Game of Cages

“It isn’t a very efficient predator, is it?” Catherine asked.

Pratt had said something similar. “What do you mean?”

“Well, its prey drives off or kills other prey. It’s one thing if a cougar catches a sheep and the bleating frightens the rest of the herd, but in this case the sheep sticks around after it’s been eaten, driving away other potential meals. I don’t know why this thing hasn’t gone extinct yet.”

I remembered my idea that the sapphire dog might become Pet Emperor. “Maybe it’s starving. It’s been trapped for a couple of decades. Maybe it’s feeding hard.”

“Sure. Maybe.”

We stood. I led the way around the corner into the lighted room. It was the kitchen. A huge refrigerator was lying on its side, and a little old gray-haired lady was trapped beneath it.

But I didn’t notice that at first, because the little old lady was holding a big damn revolver, and I was looking right down the barrel. She had one eye squinted shut as she squeezed the trigger.

Click. It was empty. I stood in the doorway like a paper target at a pistol range. She let the end of the barrel fall onto the dirty tile floor.

“Damn,” she said. “Wasted too many shots.”

Catherine tried to step around me, but I held her back. I wasn’t convinced it was safe yet. “What did you waste them on?” I asked, hoping she would say “A blue dog.”

“Them,” she said, and coughed blood onto her chin.

There were two more dead bodies by the stove: both young, tall, and slim, with long dark hair and short, upturned noses. Each woman had been shot multiple times. They looked enough alike to be sisters. Was one of them Depressed Guy’s wife? I honestly didn’t want to know.

The old woman reached for a box of ammunition on the floor beneath a kitchen chair, but it was out of reach.

“Would you hand that to me, sonny?”

I stepped into the room, allowing Catherine to follow. “I don’t think so,” I said quietly.

“Well, fuck you then. Get out of my house! You can’t have him.”

Catherine walked around the old woman, taking in the scene without expression. I wished there was a mirror nearby so I could see if I had the same composure. I didn’t think I did.

The old woman looked very slender and frail, and her face was terribly pale. She had a streak across her forehead.

I felt very tired. “We should call an ambulance,” I said.

“Don’t you touch anything, you … burglars. Not even the phone. I forbid it.”

“We will,” Catherine said to me, ignoring the woman on the floor. “After we check the rest of the house.”

I nodded. There was a set of stairs going up. I led the way, stepping over the two young bodies to get to them.

I wondered how long it would take to get used to seeing corpses. Maybe it was callous of me, but I wanted it to be soon. I wanted to stop feeling sickened by the blood and the slack, empty faces. I wanted to not care about the smell. I wanted …

I wanted all sorts of things I wasn’t going to get. I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the job. The next old woman might not be holding an empty gun.

The upstairs had the same clutter, but there was no sapphire dog. I stopped in the bathroom to look in the mirror. I couldn’t see any horse shit on me, which seemed like a minor miracle. Then we checked the back bedroom.

The walls were covered with posters of horses, and there were toy horses everywhere. Some people couldn’t get enough, I guessed. Then I heard something scrape against the carpet. It was a tiny sound, but it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I stepped in front of Catherine and held my ghost knife ready.

“Come out!” My voice was harsh and low. I knew it wasn’t the sapphire dog—it had always fled, never hidden. “Come out right now!”

I heard a tiny, frightened gasp, then a little voice said: “I’m sorry!” The voice was choked with tears. “I’m sorry for hiding!” Behind me, Catherine gasped.

A girl slowly crawled from under the far side of the bed. She was about ten, thin as a rail, and she tried to make herself as small as possible. She also wouldn’t look at us, letting her hair cover her tear-streaked face. I couldn’t tell if she had a white mark.

“Are you alone?” I asked, but Catherine pushed by me before the kid could answer.

“Oh, honey,” she said, “what happened here?” Catherine went around the bed and took hold of the girl’s hands.

“My granma tried to kill me,” she said. I expected more sobs, but her voice seemed to hollow out and become steady. “That thing licked her and she went crazy.”

“You saw it?” I asked.

“Yeah, it walked right by me. I saw what it did to my mom and gran. Then they turned against me.” The girl’s voice cracked. “They hated me. I don’t know what I did, but they hated me so much.…”

“Oh, honey,” Catherine said, and gathered the girl into her arms. “You didn’t do a single little thing to deserve this. Not a single little thing.”