Chapter 12 #2
“Well, there was that body someone saw in the lake, a few weeks ago, last time the Collider was on, that were. And it turned out to be…” Ron twists his mouth. “A dead deer. With unusual markings, I heard.”
“I see. Not to be skeptical but revealing what I know, telling about Kail, that might wreck things.” I gesture, vaguely.
“I am going to see if I can get an appointment to see Clay Skinner so I can ask him, to his face, to explain. I sent an email to the institute earlier. He’s CEO now, right?
” I drag out my phone and check the replies.
He won’t be the Clay I used to know at school.
Though, really, that guy was a bit of an asshole and a bully.
We were not friends. Now he is this super-rich CEO of a huge company and I’m a relative of a dead ex-employee with barely enough funds to pay for the tires on his Porche, or whatever he drives.
“He is.” Molly nods. Her predatorial gaze has leached away.
“He’s hard to pin down, that Clay. The media rarely gets an interview.
Don’t get your hopes up. Anyways, why don’t you just come along tonight after we close?
We generally go over and have something to eat from the bar before the book club starts.
We rent a room for that. You can say hi to the members.
Have a drink, some nibbles, then you can think. ”
“Yup. Good advice. Or go home and get eaten by Mr. Frankenstruct.” Ron nods, grins, sinks back into a semi-slumberous repose in that chair. “I will lend you that shotgun, to keep awhile.”
“Is this good cop, bad cop?” Neither answer me, despite my glare. “Fine. I’ll come.” I glance at the emails, spring straight in my seat. “My god. There’s a slot this afternoon to see Mr. C. Skinner.” I reread it to be sure. “I can see him in half an hour. Will have to leave soon.”
“That’s interesting.” She clucks her tongue. “You must have something he wants, girl. Maybe you can pump him for answers after all? Be careful.”
“I must have. And I will be careful.” What do I have that he wants, and how do I extract what I want from him—a confession of guilt? Because the institute killed my father, and that, a confession saying exactly that, is what I need. It’s the only explanation that fits the facts.
I did not expect this opportunity so soon.
The pressure to make this appointment worthwhile crushes in.
“He’s not going to confess, is he?” Frowning, I whisper this, knowing Molly and Ron will hear me. They’re both so attentive, and that expression doesn’t quite fit what I expect of my two bookish if somewhat invalid neighbors. Molly inclines her head, lips straight.
“I’m still going to try. If I go to your thing tonight, if I refuse to divulge anything about Dad or that frankenstruct, I need you to promise you’ll not push me.”
“Of course.” Ron reaches across and holds Molly’s hand. “We won’t. This is to see if it helps you, nothing more.”
“Nothing more. Okay. Good. I am a bit lost as to where I’m going…
” My throat clogs up so that I croak out that last part, struck by emotions, by a sadness I can’t suppress.
“And Clay…I’m going to dig. I’m going to see if he will slip up.
But after that…” I shake my head, press the back of my bent finger to each eye to soak up the tears.
After that, where do I go?
Kail
With my back to the parapet wall on the roof of the bakery, I listen to her conversation with the neighbors, the McCluskers.
When she drives away, I stay where I am.
It was hard enough to get down here in time without a vehicle and unobserved.
I haven’t any hope of reaching the institute, infiltrating it, and intercepting her there at some unknown room.
Her safety isn’t an issue there, so skipping it shouldn’t matter.
I hope I’m right. They wouldn’t do anything to her during a fucking appointment?
Finding the Maelstrom Bar, that part is easy. I passed it on the way here. I can watch for her there, after I steal a change of clothes. Something dark with a hood. There were clothes at her house and if I fit her dad’s old clothes, no one will notice them missing.
Ruefully, I eye the hill where the two highest houses are hers and the McCluskers’. Looks like I have more walking to do.
I may have missed some of what they discussed but the part where she said she is feeling lost left its mark. I don’t know how her father died here, do I? I can guess, because her gut instinct that the institute is involved tees up with my own knowledge.
I come from the Revenant Institute. I was made there. And in my world, they sent me to do the job. My biggest problem—I don’t have proof that has any weight, here.
Sitting down with her, telling her the truth about my mission might get her to stop her sleuthing. Might. It would also scare her, make her hate me. It might make her more determined to get someone to pay. Hell, no. I want to get closer to her, not push her away.
But, if she doesn’t stop digging for info, someone will send another killer after her, a quiet killer, not a man who taps her shoulder while she’s in the waiting room.
I’m as sure of this as I can be.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, I am. I remember Hailey’s sexy body and how she moaned and moved against me, and I smile. Rock and a soft place? I will always choose the soft place—her.
The scraping of chairs on the sidewalk tells me that Ron and Molly are on the move, and once they’re back in the shop, I’ll return to Hailey’s house to get those clothes, if I can. It’s an easy house to break into.
Twenty minutes later, I’m halfway up the well-forested but sheer slope that leads to Jordan Street, when I stop to check the view over the town. Something brushes my leg.
It’s a cat. That cat. The one from her house. This morning, she named it Squiggle.
“You’re a wanderer.”
It looks up at me and purrs, its eyes large dark pools.
“If you were a dog, I’d give you a lift, if I could, but seeing you’re a cat, I bet you know the way. Race you to the house.”
Squiggle cat’s forehead wrinkles, making that Rorschach blotch move.
I freeze in mid-step. I can remember the Rorschach inkblot test? Did I used to know that? Or is my memory of who I was returning to me, piece by tiny piece? I touch the pocket where the photo I stole resides.
When should I ask her about this?
To do that, I may have to make her sit still for me because her doing that voluntarily seems unlikely. Tie her up?
That could be…interesting. I savor that thought.
I jolt into seeing her gagged, bound, helpless…and naked, with a hellish background of weaving black tentacles where many of them snake over her body, slide up between her legs and over her face. She’s smothered by them then sinks under a heaving black sea.
“Fuck.” I shake my head and continue up the slope. The exercise doesn’t banish that image for quite some time, and if anything, I embellish it, in many filthy ways. Was I always this creepy, this fucking kinky?
The cat reappears and easily keeps pace, leaping and sprinting from rock to grass sod like a pro.
“Let me tell you this, cat, climbing with a hard-on is not recommended.”
It meows agreement.