Edmund Graves's Arc

Chapter 9 of 12

Edmund sat by his window all night. He watched Sarah's house across the road. The deputy had written her name down. She had come home pinched and careful. She knew something was wrong with him now. If she talked to the wrong neighbor, or drove back to that counter with more questions, the deputy would come. Edmund could not run yet. He had one kill left to reach thirteen and hold his record. He needed Sarah quiet until then. At dawn he crossed the road with an empty basket, as if returning her kindness. She opened the door before he knocked. She did not smile. She held the toddler tight against her chest. "I don't want the apples," she said. "I don't want anything from you." "Sarah." He kept his voice soft. "You looked upset last night. Let me explain about the lawyer—" "The deputy asked if I trusted you." Her eyes moved to the road behind him. "I told him I barely knew you. That was true." She stepped back. "I'm taking the kids to my sister's today. I already called her." Edmund's stomach dropped. Her sister lived in town. If she left, she would talk. He reached for the door. A growl stopped his hand. The wolf stood at the edge of Sarah's yard. Its yellow eyes fixed on Edmund. Beside it, small and stubborn, stood Maddie. She had followed the wolf up from the woods again. Her braid hung over her shoulder. She stared at Edmund the way children stare at something they do not trust. "Mister Graves," Maddie said. "He doesn't like you." She rested a hand on the wolf's fur. "He never did." Sarah looked at the wolf, then at Edmund's face. Something settled in her, some final decision. She stepped inside and shut the door. The deadbolt turned. Through the window Edmund heard her tell the children to get their shoes. He stood on the porch with the empty basket. The wolf did not move. Maddie did not move. He could not touch Sarah now. Not with the girl watching, not with the animal between them. If he acted, he would have two more witnesses and no time to hide anything. Sarah's car started ten minutes later. Edmund watched from his own window as she loaded three children and two bags into the back seat. She did not look at his house. She drove toward town, toward her sister, toward anyone who would listen. Edmund set the basket on his table. His hands were not steady now. Sarah was gone, and she was talking. The deputy would hear his name spoken by a frightened woman with a written statement. His time had shrunk from days to hours. He pulled his bag from the closet. If he wanted his thirteenth to stand as his record, he had to take it tonight, and he had to be gone before the county van rolled in at dawn.