Red (13 page)

“
Maybe I should start
following you to and from work,” said Sawyer, chucking his bags in
the back of David’s Explorer and reaching for the ones in my
hands.

I waved him off. “I’m just being nervy, and
it’s out of your way. Forget I said anything. Let’s just get back
to work.”

I climbed into the backseat and rubbed my
arms until the gooseflesh was gone.

~*~

Sawyer

I was getting desperate. My fascination with
Elodie was starting to edge dangerously close to obsession. It was
as if my world had narrowed down to tunnel vision where all I could
see, all I could think about, was her. I hadn’t crossed any truly
creeptastic lines—yet. But I had to know what her secret was, what
she was hiding. I’d been watching her like a hawk during work, and
following that rattletrap car of hers home after, hoping to catch
some glimpse of a clue that would prove definitively that she was
or wasn’t like me.

Was she or wasn’t she? It’s the question
that kept me awake at night. It shouldn’t be possible. Her father
was one hundred percent human. I’d briefly considered that she
wasn’t his child, but despite the difference in coloring, it was
obvious they were related, so that was out. Her mother was an
unknown. If she’d been a wolf . . . I’d never heard of such a
pairing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t theoretically possible. And
it would explain why I couldn’t sense it with any certainty. I
wanted so badly for it to be true that I couldn’t be positive if
the things I’d seen were real or a product of my own
imagination.

Like today. Just before she nearly walked
out in front of that truck—holy crap my heart still hadn’t quite
slowed down from that scare—she’d been muttering what sounded like
a reply to a conversation up the street. Which, of course, she
shouldn’t have been able to hear. Just like she shouldn’t have been
able to hear what those old women were saying about her. But I
wasn’t
sure
. The explanation she’d given me in the store was
perfectly plausible. And given where her mind was these days, she
could’ve just been talking to herself on the sidewalk.

I needed something that was absolute proof.
Hence the near obsession.

But damned if I knew what that proof would
be.

She was younger than me. Which meant that if
she was a werewolf, she should have been unstable enough to shift
in the middle of all that blood and gore where we found Rich. That
scene was practically tailor made to flush a werewolf, a fact that
had given me more than a little pause and a half a dozen nightmares
in the three weeks since. But Elodie hadn’t shifted. She’d been
sick, but hell, anybody would’ve been. Instead, I was the one who
barely held it together.

Elodie was worried. She’d been worried ever
since we’d found Rich, which was a normal enough reaction that I
hadn’t given it too much thought.
Everybody
was worried. Dad
had made sure we weren’t out in groups less than three for any
assignment. Reasonable precautions. If someone
else
was
following her, I hadn’t noticed. But I’d been so focused on her, I
hadn’t paid enough attention to be sure, something I would be
rectifying immediately.

I wondered if I looked guilty. I felt it.
Especially since two hours ago I’d just flat out lied about the
fact that I’d been following Elodie for the last couple of weeks.
Hell, I was doing it again right now. Dad and Patrick had cut us
all loose early for the day. I figured Elodie and I would hang out,
but she had to get home to catch up on chores. Not in that scared
rabbit with a predator way—we were past that thankfully—but still
nervous. I wondered if she was in trouble with her dad again and he
had her on some kind of lockdown except for work. But she wasn’t
going home. She bypassed the turn at Hansen’s and circled around a
few more miles to a trailhead I hadn’t used before.

There was an overlook on the opposite side
of the road several hundred yards back, far enough that I didn’t
think she’d see me. I pulled into it beside a Suburban and watched
through its windows as she got out of the car and circled around to
the trunk. She hefted out a full frame backpack, balancing it on
the edge of the trunk as she buckled it on.

“
Elodie, what are you
doing?” I muttered.

She’d promised her father she wouldn’t go
into the park alone. From what I knew of her, she wasn’t a person
to break promises lightly. She was clearly up to
something
.
That was no day pack she was hauling. If she was hiking into the
park
now
, she had a reason.

I left the Jeep parked at the overlook and
slipped into the woods across the road, setting a path to intersect
hers. I could have just straight out caught up with her, demanding
to know what she was doing or that she let me accompany her because
there was safety in numbers. But I needed answers, and putting her
on the spot wasn’t likely to get me any, so instead I adjusted my
path so I ran parallel and well behind her.

The air was hot and sticky. God, would I
ever get used to the humidity in Tennessee? It certainly didn’t
seem to bother Elodie. Even with the loaded pack she moved at a
steady clip up the trail, never slowing to take in the scenery or
to catch her breath. I got the sense that wherever she was going,
she wanted to be there before dark. Which was—I checked my watch—in
approximately three hours. Maybe she planned to be there and back
again by sunset. I hoped so. I didn’t relish another confrontation
with my dad about my post-work whereabouts.

Elodie left the trail after half an hour. I
didn’t have her knowledge of the park, but my general sense was
that we were starting to curve back slightly toward her house. Of
course that was miles and several ridges and hollows and peaks
away. Maybe access to wherever we were going was easier from this
side. Not surprising, the terrain got rougher the further we went
from the trail, and I had to fall back further to keep from being
seen or heard. It was much harder to be silent on two feet amid all
the leaves and deadfall. The wind was on my side, at least. When I
lost her by sight I could still keep track of her scent.

I didn’t like having her out of my sight.
Not with some potential, unknown threat hanging out there. I had
this gut feeling that as long as I could see Elodie, I could keep
her safe. As long as I could see her, nothing could harm her. Which
was totally stupid. Even if I or my father had seen my mother, been
with her, we still couldn’t have stopped the bullet. It was truly
an accident. I was starting to be able to admit that now. That
still didn’t mean I was ready to forgive my father for whatever
fight he’d had with her that sent her out there in the first
place.

When I crested the next rise and didn’t
immediately catch sight of Elodie, I felt a spurt of panic. Where
was she? I lifted my head, sniffed. I could still smell her, like
honeysuckle and rain. Nothing like the coppery tang of blood to
suggest she’d been injured. So I shoved the panic back and followed
the scent trail as quietly as possible.

I nearly stumbled headlong into the cave. It
was partially hidden by a pallet of interwoven branches that, when
fully in place, would mask it from the eyes of casual onlookers.
The cover was partially askew, and inside I could hear Elodie
moving around. Unpacking? Since I couldn’t just go in and ask her
what she was doing, I withdrew to the cover of trees and hunkered
down to wait.

It didn’t take long, maybe fifteen minutes,
before she emerged again, the backpack empty. I tried to read her
expression as she fitted the cover back into place, effectively
concealing the entrance to the cave. Was she guilty? Pleased?
Somehow afraid? But the only thing I could detect was the perpetual
sadness that fit her like a second skin.

The melancholy really bugged me. It
lingered, even when I managed to make her smile, which was a
rarity. She had this quiet acceptance, like somebody who was
battling a terminal disease and had only a few months to live. She
had her whole life ahead of her once she got out of this town.
Maybe, with her dad’s reservations, she didn’t feel like that was
possible. We’d see about that.

She didn’t linger. As soon as the cover was
back in place, Elodie was on her way back the up the hill. I waited
until she’d crested over to the other side before easing from my
observation point and heading down to the cave. Naturally I didn’t
have a flashlight, so I moved the cover entirely away to catch as
much of the lowering afternoon light as possible. After a quick
check over my shoulder to make sure Elodie hadn’t come back for
something, I slipped inside.

I had to stoop. The front of the cave was
maybe five feet high. Making my way through a combination of
squinting and feeling with my hands, I discovered that after about
fifteen feet, it opened up enough that I could stand. I waited for
my eyes to adjust, my internal clock winding tighter with each
minute Elodie was ahead of me, unprotected. Gradually I started
making out shapes.

Stacked neatly in a corner between the cave
wall and a huge rock that had, at some time past, fallen from the
ceiling, were a dozen gallon water jugs. Beside them was an equally
organized collection of canned goods. I moved closer and found all
sorts of other non-perishable food staples—jerky, beans, rice—most
of it in containers designed to keep out the critters. Along the
opposite wall, I found a small camp stove, some of that compact
cooking gear that multi-tasked as cook pots and plates and stuff,
fuel, and a propane lantern. Some of it was covered in dust, enough
that I could tell it had been here a while. Some was new,
presumably what she’d brought in today. There were enough supplies
in here that someone could last for several weeks at least. Longer
if they supplemented with fish, game, and other sources of food out
in the wild. Given everything
else
Elodie knew about
mountaineering and survival, I suspected she was perfectly capable
on that front too.

What the hell was all this? I mean, it was
obvious what it was, but why was it here? Why was she stockpiling
supplies in the middle of the park? She struck me as the kind of
girl who always had a contingency plan. But contingency for what?
Running away? What reason would she have to do that, unless things
at home with her dad were worse than I realized. No. This struck me
as something he might have taught her. What was it she’d said
yesterday?

This is what I’ve trained for, what you’ve
made me.

He was preparing her for something. But
what? Surely this wasn’t all some excessive response to her
mother’s death. From what Elodie had said, she’d died at her own
hand, not because she had no wilderness survival skills. It all
seemed to circle back to the secret she was keeping. Which was
evidently cause to be prepared to run and hide. I’d hoped that
following her out here today would shed some light on things, but
all it had done was stir up more questions.

I touched nothing, instead backing out of
the cave and replacing the cover exactly as she’d left it. Then I
struck out behind her, intent on seeing her home before darkness
fell.

~*~

Elodie

“
C’mon baby, just get me to
the pump.” I glared at the needle hovering
below
E, as if
that would somehow scare the car into making it up the road to
Hansen’s in the event my encouragement failed. I’d never had a car.
I wasn’t used to keeping an eye on the gas tank. Sue me.

As my tires bumped across the dip at the
parking lot to Hansen’s, I could swear I heard a sort of gasping
hiss, as if the car were dying of thirst. But I rolled up to a stop
beside the pump. I thought about cheering, but that would draw
attention. Instead, I got out, cool as a cucumber, and set the gas
to pump. Then I grabbed the squeegee thing and started cleaning the
windows. My car might not win any beauty contests, but she deserved
to be treated well. That was a Rule in the Rose household.

“
Well, well, well, look who
has new wheels.”

My hand fisted around the squeegee. Amber.
Just what I needed to start my day. I hadn’t seen her car as I
rolled in. I pretended not to hear her and continued on about my
window washing. Swish in the cleaning fluid. Swipe across the
window. Scrub the dirty spots. Squeegee dry. Swish. Swipe. Scrub.
Squeegee.

Amber circled on around, and I noted in my
peripheral vision that she seemed to be without her entourage this
morning. Perhaps with no audience to her torments, she’d finish up
this round of insults and leave.

“
It's a good thing you
spend your money on your wardrobe instead of your car. Oh . . .
Oops.”

Insults about my apparel weren’t new, so
there was no reason to dignify them with a reply.
She is not in
my dimension,
I told myself,
therefore, she cannot bother
me.

Swish. Swipe. Scrub. Squeegee.

She clearly wasn’t taking the hint. She
continued to circle around, taking in all sides of the car.
“Seriously though, I love your car. It so fits your thrift store
reject chic.”

Bully for me. I didn’t even roll my eyes,
just continued washing windows. Swish. Swipe. Scrub. Squeegee.

“
I mean, rust is so your
color.”

Swish. Swipe. Scrub. Squeegee. I realized
I’d moved on around for a second cleaning, but I kept going because
I needed something to keep me from interacting with Amber. And by
God, these windows were going to freaking
sparkle
.

"I bet it’ll go zero to sixty in however
long it will take you to get a date. Never!"

I could ride my bike even faster before
you fucking destroyed it, you bitch.
My knuckles were white on
the handle, but I kept moving. Swish. Swipe. Scrub. Squeegee.