Remarkably Bright Creatures(52)

“Come on, buddy,” he begs. Head still throbbing, he adjusts the gloves he put on after the thing tried to strangle his wrist and inches the broom handle closer. Expecting the octopus to . . . what, exactly? Slide down it like a fireman’s pole? But he can’t let the stubborn asshole just die up there, and there’s no way he’s touching it again, even with gloves. It looks like it wants to kill him. “Outta there, now. Back to your tank.”

A tentacle tip twitches, defiant, dislodging a pair of thin metal canisters and knocking them to the ground. They land with twin clangs.

This is going to be what gets Cameron fired. How many times can one person get canned in a lifetime? There should be a legal limit.

Something clicks softly behind him. Then a woman’s voice, trembling but clear. “Hello? Who’s in here?”

Nearly dropping the broomstick, he turns. A tiny woman stands in the doorway. Miniature, almost: she can’t be more than five feet tall. She’s older, maybe a little older than Aunt Jeanne, maybe late-sixties or seventy. She’s wearing a purple blouse, and her left ankle is swallowed in a walking cast.

“Oh! Um . . . hi. I was just—”

The lady’s sharp gasp cuts him off. She has spotted the creature cowered on the high shelf.

Cameron twists his hands. “Yeah, so I was just trying to—”

“Out of the way, dear.” She pushes past him. Her voice is low and quiet now, any trepidation gone. Moving faster than he would’ve guessed possible, given her age and that boot, she’s across the room in three strides, where she regards the broken stool for a moment and shakes her head. Then, unbelievably, she scrambles to the top of the table. Standing at her full height up there, she’s almost face level with the octopus.

“Marcellus, it’s me.”

The octopus shifts slightly out of its corner and peers at her, blinking its creepy eye. Who is this lady? And how did she get in here, anyway?

She nods, encouraging. “It’s okay.” She holds out her hand, and to Cameron’s shock the creature extends one of its arms and winds it around her wrist. She repeats, “It’s okay. I’m going to help you down now, all right?”

The octopus nods.

Wait, no. It did not. Did it? He rubs his eyes. Are they pumping hallucinogens through the ductwork here?

That would explain so much about tonight.

Tethered to the tiny woman’s arm, the octopus makes its way along the shelf. The woman limps along the length of the table, coaxing. Once she gets the thing directly over the empty tank, she nods at Cameron. “Move the cover, please, won’t you?”

He obeys, sliding the lid back and holding it open as wide as it will go.

“In you go,” the woman whispers.

Cold, briny water sloshes as the creature drops back in with a heavy plop. Reflexively, Cameron shudders away, and when he turns back, the octopus is gone again, leaving only a stir of rocks outside its den at the tank bottom.

The table creaks as the woman lowers herself. Cameron rushes over, clasping her elbow and guiding her back to the ground.

“Thank you.” She dusts her hands, then adjusts her glasses and sizes him up. “Are you hurt, dear? That cut could use some help.” She shuffles over and picks up the purse she dropped on her way in, then roots around for a minute before offering him a Band-Aid.

Cameron waves her off. “It’s nothing.”

“Nonsense. Take it,” she insists. Her voice is nonnegotiable. He takes the bandage, unwraps it, and fixes the neon pink strip to the side of his head. What a look. Oh well, it’s not like he’ll see anyone but Ethan tonight anyway.

“Good.” She nods. Then, with her voice level, she says, “Well, that’s over. Perhaps you can explain what happened here?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Cameron jabs a finger at the tank. “That thing escaped. I tried to get it back in the water.”

“His name is Marcellus.”

“Okay. Marcellus tried to pull a fast one. I was trying to help.”

“By assaulting him with a broomstick?”

He scoffs. “We can’t all be the Octopus Whisperer, or whatever the hell that was. Look, I was doing my best. If it weren’t for me, that octopus would be halfway across the ocean by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when I found him, he was on his way out the back door.”

The old lady’s mouth drops open. “Good heavens.”

“Yeah.” Maybe they won’t fire him. Maybe they’ll give him a raise. If it weren’t for him, they’d be replacing their octopus, after all. How much does a giant Pacific octopus cost? They’re probably not cheap.

The old lady’s tone sharpens when she says, “Why was the back door open?”

“Because I was emptying the trash? You know, doing my job? No one told me not to prop it.”

“I see.”

“But I’ll keep it closed from now on.”

“Yes, wise idea.”

At these last words of hers, Cameron finds himself standing straighter. Why does it feel like she’s his boss? And what is she doing here? He’d better clear that up. The last thing he needs is Terry accusing him of letting some random old woman into the building during his shift. He looks her over again. She can’t weigh more than eighty pounds. An unlikely burglar. Besides, she and that octopus have history. Maybe she’s a retired marine biologist. Or a volunteer. Senior citizen outreach.