Clearer in the Night

by Rebecca Croteau

  “Doesn’t it feel like one?”

  “I suppose. It seems like sometimes she wants things that I don’t.”

  That got him to glance over at me, but I kept my face as blank as I could. He didn’t push. “There’s nothing else to eat here. Mind going out?”

  “Sure, if I can borrow a shirt. You killed the buttons on mine, I think.”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed, at least, even though he hadn’t been embarrassed at all when he was shredding my blouse to get at my breasts. “Sorry about that.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said. “It’s foolish to apologize for something you didn’t do.” The sentence rang in my head for a moment, echoing. Where had I heard it before? It took me a minute to think of it, and then I blushed. I didn’t want to think about Mr. Perfect. Not now, anyway. Preferably not ever, but definitely not now.

  The blush made him smile, and he glided over to me, putting his hands on my waist and swaying me gently to some rhythm he could hear clearly inside his head. “You’re right,” he said, his eyes wide and honest. “I’m not sorry. I was dying to get you out of those clothes, and I’d shred a dozen shirts to get at your skin. Does that satisfy you?”

  There was nowhere to put my hands. The hard solidity of his chest? The sculpted plane of his abs? I settled for the strength of his biceps. “Not for long if you don’t feed me,” I said.

  He glanced at the clock, and it seemed to sink in suddenly that it had been about fourteen hours since we’d had anything to eat. He was the one, after all, who had told me that if I didn’t keep the wolf’s base hungers satisfied, I’d struggle harder with the more metaphysical ones.

  His hands moved up my sides, grazing over the sides of my breasts. I kept the sigh internal through sheer effort. I kept my eyes locked on his, even when he smirked. It was better than nothing. It was the best that I could do. “Where should we go eat?” he asked, and I swallowed before answering to make sure I wouldn’t squeak.

  “Depends. What are you in the mood for?”

  He’d kissed me until my lips were swollen, but still, when his mouth came down over mine, my entire body lit on fire. He didn’t have to caress me, or crush me to him. The light weight of his hands on my waist made everything surge to attention. It was such a relief not to be asked or consulted or negotiated. He just took what he wanted, and I would have given him more if I could.

  And then my stomach growled like a wild thing, and he fell away from me, laughing. “Feed you,” he said, laughing. Message received.

  I was blushing like a maniac. My hands tangled around the hem of my shirt, and I barely managed to keep from shuffling my feet. “Sorry,” I said.

  He tapped the end of my nose in this weird, almost affectionate way. “Forgiven,” he said. “Come on. I know where to get the best burgers in town.”

  He actually kept his hands off me long enough for me to get dressed in a borrowed shirt and jeans. I had to roll up the cuffs like I was a kid, and they hung loose on my hips. Then he drove us to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant downtown. I’d walked by it a million times, but never gone in. It had four tables and a menu written on a piece of poster board. The choices were rare, medium rare, or medium, and a list of veggies you could add. The guy who took our order went into the back to cook the burgers and quickly brought them out, leaking juice onto our plates. When I bit into mine, I moaned. “Oh, God, that’s amazing,” I said, through a mouthful of medium rare culinary bliss.

  “There’s a place out in Montana that’s better. I swear, the guy butchers the cow in the morning, makes hamburger in the afternoon, serves it for dinner.” He was quiet for a moment, chewing. “We could go there. We’d be there by Monday, easy. Want to?”

  I stared at him, my food all but forgotten.

  “We could stop by your place, if you want. You might want some of your stuff. Although you’ll probably find that most of it is replaceable. Once you really look at it.”

  “I’d want to say good-bye to my mother.” I said. “And my friend Shannon.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love them, and they love me.” I said it like a child, rote memorization.

  “Do they? Is that why you’ve confided in them, told them all about what you’re going through? How you’re possessed by a monster, and can read their minds, and that you’re afraid you’re cursed for eternity?”

  “I told Shannon.” Most of it, anyway. Some of it.

  “And what was her response? Did she wait until you were all the way out of the room before she called the psych ward?”

  Something deep inside of me was starting to quiver. “She wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “How sure are you? Are you willing to risk your freedom? Because you have.”

  The look Eli had given me. The look in his eyes when he said that I needed help. My stomach flipped and tightened. Crap. Was it safe to even go home? Were the men with the white coats looking for me right now? Wes was right. What did I have that wasn’t replaceable, when push came to shove? My clothes, my laptop? None of it was necessary, none of it would help keep me alive. I should get in his car and let him take me away, it would probably be weeks before anyone had any idea where I’d gone anyway, and they’d never find me, and I’d be with—

  It was the smirk smeared across his lips that finally stopped my panicked mind. He was trying to hide it, but he was doing a terrible job of it. He was so sure that he had me.

  “No,” I said, calmly, as I took another bite of burger. My stomach quaked, and storm clouds gathered over his eyes.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  I let a smile spread across my face, and hoped he wouldn’t notice that it wasn’t touching my eyes. He looked too in shock from hearing the word ‘no’ for anything else to actually sink in. “They love me. They care about me. Shan believed me, even though what I told her was completely insane. You won’t answer even the simplest questions that I ask you. So, no. We’re not going to Montana for burgers when there are perfectly good burgers right here.”

  His eyes were burning up. His fists clenched and unclenched on the table, and his cheeks were splotchy. His lips were white. He looked sick, or like a thunderstorm. It occurred to me that I’d never been hit by another person in anger. That was about to change. I could almost feel the explosive pop as the back of his hand burst across my cheek. The cook would look up from the range and shake his head disapprovingly, but he wouldn’t say anything. I would cry and quiver, and he would burst into tears and say he was sorry, and I would leave with him, and then that would be my life for the rest of my life. Exploding strikes and cycles of apology and fury. I’d never get out once I was in, not really.

  A plan formed in a heartbeat. I couldn’t run for the door; I was fast, but he was faster, and I wouldn’t make it. But I could reach out, and take his hand, and hold him down while he tried to fly up, up, and away. I took his right hand in both of mine, and I made my eyes wide and innocent, and gave him my shyest smile. “Give me a chance, okay? Let me get to know you a little bit before you make me decide something like this? This is big for me.”

  Everything teetered in the balance for a moment, between pain and whatever it was we’d been doing up until now, and then he smiled. It was like how he’d smiled that first time we kissed—soft, honest, kind. Something inside me loosened, but not all the way. I knew without anyone telling me: it would never loosen all the way again. His thumb stroked over my hand in a way that made the wolf roll over and show her belly, and made me think I might throw up. “We’ll go back to my place after we finish,” he said. “We’ll talk more. I’ll answer anything you want me to.”

  His tone was saccharine, and his smile was a lie. Maybe I couldn’t hear him thinking it, but I wasn’t a complete idiot. Close, but not complete. “Absolutely,” I said. “I can’t wait.”

  We ate in record time, my stomach flipping at every bite. He drove us back to his place. It was a complete dump, I could see that now. It wasn’t even his name on the junk mai
l. It was the kind of nasty squat that they break into in cop dramas while they’re looking for a serial killer, and I wondered what had happened to whoever was here before. I wondered what Wes had done to him.

  If I ran now, he’d kill me. I knew it like I knew breathing. So I sighed as he ran his fingers down my spine, and I bit my lip as I peeled off his clothes. I blew his mind as many ways as I could, and then, once he finally fell asleep, I pulled on my skirt, and the t-shirt I’d worn earlier, grabbed my purse, and slipped out the door. I took out my cell phone and dialed.

  It took me a minute to get the words out, once I had her on the phone. I kept thinking of the wave of anger I’d felt in the coffee shop, and how I hadn’t been quite able to put my finger on the why of it. That niggling sense of something else going on, something that I wasn’t understanding at all. But I didn’t have money to call a cab, and I didn’t want to walk home. I pushed the words out past my tight throat. “I could really use a rescue,” I said, finally. “And some clean clothes.”

  It was a warm summer night, but I still shook while I waited for Shan to show up. She hadn’t mentioned what she was doing tonight, just asked where I was, and given me an idea of how long it would take to get there. His shirt hung on me like a loose, elephant skin that still choked my throat. I’d locked the door behind me, and now I wished I hadn’t. I’d rather have put on my ruined shirt than sit here, wearing his. But there was nothing to do about it now. This wasn’t a neighborhood where I should be sitting on the steps in the first place; doing it topless would take an unsavory encounter from possible to likely. And since I’d just barely escaped that, why ruin my track record?

  I knew I should walk away, put as much distance between myself and that apartment building as I could, but it had taken all the strength I had just to get out of the door.

  It was about ten minutes later that Shan pulled up in her ancient Beetle that was as much rust as it was solid metal. She took me in for a moment from behind the wheel before she picked up a bundle of clothes and slipped out of the car. She’d just been studying, which made me sigh in relief. I didn’t want to think about what sort of fetish she’d be indulging in wearing sweatpants, and an oversized cotton sweater, with her hair twisted up and held in place with a pencil. She handed me the bundle and watched as I pulled on underwear and jeans, then traded his t-shirt for one of my own. I balled up the skirt in my hands, and dropped his shirt on the steps. Maybe that would convince him that I was gone, and keep him from coming after me.

  “Asleep or gone?” she asked, eventually.

  “Asleep.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She was my best friend. She’d obliterate him if he had. That was—nice to know. “No. He would have, though. And it didn’t feel safe to leave while he was watching.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think he’ll come after you?”

  Even odds. “I doubt it. And even if I did think he would—he hasn’t done anything. Not really. He’s just a creeper. He’ll find someone else to creep out.” Which made my heart ache, truthfully, but despite the best efforts of a certain group of politicians, they hadn’t been able to make thought crimes illegal yet.

  She studied the dark apartment building for another minute, until I jostled her with my elbow as I picked up my purse. “Let’s get out of here. Okay?”

  More studying, then nodding. “There’s nothing left here anyway. Am I right?”

  “No one of consequence.”

  Shan followed me back to her car, and was quiet as we buckled up. I watched the apartment windows for as long as I could. What if the sound of the car woke him up? What if he followed me? What if he came after me?

  “Our place, or your mom’s?” Shan asked.

  I shook myself, hard. Fretting wasn’t going to keep me safe. He’d come after me, or he wouldn’t. “Ours, I think. Mom’s going to freak. I need sleep before I deal with that.”

  Shan gave a nod that I chose to interpret as sympathetic. The truth was, though, that I’d never been less tired. I could run a marathon right now, and not even notice.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat. It was peaceful in the dark, nothing to listen to but the sound of the car and classical music and the wind rushing past the open windows.

  “I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me what happened. I just saved your ass, and here you are again, shutting down.” Her voice was more tired than anything else, but it still made me sigh.

  “You did save my ass,” I said, “and thank you for that. There really isn’t much to tell, though. He seemed like a good idea at the time.” I opened my eyes and looked over at her. She was staring at me, eyes wide and mouth open, as the car drifted across the center lane. I pointed at the road, and she corrected quickly, but her eyes were still too wide, too shaky. “I know you warned me off him, and I should have listened. But—I just got caught up in him. Forgive me?”

  “Sure,” she said, way too fast. “But how did you know I was thinking all that?”

  My stomach started to churn, and something in my head burst out laughing. “You said it,” I said, even though I knew what she’d say next.

  I could have mouthed the words with her as she shook her head and said, “No. I didn’t.”

  “Oh, hell,” I said, but with my mouth or with my head, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  We didn’t talk much on the way home. A couple of times, I could feel her thinking so loud that I thought the act of not listening would bruise something. I sang in my head, as loud as I could, to drown her out. Some phrases slipped through, some ideas. She had to call someone. She was scared of telling someone something. She was angry with me. She was scared for me. I didn’t want to know any more than that.

  It was getting worse. While I’d been feeding the wolf, it had gotten stronger, and it was all tied into this intuition thing now. This brand new, terrifying, horrible thing.

  At the apartment, she gave me one more long look. I couldn’t quite make it out. Pity? Disgust? Hatred? She shook her head and walked into her room, shutting the door quietly but firmly behind her.

  I sagged into the bed I hadn’t slept in for weeks. What was this thing lingering about Shannon like a cloud? Why couldn’t I get to the bottom of it? She was my best friend, and we’d always been on the same page about all the things that mattered. What was this anger, this disgust, this fear?

  The twisting in my guts had left off when Wes was close to me, but now? It was constant, unending. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it brought tears to my eyes, and left me clutching at my stomach, praying that the twisting would stop before it drove me entirely out of my mind.

  Sometime before dawn, I finally fell asleep.

  THURSDAY, AUGUST 8

  The few hours of sleep that I got were full of tangled dreams of sex and blood, intermixed and separate. It was nothing concrete enough to focus on, just a head full of tangles and snarls and horror and vicious, desperate, need. I woke all at once, sweaty and caught up in the blankets, my mouth tasting like old pennies, a growl caught in my throat, and so horny that I wanted to scream.

  Shan was gone. The apartment was silent, both inside and outside my head. The light outside my window was bright and strong, and it made me even more shriveled and broken. I was a disaster. Someone needed to just shoot me and be done with it.

  But there wasn’t anyone volunteering for the job, so I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the shower. It felt good to wash the stink of rancid sex out of my hair with my own products, and to rinse my mouth out with Shan’s mouthwash until the taste of copper disappeared. Or, at least, faded. Faded was better than nothing. Although there was a long moment when the taste of minty coins made me gag viciously.

  With the tangles combed out of my hair, and fresh, clean clothes on, I felt a little more human. The monster in my belly was back to the heavy weight I could pretend to ignore.

  I was going to have to get back over to Mom’s. I had to tell her I was sorry for bailing on
Sunday morning. I’d tell her I’d gone temporarily insane, maybe. Maybe I’d tell her I was drunk. She’d empathize with that. Besides, my car was still at her house.

  The idea of staying with her and helping her get back on her feet had seemed like a great idea—my daughterly duty, even—when I’d thought of it, but any sane person could see that I was just as screwed up as she was—if not more so. Shannon had said it well. You couldn’t save someone when you were busy drowning yourself. I’d lost my mind, shacking up with Wes like that. He could have killed me. He could have knocked me on the head, stuck me in the back of his SUV, and headed for Montana. He could have forced me to be his love slave for the rest of my life, and no one would have had a clue where to look for me. Metaphysical influences or not, I’d acted like an idiot. If I hadn’t had Shan to come rescue me, what would I have done?

  Of course, that was the other half of the problem. I’d freaked Shan out last night, possibly beyond her ability to cope with it. She’d handled the ‘possessed by an evil animal spirit’ thing much better than the conversation about how I could read her mind. And, honestly, I couldn’t blame her. The point was, though—if I didn’t go back to Mom’s, did I have a place to stay? It was unlikely that Shan would flat out evict me, but staying there while she hated me? Hell on earth.

  My phone rang, summoning me up and out of the misery that I was creating in my own brain. The screen showed Mom, a picture from when I was just a kid, when she’d laughed and joked and been happy. For a moment, I thought about just letting the call go to voicemail. What kind of productive conversation could I really have right now, with my brain in this screwed up head space? Answering her inevitable questions would be ugly. But at the same time, I’d been running away for half my life. So far, it hadn’t gotten me anywhere that I wanted to be.

  I took a deep breath, then swiped to answer the call. “Hi, Mom?”

  At first, I thought she was quoting scripture at me, and I wanted to scream. “Your sister,” she said, on the cusp of laughter. “Your sister, she was dead.”