When My Heart Joins the Thousand(65)

My destination is Elmbrooke Wildlife Center—close enough to visit, and its staff has an excellent reputation. None of that stops me from feeling like I’m abandoning my friend.

If I were living in one of those animal movies, like Free Willy or Duma, Chance would have both wings, and I could just pull over into one of the nearby fields and let him out. He would fly away into the woods while inspiring music played in the background. The reality is far less satisfying.

I pull into the parking lot in front of Elmbrooke Wildlife Center—a small, yellow-brick building, surrounded by woods. I write Chance’s name on a slip of paper and stick it between the bars of the carrier door, then carry it across the lot, to the building’s entrance. On the other side of the window, the receptionist sits behind a desk, staring at her computer. I set the carrier down near the door and knock a few times. The woman starts to raise her head, but before she can get a good look at me, I turn and run back to the car. By the time she walks out and picks up the carrier, I’m already driving away.

My chest hurts.

This is better for Chance. I should be happy, but I’m not. I lost Stanley, I lost my job, and now . . . I want to break something.

An image flashes through my head—that stupid sign at Hickory Park Zoo, the one that advises visitors not to “anthropomorphize” animals by attributing feelings to them. I always fantasized about ripping it out and destroying it.

What’s to stop me now?

Night falls. Streetlights glow through the misty darkness, spots of yellow. Cars glide past like ghosts.

I park several blocks away and walk to Hickory Park Zoo. It’s deserted and locked up, of course. There’s only one security camera—the zoo can’t afford an elaborate system—and it’s easy to avoid. I climb the wire fence surrounding the property.

I wander the dark paths. The cougar looks up as I pass, her eyes yellow coins of reflected light. The hyenas stir in their enclosure and flick their ears toward me.

The sign stands in its usual place.

Happy? Sad? Mad? Attributing human feelings to animals is called—

I kick the sign post until the wood breaks.

I creep toward the fence, the sign tucked under one arm. The fence isn’t high. I can probably hurl the sign over the top, then climb.

Pale light touches the sky. Headlights. My heart pounds, and I quicken my pace, weaving through the maze of cobblestone paths. I round a corner—and freeze.

Two men in khaki-colored uniforms stand in the path, staring at me. I recognize their faces. Maintenance workers. Maybe Ms. Nell finally called someone to fix that clogged toilet in the bathroom.

I turn and start to run, but the taller man grabs my arm. The sign clatters to the ground. I twist, trying to free myself from his grip.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.

I thrash and flail blindly.

“Jesus, what’s your problem?”

“Hey, I’ve seen her before,” the shorter man says. “She used to work here.”

He’s still gripping my arm. It hurts. “Let me go!”

“Tell us what you’re doing here, then I’ll let you go.”

But I can’t think, I can’t breathe while he’s touching me. I stomp on his foot.

“Ow! Shit!”

He releases me, and I bolt for the fence, but he runs after me and seizes me in a bear hug, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggle, kicking and screaming.

The shorter man stares at me and shakes his head. “How did this nutjob ever get hired in the first place?”

“Beats me.” His arms clamp tighter around me. “Hold still,” he growls. “You’re just making this worse for yourself.”

I scream.

The shorter man fishes a cell phone out of his pocket and dials. “Hey, Mrs. Nell? Sorry, Ms. Nell. We’ve got a trespasser. Yeah, it’s the chick with red hair and braids. What should we do with her?”

After kicking and struggling a while longer, I go limp with exhaustion. My vision blurs, and I seem to be sliding backward, down a long tunnel. The men are talking, but their voices sound muffled and distant, and I can’t make out the words.

They drag me to the office building in the center of the zoo. I’m no longer fighting or trying to run, but they push me into a closet and slam the door shut.

“Does it lock?” the taller man grunts.

“No.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do then?”

“Just wedge a chair under the knob.”

There’s a scrape of wood against tile. I ram my shoulder against the door, trying to force it open. It rattles but doesn’t budge. I try the knob, jiggling it, but it refuses to turn. No way out. I slump against the back wall. It’s dark, and the lemony smell of cleaning supplies hangs thick in the air. It makes me gag. I pound on the door.

“Keep it down, you. Nell says you’ve gotta stay here till the police show up.”

“Hey, when did they say they’d get here?”

“An hour or so.”

“An hour? Are you serious? This is an emergency!”

“Not according to them.”

I stop pounding and sink to the floor. A heavy numbness creeps over me.

“Hey,” the taller man calls through the door, “what were you planning to do with that sign, anyway?”