Feral (25 page)

Cats could smell rats. Just like those boys in Chicago had smelled her. Had followed her, hunted her. They were all connected: Claire, and Serena, and that poor mutilated rat. They all knew what it was like to lay beaten and cornered and on the verge of death. They were connected, Claire and Serena. Serena could smell her. Because Claire was a rat. Serena was following her everywhere. Hunting her, following her into 'Bout Out. Serena needed her. She needed a rat.

Claire'd ratted those boys out in Chicago. Now Serena needed her to rat out someone else. Because girls did not just wind up mutilated all on their own. Someone else did that to girls. That's what happened to Claire and that's what happened to Serena—it was the truth, as bright and hard to ignore as a searchlight.

This was it! Claire's body thundered with certainty. Serena needed help. She was asking for Claire to listen to her.
She's trying to show me what happened. Because I know things about what can happen to a girl who's all alone during an ice storm.

But what else did Serena know? Did she know something about Casey? Was that threatening look the cat had flashed her at the cemetery an attempt to show Claire the dangers she was standing in the midst of? Is that why Serena just showed Claire her own face on the front page of the
Kansas City Star
? Was Serena trying to warn her? She'd suspected it that morning, but now she knew for sure. Serena had just told her so. This was it, the reason Serena was following Claire, talking to Claire—there was more to Serena's story than an accident.

“Claire, please,” she heard. “Come on. Wake up now, Claire.”

“I'm listening,” she whispered. “Tell me. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.” She would let the others know—Sheriff Holman and the Sims family. Everyone. “Just tell me,” she begged Serena.

“You fainted,” she heard, the words coming to her from a much lower voice than she'd expected.

When she blinked her eyes open, she found herself staring into her own face—or her face as it was reflected on the back of a small medallion hanging from Rich's neck. She wasn't in the sky at all; she was lying on the floor; her head was in Rich's lap, and as she pulled her eyes from the medallion, she realized Rich was staring down at her with a wide-eyed, frightened look.

As her eyes spanned outward, she found an entire cluster of worried faces staring down on her—Ruthie's, and Maxine's, Owen's, and Chas's.

“You all right?” Sheriff Holman asked, his bulldog jowls also dangling down over her.

“You fainted,” Ruthie said, confirming what Rich had just told her. “I told Mom she keeps that wood stove too hot in here.”

“It was the difference in temperature,” Rich agreed. “We walked in the cold long enough that the sudden change to hot knocked you out.”

“It was the darn can that exploded!” Maxine shouted, hovering over Claire's face. “I put that soda can right on top of the stove. I hadn't opened it yet. I didn't even think about it. I was just so happy to hear that ol' delivery truck. Musta scared you to death . . .”

“Don't worry about it. I'll be fine,” Claire breathed. She closed her eyes again, still feeling weak. Her head pounded, and her body was too heavy to lift.

“I'm gonna go get you somethin' cool for your face,” Maxine shouted, racing off, disappearing.

Claire opened her eyes and nodded gratefully. But it was wrong, all wrong. Everything they were saying. They didn't understand. The world had changed in front of Claire. Serena had made it happen.

From the top shelf of the nearest aisle, Claire saw her—the face of the cat, partially hidden behind boxes of soap.

Something more
, Claire mouthed to herself.
For me to find.

Serena hunkered deep into her hiding spot, her eyes lowering into a squint as she began to purr in agreement.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

C
laire let Maxine hold a cool, damp rag against the back of her neck. And at Rich's suggestion, she put her head between her knees. Seemingly relieved, Chas, Owen, and Sheriff Holman left the store, their voices rattling off promises to drop Owen off at home before Chas and the sheriff drove out to the shooting range.

“You want me to call your dad for you?” Maxine offered. “Don't like sending you back out to walk in the cold, if the change in temp's what bothered you to begin with.”

Claire shook her head. “That's really not necessary,” she insisted.

“I'll take her to the church,” Rich offered. “Dad's there. He can drive us back.”

“Thanks, Maxine,” Claire said, pulling the now-lukewarm rag from her neck and pressing it into the woman's hand.

Maxine nodded reluctantly. “Feel better,” she called out as they made their way toward the door. She kept her face pressed to the front window, watching as Claire let Rich lead her across the street.

Claire had expected to find the church empty. It was Friday, after all—and the entire town had been there only the day before. But the sanctuary echoed with the sounds of someone crying loudly and without any restraint, as though they believed they were completely alone.

“I couldn't stand it,” the voice wailed. “I couldn't stand the fact that Dad was just going to take Chas and Owen to their stupid shooting range, like nothing had changed.”

As Claire slowly edged forward, she could see Becca in one of the pews, Pastor Ray at her side. He was angled crookedly in the pew, turned toward her with his hands cupped slightly, almost as though to catch her confessions as they all poured out.

“Lying in bed this morning,” Becca went on, her voice thick with emotion, “I heard Rhine head downstairs with Jasper 2. They were going outside to exercise, just like they always do when school's not in session. I could hear him yelling, ‘Get it! Get it, boy!' like he always does when they play catch. I started to think about how it seemed like our family mourned the death of our old Jasper longer than they mourned Serena.

“I listened to cars, too,” Becca went on, “whizzing down the roads, toward chores and shopping runs and errands as usual. It's like everyone fell right back into their old routines,” she said. “People with the day off are treating it like any old weekend. Yesterday, we were all in the cemetery burying Serena.
Yesterday!

“Everybody's acting like burying Serena was a chore—like cleaning out the garage—and now that everything's in place, now that it's tidy, they can dust their hands off and be done with it.”

“Don't you think everyone else has a right to be happy, even without Serena?” Pastor Ray asked.

“I don't think we should move on yet.”

“Why? You almost make it sound like there's some penance to be paid.”

“There
is.
”

“By whom?”

“By
me.
I—wasn't a good friend. Not to Serena.” Her shoulders lurched violently with her sobs.

“Oh, Becca,” Pastor Ray said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “We can't torture ourselves about the past. We mourn, and in so doing, we learn about ourselves. We let our grief teach us about who we want to be.”

As Pastor Ray continued to comfort Becca, Rich motioned for Claire to follow him down the stairs, into the basement's kitchen area. He hung their coats on a nearby hook and pointed at a chair, silently telling her to sit.

“Becca's taking this hard,” Claire said.

“Yeah,” Rich agreed, dipping into the fridge and pulling out a container of orange juice—probably, Claire thought, left over from Sunday school. He sniffed it, found a glass, and filled it.

“Here,” he said. “Some sugar ought to help.”

“Thanks.” Claire sipped—the cold sweetness of the drink was welcome against the dry, fevered insides of her mouth.

“Kind of almost over the top,” she said. “The way she's mourning.”

“How do you mean?” Rich asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“It's almost—guilty, the way she talks about Serena.”

“A lot of people talk to my dad that way, when there's a death in the family,” Rich pointed out. “Nobody ever has a perfect relationship. People feel bad sometimes when the opportunity to make up to someone's gone.”

“Yeah, but she was at my house right after we found Serena, saying some of the same things to me—especially that part about not being a good friend.

“And Chas—he doesn't seem to care at all,” Claire rattled on. “At least Owen's shown some sign of feeling bad. Chas just—it's like he never knew her at all. And according to Becca, they really were into each other. She said she didn't know why Chas was playing the whole thing down.”

Rich's face grew distant and his cheeks turned white.

“What?” Claire pressed.

Rich's voice jerked and sputtered as he struggled to explain. “Ever since—I ran out into the woods to see what was going on—and saw her—” He shook his head.

“
Tell
me.”

“We had this game, when we were little—Serena would hide and pretend to be in the woods. She got lost once, when she was really small. And we'd always play pretend like she was lost in the woods again. She'd call my name, and I'd find her. I remember, she used to call out to me,
Olly, olly, oxen free!
And I'd be this knight swooping in to rescue her.

“But the thing was, she
hated
the woods. I mean, she was terrified of them. Once, when we were still playing that game, I tried to get her to go—for real. Told her to call me and I'd rescue her from the
actual
woods. But she wouldn't do it. Told me there was no way I was ever going to make her go in.”

“But that's where I found her. Sheriff Holman said in his press conference that she took the shortcut through the woods,” Claire said.

“Yeah—weird. I mean, we haven't been close since we were kids, though, so I thought—maybe she got over it. Still—it's hard for me to believe she wasn't scared at all anymore of the woods. It was really like a phobia.”

As Claire stared at him, he mumbled, “I hear her. Ever since—when I first saw Rhine lifting that limb off her—”

“Wait,” Claire said. “When was this?”

“When I found you out there,” Rich said, his words gaining strength, “Rhine was lifting the limb off Serena's body, and everyone was going berserk, and I could hear her, with that little kid's voice, calling out to me:
Rich! Olly, olly, oxen free!”

This admission brought Claire to her feet. She paced a bit, finishing off the last of her juice and plopping the glass down on the counter.

Rich hadn't imagined her voice. He had
heard
Serena. Claire knew it. Serena was begging for help. Rich just wasn't willing to believe he'd heard her—he wasn't connected to Serena. Not like they'd been as kids. Not in the same way Claire was now.

But Claire knew—he'd
heard
her. Literally. Serena was calling out for help.

Rich frowned as Claire leaned against the counter beside him. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at her throat.

Claire started to tuck Serena's necklace back down into her sweater, embarrassed. Rich stopped her, wrapping her fingers in his warm hand and pulling her arm aside.

“It seemed familiar when I saw you with it on the day you enrolled,” he said. “It's Serena's. I'd bet anything it is. Where'd you get it?”

“It was tangled in Sweet Pea's tail,” Claire said, feeling exposed beneath his hard stare. “When I first saw her—by the woodpile behind our house.”

“Tangled? Did it always look like this?” he asked as he squinted to examine the chain. “Did something happen to it once you got hold of it?”

Claire shook her head no. “It was in pretty bad shape after it got yanked from Sweet Pea's tail. The clasp was broken. I smashed the chain together when I put it on, and now it won't come off.”

“But did you tug on it? Hard? Trying to get it off? Did you really try to break it?”

“No. Why?”

“Because someone else did. This chain's all pulled out of shape. Some of the links are longer than others—misshapen, twisted, smashed. I bet the same person who tugged on it also broke the clasp.”

“Maybe Sweet Pea was near Serena when she died,” Claire said. “Maybe she saw everything.”
And maybe
, she thought,
that's why Serena fell inside Sweet Pea. Maybe that's why she's still inside her. Maybe they're connected, too—by more than just Serena feeding her . . .

“Sheriff Holman isn't much of a policeman,” Claire reminded him. “That's what you and your dad both said. So did he miss something? Did Rhine disturb something out there, when he lifted that limb off Serena's body? What's really going on?”

In the fearful quiet that swelled between them, Claire said, “Do you feel like there's something else here—something more to the story? Something we're supposed to go find?”

Rich shuddered. “I do,” he whispered. “I don't want to, but I do.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“W
hat do you mean, you fainted?” Dr. Cain asked, worry discoloring his entire face as Claire and Rich both stepped inside the old Sims house less than an hour later.

“It was nothing,” Claire promised, as she watched her father clear his throat and push his glasses deeper into his face.

“No, it was a faint. A faint isn't nothing,” he informed her, peeling her coat off and sitting her down on the living room couch. He sat beside her, placing a hand on her forehead.

“You should have felt that place,” Claire insisted. “There's an old wood stove in there, and Maxine had it set to Tropical Swelter. Ask Rich,” she added, pointing at him as he stood at the edge of the room, staring at her with his own troubled expression. “He even said it was the change in temp.”