Page 27 of The Devil Knows Her Name

This last was directed at Paul, and she patted his arm.

“You were so quiet, Tess,” Christine said.

I almost jumped at the sound of my own name; I didn’t think anyone had noticed. “Just not much for me to talk about,” I answered. “I know from a previous discussion that Pastor Zeke and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to wildlife. If I had to guess, that’d probably be the case on most topics.”

Georgie frowned. “Is this because I said he came in looking for squirrel traps? Because that’s what most folks would do, you know?”

“It’s not because of that,” I said defensively. “It’s that, when I offered to get them out of the attic myself, he basically told me to fuck off.”

Christine winced visibly at the curse, some teacher’s instinct that hadn’t died yet in retirement. Georgie didn’t look convinced, and for a moment I thought she’d argue back at me, but then she closed her mouth with a sharp click of teeth.

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding,” Evelyn said hurriedly. “I know it’s easy for tempers to get short when we’re talking about things we’re passionate about.”

“Maybe,” I said. “The son seems a little more open-minded. He asked if I had a volunteer program.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Evelyn responded. “See? He must’ve gotten that from somewhere!”

Max clapped his hands lightly. “All right, ladies, let’s get back to packing, shall we? Paul still has to sleep tonight—he’s got a long drive tomorrow.”

Everyone glanced at each other but avoided making eye contact with me. I suddenly felt claustrophobic; I could see that Evelyn was itching to corner me, to make sure I wasn’t harboring any resentment toward her new favorite person. I knew that Paul was too, but for different reasons.

“Actually, I should probably head out,” I said, as gently as I could muster. I couldn’t let them think I was storming out, or they’d never let me leave. “I have animals at home that are going to need feeding.”

There was a little dismayed chorus—except for Georgie, who said nothing. Evelyn’s protest was twice as loud to make up for it. “You really can’t stay?” Paul asked, sounding gutted.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I gave him a hug, pretended not to notice when he hung on a beat too long. “You drive safe, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for coming. It was good to have everyone here on my last night.”

I bent down to give Shep one final chest scratch and a kiss on the top of his head, then backed down the steps, putting a safe distance between me and Paul. “It was nice,” I said. “I’m happy for you, that you’re getting out while you can.”

Chapter

9

That night, I dreamed I was drowning. At first I thought it was the pond again, but this was different. There was no icy, nebulous weight of water, no expansive dark stretching away from me on all sides; instead, this blackness closed me in, crushed me, lay thick and hot over my face. My arms were pinned down by my sides, and my heart climbed into my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

The smell of death was all around me, the scent of shit and iron and deep-body organs pervading my nostrils, inescapable. I retched, gasped, but there was no air. I tasted blood, or something like it. I could feel it sliding down my face, creeping into my mouth, running into my eyes. I fought to move my arms again, make some attempt to free myself, but I couldn’t. The slick, heaving darkness pressed me down.

I opened my mouth to scream, somehow still expecting the rush of water that accompanied every other dream of drowning. There was none; instead, my teeth grazed a humid, pulsing form in the black, and my tongue tasted it.

I bit down.

The instinct was not my own, not even human. And yet I closed my teeth around it until I felt something give, felt a hot rush of liquid in my mouth. I yanked, ripped, my neck straining. I swallowed down a shred of flesh—because that was what it was, flesh. There was still no air, but there was a pocket of space, a sense that perhaps air was not so far away, if only I could get to it.

I bit down again, teeth grinding, liquid running down my throat. I did not have a predator’s teeth, and the stuff of life did not want to give between them, but I made it give. I tore away the flesh, gulped it down; there was nowhere else for it to go. I forgot about my arms entirely, stopped trying to move them. Perhaps I didn’t have arms. Perhaps my body was something else now.

At last, my teeth tore through to the outside. There was fur in this bite, and animal musk, and I spit it out. I pushed my face through and gasped the clean, beautiful air. My hands came up alongside, startling me; they tore the hole open farther, and I spilled out onto the grass.

I was red all over, slippery, steaming. My hair hung in sticky strings around me as I heaved in oxygen. My vision swam watery pink, and my eyelashes were a clotted veil.

I pushed myself up, my limbs trembling and weak. I collapsed back down again at first, and lay there simply breathing, seeking the scent of the warm grass and earth through the overwhelming metallic tang. Finally, I gathered my strength, heaved myself up, got my knees underneath me. The clover cushioned my bare feet and the wind blew strong, drying the blood on my naked body. Before me stretched a long, narrow corridor of road, trees on either side.

I turned. Behind me stretched a trail of slime and viscera through the tall grass. At the end of it lay the doe, her neck broken, the hole gaping in her stomach.

Strangely, I didn’t wake up then. From there, I fell into a black, dreamless sleep. When I did wake, it was with heavy eyes, a film of sweat dried on my skin, and the same feeling of wrongness I experienced when I first found the doe.

I sat up carefully, trying to get my bearings. Glancing around my room, nothing seemed out of place; my jeans and flannel were slung over the wingback chair where I left them, my wallet and phone undisturbed on the nightstand, the bouquet of sunflowers and dahlias on my dresser still fresh and colorful, and yet I couldn’t shake the sensation of precariousness.