Eleanor (26 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

E
leanor hid in a hay barn on the Grizzly's Dude Ranch for two days. She slept in a hollow place under a pyramid of hay bales and made herself wait. Every fiber of her being told her to run. To keep going. To never return. Now. Go now. While she still could. Every fiber, that is, except one. The memory of David's kiss.

Her resolve vanished. She'd come to peace with leaving him. She'd gone to the party thinking that would be her farewell. Perhaps one day, she imagined, they would find each other again, many years from now, and they'd be friends again as before. But after that kiss, after her entire body reacted to the chemistry, she hesitated and considered other options.

Survival was paramount. It would override anything her human mind would concoct. She could still run, could force herself to hide in the forest, find a suitable animal and disappear completely. She might even be able to recall the coyote, but wasn't confident enough to try. What if she couldn't recall it properly? What kind of horrible mutant thing might she become? Would she have the strength and resources to change back?

On the third day, ranchers took a half-dozen bales off her pyramid and loaded them into a pickup truck. She overheard them talking about an overnight ride up the canyon with the “California Group.” Eleanor watched them go and then crept out of the barn and across the fence to the tree line. She followed the fence around the ranch until she was behind the guest cabins. It was about noon when she found the right one.

She crept to a cabin and peeked in a window. It was a little two-room hut, not completely unlike her own now-
forever-lost home back in Jamesford. One room was a bathroom; the rest was all open. Seeing no one, she pulled off the window screen, slid the window open, and crawled inside.

She went straight for the kitchen. It had a sink and a mini fridge with a single cabinet for dishes and coffee. She'd smelled food inside this cabin and found a box of powdered doughnuts in the pantry. She took these along with a can of coffee, a bag of trail mix, and some chewing gum. She chugged a quart of half-and-half in front of the fridge before inspecting the clothes the tourists left behind. Nothing was suitable. There were men and women's clothes, but they were all very large. She settled for a pair of sandals that could be sized down and a Dodger's cap that smelled like sunscreen. She left the way she came and bolted into the forest.

The plan was desperate and fitting. It would take two changes but both were not so different from herself. Regardless, she'd endure the pain. She had to. This would let her survive and remain.

She followed a seasonal stream up the canyon for several miles until she found a natural dam above a fallen tree. The stump had left a cavity in the bank. The spring runoff had eaten away most of the bottom, but the top still hung over, held together by grass roots.

She took off her clothes and hid her things in the cave. She leaned over the water and looked at her face. She stared at her reflection for a long time, memorizing the face that had been hers but had never been hers.

She listened to the forest to be sure she was alone, and then waded into the stream. The water was frigid but she didn't mind. She lay in the shallows, half submerged, and watched passing clouds through the tree canopy. She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth and felt the familiar shudder. She closed her eyes and let it happen.

At eight o'clock, David Venn walked alone into his family's trailer park. He kept to the side of the gravel road, walking on the grass in case a car came by, or he needed to run.

He smelled the cooking meals from two dozen mobile homes. He was hungry and felt weak. A neighbor waved to him from the other side. He was a big man in a red apron cooking burgers on a charcoal grill. David waved back and then slid his hands into his jacket pockets.

Two trailers before his, he left the road and walked the backyards. There were no fences between the lots, or rather pads. Though some people had put up plastic slides or dog runs, it was all common property between the back fence and the homes. David found that route unpopulated and private.

He slowed and listened before approaching his trailer. He heard voices within, and placed them in the front room, in the kitchen. He smelled macaroni and cheese and heated frozen fish sticks. He slipped behind the propane tank and waited. When he was sure no one was watching, he snuck to the side of the trailer, pried up the skirt, and slid into the crawl space.

Once out of sight, he unbuttoned his pants and kicked off his sandals. His feet were sore and blistered from the long walk, but the jeans had almost killed him. He put them on wet in the stream, and they'd stretched just enough to pull on, but if he'd had to run in them, he'd probably have cut himself in half.

He wiggled the pants to his knees and then kicked them off entirely. He used his jacket as a pillow, settled down, and tried to rest. Nothing to do until the morning but wait. He was safe here.

He listened to the sounds above him, the scrape of dishes, low conversation, a television turned low.

“So you're not going to talk to anyone anymore, David? That's not very mature.” It was Karen talking.

“I've got nothing more to say,” he said.

“So is she coming back or not?” Wendy asked.

“No, honey,” said Karen. “She did a bad thing.”

“No, she didn't!” yelled David. “And she is coming back.”

“Then why did she run away?”

“Because she was scared of people like you, Mom,” David said bitterly. “Because of shortsighted people like you, who always see the worst and don't wait for explanations. Because she knew her mother was dead, and she knew she'd get the blame, and she knew no one would help her.” He was out of breath.

“I'd help her,” said Wendy. “She's nice.”

“David, it's not worth getting upset over,” Karen said. “She's gone.”

“If she comes back, what then? Are you going to help her? I sure as hell am.”

“David Venn, watch your language.”

“She didn't do anything,” David said. “She was afraid. Can't you see that?”

“Yes, David, we can all understand that. I'm sure when she's found, the police will get to the bottom of this and everything will be fine. She's just a little confused. She'll get the help she needs.”

“So you think she's insane, is that it?” David's voice was shrill again.

Wendy started to cry.

“Now look what you've done. You've made your sister cry. You've scared her.”

“I'll call Sheriff Hannon and lock her up. It's illegal to be scared in Jamesford, don't you know?”

“David. You're being unreasonable. You know Eleanor is a troubled girl. Everyone does. How can you be so dense? Remember Halloween?”

“Oh, yes, I remember. Do you? Do you remember when your children were nearly killed by hooded thugs?”

“I meant Eleanor at the truck stop. Those rumors.”

“Rumors! That's what I'm talking about. Anyway, let's assume for a second that your vicious slander is correct. Have you asked yourself why she did it?” He paused. “How about to save me and Wendy?”

“You're overreacting. You were never in real danger.”

“Arghhhh!” David screamed. From under the trailer, David heard the sound of breaking plates.

“David!” Karen shouted. “Go to your room this instant. I won't have any more of you tonight. You are a trial. I wish your father was here to teach you some respect.”

“No,” he said. “I'm leaving. I'm going to go to look for her again. Give me my keys.”

The sound of the slap was clear and crisp. There was a moment's hesitation and then Wendy howled. But David knew it had not been she who was struck.

After a long time where only Wendy's cries could be heard, David recognized the sound of footsteps going into his room. He expected a slammed door, but it closed gently.

Wendy continued to cry and Karen picked her up and paced the floor with her until she stopped quite a while later.

“It was just a silly fight,” Karen told Wendy. “Like Mommy and Daddy used to have. Everything's okay. Just loud.”

An hour after that, there was a knock on David's door.

“David, can I come in?”

“It's your house,” he said.

Karen stepped inside and closed the door.

“What do you want to have happen, David? Best case scenario.”

“Best case?”

“Be realistic,” she cautioned. “What do you think we can do?”

“She needs a guardian,” he said. “She needs someone to look out for her.”

“And you think that's you?”

“I mean a legal guardian. I'd be it if I could. I sure as hell will look out for her if I can.”

“Language, David.”

“Hell, hell, hell, hell, hell,” he said. She sighed, but didn't take the bait.

“It's out of our hands, David,” she said. “It's never been in our control. She has social workers looking out for her. They know what's best for her. And now? Well, now, she's got a whole new world of troubles to face. She's . . .”

“If you say ‘damaged goods' or anything like it, I swear I'll leave tonight.”

She sighed. “I wasn't going to say that,” she said softly. “Does she really mean that much to you?” she asked. After a long pause when he didn't respond, she asked, “Does she mean more to you than our family? Than me? More than Wendy?”

“You'll do fine without me,” he said.

“So will Eleanor,” she said.

“But I won't without her,” he said.

“You're young,” she said dismissively. “Whatever you think you feel now isn't real. It may feel real, but it fades. It dies. It's nothing to ruin your life over.”

“Is that spoken from experience?”

She fell silent.

“Mom. Whatever I told you Eleanor meant to me before, times that by a million. I couldn't leave her if I wanted to, and I don't want to.”

“But she's gone,” she said. “You have to move on.”

“I will move on if I have to. I'll move to find her. It's bigger than me, than you, than Wendy, than even this stupid backwater berg you dragged us to.”

“You're so naïve,” she said sadly. “It doesn't stay this way.”

“It didn't for you, but that doesn't mean it won't for me.”

She sighed a long heavy sigh. “Let's see what happens,” she said. “Let's give it time. We'll do what we can, okay? I didn't dislike the girl.”

“With friends like you,” David said.

“Hey, I said I'd do what I can. Okay? Peace?”

David sighed. “Peace,” he said. “Can I have my car keys?”

“We can't afford to replace the dishes you broke. How can we afford gas to cruise all night? Do your homework.”

The rest of the night passed without conversation. Wendy wished everyone a goodnight and Karen did the same. David stayed up in his room late at his desk and then fell asleep around midnight. Under the house, in the crawlspace, David made plans for the next day, plans that would satisfy everyone. Well, almost everyone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

D
avid listened to the classroom murmurs over the click of his boots in the hall. School would let out in fifteen minutes. He'd need to be out of the building before then.

He'd had a good breakfast in the Venn's kitchen, cereal, apples, goldfish crackers, and a half gallon of milk. He'd found pants that fit and a pair of hiking boots that didn't blister his feet. Everything was David's. Everything was stolen except the jacket. That had been given to him.

When he got to the right bank of lockers, he slowed down. He knew the number A202. He made sure he was alone and then pressed his nose to the vent and smelled. He matched her smell like a fingerprint—perfume, lotion, shampoo, pheromones, and sweat. He took the note from his pocket, glanced up and down the hallway again, and then slid it through the vent.

He was about to exit through the side doors when he heard his name called. He kept walking.

“David Venn,” said the voice louder. He stopped and turned. It was Mrs. Hart coming from a side hall.

“Yes, Mrs. Hart?” he said glancing at a wall clock. Ten minutes until bell.

“You've been quiet in class,” she said. “Is anything wrong?”

“No, ma'am,” he said.

“It's that Anders girl, isn't it?” she said.

“What about her?”

“I know you were friends,” she said. “It must have come as quite a blow to learn she was a murderer.”

David didn't respond.

“Maybe you should see a counselor,” she said. “It was a blow to all of us.”

“You never liked her,” he said.

“Some people just have a sense, I suppose. You didn't think her strange at all?”

“I don't want to discuss this with you,” he said.

“You should see the counselor. Mr. Sullivan is very good.”

“Are you sleeping with him, too?” he said.

“What did you say?”

He kept silent. A little late he knew.

“You shouldn't believe murderers, Mr. Venn,” she said coldly, her arms held sternly on her hips. “I thought you smarter than that. You looking for another suspension?”

“No, ma'am,” he said.

“Watch your smart mouth,” she said. “Did you change clothes? I thought you were in blue.”

“I had gym class,” he said.

“Oh. Well, David, don't let this Eleanor thing ruin you. You're a cute boy, smart, and you have a lot of potential. You can do so much better than her.”

The bell rang. The clock was wrong.

“I've got to go,” he said and left without another word.

He walked quickly from the school grounds and into a neighborhood of bordering houses, and then headed northeast toward Carter Creek Canyon.

Why did he care what people thought of Eleanor? She was gone. Forever gone. But he had to admit Mrs. Hart was right about one thing: there was murder in the air.

Anyone was capable of killing under the right circumstances. They wouldn't be alive if that ability hadn't been passed along to them. It was all a matter of survival. He could do it. He was on his way to do it. It was survival. It was necessary. It was survival.

He felt the cord in his pocket and hurried to the creek.

He'd waited over an hour before he heard her crashing through the undergrowth. The instructions he'd left were clear but she'd missed the trail anyway and struggled through the bushes. For all her country airs, Barbara Pennon was not a good outdoors-woman.

He'd spent the time planning the aftermath. He didn't know the area well, but he knew that few people came here and those who did usually came on the weekend. Even so, he'd have to hide the body quickly and well. There was a construction site on the other end of the woods a quarter mile away. The foundation was dug. They'd pour concrete in a day or two. He'd go there after dark and bury her.

From what he knew, Barbara's family wouldn't be concerned if she came home late. It would hurt, but most likely she'd be home by eleven o'clock or so. She'd be disheveled, confused, and in need of a shower.

“David. Is that you?” she called.

“Yeah, over here,” he said. “You miss the trail?”

“I guess so,” she said, breaking into the open. She stood on the opposite bank of a rushing brook. The noise was the reason for the spot. That and its loneliness.

“Sorry it took me so long. I had to ditch Russell. He thinks he owns me.”

“Cross over those stones there,” he said, pointing. “Skip the fourth one. It's slippery.”

She did as he said and hopped from rock to rock, her heeled shoes nearly dumping her in the stream each time. She waved her handbag at the end of her arm for balance and giggled. He caught her as she lunged over the last one. She tumbled into his arms.

“It's noisy here,” she said. “We could make lots of noise and no one would hear.”

“Yes, I thought of that.” He studied her closely, scrutinized her features and her skin. He touched her blond hair. “Do you dye your hair?”

“No,” she giggled. He wasn't so sure. She was blonde, but maybe not this blonde.

“Did you call me into these back woods to look at my hair?” She giggled again.

“I want to kiss you,” he said.

“Now you want to kiss me?” she said, playing offended. “Now that Eleanor is a wanted fugitive, you want little ol' me?”

“You won't kiss me?”

“I will,” she said. “But what about Eleanor?”

“What?” he said surprised. “What about Eleanor?”

“Is it over between you two?”

“There was never anything to end,” he said. She looked at him disbelievingly.

“Whatever,” she said. “Sure, I'll kiss you. If it's good, I might even let you kiss me again.” She leaned forward and planted her lips on his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her. She licked and played in his mouth. He let her. He tasted her and stored the sample for later.

She was frenetic and practiced and he didn't like it. There was no electricity in this kiss, no vertigo, no confusion, no excitement. Had there been, he wouldn't have been able to continue. It was for the sake of that energy that he kissed her now and that he was about to do the thing he'd promised Tabitha he wouldn't do. All this was for that energy, the feeling he didn't understand but couldn't leave.

“How was that?” he asked, pulling away from her. He'd had enough. He took a step toward the creek and watched the water rush by.

“You need practice,” she teased. “I can help you with that.”

David slid his hand into his jacket pocket. His fingers wrapped around the clothesline cord he took from a drawer in the Venn's trailer.

He'd promised Tabitha. He'd loved her and trusted her. He stared at the water, the creek ever-flowing but never the same from moment to moment. All was change; all was beautiful.

He turned and looked at Barbara. She smiled playfully back and then her smile melted when she saw his befuddled brow. He'd hated her, still couldn't stand her, was jealous of her to his core. But he couldn't do this now. He couldn't kill her without killing himself. He'd made a promise he knew he couldn't keep, but he had no urgent need to break it now. This was unnecessary, foolish, and doomed to fail. He'd be Barbara at sixteen for how long before he'd have to do this again? If he killed Barbara, it was only a matter of time before she was really gone. Her friends and family might see her for a year or two but then she'd have to go or answer questions. It was just postponement. Like Eleanor, she'd have to disappear forever, leaving nothing but riddles, heartache, and loss. She understood loss. She didn't like Barbara, but there were those who did. If she did this terrible thing, how was her selfishness any better than the rest of humanity's? How could she ever feel worthy of loving anyone if she allowed herself to do this now? Tabitha was dead. Eleanor was dead. That was enough.

His mind swirled like sooty smoke. He fell to his knees on the bank and stared in the stones. His mind flashed into focus as he saw his reflection in the water. It was unreal to see David looking up at him, staring at him with his own eyes, loving, sympathetic, caring, and forgiving.

“David?” said Barbara. “You alright?”

He drew in a deep clean breath of mountain air, springtime runoff, and wildflowers. Unclenching his fist, letting go of the cord, he got to his feet.

“Barbara,” he said. “I can't do this.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself, David. I haven't said you could do anything yet. We're just getting started.”

“Go home,” he said. “Forget this ever happened.”

She stared at him dumbstruck.

“Go,” he said.

“You've got a lot of nerve, David Venn,” she said staring daggers at him. “Who do you—look out!”

The creek had masked his coming. He heard the rush too late. He turned just as Russell Liddle threw a branch across his head.

Barbara screamed. Russell yelled. David hit the ground.

Before the stars had cleared his vision, Russell was across the stream and on top of him. He pounded David's face with his fists. He heard his nose break under Russell's knuckles and yelled.

His scream melded with Barb's, who pushed Russell off him. She tripped and went down beside him.

Adrenaline surged, fight or flight. David rolled over and squatted on his haunches. His vision sharpened through a clear tunnel. Ancient music played in his muscles. He felt change in his hands and legs, a sudden radical realignment of flesh and bone. A terrible pain he noted but didn't feel. It only fed his feral transformation. He growled an unearthly sound.

Russell kicked Barbara away and picked up the tree branch he'd flattened David with before.

“You've had this coming for a year,” he snarled. “No big John from your hooker to save you today. You're going to bleed.”

David sprang at him. His legs uncoiled like a lunging snake, his arms outstretched, his hands, boney, tough, curled, and clawed. Russell swung the branch and hit him on the left shoulder as he crashed into him and shoved him on his back.

David rolled over and sprang to his feet, ready for another leap. He looked at his hands. They felt as if on fire. While he watched, two fingernails dropped off. Thick, barbed claws grew from his fingertips, gripping, cutting claws like a cat's. A big ancient cat.

One by one each finger stretched and hardened.

“David run!” Barbara screamed.

He'd given Russell time to stand. He held a six inch hunting knife. His shirt was torn. Blood trickled from his chest where he'd been scratched. The next scratch wouldn't be so kind. With David's new hands, he'd tear Russell's flesh open like a bag of potato chips.

Russell closed on David, wide-stanced, ready to duck, dodge, or lunge. He wouldn't be surprised again.

“Run!”

“Shut up!” Russell yelled at Barbara. “I'll deal with you later.”

David tasted copper. His nose bled liberally down his face and dripped from his chin.

His hands felt like they were dipped in acid. He thought about them, let the pain approach through his mental fog, and willed the change to stop. He did. Half his fingers were black tipped claws, the others retreated into fingers. He was not an animal. He was greater than his instinct.

Russell lunged at him blade first, and David spun away. The knife caught the sleeve of the jacket and ripped a three inch tear above his elbow.

“Russell, leave him alone. Nothing happened!” screamed Barbara.

“This ain't wholly about you, you know.” He spat and circled David, looking for an opening.

David balled his hands into fists. They were rock hard, but they wouldn't expose any organs if he had to use them against Russell. He felt the claws dig into his palms. The pain threatened to re-trigger the change. He stepped back. Russell took a step closer.

Just then Russell noticed his torn shirt and bleeding chest. “Looks like it's a fair fight after all,” he said. “You got a knife, too, huh? Looks like a couple. You won't get another chance to use them, though.”

David longed to strike, to unleash the thing within him and taste Russell's blood. And then what? Become him?

Sensing his confusion, Russell lunged again, blade first. David reflexively swatted at the attack, redirecting the trajectory away from chest and neck. Russell caromed to his left, but the knife blade caught David's hand and cut it to the bone.

Russell spun around for another go, but paused when he saw the blood squirting from David's hand in heart-beating rhythm. David cradled his injured finger against his chest and stepped backwards.

Barbara screamed. Russell went ashen. Blood pooled on David's jacket from the unstoppered cut.

He felt the claws grow again. Faster than it started, the bleeding ceased. The flesh knitted. Flames licked at every nerve. Laid bare beneath his retreating reason was a buried, ancient and wild, bestial construct, prehistoric, cruel, angry, and hungry. He knew he had only seconds of control before it'd consume him completely. And then Russell would die.

As if in prayer or explanation he muttered only one word, “Tabitha,” before he fled into the forest.