The Beast

FIFTY-SIX

On the way out of TGI Friday’s, Rhage stopped by the hostess stand. Or rather, he was forced to come to a halt because the human woman who had seated him got in his path and wouldn’t move.

“Did you have a good meal?” she said as she pressed something in his hand. “That’s our customer service number. Give us a call and let us know how your meal was.”

The wink she gave him told him all the hell he needed to know and more about what a dial to those digits would get him—and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be a survey.

Not one without kneepads, at any rate.

He put the folded piece of paper back into her palm. “I’ll tell you right now. My wife and I had a wonderful time. So did our . . . er, friend. Thanks.”

As he pivoted away, he put his arm around Mary and drew her in close. Then he did the same to Bitty before thinking about it.

They left all together, squeezing through the double doors.

Outside, the night had gotten even colder, but his belly was more than full of food and he was really happy—and it was amazing how that kind of mood created its own warmth, independent of the weather.

Hell, it could have been sleeting and he would still have looked up to the dark sky and gone, Ahhhhhhhh.

As they were about to step off the curb and head for the car, a minivan pulled up and a mother and a daughter rushed over together to get in. Man, talk about a gene pool. The two of them had identical brown hair, the tween’s in a ponytail, Mom’s cut jaw-length. They were nearly the same height and both dressed in blue jeans and sweatshirts. Faces had the same bone structure, from the round cheeks and flat forehead to a stick-straight nose that he imagined some humans asked for in plastic surgery offices.

They were neither ugly nor beautiful. Not poor, but not rich. They were laughing, though, in exactly the same way. And that made them both spectacular.

Mom opened the door for the daughter and shooed her in. Then she leaned inside and quipped to the kid, “Ha, I so did win the bet! I totally did—and you’re doing the dishes all week long. That was the deal.”

“Mooooooom!”

The mother shut things on the protest and hopped into the front seat next to what had to be her husband or partner. “I told her, don’t bet against me. Not when it comes to Godfather quotes.”

The guy turned around to the daughter. “No way, I’m not touching this with a ten-foot pole. You know she’s memorized the movie, and yes, the correct wording is, ‘No Sicilian can refuse any request on his daughter’s wedding day.’”

The mother shut her door and the pale blue minivan pulled away.

For a moment, Rhage imagined what that trip home was like—and he found himself in a big fat hurry to do the same. Take Bitty home, that was.

And also argue about The Godfather, if that was the way things went. Or what Play-doh tasted like. Or whether it was going to snow early or late in the season.

“We good?” he asked as Bitty hesitated. “Bitty?”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said softly. “What?”

“Come on, let’s get to the car.”

It felt really good to walk his females back to the GTO, and even better to drive them along the streets, obeying the traffic laws. Staying in his lane. Not taking the bait when a pair of douche bags in a Charger pulled up next to him at a stoplight and pumped their engine like the thing was an extension of their cock and balls.

He just motored along.

When his cell phone rang, he let it go to voice mail. Soon enough they’d be at Safe Place and he could—

The thing went off again.

Taking it out, he frowned. “I’ve got to get this.” Accepting the call, he put the cell up to his ear. “Manny?”

The surgeon was in full urgent-mode. “I need you back here right now. Layla’s hemorrhaging. The young are coming—we need veins for her to take. Can you dematerialize?”

“Shit,” he hissed as he hit his blinker and pulled over. “Yeah. I can come in.”

Mary and Bitty both looked at him in alarm as he hung up and wrenched around. “Listen, I’m so sorry. There’s an—” He stopped as he glanced at the girl. “I have to go back home.”

“What’s happening?” Mary asked.

“Layla.” He didn’t want to go into it. Not with what Bitty had just gone through. “They need some help. Can you drive her back? I have to ghost out right now.”

“Absolutely. And I’ll come directly home—”

“Can I go with you guys?” Bitty asked.

There was a moment of ummmm. And then Mary turned around to the rear seat. “I’d better take you back to Safe Place. But someday maybe you can?”

“Are you going to be okay?”

It took Rhage a moment to realize that the girl was talking to him. And as he met eyes that were wide and anxious, a strange jolt went through him.

“Yes. I’ll be fine. I just need to help a friend.”

“Oh. That’s okay, then. When do I see you again?”

“Anytime you like. I’ll always be right around the next turn for you.” He stretched an arm back and brushed her face with his hand. “And we’re going to have to watch The Godfather. Parts one and two. Not three.”

“What’s all that?” she asked as he opened his door and got out.

“Only the best movies ever made. Be good.”

Mary was already out and coming around the front of the car, and they met at the grille between the headlights, embracing each other for a second.

“I love you,” he said as he gave her a quick kiss.

“Me, too. Tell them I’m coming home?”

As he met Mary’s eyes, he put himself in Qhuinn’s position—times one billion. Then he shook himself back into focus.

“I will.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. “Drive safely?”

“Always.”

With a nod, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath—and then he was out of there, traveling in a rush of molecules over the human neighborhoods . . . and then across the farmland . . . and going farther, to the foothills that turned into the mountains.

He re-formed at the front entrance of the mansion, shoving his way into the vestibule, putting his face into the security camera.

As he waited for someone to open up, his heart was pounding for all kinds of reasons. But mostly because of the way Bitty had stared at him.

Funny how you could be transformed by someone.

The door broke open and Fritz was on the other side, looking worried. “Sire, how good to see you. All are going down to the training center. We are in the midst of preparing victuals in the event any can eat.”

Rhage had a strange impulse to hug the doggen—and he might have followed up on it except Fritz would have passed out from the breach of protocol.

“Thank you. You’re so on it. That means everything.”

Rhage strode fast and hard over the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in bloom—and he was almost to the hidden door under the grand staircase when he stopped and looked back.

“Fritz?”

The butler skidded to a halt in the archway of the dining room. “Yes, sire?”

“I know this is god-awful timing. But I need you to buy something for me. Right away.”

The ancient butler bowed so low his jowls nearly hit the polished floor. “It would be a relief to do something for anybody. One feels so helpless.”

Behind the wheel of the GTO, Mary felt like time had run backward—that somehow she and Bitty had gotten stuck in a warp where they were back nights ago, heading for the clinic across the river.

And it was not just because of Layla and what was happening at home. In the rear seat, the girl had retreated into herself, her eyes fixed on the window beside her, her face a mask of composure that was all the more alarming because Mary had learned exactly how engaged and cheerful she could be.

“Bitty?”

“Mmm?” came the response.

“Talk to me. I know there’s something going on—and yes, I could beat around the bush or pretend I haven’t noticed, but I think we’re beyond that. I hope we’re beyond that.”

It was a long while before the girl answered.

“When we left the restaurant,” Bitty said. “Did you see the human mahmen and daughter?”

“Yes.” Mary took a deep breath. “I saw them.”

As the silence resumed, Mary glanced into the rearview. “Did that make you think of your mahmen?”

All the girl did was nod.

Mary waited. And waited. “Do you miss her?”

That was what did it. All at once, Bitty began to cry, great sobs racking her little body. And Mary pulled over. She had to.

Thank God they were in a good part of town, and in a section where there were lots of bakeries and stationery stores and locally owned pet shops. Which meant plenty of parallel-parking spots right on the road that were empty.

Putting the GTO in neutral and pulling the hand brake, Mary twisted all the way around until her knees were tucked into her chest.

Reaching out a hand, she tried to touch Bitty, but the girl shrank away.

“Oh, sweetheart—I know you miss her—”

The girl wheeled back, tears streaming down her face. “But I don’t! I don’t miss her at all! How can I not miss her!”

As Bitty covered her eyes with her palms and sobbed, Mary let her be even though it killed her. And sure enough, after an agonizing wait, the girl started talking.

“I didn’t get that! What that human and her mahmen had! I didn’t get . . . bets and laughing. . . . I didn’t get going out to dinner or a friendly pick-up in a car by my father!” When she sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the heels of her fists, Mary fished in her bag and took out a pack of Kleenex. Bitty took the package and then seemed to forget she had it. “My mother was scared—and hurt and running for cover! And then she was pregnant and then she got sick and—she died! And I don’t miss her!”

Mary turned off the engine, opened her door and got into the back. She was careful to lock them both in the dark car, and as she settled beside the girl, the ambient light helped her see the anguish and the horror on Bitty’s face.

“How can I not miss her?” The girl was shaking. “I loved her—and I should miss her. . . .”

Mary reached out, and it was relief to pull Bitty over and hug her close. Stroking her hair, she murmured soft words as Bitty wept.

It was impossible not to tear up herself.

And it was hard not to whisper platitudes like, “It’s going to be all right,” or, “You’re okay,” because she wanted to do something, anything to ease the girl. But the truth was, what Bitty had been exposed to growing up was not all right, and kids and people from those environments were not okay for a very, very long time, if ever at all.

“I’ve got you,” was all she could say. Over and over again.

It seemed like years until Bitty took a shuddering breath and sat back. And when she fumbled with the tissue packet, Mary took the thing from her and broke the seal, teasing out a Kleenex. And another.

After Bitty blew her nose and collapsed against the seat, Mary unclipped the girl’s seat belt to give her a little more room.

“I didn’t know your mother all that well,” Mary said. “But I’m very sure, if she could have had those kinds of loving, normal moments with you, she would have taken them in a heartbeat. Violence is all-pervasive when it’s in the home. You can’t get away from it unless you leave, and sometimes you can’t leave so it colors everything. Do you think maybe it’s more that you don’t miss the suffering the two of you went through? That you don’t miss the fear and hurt?”

Bitty sniffled. “Am I a bad daughter? Am I . . . bad?”

“No. God, no. Not at all.”

“I did love her. A lot.”

“Of course you did. And I’ll bet if you think about it, you’ll realize you still do.”

“I was so scared all the time she was sick.” Bitty fiddled with the tissues. “I didn’t know what was going to happen to her and I was worried really about myself a lot of the time. Is that bad?”

“No. That’s normal. That’s called survival.” Mary tucked a piece of hair behind Bitty’s ear. “When you’re young and you can’t take care of yourself, you worry about those kinds of things. Heck, when you’re older and you can take care of yourself, that’s also what you worry about.”

Bitty accepted another tissue, putting it on her knee and smoothing it flat.

“When my mom died?” Mary said. “I was angry at her.”

The girl looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yup. I was bitterly angry. I mean, she had suffered and I had been there by her side for a number of years as she had slowly declined. She hadn’t volunteered for any of it. She hadn’t asked to get sick. But I resented the fact that my friends didn’t have to nurse their parents. That my buddies were free to go out and drink and party and have a good time—be young and unattached, unburdened. Meanwhile I had to worry about tidying up the house, buying groceries, making meals—and then as the disease progressed, cleaning her up, bathing her, getting coverage when the nurses couldn’t come in because of bad weather. And then she died.” Mary took a deep breath and shook her head. “All I could think of after they took her body away was . . . great, now I have to plan the funeral, deal with the bank account stuff and the will, clean out her clothes. That’s when I really lost it. I just broke down and cried, because I felt like the worst daughter in the history of the world.”

“But you weren’t?”

“No. I was human. I am human. And grief is a complex thing. They say there are stages of it. Have you ever heard of that?” When Bitty shook her head, Mary continued. “Denial, bargaining, anger, depression, acceptance. And all that’s largely what people go through. But there are so many other things mixed into it as well. Unresolved issues. Exhaustion. Sometimes there is relief, and that can come with a lot of guilt. My best piece of advice? As someone who has not only walked this road, but also helped other folks through it? Let your thoughts and feelings come when they do—and don’t judge them. I can guarantee that you are not the only person who has had thoughts they didn’t like or emotions that felt wrong. Also, if you talk about what’s going on for you, it is absolutely possible to move through the pain, fear and confusion to what’s on the other side.”

“And what is that?”

“A measure of peace.” Mary shrugged. “Again, I wish I could tell you that the pain goes away—it doesn’t. But it does get better. I think of my mom still, and yes, sometimes it stings. I think it always will—and honestly? I don’t want that grief to disappear completely. Grief . . . is a sacred way of honoring those we love. My grief is my heart working, it’s my love for her and that’s a beautiful thing.”

Bitty patted the tissue on her knee. “I didn’t love my father.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“And sometimes I got frustrated that my mother didn’t leave him.”

“How could you not have?”

Bitty took a deep breath and exhaled long and slow. “Is that all right? Is all this . . . all right?”

Mary leaned and took both the girl’s hands. “It is one hundred percent, absolutely, positively okay. I promise.”

“You would tell me if it wasn’t?”

Mary’s eyes didn’t waver. “I swear on the life of my husband. And what’s more? I completely understand where you’re coming from. I get it, Bitty. I totally get it.”