look away: everyone else broke the stare first, turning back to their tables, their cups, their conversations.
Turning back toward her, he leaned forward, over the table.
“I talked to your mom this morning,” he said, his voice pitched low. It was as if her outburst hadn’t happened. “They’re worried about you.”
Cassie didn’t say anything, forced her face still to not give anything away.
Black Feathers Page 12
