Unhooked(6)

When the others had gone home from the pub and it was just the two brothers, the boy leaned forward eager to know more. “Do you kill many?” he asked. His brother smiled, his crooked tooth winking in the dim light. “Tons,” the soldier said. Perhaps, if the boy had been paying attention, he would have noticed his brother’s eyes weren’t laughing. Perhaps he might have realized it was like they no longer knew how. . . .





Chapter 3


BY THE TIME WE CHANGE and make our way down the front steps, the evening air is still damp, and a light mist has settled over the streets. Neither of us says much as we work through a few stretches on the sidewalk in front of the house.

When she feels like she’s ready, Olivia glances over to me. “The map I looked at said there’s a park not far from here,” she says. “Want to check it out?”

“Lead the way,” I say, glad she hasn’t brought up anything about my mom’s behavior.

She gives me a sure nod and takes off.

I follow without a word, and with the first few steps, I start to feel the tension draining out of my muscles. For the past week, ever since my mom announced we were moving, I’ve felt like I was holding my breath and waiting for something even worse to happen. But as my shoes connect with the uneven sidewalk in a steady tempo and my arms swing at my side, I feel like I can breathe again.

Running is how Olivia and I met. When I first moved to Westport, we’d see each other on our separate routes, and then somehow we started leaving together and following the same route. Eventually we started talking and discovered we had more in common than the running. Her parents might be rich, but they aren’t there for her any more than my mom is for me.

We never really talk while we run, though. She runs with a focus I don’t have—a better mile time or more calories burned—I’m not exactly sure what drives her. But I run because when I’m pushing myself, when I’m only worried about the next mile or if I can make it back without stopping, I don’t have to think about anything else.

At one point I glance over at her, and she gives me an almost smug smile. She’d known I needed this, and she’d been right.

By the time we’re both breathless and exhausted, the sky has gone darker, and a wet fog has settled over the park. “Which way do you think the house is?” I ask when we come to a place where a couple of paths intersect.

Olivia considers the options. “I don’t know. I’m all turned around,” she says, just as we hear the soft rumble of thunder off in the distance. “But if we don’t hurry, we’re going to get caught in that. Come on.” She loops her arm through mine, and we pick a direction.

Her steps are brisk, and my tired legs struggle to keep up with her long strides. We haven’t gone very far when she stops. “I think I see someone,” she says. “I’ll go ask.”

“Olivia, wait—” I start to call, but she’s already off, jogging toward the person she thinks she’s seen.

There’s not much else I can do but follow her. But when I see who she’s found, I slow my steps.

With her long tangle of white-blond hair and the jewelry cluttering her wrists and fingers, the girl Olivia’s found reminds me of a very pale gypsy. She’s wearing a long skirt and a purple velvet turtleneck that seems strange for June, even on such a cool day. And I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off about her. Maybe it’s her eyes—it looks like she’s wearing deep, glossy black contacts that give her an almost alien appearance. Or maybe it’s that the way she’s looking at Olivia seems too intense—it reminds me of the way a hungry animal would watch its dinner.

I barely catch myself as I stumble at the abruptness of that thought. That’s exactly the crazy sort of thing my mom would think. The girl’s kind of odd-looking, sure. But she doesn’t really look dangerous.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to catch up with Olivia, but when I’m only a couple of feet away, I stop short again. It’s such a small thing—the flick of dark eyes as the girl glances at me, and then the flash of teeth as she smiles knowingly. Certain.

It’s not the obvious fakeness of her brittle excuse for a smile that stops me from taking another step. No, that would be understandable. Explainable. What stops me cold and makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle in warning is that the gleaming white teeth peeking from behind the girl’s lips look like they’ve been filed down to jagged points.

I force myself to blink the image away. I have to be seeing things. It must be a trick of the light or the fog, because it’s not possible for a beautiful girl to have a grin as sharp and wicked as a shark’s. But if I’m starting to see things . . .

I open my eyes, and the girl’s teeth are once again hidden behind her plump lips. She looks normal . . . mostly. Strangely dressed, but normal. I must have imagined it.

Just like your mom, a small voice deep inside me whispers.

No, I think, silencing that voice. I am not like my mom. I wouldn’t be like my mom. I would get help. I would get better. And, besides, this is all perfectly explainable. What I saw is just the effects of too little sleep. Or maybe I’m just keyed up from a good run.

But I can’t shake the feeling that the air suddenly feels more dangerous than it did a few minutes ago. Real or imagined, I feel so uneasy that I don’t want to stay anywhere near the girl. Even though my legs feel like jelly, I want to turn around and run, and I want to keep on running until I’ve put days between us. The feeling is so strong, so sure, it takes everything I have to force myself to walk the final few steps to where Olivia is standing, still talking to the blonde.