Part 29 (1/2)

”Can you turn me back?” he asks. ”I'd like to be a wolf again.”

I squeeze my fists tighter. I won't hit him again. ”What part did you like best?” I can't help asking him. ”Killing my boyfriend? Or eating him?”

He ducks his head. Doesn't answer.

If I take him to Mom and Dad they'll know what to do. They'll see that I didn't kill Zach. They'll let me stay. They'll stop looking at me like I'm more beast than human.

The white boy's so beaten, so desperate, he'll do whatever I tell him.

”I'm going to take you somewhere,” I tell him.

”No,” the boy says firmly. ”You're mad at me.”

”It's somewhere safe,” I tell him.

”Where?” He looks at me warily.

”Upstate. Where you'll turn into a wolf once a month.”

”Promise?”

I nod. ”There are other wolves there. My relatives. You'll like it.”

”Wolfs like you?” he asks.

”Yeah.”

”Alright,” he says, standing up. ”I liked being a wolf. It's better.”

Death is better than what he's got.

AFTER.

It's dawn when I push the white boy into our apartment and slam the door behind us. I shove him past the shoes and coats and into the kitchen. He falls bonelessly to the floor, glaring up at me.

”This isn't-,” the boy begins.

”Micah?” Dad calls out from the bedroom, before joining us in the kitchen. Mom behind him. ”Where have you been? Who's he?”

”This is him,” I say. ”Zach's killer.”

”Didn't mean to,” the boy says.

”Mon dieu,” Mom says, covering her nose.

There's no getting past the boy in such a tiny kitchen. He's sprawled and sullen, reeking even worse inside than he does outside, with no breeze to mitigate the smell. The three us are crowded into the hallway not wanting to get too close. I wonder if I reek from being so near him the last few hours. My hand hurts and I need a shower.

”Why'd you bring him here?” Dad puts his hand over his nose.

”Because you didn't believe me. Well, here he is: the boy who killed Zach.”

All three of us stare at the boy, who pulls his knees to himself. ”Was me,” he agrees.

”He is a wolf?” Mom asks.

”Only once,” the boy says. ”I liked it. She says I can be a wolf again. Once a month.”

Mom and Dad exchange looks. There's no doubt they believe me now. Maybe they'll let me stay.

”He's disgusting,” Dad says. ”I'm running a bath.”

Our bathtub is barely a half tub. The whole bathroom is tiny. Skinny as the boy is it'll be a tight squeeze.

”Not was.h.i.+ng. Don't like water.”

”No kidding,” I say.

”Come on,” Dad says. ”I'm cleaning you up. Putting you in fresh clothes.”

”Don't like water.” He doesn't move.

”I can see that,” Dad says. ”But wash, you will.”

”If you don't go with Dad, we won't take you up to the farm.”

”The wolf farm?”

”Yes, the wolf farm. But you have to be clean. Wolves are clean animals.”

”Alright,” he says, standing, slowly. Mom and I move toward the front door to avoid touching him, trying not to get tangled up in the coats hanging there.

”This way,” Dad says, as if there were another way. The boy follows him.

”Should I help?” Mom asks.

Dad shakes his head, leads the boy into the bathroom, closes the door behind him. There's a few seconds of silence, then the boy starts screaming, but it's too loud and angry for me to pick words out. It sounds like water is going everywhere.

”Will Isaiah be alright?” Mom asks. ”He won't hurt him, will he?”

I press my ear to the door. Dad's talking soft, trying to soothe the boy, coax him. ”Dad's okay.” The boy's unhappy but not murderous. ”It'll be okay.”

”He killed your Zach?” Mom asks. ”You are sure?”

I nod.

”He's not slow? He understands?”

”He's slow but he understands. He's like me. You should see him run. No style at all. Totally spastic, but he runs as fast as I do.”

”Oh,” Mom says.