Chapter 9
Nine
I HELD TIGHT TO the railing as I made my way down the porch steps. Twenty feet from Quin's house, the pressure in my chest eased a tiny bit, which gave me hope. I was almost to the tree line when three things hit me.
One literally. A bug, tossed from the beak of a talking chicken, which landed on the top of my foot.
I kicked it into the grass, which earned me a brief lecture from the poultry.
If you had told me last night that I'd be admonished by a talking chicken because I'd flicked its favorite snack away, I'd have asked what drugs you were on. Now, apparently, this was my reality.
Two, I was walking away in a huff from the creatures that could answer at least some of the questions crowding out common sense in my brain.
And finally, when I was mere steps from my back door, that there was a corpse in my bedroom.
I slumped to the ground and put my head in my hands. I could call the cops, but what would I tell them? Sorry, officer. I didn't kill the guy, but I can't tell you what did or you'll send me to the looney bin?
I was setting up the lights and music for a damn fine pity party when furred legs attached to an enormous body passed me. A long, scaled tail dragged behind him. It wasn't Quin; this one was too dark. When he turned around and blood-red eyes pinned me to the spot I remembered his name. Roul.
My hands shook, but I stiffened my spine and returned his stare.
"If you're a mole... if you hurt him, I'll hurt you. Understand?"
I crossed my ankles and sat up straighter. "You followed me all this way to threaten me?"
"No. I followed you because Quin remembered he dropped a body in your bedroom and thought you might need help with that."
"Oh." I didn't know what else to say to that, so I stayed quiet. He stared at me. I stared at him. It was awkward, and my brain wasn't working enough to know what he was waiting for.
"Do you want me to take care of it?"
"Yes." As an afterthought, I added, "Please."
He snorted and let himself in through my back door. In moments, he re-emerged, a limp body slung over one shoulder. I grimaced, but in some sort of weird notion of morality, I didn't look away. I was indirectly responsible for this man's death, after all.
And pretending otherwise felt... cowardly. As if closing my eyes made the consequences disappear.
Then I got indignant. What was he doing skulking around in my house anyway?
Roul was once again staring at me. Or maybe he'd stopped because I was staring at him? In either case, I had questions.
"Do you know who he is?"
"Why would I know who he is? He was clearly after you."
"Sorry, I..." I didn't know what I was thinking. "Do you think he has ID on him?"
Roul's nose rolled skyward. "Do you want to check?"
The thought of touching the body made me gag.
"I'll take that as a no." He let out a snort of frustration. "I'll see what I can do." The swish of his tail on the grass was the only sound as he walked past me.
"Thank you." I sensed him pause behind me. He paused again when I added, "I'm not a plant, Roul. I'd never heard of BioSynth before today."
A snort was all I got. When I finally looked over my shoulder, he was gone.
I got up, brushed myself off, steeled my spine and went inside. Everything was exactly as I'd left it. The world hadn't shifted to match my internal catastrophe, which felt vaguely insulting. The small house, still mostly bare of furniture, was so quiet the refrigerator's hum seemed loud.
I don't know what I expected to find in my room, but it took a while to work up the courage to cross the threshold.
There was a large pool of blood near the closet door.
I grabbed a hair tie off the nightstand and pulled my hair into a ponytail.
I didn't have any cleaning supplies, but I wiped up the stain as best I could with wet paper towels.
I didn't know whether I should bleach my soul or the floor first.
It was still early, so I made a quick list of essentials and hopped in the shower. As soon as the warm water hit me, The Sad Trombones started playing a dirge, trying to get the pity party started for real. I shook it off like Taylor, complete with bad shower singing.
The nearest grocery store was a run-of-the-mill sort that suited me just fine.
I wasn't a cook, so I never needed anything fancy.
They had my favorite kind of mac and cheese, peanut butter, and mayonnaise, so I was set.
I grabbed a loaf of white bread, some tomatoes and bananas.
I wandered the cleaning aisle for longer than was probably necessary, weighing the virtues of a few different enzyme cleaners that listed blood as one of the stains for which they were suited.
I also grabbed a mop, bucket, a value pack of paper towels, and garbage bags. As a last-minute addition, I threw a pair of rubber gloves that would reach to my elbows in my cart.
My foot throbbed, a sharp reminder that I'd been walking more than I should.
The cashier was friendly and I imagined she speculated I was single and new to town. Both of which were true, but I nearly broke out in hysterical laughter when I imagined her expression if I told her I was cleaning up after a murder.
I could never be a killer. Nervous laughter would give me away if I even saw a cop from a distance.
The cleaning products worked surprisingly well, and by the time dusk darkened the room enough to turn on the lights, you couldn't tell a man had been beheaded in my bedroom.
That sentence alone should have come with some kind of emotional siren, but my brain was in full autopilot mode. Survival first. Processing later.
I was worried I wouldn't be able to sleep, but with the mystery attacker gone for good, I was out less than five minutes after my head hit the pillow. My last thoughts were of Quin. Would I see him again? Did I want to see him again?
The floating blue dots that stretched into the woods flared just before my eyes closed, brightening like a soft pulse tugging at my ribs, and I admitted I wanted to see him again. Maybe I needed the looney bin after all.