Jessica said, "It was in here before. It said 'it's me' in her voice." A moment later, "Where's the dog?"
They looked right at me at least twice. And then past.
"It was here," she repeated in a defensive tone. Brandon gave her one of his patronizing looks. "It killed the dog. It tried to attack Clara, too. I rescued her."
"I've never known you to be this excitable. I pray you'll do it on your on time next time, and not disturb me at work."
They were on their way out when Clara came in. "Maman?"
"Get back!" Jessica snapped, but Brand said, "There's no one here. Don't be a twit."
"Maman." Clara had a child's eyes, not as easily fooled by expectations. She saw me at the wall and came over, knelt beside me and touched my face.
I should have regretted her revealing me. But all I knew was joy at the relief and delight in her eyes and voice. She threw her arms about my neck and I enveloped her with arms and coils.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you about Frou Frou," she said.
"And I'm sorry," I replied. "I'm sorry that I scared you and hurt Frou Frou."
"He's not ever coming back, is he?"
"No, not ever," I said. "He's dead now. Gone. I'm sorry."
She gave it some thought. "You couldn't help it. I saw what happened. He was trying to bite you. You must have been really scared."
"Yes. I was."
"But I wish he wasn't gone."
"Me too, honey."
She pressed her cheek against my scaly breast. She stroked my skin, and as if her fingers were tiny paintbrushes, my scales changed color beneath their touch: silver, rose, amethyst.
She released a contented sigh. "You look pretty, Maman. Prettier than ever."
That brought tears to my eyes.
I heard a sound and looked up. Brand had a poker in his hand now, and was lifting it to strike a blow to my head.
My colors grew bright, blue / red / yellow / black and dangerous. My coils curled up beneath me and my hood spread. I felt my glands taut and warm with venom, pressing against my sinuses and palate. Brand hesitated.
But I was sluggish, and couldn't maintain my erect posture. My colors began to fade to smoke, rust, sand, and ash. I leaned against the wall with Clara in my arms, striving for fierceness.
"Put that thing down before someone gets hurt," I said. "Put it down."
He lowered his arm and regarded me. Then Jessica looked closely at my misshapen trunk, and her hand went to her mouth. "It ate the dog."
Brand winced. "My God."
"Leave us be," I muttered.
"Give me my child." Fear had entered Brand's voice. Fear for his child. "I'll let you go if you give me Clara."
I was shocked at that. "I'd never hurt her, Brand."
He dropped the poker and went down on his knees before me, folded his hands and held them out to me, pleading. A bead of sweat rolled from his temple to his chin.
"You were human once. You adored her. Swear to me that you won't harm her. Swear, or let her go."
I remembered, when she had struck me, precisely how close I had come to lashing out, poisoning her as I had Frou Frou. I remembered how the dog had thrashed when I'd struck him and I remembered the sensation as I'd shoved him down my throat. The thought turned me numb with dread.
I looked at Clara's trusting face, pressed against my chest, and sobbed. I'd just killed and eaten a pet I'd had since I was fourteen. I couldn't be sure of myself at all.
I handed her over to him and slumped back against the wall.
I wouldn't have hurt her, you know. I would never have hurt her. If only I could go back, reassure that younger, frightened me. Yd tell her, take Clara, hold her to you. Trust yourself. She needs you. You can do it.
I've never hurt a human soul, since my changeover. Except to help the terminally ill on to a better life at their own pleading. And surely that's a gift, not a curse. I've forsworn bigotry and pettiness, and devoted my life to helping others.
I've killed animals, to be sure. Often. Famine drove me to eat Frou Frou that day, but it wasn't a human's hunger. This body needs the nutrients, the minerals and proteins in animal blood, skin, hair, and bones. That was why the craving was so strong. It's a part of my nature now, to require live or newly dead, whole animals. Raw meat is as close as I can come to human foods, and it's not adequate to sustain me for very long. I'm not human any more, in that way.
My eating habits are certainly less sanitary and more immediate than buying ground round at the grocery store. But it's not so different in concept, is it, after all?
Other animals, their intelligence is not the equal of ours. Yet they are still living creatures, and have more intelligence than we credit them with. They deserve life and respect, as much as we do.
But our very existence forces us to make hard choices. It forces us to prey on other creatures when the need is great.
I had always been a predator, by choice, without need. I had spent a lifetime preying on the weaknesses of others. The wild card made me a predator in truth, and gave me no choice in the matter.
I've learned from it. I learned that one must forgive oneself for what one has had to do to survive. And I can forgive myself everything. Everything but how I abandoned Clara that day.
I understand why it happened, don't mistake me. I'd spent a lifetime being untrustworthy and shallow and hypocritical. And now I had become a creature whom I feared at least as much as Brand and Jessica did.
How could I know that all that had happened in the past few days would force me to find a strength I didn't know I had? Nothing in my past had prepared me to trust that I could protect Clara from the worst of what I had become.
I wish I could forgive myself for that failure of faith.
Brand kept his promise, to my surprise. They kept me shut up in the utility room for a couple of days, until my digestion had proceeded far enough along for me to stay awake for more than a few moments at a time. Then he let me go, with a suitcase stuffed full of personal memorabilia, a hundred dollars cash, and a check for two thousand dollars. I'm still grateful to him for that.
He held Clara in one arm and opened the door for me with the other.
"Where are you going, Maman?" she asked. I paused out in the hallway and looked back, but all the words lodged in my chest, the place where the rock was starting to form.
Brandon shushed her. "That's not your Maman. It's just an animal that looks a little like her."
She struggled in his arms, reaching out to me. "I want Maman!"
"Hush! Maman is dead," he said, and closed the door. Her rising wail, faint through the door, followed me down the hall.
I suppose that's all.
No, no. Please don't apologize. It was time for the story to come out. These are tears of release. Just let me be for a moment, will you? I'll be all right.
There, now. Much better, thanks. It's odd. I actually feel better for having told it. It's weighed on me so heavily for so long. I've kept that secret inside for so long, of how I abandoned my daughter. Perhaps the key to forgiving oneself is through the telling of the tale.
My, it's three-thirty in the morning. Would you like to sleep on the foldout? My boyfriend is on call at the Clinic tonight, and this oak branch is quite comfortable for me. I only sleep when the temperature drops too low, or after eating a heavy meal.
No? Well. Certainly. No offense at all. Though you must take care out on the streets this late.