Black Storm Comin' by Diane Lee Wilson

Author:Diane Lee Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books
Published: 2005-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

It could’ve been the needle-sharp kitten claws that jerked me awake first. Or maybe it was the blunt words hissed so close to my ear that I smelled the rotting teeth: “I know your secret, boy. Could tell right off. But folks downstairs don’t know ’bout you, do they?”

My heart skidded to a stop. Where was my gun? Tugging at the cocklebur of a kitten on my neck, all the while yelling to myself, Come to! Come to! I swung upright. My feet hit the floor with a thud. I rubbed my eyes—Lordy, my arms were sore—and tried to focus on the hazy shape in front of me.

It hardened into the silhouette of a gaunt, leathery old man hunched sideways on the room’s other bed. The curtain had been pushed open, and he was watching my every movement like a cat ready to pounce. The hairs on the back of my neck stiffened. Now I remembered: My gun was under my pillow. Outta casual reach. Trying to buy time, I stammered, “I … I don’t know what you’re talking ’bout.”

The kitten somersaulted down into my lap, batting at the fringe on my coat. I noticed that he was ginger colored and cute in an ornery way, and cupped my hand cross his back. Quick as lightning, he spun and sank his tiny fangs deep into my palm. That sure enough woke me the rest of the way.

The man flicked his attention to the kitten, kinda protectively, I thought, before turning his stare once again on me. He didn’t say anything else—-just sat there, one leg crossed over the other, skinny and stoop shouldered, breathing loud. He was giving me a case of the allovers with his pointed accusation and his cocksure eyes. But with my gun outta reach, there was nothing I could do ’cept return his stare. So we sat, two strangers, not moving, just looking into each others faces like a couple of kids in a blinking contest. Only the kitten jumped round in a beam of sunlight, amusing himself. In the dusty silence I felt my heart banging ’gainst my ribs. I heard myself swallow. I held my stare.

There was an odd, weathered appearance ’bout the man on the other bed. It was the kind you see on stubborn old trees that have stood by themselves year after year, far from the forest and alone against the wind. All the sharp corners had been worn away to a smooth gray shell, and his face was frozen into an expressionless mask. Only his eyes—pale, watery blue, like pieces of colored glass at the bottom of a stream—glimmered with excitement. He’d never win a real blinking contest, I found, ’cause those eyes of his just twitched and winked, almost working independent of each other. They were searching me all over and up and down, storing away information, I thought, like nuts for the winter.

“I know the folks downstairs don’t know ’bout you”—his gravelly voice startled me into a blink—“’cause of what took place before you rode in.

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