“Stop pouting. You know what? How about this?” said Ollie, then clicked away at her keyboard. A few seconds later, Vern heard a coughing and whirring noise. “I’m printing it for you, okay? Then you can read as much as you want.”
But Vern wouldn’t be able to. Didn’t Ollie know that? No, Vern supposed she didn’t. After all this time, they hardly knew each other. “Fine,” said Vern, no closer to figuring out anything about what was inside her or what was going on with the compound.
“I’m sorry, V. I’m just not in the mood tonight, okay?”
“Maybe I’m not in the mood, either,” said Vern, rubbing her sore eyes. It was end of day, and her temples throbbed.
“Headache?” Ollie asked. Vern nodded. “I’ll get you some pills and we can forget all about this. One second,” said Ollie, running off toward the bathroom.
“Get some blankets, too,” called Vern. It was October and starting to cool. She’d sneak some of the bedding back with her to the woods.
“What’d you say?” Ollie called.
“I said get me some blanke— Never mind. I’ll get them.”
Vern stood and went to the trunk positioned as a coffee table in front of the sofa. She removed the chips, salsa, and paper plate and opened it to search inside. There was nothing but old magazines. Vern sighed and headed to the coat closet, fumbling around till she felt a large cardboard box. She tugged it out and lifted the top flaps to the side.
“Bingo,” she said, pulling out a small white blanket. Too small. It’d barely cover Vern’s knees. She brought it closer to her face when she noticed a print. Little yellow octopuses. It was a baby blanket.
Vern rifled through the box further, holding up each item in front of her. The impulse that made her catalogue every object one by one was self-flagellating in origin—for she knew what she was looking at and understood what it meant.
Baby onesies. Baby jumpsuits. Baby socks. Baby bonnets. Baby bootees. Baby teething rings. Baby swaddlers. Baby burp cloths. Baby diapers. Baby bibs. Baby christening gowns. Baby mittens. Motifs of sailboats, ducklings, clouds, and rainbows. Most of it new, with tags, ready to clothe dead things.
“V.” Vern turned to face Ollie. She’d returned with the promised headache pills and a glass of water for washing them down.
“Don’t move,” said Vern. It would solidify her foolishness to say any of the other things on her mind: that Ollie was a liar, that she was the fiend, that she’d lured Vern out of the woods to play with her, that this was all a part of a game, another way to undo Vern. Vern had fallen right for it.
“Please let me explain. You know me.” Know. It made Vern gag to think of her body entangled with the fiend’s, with the same woman who’d left dead animals for her and chased her through the woods with a rifle.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Vern said, tossing a rolled-up pair of baby socks at Ollie. A meager weapon.
“Calm down. Please. Please.”
“No!” Vern shouted, and prepared to lunge, but Ollie threw the glass of water she was holding at Vern’s face. The vessel shattered over Vern’s nose, shards cutting her skin, her cheeks and forehead left throbbing. Vern grabbed the floor lamp in the hall and gripped it. Brandishing it like a lance, she jutted it several times toward Ollie to scare her backward.
“You’re a smart girl. I know you are. Smart enough to figure out I know where you live, that you have two kids, Howling and Feral, and they’re nearly three years old and sleeping oh so sweetly right now but their dreams won’t be so sweet anymore with my knife to their throats. But no matter what you think of me right now, I don’t want to do that. That’s not who I am. Listen to me, please. Give me a chance.”
Vern swung the lamp sideways, hard and fast, and made contact with Ollie’s hip. Ollie stumbled but caught herself before she hit the ground. “Please,” begged Ollie. Vern swung again, this blow landing against Ollie’s temple. Ollie, looking dazed, clutched her now-bleeding head. “If this is how you want to do it—fine. I see your strength has come in, but I don’t think your speed has.”
Before Vern fully processed Ollie’s words, the fiend dashed out the apartment. Vern chased after her down the concrete steps to the main door of the small complex. Ollie hopped onto her motorcycle and sped off. Vern gave chase until Ollie’s bike disappeared over an incline.
Vern changed course for the woods, darting off the road into the thicket of trees over the guardrail. There was a well-worn path she’d trodden herself, but she could run only so fast in the dark. It was nearly an hour before she reached camp.