5. Odd
FIVE
Odd
O n a sigh, I remembered that I’d left my book on the table in the bookstore. Maybe I should run up there and get it.
The quiet shush of soft-soled shoes on pavement had me turning to find Harold, one of my regulars, pointing a flashlight at his feet as he shuffled up the road. I left the bears and met the old man at the base of my hill.
“Good evening,” he said. “How strange to find you out here. I have a hard time thinking of you anywhere but in the bookstore with your nose in a book.”
“She’s an odd one,” I heard Arthur murmur to Nick and felt my cheeks flame. Yeah, that was me. The odd one.
I walked with Harold slowly up the hill, trying to put odd out of my head and remember what Harold had just asked me. “I guess someone got into a fender bender last night and they wanted to know what I’d heard or seen. They’re done with me now. So, what did you think of Parable of the Sower ?”
He chuckled. “You remembered. When you said Octavia Butler was one of the sci-fi greats, I wasn’t sure if I believed you.” He shook his head. “Silly of me to doubt you where books are concerned. I read a lot of sci-fi and I’d never heard of her.”
“Yeah, well, she was a Black woman writing in a genre that’s very heavily white and male. I have more of her books, if you’d like to read them.”
“I would, indeed. Which one would you recommend next?” We were almost to the top of the hill, but he was slowing down. “I swear,” he said, “I think this road gets steeper every time I climb it.”
I slowed with him. “We can take a break, if you want?”
“No. I’m not that old yet. I’ll make it.”
He was breathing harder, so I slowed a little more. “If you’re interested in a historical sci-fi mashup, Kindred is wonderful. The main character is a modern woman in the 1970s who gets stuck time traveling back and forth to Maryland, starting in the early 1800s. Which, as you might imagine, is a dangerous place and time for a Black woman. It becomes clear pretty quickly that she’s getting pulled back when this one white boy—the plantation owner’s son—is in danger of dying.”
“That’s interesting,” he said. “What makes him so important?”
“That is the question. One I assume you don’t actually want me to answer. If that doesn’t fit your mood, she has more traditional sci-fi books.” I held out my arm to steady him up the steps.
“Now you’ve got me interested in this other book. Let’s try that one next,” he said.
I pointed to the bench on the porch. “Have a seat. I’ll go grab it for you.”
He slowly made his way to the bench and sat. “I do seem to be worn out tonight.”
After I grabbed the book, I went to the kitchen to fill a glass with water before going back out and sitting next to him.
When I passed him the glass and the book, he said, “Oh, thank you. I hate for you to fuss, though.”
I stretched out my legs, crossed my ankles, and pretended not to notice the tremor in his hand as he took a sip of water. “It’s no fuss to enjoy the night air.”
He took another small sip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a book in your hand or under your arm.”
Nodding, I watched the investigative group walk through the trees, no doubt to circle around to the back of my place. Harold hadn’t noticed, though Arwyn was making a lot of noise. When the sound cut out, I assumed Declan had picked her up.
I stretched out my hands, palms up, the lack of a book quite obvious. “That must be why they feel so weird.”
He huffed out a laugh and then struggled to get his wallet out of his pocket.
I tapped his knee. “You can pay me next time. I’ll remember.” I heard my back door open and close, but I stayed with Harold. “Would you like me to drive you home? I don’t drive my Jeep often enough. It’s going to die on me soon.”
He waved away the suggestion. “Nonsense. You go ahead in. I’m going to read the first few pages, rest a bit more, and then head home.”
Nodding, I stood. “Okay. If you need anything, just call. I’ll hear you.”
“Not to worry. I’m just going to start this very interesting book.” He opened to the first page and did just that.
I went in, leaving the door ajar. Harold—or any human—couldn’t have heard the group murmuring in the back, but I could. Even amongst supernaturals, my hearing and vision were unusual. Odd had taken some of the shine off the evening, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t heard it before.
When I came around the bookcase, the talking stopped. Nick was sitting on the floor in my spot, leaving the couch open. Nodding to him, I took his vacated seat.
“Orla,” Arthur said, “my wife tells me I can be a real asshole, saying things without considering how they’ll land. Nick chewed me out earlier for calling you odd when you’ve been bending over backwards to help people just showing up on your doorstep.”
He sat straighter in his chair. “I apologize. I want you to know I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I’ve never met an owl shifter. The only raptor shifter I know is Kaknu and you two are very different. My focus at the time was on Arwyn and whether or not she could tell us anything, so I wasn’t thinking about how I phrased a throwaway observation. Nick’s right, though. That part doesn’t matter. I said something insulting and I apologize.”
Apologies were new for me. I’d gone to regular school when I was younger. The number of times they had meetings with my parents, asking if they could test me, was ridiculous. They thought my parents were being willfully obtuse, pretending they hadn’t noticed their daughter was on the spectrum.
The school counselors and administrators had the best of intentions. They wanted me to get the services they felt I needed. My parents, on the other hand, knew I was behaving just as a little owl shifter should. Children and adolescents can be cruel to the odd quiet kid with big yellow eyes who rarely blinks, wears dark glasses, winces at loud noises, and often falls asleep in class. After a while, it became clear a normal life wasn’t in the cards for me.
My parents signed me out of school and then picked up textbooks for me on various subjects. I began studying at night, when my brain was naturally more active. It was lonely, but I taught myself about every topic that caught my interest. As much as I missed out on normal human interactions, I got to experience them through books. I’ve been to countless proms, fallen in love, had my heart broken, been betrayed by a best friend, and survived many a battle. It all felt real in the moment, on the page, until I put the book down and was again alone.
And now here was Arthur apologizing for what I’d heard all my life. Feeling decidedly off-balance, my throat tightened as I nodded. “It’s okay.” I turned to Arwyn, who was sitting beside me, and asked, “Did you see anything?”
“I did,” she said, taking one of my hands and holding it between her two gloved ones.
I probably shouldn’t have been remembering difficult things while sitting next to a psychic. All the focus was on her and what she saw, thankfully. I blinked rapidly to get rid of the sudden tears the apology and her kindness had brought. When I looked up, I found Nick watching me. After a moment, he gave me a sad smile and then turned his attention to Arwyn.
“He’s been doing this for a while,” Arwyn said. “I don’t think he’s a local,” she said to Declan. “The vision seemed to be connected to the truck. I couldn’t see anything beyond what he saw from his seat in the truck. The landscape changed, though, sometimes big city, sometimes country.”
“A lone wolf?” Declan guessed.
She nodded. “I think so. He definitely has a type. I kept seeing him pulling up on young women wearing jeans. He likes the way their butts look in tight jeans. And he likes long hair. The rest of what they wore didn’t seem to matter. There was one woman walking alone on a country road. She had his preferred thin athletic body type and long red hair, but she was wearing a sundress. She was almost perfect and there was nowhere for her to run for help before he caught her. Still, she wasn’t quite right, so he gunned the engine and drove off, frustrated and angry.”
“Did you see anything that would help us identify him?” Arthur asked.
She thought about that a moment. “It was an old truck. A long gear shaft coming up out of the floorboard. An AM radio. Clean. He keeps his truck clean.” She paused again. “He’s not too tall. When Declan’s driving his truck, his knees are close to the dashboard. This guy’s weren’t. He had a decent amount of room. He wore battered cowboy boots and blue jeans.”
“What you saw,” Declan said, “was it like looking through his eyes?”
She nodded. “There was a moment, though. He looked in the rearview mirror, saw a police cruiser following him, and kept on driving, ignoring a woman in jeans waiting by a car with its hood up. The cop stopped to help her. The man’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he had to leave his perfect victim in his rear view.”
“What did you see in the mirror?” Arthur asked.
Arwyn considered. “He has light blue eyes. That kind of ice blue that looks painful.”
“Could you get a sense of hair color?” Nick asked. “His eyebrows maybe?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Light. His hair is kind of a sandy color. He’s tan but has little white lines.” He pointed to the outside corner of her eye. “Like he works in the sun and spends a lot of time squinting.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “Lighter eyes are more sensitive to the sun. I have to wear dark sunglasses if I go out in the day.”
“So we’re looking for a guy, medium build, maybe five foot ten,” Arthur said. “He has light brown hair, light blue eyes, and doesn’t like sunglasses.”
“It may not have to do with liking,” I said. “People can be wary of who’s behind the sunglasses. They get uncomfortable if they can’t see your eyes. If he has an open, friendly face, he wouldn’t want to cover that up because it disarms the women he’s after.” I turned back to Arwyn. “In the vision, does he mostly hunt at night or during the day?”
She thought a moment. “Most were during the day and I think you’re right. I couldn’t see him, but I could see the reactions the women gave him. They started off worried and then relaxed almost at once, relieved to have help, get a ride, whatever.”
“Can you tell,” Declan asked, “if he’s still around here or has he moved on to another town?”
Arwyn squeezed my hand and then let go. “No idea.”
Nick stood and began pacing up and down the row of bookshelves. “Is there a pattern of locations where he likes to hunt?”
Arwyn closed her eyes again, remembering. Finally, she said, “If he’s in a city, it’s an empty, industrial area. If he’s in the country, it’s a long, lonely road.”
“So,” Arthur said, “it’s somewhere a woman would feel vulnerable and relieved she’s been found and is getting help.”
“It could also be places where cell phone service is spotty,” I said, “like this neighborhood. Most people around here have a landline because they can’t rely on their cellphones at home. If these women we’re talking about were in trouble and cut off with no signal, that would put them on edge and desperate for help.”
“Okay, Mr. Policemen,” Arwyn said to the cousins, “where are the dead spots in Monterey? It sounds like we need a woman with long hair, wearing jeans, to walk around in that area to lure him out.”
“No,” Declan growled.
“No what?” she said.
“You are not offering yourself up to some serial killing wolf,” he ground out.
She was turned away from me, looking at Declan, but her hair moved, the curls tightening. “A. You’re not the boss of me, so quit trying to order me around. And B. What am I, an idiot? I can’t have some random psycho touch me and drop me into a vision.”
Declan blew out a breath. “Sorry.”
“Besides,” she continued, “I told you what his type is. He likes tall, willowy women, not short, curvy ones.”
“I can do it,” I said.
Arwyn and Declan were still bickering, and perhaps I’d said it too quietly, more thought than speech. When you don’t talk much, it can be tricky to do it right.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “I wear jeans. I have long hair and am tall and thin. I can do it.”
They all turned to study me with varying expressions of doubt.