He wandered the forest for hours. He was miles away before he stopped at a spring and drank all he could hold. His hands and limbs had returned to David’s; by morning his nose would be fine, sooner if he found food. He was hungry, and though it was probably just in his imagination, he felt cold.
His mind was clear and uncluttered. He let it stay that way and let his feet propel him forward as if entranced. He tried not to think about the damage he’d left for David to clean up. He could do nothing right. He was fighting against the inevitable and only making things worse. He’d sleep before making the final decision. With any luck, he’d find a deer to eat and sample. Another coyote or a fox was too much to hope for, at least at first. He was done with people. It was too hard to be among them. Maybe a thousand miles away and fifty years from now, he’d try again, but not now.
The sun slipped low on the horizon, another stolen sunset in Wyoming from a guest who’d long outstayed his welcome. In tree shadow, he followed the creek to the clearing David had shown Eleanor a lifetime before. He’d sleep there, and in the morning, he’d go.
“Eleanor,” David said.
He jumped. David, the real David, sat in the clearing facing the path from the creek. He turned to run.
“Eleanor, don’t go,” he said.
He hesitated, turned slowly around, and looked at him. He studied that familiar countenance and saw nothing but tenderness. He listened, smelled, and searched for others. There was no one.
“Please, Eleanor,” he said reaching out his hand. “Sit with me.”
He turned away ashamed. He stared at his boots, blood caked from his wounds. The ruined shoes he would not need in the morning.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a disaster.”
“Eleanor, sit by me. I have a blanket. You can be warm.”
“I’m a thief,” he said. “But I am not a killer. Tabitha died of cancer.”
“I never doubted that.”
“I’ve got nowhere to go, no one to be. I’ve stolen from you, and I’m ashamed.”
“My boots? Big deal.”
“No, dummy,” he cried, spinning to face him. “Look at me. I’m a monster. Look what I can do. Look what I took from you. I took you from you.”
“You’re not me,” he said. “You only look like me. You’re Eleanor. I’d know you anywhere now. I think I’ve seen you look different before, haven’t I?”
He nodded.
“You were the trucker that saved Wendy and me on Halloween, weren’t you?”
He nodded.
“Russell stabbed you, didn’t he? Like he did today.”
Again, he nodded.
“At the market. Tabitha. That was you, too. I see it now.”
“I’m not human.”
“I’m not racist,” he said.
He laughed.
“Come sit with me,” he said. “I have an overwhelming desire to be beside myself.”
He laughed again and reluctantly shuffled over. David lifted his arm and wrapped him in a blanket.
“How’d you know to look for me here?”
“Barbara called to see if I was okay.”
“She knows you weren’t there then,” he said miserably. “I’m a disaster.”
“I played it cool,” he said. “She was very upset. She wasn’t taking in information. Don’t worry about it. Tell me what happened. I see the nose job. Where’d you get cut?”
He lifted up his left hand and pointed to his thumb.
“You heal quick,” he said.
“One of the perks,” he said.
“You were going for Barbara weren’t you,” he asked.
“I couldn’t do it,” he said. “It seemed so obvious a solution, but then I thought it out and couldn’t do it.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“Since the day you told me in third grade. I said I believed you. I never doubted.”
“But all the research you did.”
“What about it?”
“It showed me for the monster I am.”
“Stop saying that. A monster would have killed Barbara today. You’re no monster.”
“What am I then?”
“You’re a skinwalker,” he said without hesitation. “That’s the most accurate description I found.”
“It’s not a pretty name,” he said. “It’s the name of a monster.”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s cool. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.”
“Skunk-cabbage,” he said, remembering a book he’d read with Tabitha.
After that, they were quiet for a while and watched the light fade.
“I have to leave,” he said finally. “In the morning, after I sleep, I have to leave.”
“No you don’t,” he said.
“I’ve so totally messed up here. I’ll try to come back one day. I’ll look different. I’ll be an adult this time. You know I’m over fifty?”
“That’s a little weird,” he said. “You look about sixteen.”
He laughed.
“Can you be Eleanor again?” he said finally.
“If I want to go to jail. If I want to get caught.”
“Will you trust me?” he asked. “I’ll make you a deal. If my plan doesn’t work, I’ll run off with you and we’ll start again somewhere else.”
“I don’t want that,” he said. “You’ve got a great life here. Even with all the crap, you’ve got a life. You’ve got a family. I know what that’s worth. I won’t take that from you. No way. Even if you think it sucks, you’ve got one. Be glad.”
“Stop telling me what I do and do not have,” he said. “I want you to trust me. If you can do that, I might have a solution.”
“And if it flops, I’ll be captured. Eventually, they’ll figure out what I am. Then they’ll either kill me, which is the tradition, or maybe, if we believe in Hollywood, I’ll be studied like a lab rat for the rest of my life. I can’t let that happen.”
“I won’t let them do that,” he promised. “If things go south, I’ll get you out. If you don’t want me to be with you, fine, but I promise I’ll get you out. You’ll be no worse off than you are now. Trust me.”
“I tried to stay,” he said softly. “Look what a mess I made. I need to go.”
“You made a mess because you tried to do it alone. You’re not alone. Eleanor, I’ve got to say that it’s really weird to look at my own face and call you that, but I know who and what you are, and I want to help.”
“I don’t want to leave,” he said.
“Then don’t,” he said. “Give me a chance.”
“I’m really a girl,” he said. “I know that much. I don’t know what I really look like, but I know I’m a girl.”
“Then we need to get you out of that outfit,” he said. “I promise not to look.”
He put his head on David’s shoulders and sighed. “Tell me your plan,” he said.
And he did.
Eleanor’s old house was wrapped in police tape. The Mercedes cruised around the block twice to make sure it was empty then parked in a neighboring lot.
David and David got out of the car and crossed the field to the back fence. They helped each other over, and then David found the key hidden under a terra-cotta pot holding a withered, dead tomato plant. He tried not to look at the empty grave, but couldn’t help himself. He slid the key in the lock and opened the door.
The place had been tossed by the police searching for who knows what. David found a candle in a drawer and lit it. It was the most light he dared show, and even then he kept it in the kitchen at the back of the house.
“They can’t explain the body,” David whispered. “Tabitha was seen last week. The body looks to have been buried a month ago.”
“See,” he said. “A disaster.”
He was pleased to see all his food still there. The meat he’d left to thaw had gone bad. He tossed it in a garbage bag, sealed it and threw it out. The smell was unpleasant and too strong.
“Just act dumb,” he said. “Let it be a mystery. A ghost story. It’s perfect.”
“You’re just loading more rumors onto me,” he said, but threw a plate of ham steaks in the microwave to defrost.
“That’s the great thing about it. It’s so preposterous that when people realize how stupid it is, it’ll suck the life out of all the rumors.”
“No, it won’t. The Shoshone are on to me.”
David paused. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re not wrong there. But this is the twenty-first century. Even they don’t buy it completely.”
“It hurts, by the way,” he said. “The faster I change, the more it hurts. If I take it slowly, I can do it without howling.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” he said. “I’ll run you a bath.”
“Cold,” he said. “It’s exothermic, going down in mass.”
“Looks like you’ve already adopted the role of lab-rat.”
“That’s not funny,” he said, taking off his shirt.
“Sorry. Hey, you ruined my jacket.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Yes, I did. I’ll give you another one.”
“You need to wear this one again.”
“Yeah,” he said.
They met in the kitchen while the tub filled.
“So,” David said. “I don’t think I can do it myself. You’ve got to hit me.”
“Really?”
“Do it quick.”
“And the thumb?”
“Do that quicker still.”
“No, don’t make me.”
“Trust me,” he said.
The microwave dinged. David turned and took out the meat. When he turned back, David smashed his fist into his nose and dropped him to the floor, the plate crashed down beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Give me a towel.”
After he did, David left the kitchen and climbed to the loft. He came down in a robe with an armful of clothes.
“I don’t want you to be here,” he said. “I’ll cut your thumb but then you leave. You go to the hospital, get it stitched up. Come back in the morning.”
“I don’t want to leave you,” he said.
“It’s your turn to trust me,” he said. “I’ll be here in the morning. Go work on your mom.”
David handed him a knife and put his hand on the kitchen cutting block and turned away.
One swipe of the knife and blood poured onto the floor.
“Now get out of here,” he said. “That’s deep. It’s going to hurt a lot.”
“Be here in the morning,” he said. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” he said.
David kissed him on the forehead and left through the back door. Even on the forehead, there’d been an energy. Holding the candle and a box of crackers, he climbed in the tub and gritted his teeth.