We’re going to have a talk.
Sit down.We’re going to have a talk.
Sit down and don’t talk.
Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them.
Jem turned his head, like someone had spoken, and blinked a few times against the white cone of the streetlight.For a moment, he smelled bleach.
The slider was still unlocked.
It made him want to laugh.He eased the glass door along its tracks.But the Big Bad Wolf didn’t have to worry about locking his door.Everybody else had to worry, but not him.
Warm air met Jem as he stepped into the darkness.The hum of appliances.Air whispering through ducts.He slid the door closed, going slowly so that it didn’t make a sound.Something—the smell of a candle or an air freshener—filled the air.Something floral.Something thick and heavy.Kids didn’t like smells like that.It was an old lady smell.
Enough light filtered through the slider and the windows—a million-dollar view—that he could see, sort of.The quartz countertops were still clear.The table in the breakfast nook too.Nothing stuck to the refrigerator, no notes or coupons or reminders.The living room too.The pillows were perfectly arranged on the sofa.The coffee table held a big fat candle, unlit, and nothing else.On the carpet, footprints going back and forth marred the vacuum lines that were still visible.Lots of footprints.Had the Big Bad Wolf gotten the jitters before going out?He must have been hurrying back and forth, I forgot this, does this look good, should I try this instead.Because he was going to see a bunch of fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds.Because he wanted to make a good impression.
Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them.We’re going to have a talk.
Jem’s fingers opened and closed around the tire iron.The metal had soaked up the cold on the walk, and even though Jem didn’tfeelcold, he was aware of an ache in his knuckles, like the joints had stiffened.
You’re going to stay away from Daniel.
You’re going to stay away from those kids, understand?Starting right now.
You’re going to stay away from those kids.No more dropping in.No more donations.
You’re going to—
If you touch him, I’m going to kill you.
Jem crossed to the garage.He eased the door open.The cream-colored Mercedes was there.The smell of cold concrete hung in the air.So, Wendell was home.And he’d been home for a while.
When Jem closed the door, he realized the house was cool.It hadn’t registered at first because it was warmer than outside.But as his body adjusted to the temperature, he could tell that the air in the garage wasn’t much colder than the air in the house.Maybe the furnace was going out.Maybe Wendell liked to sleep cold.
Jem wouldn’t know; he hadn’t been in the house long enough.Half a day, that’s it.And he hadn’t slept here.Thank God he hadn’t slept here.Could you imagine?He’d be awake all night.Waiting for the doorknob to rattle.Waiting for a new shadow to creep along the wall.Half a day, that was it.Maybe he liked to sleep cold.
A sound from the back of the house made him freeze.A voice?A man’s voice?But then there was laughter, the canned stuff from TV, and Jem’s heart started beating again.Silence followed a moment later; maybe the Big Bad Wolf was flipping channels.Maybe he’d just wanted to catch the weather.Maybe it had been an accident and he’d sat on the remote.Jem adjusted his fingers again, getting a better grip.They were really starting to hurt now.He’d need some ibuprofen when he got home.Maybe stick his hand in a bowl of ice.After.
In his head, it was like watching a movie.Flipping the light on.The shock on his face.Remember me?
But that didn’t make sense, not really.Because Wendell would remember the man from the other night, but not the child.Maybe he’d remember the biter.But would he recognize that boy in Jem?The thought was twisted, the way a reflection twisted on the edge of a mirror sometimes.That was twenty years ago, Jem had to tell himself.
The light snapping on.
Remember me?
Sit down, keep your hands where I can see them, we’re going to have a talk, if you touch him—
The black specks in Jem’s vision thickened into a blizzard.
He took deep breaths again.The tip of the tire iron touched the floor, and he caught himself leaning on it like he was an old man.What in the fuck—
—are you doing—
—is happening?
The plan.Stick to the plan.
