Shifting

Shifting Page 42

“I am going crazy,” I mumbled. “Not only am I talking to myself, I’m imagining Mrs. Carpenter is talking to me, too.”

I lay in bed and felt time drag slowly by. Every minute, every second, seemed to last an hour. It felt as if the world had changed and days no longer lasted twenty-four hours, but an entire year. And every moment that passed, my heart seemed to hurt a little more. And insanity seemed a tiny bit closer. And my hold on reality slipped a bit farther from reach.

I closed my eyes and prayed I could fall asleep. During sleep, at least, I was numb.

I woke to the sound of claws on my bedroom door and bolted upright, wondering if they’d finally come for me. This time, maybe I would be ready to die.

A dog yelped and the scratching noise repeated.

“Shash?” I called. A dog whined outside my door and I laughed a shaky laugh of relief. And then the afternoon exploded with a single gunshot.

32

I jumped out of bed and pulled some jeans on beneath my T-shirt, slipped my feet into Kat’s old flip-flops, and ran into the barn. The chickens flapped their wings at the sight of me and scampered to the far end of the coop.

“Mrs. Carpenter?” I called as I darted past them and out of the barn. Sprinting to the house, I leaped up the steps to the front porch. Shash came with me, whining, ears flat and tail wagging.

“Mrs. Carpenter!” I yelled, twisting the doorknob. It was locked, and in my panic I hadn’t brought my house key. The curtains were drawn and the house appeared to be deserted, but her truck was in the driveway. I pounded on the front door with my fist, then leaned on the doorbell, pushing the button over and over again. She didn’t answer. Five minutes must have passed, with me pounding on the freshly painted front door until my knuckles were bruised.

I jumped down the porch steps but paused before I’d taken two steps. Something was missing. “No,” I muttered, shaking my head and wondering if I’d gone officially insane. I squeezed my eyes shut so hard my head started to hurt, then opened them for another look. The animal skulls—the ring of protection I’d put around her house the night before—were gone.

Sick to my stomach, I ran around back and gasped. A tall, gleaming white mound of animal skulls had been piled beside the back door. All around the pile, the damp ground had been scratched up, the weeds pounded down flat.

I tried the back door, desperate to get in. It was locked, too.

“Mrs. Carpenter!” I yelled, cupping my hands around my mouth. The wind answered me, howling through the junipers and whispering past the animal skulls. If I wanted to get into the house, my house key was my only hope. Turning from the back door, I started sprinting toward the barn, but a crunching sensation beneath my flip-flops made me stop.

I stared down at the ground and wiggled my feet. Shards of glass shimmered in the weeds. I looked at the house. The window to my old bedroom was gone. Only a few fragments of glass clung to the frame. Attached to one of the shards was a clump of yellow fur.

I grabbed a fist-sized rock from the ground and hacked away the jagged glass remnants, then climbed through the broken window. Shash leaped through behind me and trotted into the house.

My feet crunched on more glass. Mrs. Carpenter’s bed was trashed, with springs sticking out of the bare mattress. The bedroom door had been scratched to bits and hung lopsided on its hinges, the door frame splintered. Searching the room for a weapon, I gripped the toppled bedside lamp and yanked the plug from the wall. Holding the lamp as if it were a club, I stepped through the busted door frame.

Only the sounds of the wind and the grandfather clock filled the house. I crept down the hall and past the kitchen, my flip-flops silent on the wood floor. As I entered the living room, I paused and held my free hand up, as if catching rain. Tiny white particles settled onto it, like ash from a campfire. White dust floated through the air, trickling downward. It coated the wood floor and furniture. I glanced up and frowned. In the middle of the ceiling was a gaping hole.

I took two steps forward and pressed a hand over my mouth. My body began to convulse uncontrollably. Somehow I managed to stay standing, though my knees were knocking together.

Below the gun case lay Duke, his lifeless body grotesquely twisted, bare patches of bloody skin visible where the copper fur had been torn from flesh. Beside him lay Mrs. Carpenter, face ashen, eyes closed, a rifle in her hands. She looked like a pile of skin, bones, and clothes. Shash lay at her side, his head between his massive paws, and looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“Mrs. Carpenter?” My voice was as shaky as my legs. She didn’t move. “Please don’t be dead,” I whispered. Steeling myself for reality, I crossed the room and knelt at her side.

Her skin was cool beneath my touch, but not cold. “Mrs. Carpenter?” I said, patting her creased cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered open and she hugged the gun to her chest. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what she said.

I leaned closer, put my ear by her mouth, and waited. A spasm racked her body and she moaned. I climbed to my rubbery legs, crossed the room to the desk, and dialed 911.

After giving the operator the address, I hung up the phone and sat by Mrs. Carpenter again, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. “An ambulance is coming,” I whispered, hardly able to talk over the knot in my throat.

She opened her eyes and looked at me again. Her icy hand found mine and squeezed it. “Ring. Broken.” She moaned and closed her eyes again. “Shot the ceiling to get your attention,” she mumbled. I looked up at the hole in the ceiling and tears found their way to my eyes. I had been so caught up in my own fear and misery, I had completely let her down. The weight pressing down on my shoulders made it hard to keep my head up.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I never heard a thing from the barn.”

Sirens blared outside and car doors slammed. I unlocked the front door and opened it. Shash jumped to his feet, growled deep in his throat, and started barking. Before I could stop him, he sprinted out the door and disappeared, his crazed bark fading the farther he got from the house.

“Shash!” I called as two paramedics and a police officer came into the house. Shash didn’t come back.

I stood with my back against the wall and watched as the paramedics examined Mrs. Carpenter.

“She’s dehydrated and her hip is broken,” one said. They put an IV into her arm and moved her broken body onto a stretcher. I plugged my ears to block out her feeble scream. Even muted, it was my undoing.

With my arms wrapped around my chest, I stood on the front porch long minutes after the ambulance had driven away.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Officer Dahl asked me again. It was at least the fifth time he had asked.

Am I all right? I wondered. I hadn’t been all right for days.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I lied, sniffling.

“You know, a lot of elderly women break their hips. It’s the most common injury women suffer after the age of sixty. After a few months in a cast, she’ll be fine,” Dahl said, patting my shoulder. He probably had kids about my age. “Funny old woman. She called the station last night and said the ring of protection had been broken and a pack of cougars was trying to get into her house. Does she suffer from dementia?”

I sank down and sat heavily on the porch step. I thought if I left Mrs. Carpenter alone, so would they. I thought moving the skulls to create a new ring of protection around her house would be a good thing. Obviously I destroyed any power the ring had by altering it. A fresh sob ripped at my chest. In addition to the tigers I’d killed, I was now responsible for the death of Duke and for Mrs. Carpenter’s broken hip. I pressed the balls of my hands over my eyes. If I didn’t figure out what was going on, who else would get hurt? I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn’t judge me. I needed Bridger. He had to sense my overwhelming misery. Obviously he didn’t care enough to come.

I went back inside, picked up the phone, and dialed a number I’d had memorized for a long time. He answered on the third ring, his voice as familiar as my own. “Hello, Mr. Petersen? It’s Maggie Mae,” I said, my voice wavering with the effort of holding back a sob.

“Maggie Mae? You only call me when you’re in trouble. What’s wrong? Another indecent exposure?” he asked. If only it were that simple.

“No. It’s Mrs. Carpenter. She fell and broke her hip. She’s at the hospital, but I’m worried about her.”

There was a moment of silence. “I’ll be at the hospital in three hours.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and went back to the porch. Staring at the foliage around Mrs. Carpenter’s property, I let anger fill me. When my blood was at the boiling point, I whispered through gritted teeth, “I’m all alone now. Come and get me.” As if something out there heard, a low, distant howl echoed through the air.

Oh, crap, I thought, clutching my suddenly roiling stomach. Now I’ve done it.

Officer Dahl blinked at me and cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Never been better. Can I go now?” I asked. Panic was setting in, making me too hot, making my skin clammy and my stomach churn. I wanted desperately to be alone before I started hyperventilating.

“I just need you to sign some paperwork,” Dahl said, going to his patrol car for a clipboard.

I signed the papers, though my signature was illegible.

With my arms hugging my stomach, I walked stiffly through the muddy yard and back to the barn apartment.

No matter how I tried to calm down, I felt as if the air were growing denser and denser, and no matter that I was gasping it in, I couldn’t breathe. Opening my bedroom window, I gulped in a lungful of fresh air.

I fell onto my bed and tried to relax every muscle in my body, tried to become the bed. While my body gave in to relaxation, my mind refused. A name kept assailing my thoughts.

Rolf Heinrich.

Obviously he had been looking for me for a while. He was the man Jenny Sue warned me about after I’d moved to Silver City. And I was pretty sure I knew why he wanted me, well, before he’d died: my second nature.