Stages of Grey

by Clea Simon

‘What the …?’ To his credit, Chris reacted by clutching Dulcie close, as if to protect her from whatever was out there.

  ‘Chris! I can’t breathe!’ His gesture was sweet, but stifling, and Dulcie pushed away to listen. ‘Oh, no – it’s coming from down there.’ She pointed, and they all turned. They’d gotten half a block past the crosswalk, but the sound – a woman wailing – was clear.

  ‘Maybe it’s another street theater thing?’ Trista asked, the tightness in her voice belying the hope in her question.

  ‘Maybe.’ Jerry didn’t sound any more convinced.

  ‘Come on.’ Dulcie had faced her own fears on that corner. If someone else was being needlessly scared … She turned and started back the way they had come.

  ‘Maybe we should call the police.’ Chris caught up with her and was pulling the phone from his coat pocket.

  ‘Let’s see what it is first.’ Trista, with Jerry in tow, caught up with them. ‘Maybe it’s nothing.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dulcie had reached the corner where she had seen the attack – had been taken in, she mentally corrected herself. There had been no wolf pack. No real victim. No attack. It was deserted now, and so she turned down the street. There, ahead, lay the alley that she and Trista had explored only a few hours before. A small crowd had gathered, theatergoers like themselves, probably. Which made the chance that they would be fooled by stagecraft unlikely. Still, somewhere beyond them a woman was screaming. The cries were fainter now, and as she drew close, Dulcie could hear that each one cut off as the screamer drew in a ragged breath.

  ‘Let me through. Let me through.’ Dulcie pushed her way past a couple and stopped short, narrowly avoided stepping in a small puddle of vomit on the pavement. To her right, someone was sobbing. She heard it as if from a distance, just as she heard someone else, on her left, talking into a cellphone.

  ‘Nine one one? I’d like to report—’

  That scream again, a rising wail like the soul of the damned, forced Dulcie to focus.

  There, in the alleyway, she could make out dark hair. A ponytail that was coming loose as a head bobbed up and down. A pale face, dark eyes wide and stricken behind large glasses. Roni Squires – the office manager – was on her knees, her mouth wide open as she drew in another gasping breath.

  Before her, on the pavement, lay a silent, black-clad form. It was the woman who had waited on them, the nymph from the theater, her blonde curls matted down by the blood that must have come from the gaping wound in her throat.

  FOURTEEN

  ‘Amy!’ As Dulcie stood there, frozen, another voice cried out. Heath Barstow, his hair wild, came crashing out of the back door and scooped the prone woman into his arms. ‘Amy, no!’

  ‘A lot you care!’ Roni was on her feet, glaring. ‘You brute.’

  ‘No!’ The blond mane lowered over the prone body. ‘No.’

  ‘Coming through.’ Dulcie felt herself pushed aside by one navy blue arm, and then another, forcing her over behind one of the other onlookers. ‘Step aside, please. Sir? Sir?’

  The officer was reaching down to Heath, pulling him up, away from the limp form of the actress. But the actor shook the cop off. ‘No.’ It was more of a moan this time. Dulcie could see his back heaving.

  ‘Please, sir.’ The cop’s words were polite, but his words were clearly a command. ‘You have to let us through.’ He reached for the arm that now cradled the bloody body.

  Another officer appeared on his far side and took his other arm. Dulcie looked away, but not so quickly that she didn’t see his face. The handsome features were distorted, the generous mouth open mid-wail. As the cops dragged him to his feet, the crowd gasped. Although his black costume showed nothing amiss in the blue of the street lights, the actor’s hands shone red and wet, covered in blood. Even his hair, Dulcie couldn’t help but see, was tipped in it, the long blond mane darkened at its ends.

  She wanted to turn away. This was a tragedy, but she had no role here. The police, the emergency personnel were on the scene, and she should let them work. She should turn away, she knew that. She should stop looking. Stop staring at the lone figure lying on the ground. At the blood, the dark stain that caught the light. The reflection was spreading. Spinning. She was falling.

  Until a hand landed on her upper arm, gripping her firmly. Pulling her in.

  ‘No!’ The yell was instinctive. What happened next was not. She spun around, pulling away as she lashed out, her fist making contact with flesh.

  ‘Ow!’ Chris stepped back, dropping her arm. ‘Dulcie, that hurt.’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ A space had opened around them. ‘I felt someone grab me and … I don’t know.’

  ‘Everything all right here, Miss?’ Chris was eclipsed by blue: another cop, this one staring down at her.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ Dulcie shook her head to clear it. ‘My boyfriend took my arm and, well, I guess I was jumpy.’

  He eyed her, his forehead creasing.

  ‘Really, Officer.’ Chris appeared by his side – and stopped as the cop extended his arm in front of him. ‘I thought she was looking a little woozy, and I wanted to get her out of here.’

  ‘Miss?’ Brown eyes and a heavy brow.

  ‘He’s right.’ Something about that glare made Dulcie feel like she was at fault. ‘Really, we’re fine. I was just startled.’

  ‘Coming through.’ This time it was two EMTs, both carrying large packs. Dulcie backed away from the large cop and wrapped her arm around Chris’s waist. When the officer turned to look, she smiled and nodded. Chris, who had gingerly put his arm around her shoulder, seemed to be in shock.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Dulcie whispered up at him. To her amazement, the crowd around them seemed to have thickened. While that had the advantage of hiding the bloody scene down the alley, it made it harder to get through, and Dulcie took Chris’s hand to lead him away from the carnage.

  ‘Wait, is that a cat?’ Chris had turned back toward the alley. Dulcie couldn’t see over the heads around her, but he was pointing and she moved in front of him.

  ‘There’s a grey cat in the theater, but …’ There, she saw him – a flash of silver-grey between the people in front of her. Behind them, the beeping of the ambulance as it pulled up to the mouth of the alley.

  ‘Coming through, folks! Coming through.’ Out the driver’s side window, the driver called to move people aside. But the cat … Dulcie pulled away from Chris and darted forward once again.

  ‘Dulcie!’ He called after her.

  ‘Gus!’ Ducking down, she pushed between the onlookers and under the arms of the large cop. The slim silver feline was frozen before her, his eyes wide and staring. Although logic told her Gus was staring at the crowd – searching, perhaps, for the source of that terrifying beep – Dulcie couldn’t help but feel those green eyes were focused on her. In them, Dulcie could see the ambulance lights reflected and, well, something else. A spark of fear or recognition – or was it a message?

  ‘Watch out, Miss.’ She turned back as an EMT pushed by her, his heavy boots barely missing the stunned cat’s tail.

  ‘You watch out,’ she yelled, shock turning to anger. ‘Can’t you see there’s a cat here?’

  He didn’t even turn, and she found herself straining to keep her eyes on the cat. In the shadows, between the moonlight and the street lamps, his silvery-blue coat blended too well with the pavement.

  She lost sight of Gus as another uniform jostled past her. The alley, already crowded, was getting packed.

  ‘Everybody, back,’ a male voice called. ‘I want everybody to take a step back.’ Behind them, on the street, a siren started. ‘Make way.’

  The cop was moving toward them, arms outstretched. Behind him, a gurney carried its covered load through to the ambulance. ‘Back, everyone,’ the cop kept repeating. ‘Back.’

  Dulcie stumbled as someone pushed, only catching herself on the rough brick wall. Somehow she’d moved to the far side of the alley. From here, she could se
e down to where another officer, a black woman she hadn’t noticed before, was talking to Roni. The office manager was also leaning up against the wall, staring at the ground with her hands jammed into her pockets as the officer jotted in a pad. At least she was no longer screaming.

  ‘Dulcie?’ Chris had gotten through to her. ‘Can we go?’

  ‘Just a second, Chris.’ Dulcie raised her hand, motioning him to wait. ‘I’m worried about Gus.’

  In the far corner of the alley, she saw movement. The slim cat must have retreated as the EMTs came forward.

  ‘Roni!’ Dulcie called. ‘The cat!’

  The office manager looked up, her face pale behind the glasses.

  ‘Gus!’ Dulcie called again. ‘He must have gotten out.’

  ‘Miss, please.’ The cop who was moving them back stood in front of her now. ‘You have to go now.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Dulcie peeked under his outstretched arm. ‘Roni!’

  Roni just stared at her, her face blank. ‘She must be in shock,’ Dulcie said to the cop. ‘I’ve got to get the cat.’

  He looked just as blank.

  ‘He shouldn’t be out. Not in this weather, not in the city.’ Dulcie was at a loss. ‘He must have gotten outdoors in all the fuss.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the cop. But it was clear he didn’t mean it as he started to push her back, his outstretched arms encompassing all the gawkers who had now gathered.

  ‘Roni!’ Dulcie tried one more time. ‘Gus!’

  The woman with the glasses didn’t hear her. But the cat did. As the cop’s arm pressed against her, Dulcie saw a movement and then, out of the shadows, the delicate features of the Russian blue.

  ‘Wait, Officer.’ Dulcie reached over his arm and pointed. ‘I just need to get the cat.’

  As the cop turned to look over his shoulder, Gus stepped entirely out of the shadows and stood, staring up at Dulcie, his dark green eyes catching the street light’s glow.

  ‘He your cat?’ The cop must have seen it too, the way those strange eyes looked up at her.

  ‘What?’ Dulcie didn’t want to look up at him, didn’t want to break the connection with the theater cat. ‘Well, no, but he belongs inside, not out on the cold street.’

  ‘Huh.’ The cop turned slightly, clearly wavering. Dulcie bit her lip. ‘Well, he’s not your problem then,’ the cop said. ‘And I’m afraid I can’t let you through.’

  ‘But the cat …’ Dulcie felt the tears rising.

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss.’ The cop was moving them back, his arms barricades in the crowd. ‘Looks like he’s found one of his own.’

  He shifted then, letting her peek over his meaty arm. The cat’s advance, if not Dulcie’s shouting, must have finally alerted Roni to the Russian blue’s presence. Now she turned from the officer before her and knelt on the pavement. Taking her hands from her pockets, she reached for the cat before her. For a moment, they were frozen like that – Roni in black, her hands white under the blue light; the cat silver, almost glowing. And just then, the ambulance started up again, its siren beginning to wail. Gus, ears back, jumped.

  ‘No!’ Dulcie yelled. For a moment, she thought, the cat looked up at her again, those green eyes glowing in the light. Then he turned and darted away, his silver-grey form disappearing into the shadows.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘Okay, that’s enough here.’

  Even as Dulcie surged forward, she found herself blocked by an arm. A large arm, attached to a large man in the dark blue uniform of a city cop. ‘Come on, Miss. Show’s over.’

  ‘I’ve got her, Officer.’ Chris appeared by her side. ‘She’s upset. I’ll take her home.’

  ‘But …’ She turned toward Chris, and he used the opportunity to throw an arm over her shoulder, pulling her around further. ‘The cat …’

  ‘Dulcie, this is a police matter.’ He maneuvered her through the crowd. ‘Besides, Trista and the others are waiting for us.’

  ‘But … Gus …’

  ‘I’m sure the theater people will take care of him.’ Chris looked around for their friends. ‘You’re in shock, Dulcie. Come on.’

  So, apparently, was Jerry. They found their friends out on the street. Jerry was sitting on the curb, his head in his hands, Raleigh beside him. Trista, kneeling at his feet, glanced up at Chris and Dulcie.

  ‘He knew her.’ The expression on Trista’s face said it all. ‘He knew that girl.’

  ‘Jerry?’ Chris crouched down to talk to his friend, as Trista stood.

  ‘No, it can’t be.’ Dulcie kept her voice low. ‘It wasn’t anyone we knew. It … she was that actress. You know, the one who took Chris on stage.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Trista bit her lip as she glanced down at her boyfriend. ‘Turns out she was the “buddy” with the ticket deal. He didn’t want me to know till after.’ She shook her head sadly, looking positively pasty under the street lights. ‘He wanted to preserve the illusion.’

  Dulcie nodded, even as she wondered which illusion her friend’s boyfriend had hoped to maintain. Not that it mattered now. ‘It must have been quick,’ Raleigh was saying. ‘Her throat – she probably didn’t know what was happening.’

  Chris, meanwhile, was helping Jerry to his feet.

  ‘I bet it was that actor.’ Jerry bit into the words. ‘Poor Amy. She didn’t know this crowd. Didn’t know what they were like.’

  ‘You don’t know …’ Trista came to Heath Barstow’s defense. ‘You can’t know what happened.’

  ‘I heard what the other woman was saying, the one who found her.’ He nodded knowingly. ‘Barstow and Amy were a couple. And you know, most of the time when something like this happens …’

  Dulcie breathed a small sigh of relief: at least Jerry and the actress hadn’t been an item. Trista glowered, however, as if considering her own violent act. And Chris, ever the peacemaker, broke in.

  ‘I think we should leave this one to the cops, okay?’ Dulcie leaned on him, grateful for his sane approach. ‘I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one night.’

  Jerry nodded, his face grim, and Trista took his arm in what Dulcie hoped was a conciliatory fashion. The friends walked silently up the street, each lost in private thoughts until the time came for them to part.

  An hour later, Dulcie was still wondering if they had left too soon. Not even Esmé’s attention could help. The little cat was always affectionate when the two came home after an evening out, but even repeated head butts – that soft insistent pressure, demanding to be held – couldn’t calm Dulcie’s shivers.

  Dulcie knew she was upset over what they had witnessed. Even once Esmé was in her arms, if she closed her eyes, she could still see that dark, deep cut – the way Amy had lain there, limp, in Heath’s arms. But Dulcie was also concerned about the living. Specifically, she was worried about Gus.

  ‘The cops aren’t going to look for him. They have their hands full.’ She sniffed into the handkerchief Chris had given her, shifting Esmé’s bulk to dab at her nose. ‘I mean, they had … they have …’ She gave up, shaking her head as the tears came, and buried her face in her own pet’s thick fur. At least she didn’t have to explain her concern to Chris. He might know that she was reacting to everything that had come at them this evening – but he would also never ask her why she was so upset over ‘a mere cat’.

  ‘Maybe he ran back inside,’ Chris suggested, following her lead. ‘You know, went to hide in a favorite hiding space or something? That woman, Roni, was looking for him.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She sniffed. ‘But it’s more than that. He was trying to tell me something.’ She could say this kind of thing to Chris.

  ‘Sweetie?’ She looked up. The doubt on his face made her worry that she had misjudged him. ‘Your teeth are chattering.’ He was definitely looking at her strangely. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘It was cold out.’ Dulcie hugged her own cat closer. ‘And I can’t help but worry.’

  ‘Did you go to the health service
s?’ His voice was low, but Dulcie could hear his concern. ‘You were supposed to get checked out, you know.’

  ‘I know, Chris.’ She looked up. ‘I’m sorry. I meant to all day – it’s just, well, I feel fine.’

  ‘Dulcie, I’m worried about you. You don’t seem like yourself.’

  You should talk. She bit back the words. He was speaking out of love; she knew that. Out loud, she worked to steady her voice. ‘It was just a rough night. And I am worried about the cat.’ She managed a smile. ‘But really, Chris, I feel fine.’

  ‘Well … how about hot cocoa?’ Chris’s non-sequitur started Esmé purring. At least, something did.

  ‘Thanks, sweetie.’ As her boyfriend heated the milk, Dulcie stroked her pet, letting herself enjoy Esmé’s warmth. Esmé seemed to know she needed comfort, and Dulcie wondered if the round feline was picking up some of her anxiety about the theater cat. ‘What is it, girl? Do you want some cocoa, too?’

  ‘I think she’s glad you’re giving her some attention.’ Chris set her favorite mug on the place mat before her.

  Dulcie was about to protest when Esmé jumped up on the table.

  ‘No, kitty!’ Dulcie grabbed for her. ‘That’s hot.’

  Esmé jumped, in the process knocking over Dulcie’s bag, which spilled its contents next to the mug.

  ‘Dulcie!’ Chris grabbed the mug, which had begun to wobble – and Esmé leaped from the table, sending her phone flying.

  ‘Esmé!’ Dulcie ducked down to retrieve the phone. Esmé glowered, tail twitching. ‘I’m sorry, kitty.’ Dulcie softened her tone. ‘I guess I am still on edge.’

  As she sat back up, Chris handed her the mug and went back to the counter to retrieve his own.

  ‘Thanks, honey.’ She sipped and found herself looking at her phone. ‘Oh!’

  ‘Too hot still?’ Chris took a seat at the table and Esmé jumped to his lap. Dulcie didn’t even notice.

  ‘No, it’s an email from the URT.’ She clicked on it, holding her breath. ‘It’s probably about that poor girl.’

  She paused, and Chris reached for her mug again.