The need to vomit returned.
She agreed to lend him her car and he headed for the driveway a second later, stopping in front of the small white vehicle belonging to this morning's victim.
The corpse was already gone.
He looked up and saw Elisabeth glaring from the living room window. She offered a forced smiled but he didn't feel like returning the gesture. Yes, there was an urge to go running back into her arms, but he fought it. Let her know he was angry.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled the white car's door handle. It creaked and gave way to a thick feminine smell—a combination of a fruity air freshener and trendy skin moisturizer.
These scents wouldn't have been overbearing for human senses, but he supposed that the monster was part of him now. Sitting in here was like suffering from a sinister allergy. He took the Gucci bag that lay sprawled on the passenger's seat and hopped out.
A hairbrush, a compact mirror, lip-gloss, breath mints, and whitening gum—none of this interested him. The pink wallet packing a fifty-dollar bill and several credit cards, however, did. He pulled a driver's license out from behind its plastic covering and studied the picture.
Definitely her.
Sondra Gleason. Born October 28, 1988. Two years older than him. She'd come here looking for her parents.
He remembered grabbing her. Her self-defense only heightened his ferocity. He'd wanted her to fight harder than she did, because it was more sporting.
I did all those things. Somehow.
It was true. He'd eaten her. As for the other things that he'd wanted to do, well, those urges were new. And terrifying. Ever since his fever broke, he didn't recognize himself.
I wanted to fuck her. And the more she struggled, the more I wanted her…
Allen couldn't handle this. He was a monster now.
The Spyder-Eclipse revved to life with a flick of a key and he was on his way. Greifsfield's roads offered little comfort, and instead prolonged memories of this morning's jaunt through the woods with a dying woman in his jaws.
He turned around as soon as the road was wide enough to allow it and sped toward town. He was at the Big East before he knew why he'd driven here.
He wanted to speak with Jack. There was nothing particular to say, and he certainly didn't intend to tell him the truth—if such a thing existed anymore, but his company might generate some much-needed normalcy. That's all he was after today.
But Jack wasn't here.
Allen followed the familiar twinge of body spray back to the parking lot and hopped behind the wheel of the Spyder. With his window down, he hit the road again, honing in on that musky odor as if he'd been equipped with radar.
The Tavern on the Hill wasn't a hard place to find, and Jack's musk was unmistakable. It was a hole in the wall that, quite inexplicably, looked to be booked solid. An elderly man in overalls painted the signpost, replacing the faded and flaking red with a yellow so bright it made Allen's eyes wobble.
He gave him the evil eye as he pulled in off the road.
"No vacancy here, boy."
"I'll manage. Got a friend staying here."
"Make it quick. I got paying customers. You're taking a parking space from one of them."
Allen smiled and nodded. His nose took him to an upstairs room where he knocked and waited. Jack cracked the door before pulling it open. The poor bastard looked worse than Allen felt.
"You go on a bender?" Allen said.
"Crack cocaine, all day long." Jack rubbed his five o' clock shadow. "What are you doing here?"
"I, uh, I want to leave town, I guess."
"But how did you know I was here, is what I'm asking."
"Went by the resort this morning and you weren't there. Took a ride and happened to see what I thought was your car. Turns out I was right."
"You want to leave town suddenly? I'm guessing it wasn't true love after all?"
"Don't sound so happy. Anyway, why are you staying here? You look like you're hiding out."
"Something's happening at Lucy's place. I pretty much got chased out of there last night. And Molly's disappeared."
He remembered his nightmare for the first time since the fever broke: Molly's face at the bottom of the lake, tormenting him first with her body and then with her death. What else had he done and couldn't remember?
"She...disappeared?"
"Gone..."
Allen listened to Jack's story, overwhelmed by the sinking feelings they gave him: Molly's disappearance, strangers in her bungalow, a lunatic's early morning visit to their cabana...hiding in his room, of all places. Allen couldn't explain it, but it reaffirmed the notion that it was time to get the hell out of Greifsfield.
There was more wrong than just him. The good news was that it shouldn't take any convincing to get Jack to pack up and go. The bad news was that Allen couldn't run away from himself.
"Well, let's head out. You'll dial the cops on our way out of town and tell them what you know. You're not doing anyone any good running up a motel bill. A poor college student shouldn't be maxing out his credit cards, at least not on some shitty place like this."
"I know, but I'm not leaving until I find Lucy. The police are involved already. Waiting for a follow-up call from the sheriff, in fact. Once we can get Lucy out, we'll all go together."
Jack was always so selfless. "I'm not staying here. Not for another night."
“What’s got you so spooked?”
"Some girl got killed in the woods behind Elisabeth's house."
Jack's brow wrinkled. His glare was a little suspicious, or maybe that was Allen's paranoia creeping in. He already didn't trust himself anymore, might as well give everyone the same treatment. Plus, Jack couldn't know.
"Practically in her back yard," Allen said.
"I take it she's not all that busted up about it?"
"She is, but she's already made up her mind that an animal is the culprit. She claims it happens out here from time to time, and that I need to get used to it. Like I'm supposed to forget that it was a human being until some goddamn mongrel got its claws into her."
"I'm not disputing you, but what makes you think it wasn't an animal?"
"I saw the body...while I was out taking a walk. I practically tripped over it."
Something clicked in Jack's face. He nodded quietly behind an expression that said, “oh, now I understand.”
"Jack, this is more than me being spooked. If you saw that body you wouldn't even be asking me."
"You're willing to leave Elisabeth because a girl got killed in the woods? Am I an asshole? What aren't you telling me?"
"I'm thinking that my stuff and your stuff are the same stuff. I remember laughing at my dad when he'd bust out some tired old saying like, 'there are no coincidences and there are no accidents.' Old fucker read some William S. Burroughs, I mean, so what? So did I. But now, I'm thinking he was on the level when he'd say that shit."
"Did you report it? Because I'm not sure why you think that these things are connected but..."
Because what if Elisabeth was the stranger you saw in my room? Instead of that he said, "What are you going to think if they fish Molly's corpse out of the woods at some point? And just imagine that it was her that I tripped over today and not some stranger. You'd believe me tenfold, wouldn't you?"
If the argument permeated Jack's thick skull, he made no indication of it. An answer flopped out of his mouth much too quickly, "Hang out here for a while. When the sheriff calls, I'll tell him about the dead girl and we'll figure something out."
"I reported it, Jack." He lied. "It's not the point. The point is that I can't stay here, in this town, any longer."
This was getting worse by the minute and Jack, whatever mess he'd gotten himself into, was no help. His proposed solution threatened to complicate things further. If the cops went to Elisabeth's house, they'd find Sondra Gleason’s car and, most likely, her corpse. Elisabeth would never forgive him and, as much as he currently hated her
, he couldn't live with himself were that to happen.
"I'm out, Jack. You want to stick around, that's on you. Why can't you call Lucy right now and figure out what she's doing so we can all get lost?"
"I tried her this morning..."
"Try her again."
Jack did. He waited as it rang, and then tossed the phone onto one of the twin beds.
"Nothing."
With Jack staying put until Lucy reached out, he was on his own. He lied and told Jack he was going back to Elisabeth's place.
"Where is it, in case I need to reach you?"
He was reluctant to divulge this information, but since he had no intention of going back to that monster, it wouldn’t hurt to jot her address down on the motel stationary.
Before he handed Jack the paper he said, "Trust me, call before you come, okay?"
It would've made Jack more suspicious if he'd refused to give up the address. This way it looked like he had nothing to hide.
Allen left the motel with little more than a fleeting goodbye. He went back to the Spyder and drove to downtown Pittsfield, eyes peeled for a bus station. It was a tiny building on the downtown strip, nestled in between a real estate agency and a PC repair shop. He parked Elisabeth's car and loaded the parking meter with all of the change he'd been able to fish out of the seat cushions. No reason to draw suspicion to himself until Western Massachusetts was a distant memory.
Had he told Elisabeth where in Central Mass he lived? Considering that he'd been able to follow Jack’s trail like a bloodhound, he supposed it wouldn't matter. He felt defeated knowing that he couldn't run from her. If she wanted him back, she'd find him.
She was going to want him back. She had bitten him, made him into something like her. He was an investment.
Raising his nose to the humid summer sky, he smelled her. Maybe it was her scent on the Spyder, but Allen wasn't all that interested in understanding the intricacies of this curse.
A ticket to Boston was thirty-five bucks. He didn't think twice about plunking down the cash. He took a seat on a bench beside the door, watching the street-level window for any signs of trouble. The clock ticked its way toward two-thirty and he tapped his foot on the coffee-stained tile while the time neared.
He sat thinking about the best course of action for a guy with the deaths of two women on his conscience. It was hard to say with any accuracy whether or not he'd played a part in Molly's untimely fate, but deep down he had already holstered himself with the blame.
Why else dream about her?
Three men appeared in full view of the bus station's window, eyes tuned directly to his. They wore casual dress of tattered blue jeans and various vested attire, their bare forearms littered with tattoos that heightened their uniformity. Hair was long and matted, slicked with a possible mixture of gel and grease, each spouting their own distinct facial hair. As out of place as they looked in this part of the world, they were rough—guys you didn't cross.
Allen tensed as they entered the facility. He sprang from the chair as one of them approached the ticket kiosk on the terminal's far end, striking up instant conversation with the booth woman. They should've been out of earshot, but he heard every word spoken through his thick European accent. His was a bogus story about accidentally buying tickets to New York City.
It was an interference play, nothing more.
The other two, more intimidating, men approached Allen fast, stealing the seats on either side of him.
"Please." Another thick accent. "Take your seat again, Allen."
It didn't matter how they knew his name. They weren't telling him, even if he asked.
"Here is how this is going to work. You are going to get up when we do...as soon as our friend over there has concluded his business. When we stand, you will follow us. We are going back to Greifsfield. You were very wrong to try and do this, Allen Taylor."
Allen's narrow-minded escape attempt had been thwarted by some of the same guys he guessed Jack had been ducking.
Why did I leave him there?
They'd go for him next.
"Where are we going?" Allen asked, his tough guy façade was obvious and ineffective.
"Once you're born, you do not come and go as you please, asshole. Your cunt girlfriend might've done you a favor and made that real clear. Good thing our boss cares. That means you shut the fuck up and do as we say. Don't question another word unless you want bullets in your goddamn heart."
He didn't open his mouth again, only nodded along eagerly.
***
A walk into town was typically a relaxing way to pass some time. The sparse country roads made it easy to buy into the illusion of solitude. All you had to do was overlook the thin spread of driveways leading to homes that couldn't be glimpsed from the road.
Elisabeth might've been able to sense these habitations, but she ignored her prowess whenever she had no need for it. Just as people who lived near train tracks eventually grew immune to the constant rattling of locomotives, Elisabeth had to be listening, looking, or sniffing for someone in order to know they were coming.
This was preferable to the wolf's way of life.
With Allen out sorting through his convoluted thoughts, she didn't feel like lounging around the house. He wasn't supposed to have tasted blood yet, but that foolish girl's intrusion on what was now Elisabeth's property had left him little choice.
That his gut instinct had been to rip her naked and feast on her organs was a sight for sore eyes. If anything, she'd gotten off a bit easy, but Allen's ferocity was a positive sign, regardless. He was going to adjust nicely to this life. The way he'd savaged her made her stomach tingle.
This pup was worthy.
But that did not make his insistence on being alone today sit any better. That ridiculous human conscience was riddling him with more guilt. It wouldn't be hard to ease him beyond that side effect, but he had to want to get passed it.
Perhaps that meant letting him take her. He'd wanted it more than anything, which was why she delighted in making him wait.
The tarmac reverberated beneath her. Her ears wiggled, signaling the arrival of repugnant familiarity. Long-forgotten memories she hoped never to recall were right around the corner, coming in time with the approaching vehicle.
She would not run, stepping off the road and pushing her shoulders against the nearest hemlock. She folded her arms as standoffishly as she could manage as a shiny dark sedan glided around the corner, its waxy coat gleaming in the sunny sky.
Its windows were blotted by dark tint and its tires were outfitted with garish golden rims that continued spinning even as the car idled beside her.
I should’ve expected this.
The rear door opened, inflating the frame with Anton Fane's massive shoulders. His concrete eyes stared while he flashed an untouchable grin.
"Remind me again, Huntress, what it is that you see in that boy." He rubbed an open palm across her shoulder with the same brash entitlement that had parted their ways back then.
"I will remind you of nothing." She slipped out from under his hand and resumed her walk toward town.
"How perfunctory." Fane jogged alongside her while the car crawled along in silence like secret service protecting the president on a morning jog. "There is no reason for attitude, Huntress. I was merely injecting our reunion with some levity. I thought it might help smooth the somewhat awkward nature of our meeting."
"We have not reunited, Fane. I am walking to town. You are following along like a stray animal begging for scraps."
"Is that where we're going? Town? I've had my fill of those...yokels for a while. You wouldn't believe how needy this collective community has proven."
She hoped her glance would register as dismissive, at least, or disdainful, at best. Everything about him was irritating: the bland and characterless get-up, a dark suit fit over a mocha button-down and capped off with a wide, brown and orange tie, and his dark hair, peppered with sprinkles of grey, and brushed into a perfect, u
nnatural existence.
"Where's your briefcase?" It came out more playful than she intended.
Fane's eyes roved her back, choosing to ignore the insult, which was disappointing. Instead, he dangled a familiar necklace between her eyes.
Elisabeth snapped it away with haste that made him flinch.
"So you still are capable of the passion you possessed when I first met you," he laughed. "We stopped by your home first. You weren't there."
"So you stole this?"
"No, never. Just wanted to see if you remembered where you came from."
The violation brought her anger to a boil. She placed the band around her neck and locked the clasp, sliding her thumb and index fingers along the pointed teeth. "And do not talk about him. Not ever. Levity or not."
"Of course not. I don't want to insult your latest boy toy." Fane smiled. "Son of a bitch is one lucky man, though. And I can promise you that he knows it."
Elisabeth stayed her attention on the road. They walked in silence for a while, and Fane showed no interest in breaking it. He kept in step, looking her over on occasion, but kept his thoughts vaulted.
The road dipped down, sloped up, and wound to the left, then the right. It would've been a tranquil walk had it not been for the unwelcome company beside her. She cursed herself for allowing him to see beneath her cool façade, if only for a second. She supposed it didn't matter. They went way back and, the sad truth of it was, there wasn't a soul alive who knew her better than Anton Fane. Their lives had taken them far apart, and in directions that conflicted, but fate was a comedian, deciding to reconnect them in the westernmost corner of Massachusetts.
They had lived long enough to know that people never changed, they merely got better at disguising their faults.
Besides...you have something to lose now.
They passed Ben Marshall's Placid Pines campground, a place that made nightly feeding an all too easy pastime, and moved onto scenic Main Street. Downtown Greifsfield was an old New England-style village, complete with a sweeping view of Mount Greyrock that solidified this place as a major player in the tourist industry.
Feral Page 16
