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She went to the closet. The clothes hung in ranks - in front of the door were the black outfits Kelly favored, to either side were cheerful items most likely bought by a worried mother and only worn at family occasions after much pleading. Vivian shredded the black clothes.
She turned to the bed.
Her first swipe at the comforter sent feathers flying. They made her think of killing chickens, and she drooled as her claws swiped faster, faster, until the bed was a pile of down and pink-and-black rags. She lowered herself into this nest and her muzzle grew.
Hello, Little Red Riding Hood, she thought.
She remained in a half-state - part girl, part creature - and her toes curled and uncurled with the pleasure of imagining Kelly's face when she saw what was in her bed. She could be finished and gone before Kelly's screams brought her parents running - or so the alcohol told her. But as the minutes ticked away the pleasure began to dim, and she turned back to girl. Was Kelly coming home at all?
Vivian retrieved the bottle and gulped from it, her throat now dead to the burn. Her vision was blurred, and shadows dissolved into disconcerting gray tweed. Her head throbbed. She listened for the front door, but heard only snores and the creaks and groans of a nighttime house. She paced unsteadily, but whenever she stopped, the room began to turn, so she kept on moving. Every so often she picked up one of the cassettes from the dresser and unraveled it, strewing tape across the room.
The clock did away with luminous minutes until it was three A.M.
"She's not coming home," Vivian growled. "The bitch is not coming home."
She climbed through the window, scraping her shins, and tumbled onto the grass outside. She struggled to her feet, and somehow made it back over the fence without turning upside down, then set off down the road.
She knew where Kelly was. "I will rip you from his arms," Vivian promised. "I will rip you."
The night contracted to a pinpoint of hate.
Chapter 24
24
Vivian woke with a start. She didn't remember coming to bed. She groped for some memory of brushing her teeth or undressing, but nothing came. Carefully she opened her eyes. A pain beat at her head like a mallet in a sock; the other sock covered her tongue. Her whole body ached.
This was too much like another recent morning. Her heart pounded.
Vivian sat up amid her twisted sheets. She was naked. She looked around the room for the clothes she had worn the night before. The back of her desk chair was bare. There were no rumpled piles on the floor. Where were her clothes? She forced down the rising panic.
The early-morning breeze that wafted through the open window was damp but cool. The window screen was ripped across its entire width - enough for a person to climb through, a person without the wits to raise an obstinate frame. There was dirt on the floor.
Vivian looked down at herself. She was streaked with green mud as if she'd been in the river. She snatched up her hands and inspected her nails. They were pink, tipped with white. She exhaled audibly. There was no blood, thank the Moon.
She began to relax. She'd been drunk last night, that was all. So what if she'd stripped off her clothes and run around on all fours for a while? She deserved it. Instinct had probably kicked in and kept her to the woods. Yes, she'd been stupid to go to Kelly's house, but thankfully she'd gotten the hell out of there before anyone discovered her. I don't think I went to Aiden's, she thought. Of course she didn't remember how she'd become muddy either.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and moaned. The sheets were dragged with her. And that's when a hand fell on the floor with a small soft thud.
Vivian froze. The room spun out of focus. The only clear thing, sharp-edged, real beyond real, was a severed hand lying palm up on her bedroom rug. The flesh was pale and slightly puckered, as if it had been in the river with her. There were tooth marks in the palm. At the wrist was a ragged fringe of skin that surrounded a dark crusty core and a bone that protruded white. The bone had been crushed so someone could suck the marrow.
She saw a ring on the middle finger. Choking back the bile, she stuck out a foot and flipped the clammy hand over, then recoiled. The ring was a silver skull. It belonged to the biker who'd come on to her outside Tooley's, the one she'd told Gabriel she'd smack around.
She breathed fast and shallow like an animal in a trap. I've got to get rid of it, she thought.
Had anyone seen her? Had she left a trail to her house? She rushed to the window and looked out. A mist rose from the grass, but there was nothing unusual outside.
What if Esmé came in? She ran to the door and locked it. Despite the cool breeze she was bathed in sweat. She had to hide the hand until she could get it out of the house.
She looked around desperately. The wolves painted on the wall seemed to laugh at her. She yanked open the closet door. In a boot? No, she'd never wear them again. She noticed a Timberland shoe box up on the shelf. Perfect. She nudged the top off, retrieved the hand, and, carrying it gingerly by its waxy thumb, reached up and dropped it in. There was a rustle of tissue paper, and for one heart-stopping moment she imagined it writhing in there. She stifled a hysterical giggle and dropped the lid on the box.
Esmé was still in bed; her door was closed. Rudy was out. Vivian showered and dressed as fast as she could; then she shook the hand from the box into a cheap nylon fanny pack, which she strapped on. Her skin crawled as she walked out the kitchen door.
In the thickest part of the undergrowth out back, she sat on her haunches and rubbed garlic and pepper into the hand as if it were a leg of lamb. She hoped the smell would drive away any dog that might try to dig it up. I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought. She'd had dreams that seemed more real.
She couldn't seem to make a hole deep enough. Just a few more inches, she kept on telling herself. I can't let anyone discover it. If Gabriel found out he'd kill her for the safety of the pack, whether or not he wanted her for a mate. She saw in the granite of Gabriel's face swift justice and questions later, no matter what he said about being a good listener and his boasts of muscle to spare for her protection.
Finally she tossed the hand in and scrabbled to fill the hole, her knees bent ready to dive through the scrub if anyone approached, her mouth metallic with fear. She prayed to the Moon that it would stay there undisturbed.
