Chapter 13
Nine Weeks Ago
“I can’t believe this,” I muttered, pulling everything out of my bathroom cupboard.
I was out of tampons. How was that possible?
I dumped out my backpack and both my purses, but nothing.
I went through my drawers, my coat pockets, even Dad’s bathroom.
No tampons. I’d have to go to the store.
I checked the time. It was seven-thirty p.m., still light in that lovely, glowing way Paris evenings had of spinning out the daylight for as long as possible, the better to enjoy all the delights of the city.
I flumped down onto my bed. The store closed at eight.
Madame Dupuy had gone home. Dad was at a business dinner, and I wasn’t sure when he’d be back.
Nick was in the Loire Valley with his family, celebrating the end of his and Sophie’s school year by visiting Sleeping Beauty’s castle (Sophie), a museum of Gallo-Roman antiquities (Nick, adorable history nerd that he was), and vineyards (their mom and dad).
Martine was doing a mandatory family dinner, and Youssef was at soccer practice.
I texted Noor to see if she and her brother could come over to go to the store with me, but she didn’t respond.
I looked down at the street below. Was it safe to go out alone if I stayed close to people?
Every Parisienne had been told so often in the past few months not to go out by herself—and especially at night—that the warning was tattooed onto our brains.
But this was an emergency. And it was still daylight.
There were plenty of people around. I liked the reassurance of a crowd.
If there was a crowd, it was probably safe.
People don’t congregate where it’s dangerous.
That’s why I didn’t like downtown Portland on weekends.
It felt deserted and uncanny—almost postapocalyptic—and I was always looking over my shoulder for the threat that had driven everyone away.
I hurried out of the building and joined a group of women walking in the right direction, keeping my eyes open for possible danger.
I made it safely to the store, got the tampons, and looked for another clump of pedestrians to follow as I exited.
My phone buzzed, and I was so keyed up I jumped and squeaked before realizing it was a text alert from Martine: “Noor has been attacked.”
I called Martine, and she picked up immediately.
Noor had been attacked and bitten, she told me, on her way home from work.
Somebody saw it happen and called the police, and the attacker ran off.
The doctors said Noor would recover, but her wound was significant.
She’d be in the hospital for a few days.
That was all Martine knew. My hand shook as I shoved the phone into my pocket.
I couldn’t believe Noor had been attacked.
It was so awful and unfair. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen and to tell me how unfair it was.
To hug me and tell me it would be okay. I wanted my mom so bad.
When the group I was following reached the corner, a couple of people peeled off.
Saint Martin’s was just down the street in the direction they were headed.
I’d been gone less than ten minutes, and it was still light outside.
I followed them. I could duck into the church for a quick minute and talk to her. I’d be fine.
Inside the church, I went straight to the votive stand and lit a candle. “Hi, Mom,” I whispered, staring into the glow. I waited, watching the steady flame until it flickered under a current of warm air that disturbed the old-church chill and embraced me.
Hello, darling girl.
“My friend just got attacked, Mom.”
Oh, Tosh, I’m so sorry. Is she okay?
“I think so. She’s still in the hospital.
” I felt distant from my body: lightheaded and shaky.
I sank onto a nearby chair and studied the nave, trying to figure out where to start.
Honey-colored light washed the pale bricks and warmed the mosaic murals.
Even the shadows had a golden tinge. Mom waited, silent, close, and warm.
“I’m so worried about her.”
What happened?
A man about Dad’s age walked up the aisle, faced the altar, and crossed himself, bobbing as he did, then took a chair in the second row.
He sat for a few moments, then lowered himself onto the kneeler, rested his forearms on the chairback in front of him, clasped his hands together, and bowed his head.
He was too far away to hear me, but I dropped my voice to a murmur anyway.
“She was attacked on her way home from work today. Not too long ago.” I paused, then forced the words out. “There’s this guy who’s been attacking women, biting them on the neck. He got Noor.”
Oh, sweetie, that’s terrible. You must be so worried about her.
The floor seemed to undulate, making the guy who was praying look like he was bobbing in the middle of an ocean of chairs.
“I am. And it’s not fair, Mom. She’d just gotten interviewed by a magazine everybody reads, and she did a new piece that’s been getting tons of attention.
She should be enjoying all the love, not lying in a hospital bed because the cops aren’t smart enough to catch a guy who’s been attacking women for months. ”
I’m so sorry that happened to her. Warmth swirled around me like a hug, and I relaxed into it.
“I wish you were here to hug me.”
I do, too, darling girl. I do, too.
The guy who’d been talking with God stood up briskly, like, Well, I can cross that off my list. He walked back down the aisle, throwing me an uninterested glance as he passed. I tensed.
Tell me about that.
“About what?”
You flinched when that man walked by.
“I didn’t mean to.” I watched him till he left the church. “He looked a little like Cole, though, didn’t he?” She didn’t say anything. “Maybe not. I’m just so upset about Noor.”
I wonder why you would notice him when you’re so focused on Noor.
“Oh, you know, Mom. We’re always supposed to be alert for danger. And it’s worse now, with the ‘vampire’ out there. That’s what everyone calls him. Like they have to turn him into a fictional monster because they can’t deal with the fact that he’s a real-life one.”
I wonder why that man reminded you of Cole.
“I don’t know. The suit, probably.” I shifted on the chair, trying to find a comfortable position.
Why is Cole still so much on your mind? Didn’t you come here to forget about him?
“I mean, he really isn’t. He was inappropriate, but he wasn’t dangerous. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. My friend is in the hospital with bite wounds. Cole doesn’t matter. He was a jerk, but he didn’t harm me.”
Didn’t he?
I shrugged. “Le Bec was the one who tried to harm me. He pretended he was this ‘vampire’ everyone’s scared of and tried to bite me—” Automatically, I reached for Madame Dupuy’s pendant, then remembered I’d broken the chain.
I’d have to go buy a new chain first thing tomorrow so she didn’t know I’d been so careless with it.
“I should go, Mom. I need to get home.”
I love you, darling girl.
“I love you, too.” I got up and hurried through the big wooden doors into the warm golden evening.
“Bonsoir, Tosh.” Le Bec leaned against one of the tall wooden planter boxes in front of the church.
“Oh—” I squeaked. “Hi.” What was he doing here?
He was smiling at me, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.
Trying not to show fear, I scanned the street for allies.
There was a busy commercial street just around the corner, but here, it was mostly apartment buildings, and residential streets can be eerily unpopulated at certain times of the day.
Everyone was probably inside eating dinner.
I took a breath. Be calm, I told myself. Think. And keep walking.
He fell into step beside me. “I did not know that you were religious.”
I shrugged, trying to keep it normal. “Oh, it’s a pretty church. I like the mosaics.”
“You are not worried about the vampire?” He smiled at me, big and insincere and full of teeth.
It made my skin crawl, but I tried to shove some confidence into my voice. “I mean, everybody’s worried about the attacks. But my building is super close by.” Especially if I cut through our block, between the park and the apartment buildings.
“You have not replied to my texts,” he said, “I made you a painting, and you did not even thank me. That was not polite. Do you know what happens to impolite girls?” There was an undertone of malice in his voice that sent adrenaline coursing through me like an electric current.
A sick suspicion came over me, and my brain shouted, Run!
I ran.
Fear tunneled my senses. I saw only the sidewalk ahead of me.
I pushed my legs to reach, to fly. I could feel him closing the gap between us, and I needed to be a few seconds ahead of him so I’d have time to punch in the entry code.
I ran, flat out, for my life. Down the sidewalk, past the preschool, the bike rental place.
Our park was on my left now, and our building was just ahead.
Just a little farther, and I’d be safe. His boots beat the pavement behind me.
One word pulsed in my head, over and over, keeping time with my pounding feet and my ragged breathing: faster.
I was almost there. I heard a change in the tempo of his steps and felt a brief emptiness behind me before the full weight of him struck me to the ground, forcing the air out of my lungs.
I gasped like a beached fish, unable to breathe.
Pain. Everywhere. I writhed under him, wheezing, afraid I’d be smothered.
He rolled me onto my back and straddled me, kneeling on my arms as I labored to pull air into my lungs.
I thrashed and tried to throw him off. He hit me.
There was a star of pain on my cheek, and then it went nova, engulfing my head in a wave of fire and knives.
When it receded enough for me to focus on something besides pain, Le Bec’s grinning face hung above me, his teeth shiny in the light from the streetlamps.
“You should have responded to me,” he said.
“You should have thanked me for the beautiful art I made for you.” He leaned closer, and his movement triggered a ripple of nausea.
I whimpered, thinking, Please, no, don’t let me throw up.
“Say it,” he commanded, shifting his weight on my arms so that I squealed with pain.
“Say, ‘Thank you, Le Bec, for making me a beautiful painting.’ ”
“Thank you, Le Bec, for making me a beautiful painting,” I croaked, terrified. Somebody would be walking by soon. They had to be. If I cooperated, maybe I’d stay alive long enough for them to see me.
“That is better.” He stroked my cheek, and I tried to turn away.
My stomach roiled again. He paused for an endless moment, his eyes playing over my face and throat, his hand on my cheek.
“No pretty silver necklace to protect you this time,” he said.
Then he grabbed my jaw and wrenched my head to the side.
His knees drove into my arms, grinding muscle into bone into concrete.
It hurt so much, but I couldn’t yell. I was trying, but my body was an immobile lump.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t even close my eyes.
He leaned close, and I felt his breath on my neck.
I concentrated on the shadows of the trees against the sky.
I tried to remember if I’d told Dad lately that I loved him.
I wondered if Mom would meet me when this was all over.
Then pain made thought impossible.