Voracious (18 page)

Madeline flipped ahead, skipping several entries. Noah had been getting used to the idea of a creature like this for more than two centuries. It was his life now, hunting Stefan, a daily routine. Madeline’s mind still reeled at the thought of other creatures sharing her world. She’d always loved the thought of magic, and as a child had read every book on fairies, dragons, and mythological beings that she could abscond away into her room. But none of that had prepared her for the absolute knowledge that such a thing could exist. And Stefan was no mischievous fairy or griffin with gleaming wings. He was a killer—an intelligent, relentless killer—and a kind of beast too dark for the books that had thrilled her as a child. Stefan was a monster that belonged in forgotten volumes, heavy with age and sealed with a rusting lock. Dark records of hideous creatures described and then hidden away for none to find, as if the sealing of the tome could seal in the beast’s power.

She found another entry and resumed.

Spooked, Madeline closed the diary. She didn’t want to know this—didn’t even want to consider that the one person who knew what was going on had failed in the past.

She flipped through the rest of the journal. The entries grew further and further apart, sometimes only one or two every twenty years.

The last entry, dated February 22, 1922, read,
“Hate myself. Hate myself. Hate myself. Hate myself.”

Blank pages followed. In the back, a number of pages were filled, listing names she assumed were victims. One column contained the name and the other the fate of the person. “Couldn’t save” was written after each name in a scrawling hand. The list went on for pages and pages, almost all with “Couldn’t save” written next to them. Only three entries differed. One read, “Died of natural causes before creature could kill.” Another read, “Incarcerated in H.M. prison before creature could kill,” and the column next to the last name was blank. She froze as she read the name: Madeline Keye.

Horrified, she realized Noah had
never
saved a victim. Not even once. Some had escaped being eaten, but only through coincidence.

Her safe haven suddenly seemed as dangerous as going it alone.

But where else could she go?

At least Noah was knowledgeable, even if he hadn’t been successful. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him, discovering everything as he went, both the horrible with the good.

She sat for many moments with the book closed on her chest, unsure if she should stay or flee and hope for her chances. She debated for a long time, feeling the terrible sadness of the book sweeping over her.

Madeline checked her wrist, ensuring she still wore the bracelet. She unhooked the latch and lifted the tiny lid. Inside, coiled and gleaming, was Ellie’s thin silver bracelet, the one she’d lost that day. She rarely touched it herself, and would never wear it. Locked inside the metal were such powerful images of Ellie that when Madeline touched it, she almost felt her friend was there, like she could talk to her and Ellie would hear her. She touched the bracelet gently, just the tip of one finger resting on its surface.

Images swept over her. Ellie sitting next to her in math class. Ellie and she watching movies on a Friday night, popcorn strewn around them. They’d met when they were five, on the first day of first grade. Huddled outside the gray stone school building that chilly morning, waiting for school to start, they’d begun a conversation with each other, comparing their similar woolly hats. The talk turned toward age and birthdays. Being only five, neither could remember their exact birth date (they left that and the toy-giving to their parents), but they were both sure they’d been born in late October. It was close enough, and they became instant friends.

When the other kids teased Madeline or tried to pick fights because they were scared, Ellie was always ready to jump in and let her fists fly. An intense flash erupted of Ellie standing over one bully on the jungle gym, shaking her five-year-old fist threateningly after shoving him into the monkey bars. Another image sprang up of Ellie thrusting a tree branch into the spokes of a bully’s BMX bike as he tried to flee the area after calling Madeline a series of unflattering names. The jerk had flipped up over the front of his handlebars and landed with a terrific smack in the middle of the street. It was a hot July day and the bubbling tar on the street had stuck to the boy’s face.

“Ellie.” Madeline breathed softly. Her friend shimmered and swam into view, sitting next to her on the foldout couch.

“Hey, Mad,” she said softly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I know. And that’s okay. You’re a good person. You’ll figure it out.”

“I think you’d want me to help.”

“You’re probably right,” Ellie answered, a wry smile turning the corner of her mouth.

After a stretch of silence, Madeline said, “I think I really like this guy.”

“I can see why. He’s hot.”

“And nice. And he has a noble quality about him, too.”

“Your knight in shining armor come to take you away from all this madness?”

“Or maybe to take me into all this madness.”

“That’s not as good.”

“I know,” Madeline answered, nodding in the darkness. She watched her glimmering friend, remembering the curve of her brow, the mischievous look she could get in her eye, all the years of happiness they’d had, and all the years that had been taken.

“I miss you.”

Ellie met her eyes, sadness glistening there.

They sat in silence then, Madeline not sure of what to say, not needing to say anything. That had been their way in life. They understood without needing to say much.

Finally Madeline closed the latch on the small silver box, Ellie’s image shimmering, then vanishing into the darkness. She set the journal aside, her mind drawn back to the Sickle Moon Killer, the story fresh now in her mind. She could distinctly picture his face, that terrible knowledge that he’d been caught, the desperation, needing to get rid of them. She lay awake nights sometimes, terrified he’d escaped from the penitentiary and was on his way to her house. Or worse, already there, breathing laboriously outside her bedroom door, seething with hatred and waiting to crush the life out of her in revenge. The fear hadn’t stopped until she learned he’d been killed in that fight.

Her mind traveled over what was to come tomorrow if she agreed to Noah’s plea for help. They’d drive out to the cabin where the creature was holed up for its “digestion period.” She cringed inwardly. She’d feel any belongings it had there, see if she could get a fix on any future victims. Maybe she would, and then they’d go to the police. They’d contact her hometown police station, or maybe they’d remember reading about her from the Sickle Moon Killer case files. They’d either ridicule her or ask her to participate in the investigation. Maybe they’d even save the next victim’s life and catch the killer. What if they wanted more? Piles of dead-end grisly cases, one after the other? This time she couldn’t use the excuse of being fourteen years old. Now she was twenty-one and was supposed to be deciding her future. People would expect her to “do the right thing,” to give up her innocence and happiness in the service of others, to use her “gift” to identify other killers. They wouldn’t consider the horrific images and acts she’d have to relive while acquiring visions. They wouldn’t consider the empty black-hole ache that consumed her after she’d encountered the Sickle Moon Killer. She’d become a hollow, bleak shell.

She alone had to consider herself. And she didn’t want that kind of life.

She wanted to transfer to her new college, engage in normal college activities. Go to parties, take fun classes, hell, even write term papers and cram for biology finals on hydrophilic cells and mitochondria. She wanted people to know her for who she was, not her bizarre talent. She wanted people to act normal around her.

She glanced toward the bedroom door. Noah had been hunting this thing for two centuries. He had a weapon but had been unsuccessful thus far. She thought of the endless list of victims he was unable to save. Why would she be any different? She didn’t need to hang around him, waiting to be murdered, so much bait waiting in a tackle shop.

Looking out the window at the darkness beyond, she suddenly thought of the goat in
Jurassic Park
, the one tied to the post in wait for the
Tyrannosaurus rex
.

The urge to run suddenly became intolerable.
Listen to your instincts,
she thought.
Know when to get the hell out of here.
Lying still for a moment, she listened for sounds from Noah’s room. Silence. Turning her head, she looked at the door. It was still open a crack, and darkness lay beyond. She was almost sure he was asleep. Quietly she peeled the yellow blanket back and swung her feet to the floor. Her own clothes, the pair of jeans and long-sleeved cotton shirt, lay draped and damp over the back of a chair. She dressed quickly in the dark, putting one of Noah’s fleece jackets on top. Lacing up her boots, she glanced again at the bedroom. Still silent. Still dark.

Creeping silently across the floor, she reached the front door and pushed aside a curtain. Only trees and a Dumpster met her eyes. No creature in sight. She disengaged the bolt and slipped outside. Turning the lock on the inside knob of the door, she made sure Noah would be locked in safely and then closed the door behind herself with finality.

A chilly breeze blew over her, and she zipped up the fleece jacket as high as it would go, partially covering her face.

She needed to reach her car. She didn’t fancy the idea of waiting out on the road at this hour for a car to hitch a ride. Hardly anyone would be driving by, and she’d be out in the open, vulnerable to the creature.

Then she thought of Steve, the naturalist who had helped her earlier. She was in trouble and needed to leave the park. He would understand that. Maybe he’d give her a ride to her car.

Making up her mind, she set off down the paved path, the pines creaking overhead as her boots crunched on loose pebbles. The ranger residences lay only about a quarter mile away, on a parallel road. She’d reach them in no time.

The moon overhead shone bright enough for her to see the path, and she navigated quickly to the main road. She tried not to think about the dense shadows around her or what could be hiding in the black beneath the trees. If the creature
was
there, it was not attacking, which was fine with her. And if it wasn’t there, she didn’t want to slow herself down by checking every shifting shadow beneath the pine branches. With her ears tuned sharply to the sounds around her, she pushed on quickly, her eyes darting around furtively. If it did jump out and she caught a glimpse or heard a shuffle, she’d be ready. She could dart aside, or maybe even turn and strike out at it. She’d wounded it before. She could do it again.