her hat wasn’t going to get any fuller with Sarah sitting between her and any people walking by. Should she hint that the other woman should go? Maybe she should find a different place to sit. “It’s happening here now,” Sarah repeated.
Cassie shook her head. “What is?”
Leaning forward, Sarah smoothed out the newspaper and poked her finger onto the front page, pinning it to the concrete. “That,” she said, her voice free of any trace of inflection. “It’s happening here now. Like it did before.” Sarah nodded deeply, her expression grave.
“What do you mean, ‘like before’?”
“Just like before,” Sarah repeated, nodding more quickly. “Like the last time.” She shifted a little, bounced in place.
“What’s happening? What do you mean?”
“It likes the winter,” Sarah said. “It likes to hunt in the winter.” The head-shaking turned into a faint twitching, and Sarah’s body swayed from side to side.
It was scary to watch, and Cassie felt the mania, the fear, starting to infect her. Her heartbeats were coming faster, herbreaths shorter; she was starting to get caught up in whatever was affecting Sarah.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “The murders? They’ve happened before?”
Sarah’s face burst open in a wide smile. “Before,” she cried out. “Before. And now here. It’s happening here now. It’s happening here!”
“What’s happening here? Where did it happen? When?” Desperate for any answer, any little bit.
But Sarah was backing up on the pavement, staring at Cassie, backing up on her gloves, crab-walking, pushing herself back with her feet, then jumping up, hurrying away, arms wrapped tight around herself again, weaving. She was talking to herself as she scurried down the sidewalk, but Cassie couldn’t make out what she was saying.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Cassie couldn’t stay there, not after the conversation with Sarah. Even before her heart had slowed, she needed to move, to walk.
She scooped up the few coins from her hat and stuffed them into her pocket as she stood up. The hat itself went into the very top of her bag, crammed and almost bursting it was so full.
Too full, really, for how little was in it.
She needed a new bag. And some new clothes. Especially before she went to the restaurant.
The thought of spending the last of the money she had brought from home caused a defensive pang, but she didn’treally have a choice: she couldn’t live in one set of clothes for God knows how long.
It wasn’t a long walk to the Salvation Army thrift shop; Cassie plugged in her earphones and kept her head bowed against the wind coming straight up the street off the water.
She didn’t want to spend any more time in the store than she absolutely had to. The stuffy air was rank with grime and the faint mildew scent of old clothes; the store made her skin itch and feel prickly in her clothes. She wasn’t sure if it was the smell, the heat or the chaos.
She went as quickly as she could, moving from rack to rack in a steady, merciless examination, fuelled by the Nine Inch Nails CD playing at high volume in her ears.
A pair of jeans in her size. A couple of shirts. Two white tank tops, a size small, to take the place of her bra, which was practically falling apart. A couple of pairs of wool socks. A black sweater with a hole under the arm but nothing else wrong with it. She winced as she sorted through a beaten-up laundry basket full of underwear, but she didn’t really have a choice. When she found a package of two white pairs in her size, still wrapped, with the price tag still on, it felt like she had stumbled across a winning lottery ticket.
Maybe not quite that good.
She paid for the clothes with her last twenty-dollar bill, carefully tucking the change into the front pocket of her backpack before zipping up her coat and stepping back into the wind.
It took her longer than she had expected to find the showers that Skylark had
Cassie shook her head. “What is?”
Leaning forward, Sarah smoothed out the newspaper and poked her finger onto the front page, pinning it to the concrete. “That,” she said, her voice free of any trace of inflection. “It’s happening here now. Like it did before.” Sarah nodded deeply, her expression grave.
“What do you mean, ‘like before’?”
“Just like before,” Sarah repeated, nodding more quickly. “Like the last time.” She shifted a little, bounced in place.
“What’s happening? What do you mean?”
“It likes the winter,” Sarah said. “It likes to hunt in the winter.” The head-shaking turned into a faint twitching, and Sarah’s body swayed from side to side.
It was scary to watch, and Cassie felt the mania, the fear, starting to infect her. Her heartbeats were coming faster, herbreaths shorter; she was starting to get caught up in whatever was affecting Sarah.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “The murders? They’ve happened before?”
Sarah’s face burst open in a wide smile. “Before,” she cried out. “Before. And now here. It’s happening here now. It’s happening here!”
“What’s happening here? Where did it happen? When?” Desperate for any answer, any little bit.
But Sarah was backing up on the pavement, staring at Cassie, backing up on her gloves, crab-walking, pushing herself back with her feet, then jumping up, hurrying away, arms wrapped tight around herself again, weaving. She was talking to herself as she scurried down the sidewalk, but Cassie couldn’t make out what she was saying.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Cassie couldn’t stay there, not after the conversation with Sarah. Even before her heart had slowed, she needed to move, to walk.
She scooped up the few coins from her hat and stuffed them into her pocket as she stood up. The hat itself went into the very top of her bag, crammed and almost bursting it was so full.
Too full, really, for how little was in it.
She needed a new bag. And some new clothes. Especially before she went to the restaurant.
The thought of spending the last of the money she had brought from home caused a defensive pang, but she didn’treally have a choice: she couldn’t live in one set of clothes for God knows how long.
It wasn’t a long walk to the Salvation Army thrift shop; Cassie plugged in her earphones and kept her head bowed against the wind coming straight up the street off the water.
She didn’t want to spend any more time in the store than she absolutely had to. The stuffy air was rank with grime and the faint mildew scent of old clothes; the store made her skin itch and feel prickly in her clothes. She wasn’t sure if it was the smell, the heat or the chaos.
She went as quickly as she could, moving from rack to rack in a steady, merciless examination, fuelled by the Nine Inch Nails CD playing at high volume in her ears.
A pair of jeans in her size. A couple of shirts. Two white tank tops, a size small, to take the place of her bra, which was practically falling apart. A couple of pairs of wool socks. A black sweater with a hole under the arm but nothing else wrong with it. She winced as she sorted through a beaten-up laundry basket full of underwear, but she didn’t really have a choice. When she found a package of two white pairs in her size, still wrapped, with the price tag still on, it felt like she had stumbled across a winning lottery ticket.
Maybe not quite that good.
She paid for the clothes with her last twenty-dollar bill, carefully tucking the change into the front pocket of her backpack before zipping up her coat and stepping back into the wind.
It took her longer than she had expected to find the showers that Skylark had
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