“You still hate me, right?” he said. “So why didn’t you let them kill me? Do you care if I live or die, or are you just being territorial?”
Charlotte did not move or make a sound, but she watched him steadily.
“Okay, I get it,” Paul went on. “It’s not that you don’t want me to be tormented, you just don’t want anybody else to do it.” Paul narrowed his gaze at her. “Or is it possible you didn’t want anything to happen to Callie, and I just rode along in her slipstream. Is that it? Do you love Callie? Is that even possible?”
The car chugged almost expectantly under him. Jesus H. Christ, he thought, I’m talking to a cat. Hell, I’m talking to a dead cat. He looked down at Charlotte, curled calmly on the seat. It occurred to him that she might even be purring, but he’d never be able to tell over the racket of the car. He wondered what she’d do if he touched her and decided that it probably wasn’t a good idea to try.
“Never mind,” he said, his fingers curled round the gearshift. “Forget I asked. Screw it. Because you know what, Charlotte?” He settled himself firmly in his seat and gave her a defiant look. “I don’t care. You do whatever you want, and I’ll do whatever I want. It just doesn’t matter anymore. Whether you’re real or imaginary, whether you haunt me in public or in private, I just don’t care. You want to know why, Charlotte?”
She was watching him wide-eyed. Her tail had come uncurled, and it lashed back and forth across the worn corduroy of the seat.
“Because in the last four weeks, Charlotte, I have seen it all. Of all the strange things that have happened to me in my life, you’re not even at the top of the list anymore. Okay? Got that?”
He leaned towards her, brandishing his index finger.
“Whatever you do,” he said, “wherever you follow me, there’s not a single goddamn thing you can do to surprise me anymore. Not one.”
Charlotte yawned, splitting her sharp little muzzle nearly in two. She blinked up at Paul.
“Shut up and drive,” said the cat.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE AUTHOR IS GRATEFUL TO H. G. Wells for the Morlocks and the Beast Folk; to Henrik Ibsen for the Boyg and a few lines from Peer Gynt; to Lady Mary Wroth (1587?—1651?) for her “Crown of Sonnets Dedicated to Love”; and to Edvard Grieg for the incidental music to Peer Gynt, especially “In the Hall of the Mountain King.” He’s also extremely grateful to Neil Olson, Mimi Mayer, Keith Taylor, John Marks, Gretchen Wahl, Becky McDermott, Martin Lewis, Ross Orr, and Josh Kendall. And it wouldn’t be a proper Author’s Note if he didn’t thank his two cats, Conrad and Hobbes, who carry on the spirit of Charlotte, sprawl across his keyboard, and (lucky for him) keep their opinions to themselves.