“No...I have to work in the morning.”
We both stopped for a moment, staring at each other in the darkness.
“If you...if you need me,” Kara cocked her head. “Well, I'm never far away.”
“I know,” I smiled up at her. “I love you, Kara.”
She looked surprised for a small second, but then, a grin cracked across her face and she shone. She leaned down and kissed me again. This time, it was strong. I tilted my face back and saw above her head, stars.
“Megan…” she pulled away, for a moment the radiance was subdued. The car grew cold as I looked at her face, as I felt the earth rush away from me. She looked pained.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, heart in my throat.
“I…I have something to tell you,” she said, voice very small. “I just…I’ve been putting it off. I can’t…I can’t do it yet. I can’t say it yet.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmured.
“You don’t…you don’t have to,” she smiled again, stiffly. “I’m sorry. This is the wrong time to bring it up, anyway. This moment…this moment is special.”
And then, in the darkness, with night sky as witness, she repeated those three little words back.
“I love you,” she said.
It washed the black away.
All the way to my apartment, I smiled again. It was a small one – the corners of my mouth turned up a slight degree, but in my heart, it was bright.
There were many horrible things happening in the world, but the knowledge that she existed, that she loved me, somehow made it all a bit better, if that was possible.
I drew myself a deep, hot bath when I got home. I sank down into the water, and undid my hair, and I swirled my wet fingers on the surface and thought of everything and nothing. But mostly, I thought of Kara. I had a small misgiving about how she said she needed to tell me something…but it was fine. She had said ‘I love you,’ hadn’t she? That was the important part.
That night, I dreamed of sitting in a coffee shop, chai in hands, staring into the smiling face of my lover. We were laughing, though I don't know why, and we were perfectly happy.
If there were wolves in the dream, I didn’t see them. I only had eyes for her.
Chapter 10
That morning, the parking lot was not plowed at the library. I pulled in and my wheels spun as I sought a parking space. Sharon was already there, Rob, too, struggling out of their cars with bags of books in their hands. It was City Mission day.
It was busy from the start; women brought in their donations, children checked out books, men wandered the shelves on their lunch breaks, choosing surprising finds. I usually had a knack for thinking up the type of book each person might need or want, but today, slim volumes of poetry and philosophical treatments were flying off the shelves as quickly as children's books and dating manuals. It was a quick day, and we embraced it with relish.
It was only after I got back to my apartment that I realized I’d left my cell phone at the library. I’d wanted to call Kara, and her number was programmed into my phone—I didn’t know it by heart. Well, I could stop back at the library, get the phone, and then go on to Kara’s. I’d wanted to head over there anyway tonight.
I was deep in thought, not really noticing much of anything when I pulled back into the library parking lot. I pulled alongside a car, and it was then that I realized it was Sally’s car. Her car that was in the same spot as it had been this morning, covered in snow.
I got out of my own and breathed out into the cold night--it collected like a cloud about my head. She’d been working much too late, lately, and I needed to tell her to get some food, go home. I plowed through the brown snow in soaking boots, determined. At least, I thought I was.
I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts when I climbed the library steps, that I almost stumbled when my hand sought the doorknob. It wasn't there.
I stared at the door for a moment, bewildered. It was left ajar, partially open into the library proper.
I looked back at Sally's car, then at the door. She had to still be here. I pushed open the door, calling out her name in the dark.
“Sally?” I called again, boots squelching wetly on the wet carpet. I wandered through the shelves, angling toward her office. “Sally, it’s Megan—I left my cell phone, and I’m just grabbing it…”
I thought for certain I had wiped up the area outside her office since I’d mopped up at the end of the day. But the floor right outside of her office door was so wet, puddles forming from beneath the door. I frowned and pushed it open.
It was pitch black inside, no lamplight. I called out her name once more.
I heard moaning.
I flicked the light switch on the wall.
I stared, my breath coming in quick gasps.
The top of the desk dripped with red liquid, and there were red handprints along the book bindings in the back bookshelves, and there was Sally, sprawled on the floor with a tear in her shoulder and back, her shirt covered in blood.
Blood everywhere.
I stood, quaking. I could smell the blood now, could see the paw prints in it, circling around it. Could see the pools of it, moving away from her body on the floor. There weren't simple tears in her shoulder, in her back--the skin and bones were broken, and it was ravaged, and I couldn't breathe, and I needed to be sick, and…
She moaned again.
“Sally?” My voice shook, and tears leaked out of my eyes.
Her voice sounded wet, it gurgled. But she said my name, and I was down beside her, rolling her over as gently as I could. He face was covered in blood, her hair was ripped open; her head was cracked, everything was blood.
“The wolves...” she said. I laughed a little, then--it was a quick, sharp staccato thing that trembled through me and came out of my mouth. I turned away and was sick, my hands were drenched with red ichor. Blood.
This couldn't possibly be real.
“Megan.” It was so hoarse--I could hear gasping...there was a hole in her chest. I could see soft bits of skin around the edges of a jagged wound that went so deeply there was movement. I made a little sound, my hands over her body, not sure what to do, not sure what to do to try to stop the blood…
“The wolves...” she tried again. Her lips moved, but a soft hiss came out from between them. No more words until, “... please--safe...your grandmother.”
She breathed out, a jagged breath, like the wounds and bits of bone that peeked out from the tears and blood that seeped into the floor and my skin.
Her chest no longer rose or fell, her body didn’t move. I called her name, I shook her shoulder gently, but her head rolled away from me, her eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling.
I felt myself crumple onto the floor and blood.
“No, no, no, no, no...” I whispered, tears squeezing themselves from wide eyes. I put my mouth over my hand again, and it was wet and smelled metallic.
I struggled up, stepping over her gingerly, slipping on the red boards. I stretched my hands for the phone, fumbled with the receiver, put it to my ear. There was no dial tone.
Somewhere, in the tremors of my heart, I began to put small things together. No big things, not even ideas. But I remembered the word she'd said. “Grandmother.” I looked at the paw prints in the blood, I saw them go out of the study, out into the library. I stared through the stacks out of the giant picture windows and saw the mountain. My mountain.
I stumbled into the library proper and snatched up my cell phone from the desk and dialed “911.” I told them I’d found my boss, that she was hurt, dead. I slipped on the blood as I ran out of the room, out between the stacks, out the door. I saw the paw prints merge with the sludge and slush and I saw them aimed for the mountains and I couldn't think or perhaps I did. If this was a nightmare, or if this was real, it no longer mattered. I got into my car, slammed the door and began the journey to my grandmother’s house.
All I could smell was blood, the blood on my han
ds, the blood on my coat. I could hardly see my way for the wetness in my eyes. I breathed out and made the wide turn onto the road that would take me to my grandmother's cabin. I had to concentrate--I had to think, or the crystalline night would take me in the stupidest of ways, like skidding on an icy road and plunging down the cliff. There were so many thoughts that pecked at my heart as I swerved and floored it up the hills, around the curves. I was whimpering now, lips dry. I licked them and tasted blood. I swallowed once, twice. The moon lit the road.
It takes one hour from the library door to my grandmother's cabin. One hour. I hadn't looked at the time, but I knew I'd taken far less than this when I finally reached the driveway. There were lights on, inside; smoke curled from the old chimney, twining about branches and away into the night. I left the car running. I could hardly launch myself out the door before I was running up the path to the porch. The door was open.
She would be inside, and she would be knitting--or making cookies. She often made cookies. My boots were suddenly heavy, and the last few steps I could hardly move my feet…for why was the door ajar? My grandmother wasn't holding it open, smile on her face. All the warm air was getting out, and she hated to waste heat.
Something wasn’t right.
I stood in the threshold, eyes dilated. It was suddenly too bright, and there was a wash of colors, and besides--there were tears blurring everything--and it took me a long moment before I called out for my grandmother. There was no answer.
Save for: “Megan.”
Kara stood, crouched by the fireplace. Her shirt was open in the front, her hands were dirty, her face surprised. We stared at one another for a long moment before I could take in the rest of the place: the rocker was overturned, the couch cushions were ripped. The lamp was on the ground, but still it shone. I stared stupidly at the chaos and back to Kara. She licked her lips and swallowed.
Outside, in the darkness, the paw prints came to our door.
“I can explain,” she said, then--it came out quickly, rushed--and she was moving towards me. “Megan--”
“Where is my grandmother?” It was so soft and low, I could hardly hear it come from my mouth, but she’d stopped, hands upraised to me in petition. She shook her head, swallowing again. I could see blood on the knees of her jeans.
“Megan, I need to explain things to you... please let me. Sally--”
“Where is my grandmother?” My hands were balled into fists and my voice was so quiet I couldn’t hear it, but still, Kara stepped toward me, brows furrowed.
“She's... gone,” was all she said.
And then we both heard it.
It was a low, thin wail--and it came from beneath the trees. It chorused around and around, prickling the back of my neck, stepping forward and out of my deepest nightmares. A wolf howl, and there was an answering one...and it echoed back and forth in the night in my woods. In my woods.
My grandmother was out in the woods. Wolves were out in the woods.
My grandmother was out in the woods. With wolves.
I turned, as Kara called my name--I turned and ran.
This was a nightmare. Then why was it so real? This was a nightmare. Then why did the cold air burn in my lungs, why was the moon so bright, why was the snow so deep? None of it made sense, and as I ran away into the woods, I thought I saw shadows, blurred along the line of my vision.
The moon was obscured as I ran, dark clouds swarmed it and blotted out the stars, and then thick flakes began to fall, and they caught in the air as if suspended, coming into my mouth as I huffed in the cold and out the warm and called for my grandmother again, and again. If wolves heard me, let them. I needed to hear her voice, feel her wrinkled hand in mine, see her eyes smile before her mouth did. I needed to know she was all right, simply out for a stroll with her walking stick, warmed by her shawl and wool hat.
I heard the howl again, heard how it chorused around me. I shook, but I didn’t falter as I continued to run. My muscles burned, my lungs gasped and shook, but I screamed out for my grandmother, and somehow it sounded louder than the wolves.
The snow fell, thick and silent around me. Before the wind came.
There were sheets of white, and then there was whirling white, biting white that drove itself into my skin and face. Out of my mouth came a word that was whipped away by the wind that suddenly wound itself about my body, about the trees, pinning everything into place. I faltered and fell in a snow bank and my ankle throbbed brightly in the darkness.
Was it wolves howling now, or the storm? I pushed my bare hands in the snow and got up, feeling myself limp before I consciously knew what I was doing. Pain blossomed up my leg each time I put weight on it, and I felt sick, but I continued to move through the walls of white, hands out before me. I shook, my teeth chattered, and my skin felt the needles of the driven snow slicing my skin. Pin-pricked and frozen, I walked into a tree and clung to its generous bulk for a moment. I wondered if I would die in this storm.
If she would.
“Gramma!” I screamed into the wind, felt it take the word from me, felt it toss it away, obscured into darkness. “Gramma!” I screamed again, feeling numb.
The howl again, but was it the howl of wind, or the howl of wolves? I stepped away from the tree, and the tree was lost to me. There was so much white, and it needled my skin, needled my hands and face. I could hardly open my eyes to it, but I tried, as I tried to keep moving. I couldn’t feel my foot, but moved it beneath me, and the dull memory of pain came from it. “Gramma,” I whispered, angry.
Shadows crawled along the edges of my eyes, and I could see lupine shapes there. They whirled away and were gone as quickly as the snow, as quickly as my trees, replaced by shapes of white; tall, towering shapes that looked like ghostly riders in the darkness. My skin crawled, and I found another tree, and I realized how terrified I was. I couldn’t breathe; I took in great lungfuls of air, and felt as if I was drowning. Thick, heavy, everything was cold and heat and great despair and numbness. I couldn’t go on into the white and black--my legs were too exhausted to carry me, so I sat down. It was comfortable in the snow, and I leaned against the tree and realized it wouldn't be so bad. I would sit here, and I would fall asleep and I wouldn't feel anything. Not anymore.
“Gramma...” my lips murmured, head pillowed against the tree.
A great hand reached out of the darkness and took my shoulder. I stared at it stupidly before the rest of the bulk came, a great shadow from the black. “Megan!”
It was Clyde.
Tears ran down my face and I felt the warmth of them prickle against my skin. “My grandmother,” I tried to yell at him through the snowstorm, feeling the words taken away before he could hear them. “My grandmother is gone.”
“No she isn't!” He sounded surprised. “I found her wandering in the woods tonight and took her back to my cabin--your grandmother is safe and sound, Megan!”
“Why was she...was she...” my lips couldn’t form words and everything was dull and blurred. I felt myself slump against him as he tried to help me stand. His hands were so strong.
“Let's get you inside,” was all he said, and I could hear it, as he picked me up and cradled me like a doll against his thick brown coat. I was moving then, moving through the walls of white as trees danced past, and I could hear the howling in the dark.
I must have been wandering close to his cabin, for it didn’t take long. We were struggling in the woods, and then we walked past the great shadow of a shed, and we were on a porch and a door was open and there was light.
“Megan!”
It was my grandmother, and I was suddenly in her arms, weeping and shaking and feeling numb parts of myself stumble back to life. She shrugged me out of my work coat, made sounds about the heels and tights and skirts and admonished me about the woods and darkness and snow. I laid my head against her shoulder and shook, so cold--but I didn’t care about anything else.
Because she was safe.
The door clicked shut behi
nd us, and Clyde was in the entry, taking off his hat. “Megan, you could have died out there,” he admonished me, taking two gigantic steps toward the fire and poking it into a roar. “Molly, get her out of those wet clothes--she'll catch her death.”
My grandmother pushed me into another room. There was a giant bed, deer head along the wall. His bedroom.
“Megan.” I could hardly stand, hardly press myself against the logs, but I looked up at the sound of my grandmother's voice. Her eyes were wide as she shut the door, as she pressed it closed. I saw the shape of Clyde get smaller and disappear between the boards. “There's something wrong.”
My skin crawled, but I knew it wasn’t frostbite. I ran my hands along my arms and shook as I stared at my grandmother. “We're safe,” I told her simply, seeing shadows along the wall, ignoring the memory of wolves. “There's nothing wrong.”
She stared at me, eyes helpless, taking a giant woolen blanket and placing it about my quivering form. “You have to get out of those clothes,” she muttered, words dull, wooden. “You'll catch your death.”
There were my clothes, on the bed. A pair of jeans, freshly ironed, and a thick sweater. I looked at them stupidly for a moment, then took off my wet things, slipping into the warmth and heat of the new ones. My grandmother looked out the window, at the window, lips pursed, body stiff.
What the hell was going on?
“Megan!” Clyde called from the other room. We looked at one another for a moment, my grandmother and I. Her eyes were like a rabbit's, frozen and wide. I stared at her, perplexed. It was so warm in the room it was practically stifling.
“The weather report is calling for a blizzard.” The door was open, and he was there, staring down at the wet clothes in a pile, then at me. “You could have died out there! What were you thinking?”
“My grandmother...” My lips were numb, and I couldn’t stop shaking. “She was out in the woods.”
“You could have called me.” His admonishment was soft: “you could have asked.”
“I didn't think about it.” My grandmother had looked away, now, back at the window. There was swirling snow, outside, swirling snow, and then blackness. There were no shadows in the snow.
Big, Bad Wolf Page 14
