The Animal Hour by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page B

Well, you know how girls are: I’d never see her. I mean, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have her to talk to. Jesus. I mean, we went all through high school together. And believe me, St. Ann’s was no picnic. We were even in elementary school together for two years when I was transferred to …
    She came out of her fantasy suddenly. She thought a moment. Her lips parted.
    â€¦ transferred to …
    She felt it again. Like something inside her turning sour: a jolt of fear.
    I was transferred … I went to elementary school …
    She lowered her head. Lowered her eyes from the Broadway rooftop. Her mouth open, she scanned the park aimlessly, as if looking for the answer. She scanned the benches across the way. The dark bundle shapes of the homeless men, the hot eyes glaring out of them: Her gaze passed over them unseeing. She shook her head, as if to jog the answer loose.
    I went to elementary school at …
    But she couldn’t. She couldn’t remember. Nothing came. She could not remember where she had gone to elementary school.
    God, that’s weird. That’s so weird.
    It made her skin go cold. She tried to think back to it, picture it in her mind. A long brick building. Children filing in through the glass doors. No. No, that wasn’t it. There was no connection. She felt the small bumps rising on her arms.
    You’re not Nancy Kincaid.
    And the chill radiated out from the cold core of her. Sweat gathered under her tam, under her hairline. It rolled down her temple, down the back of her neck.
    Oh, this is ridiculous , she thought angrily. This is stupid. I know who I am. I can prove who I …
    She stopped. She wiped her lips with her palm. She looked down at the purse on the bench beside her. A big purse of black leather. She swallowed hard. Of course she could. She could prove who she was. She could prove who she was to anyone.
    Idiot. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Up there, in the Woodlawn offices, with those unwavering gazes melting her knees. Why hadn’t she just taken her wallet out? Shown them her identification, the picture on her driver’s license? I’m not Nancy Kincaid, huh? Well, who’s that, clown? Meryl Streep?
    With an exasperated shake of her head, she brought the purse onto her lap. She unzipped it. At the same moment, she saw something move. She caught it out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up.
    It was one of the homeless men. On one of the benches just across the path. Opening her purse must have attracted him. He was stealing a look at her under his brows. He was a slack-faced white, with long hair hanging in filthy, yellow knots. His scabby lips hung open. His eyes were half closed. Now, she saw, he was pushing off the bench, working to his feet.
    Damn , she thought. She ought to get out of here, do this someplace else.
    But she snatched her wallet out of her purse. She had to see her own ID. It was ridiculous, but she had to be sure. I mean, a person ought to remember where she went to elementary school.
    She took a quick check of the beggar again. He was standing now, making a great show of ignoring her. Muttering to himself importantly. Examining the green bench he’d been sitting on. Fingering some of the newspapers he’d been using as blankets, as if he might’ve left something behind. As if he had anything to leave behind. I’m just standing up, he seemed to be saying. Nothing to do with you, Miss. But even now, she could tell, he was edging across the gray path. He was edging toward her.
    It made Nancy nervous. But she couldn’t wait. Something was wrong, after all. Something weird was going on. It wasn’t just the people in her office. There was the gargoyle, her elementary school …
    Why don’t you just shoot him?
    Yeah, and that: the voice. There was some kind of glitch in her brain this morning. A fever or something probably. Maybe she’d eaten some bad