Part 28 (2/2)
HISTORY OF ME.
You want to know why I didn't smell him? Why I didn't realize it was Zach? I told you I smelled the blood well enough to know it was fresh. So why didn't I know it was Zach's body?
You're right. I'm a wolf. My sense of smell is excellent. Even when I'm human.
But not when I've just changed back. The wiring's all wrong. This way and that. Sometimes I hear with my fingers. Smell with my ears. That kind of weirdness. Takes hours, sometimes a day, to be normal again.
I'd only just changed back. I got the basics: blood, innards. But not a lot more.
And the memory of the smell didn't stay with me. (Thank G.o.d.) That's why I didn't know.
AFTER.
”I did something to you? What do you mean?” I scream at the white boy as we near the bottom of the hill. We keep running. I don't know why I'm not confronting him, wrestling him to the ground, pinning his arms, dragging him to my parents. See? Here's your killer, not me.
”You're the same as me,” the boy says. He has a strange accent. Not New York. Or maybe it's a speech impediment. He doesn't talk right, whatever it is. ”You're just me.”
I have an urge to tell him, no, I don't reek. But it's true. We're both wolves. He's not breathing heavy the way Zach would be by now. His stride is too short and his arms are flopping all over the place, but he keeps pace easily.
”It happened after I saw you. Running like me. You did magic on me. Made me into an animal.”
He doesn't know what he is?
”It hurt. Your magic hurt so bad. Why'd you do that? You could've warned me.”
What do I say? I concentrate on the swing of my arms, on keeping my shoulders down and my knees high.
My head hurts. What about his family? Why haven't they told him what he is?
”Why'd you do it?” he asks.
”I didn't,” I say. ”The wolf's already in you. Your parents should've told you.”
”Got no parents,” he says. ”Wolf? Is that the animal you magicked me into? Huh. Thought I was a bear.”
”I didn't do it to you. There's no magic.” No parents? How could he have no parents? ”What about your other family?” I ask. ”Brothers? Sisters? Grandparents? Aunts?”
”No family. You made me a wolf? I like wolfs.”
”Wolves,” I say.
In the distance there's a patrol car. I jump the fence and head deeper into the park where cars can't go, enjoying gra.s.s under my shoes. Springy, more give. The boy follows, not missing a beat. He's not sweating any more than I am. Just as well. I can't imagine how much worse he'd smell.
”I didn't make you into anything,” I repeat, though it's not entirely true. ”You were born that way. Comes from your family. Mine are all wolves. That's why I'm one, too.”
”That mean you're my family then?”
”Maybe,” I say, hoping not.
”You're black. Can't be family.”
I groan. I'm starting to think he's simple. How can I explain anything to him? ”How old are you?”
”Dunno. Thirteen? Maybe fourteen.”
”How can you not know how old you are?” This is impossible. ”When you turned into a wolf you killed someone. Did you know that?”
The boy grunts. I'm not sure if it's a yes or a no.
”You killed someone.”
”Yeah. Your boy.”
I turn my head to watch him. He looks as bad as he smells. Not just dirty. His skin is uneven, blotchy, pocked, sprinkled with zits and blackheads, large-pored. There are scars on his forehead and under his right eye. Maybe his left, too, but I can only see his profile. His teeth are so crowded and crooked they threaten to overwhelm his mouth. They're green.
”My belly hurt,” he continues. ”It was all angry and hungry. Smelled him first. Knew him 'cause he was with you all the time. I've been following you. I ate him,” he says. Some snot dribbles out of his left nostril. ”Didn't know I could till I did it.”
I lurch to halt and punch the boy in the face with all my might. My hand explodes. ”Ow. f.u.c.k.”
The boy goes down onto the gra.s.s. I kick him hard in the ribs and then again and again. He makes no sound. Like he's been beaten before and knows to keep quiet. I stop. ”f.u.c.k.”
The look he gives me is wounded but unsurprised. His left eye reddens. It will be black before long. I don't know what he was expecting from me but this wasn't it. I pace in front of him, my hands curled into fists. ”You killed my boyfriend. What did you think I was going to do? Kiss you?”
The boy doesn't say anything. He sinks lower, preparing himself for more violence. It makes me wince.
”You live on the streets, don't you?”
He's homeless. A street kid. He's poor. Poorer than poor. He doesn't have anything. He's as much poorer than me as I am poorer than Sarah. He has no family. I don't think he's been to school. Or if he has, it was a long time ago. He had no idea he was a wolf until I forgot to take my pill.
This is my fault.
”I hate you,” I tell him. ”You killed Zach and I will never forgive you for it. Why couldn't you eat a f.u.c.king squirrel? A cat or a dog? h.e.l.l, even a tourist would have been better. Why'd you have to kill Zach?”
”He smelled good.”
No more violence, I tell myself. The Greats will take care of him. I just have to get him upstate. But the white boy didn't know. He didn't know anything. He still doesn't know anything. How can I take him to his death?
f.u.c.k.
He killed Zach. He knew Zach was human and he killed him. This boy has no moral sense. He'll kill again. Taking him to the Greats is a mercy killing.
What's his life worth now? No home, no family, no friends, no nothing.
”Didn't mean it,” the boy says. ”If I knew how mad you'd get I wouldn't've done it.”
I think I'm going to scream. I pace faster.
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