Half-Off Ragnarok
Page 17
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That was probably what was best for both of us. She had her work, her research, and eventually, her life back in Australia, where we wouldn’t have been able to meet for dinner if we’d wanted to. It wasn’t like we’d ever officially become a couple. That didn’t make the thought any easier.
“I guess I can’t.” I dropped my sandwich back onto the paper bag it had come off of and stood, trying to make it look like a natural stretching gesture. It didn’t work. I was too stiff, and too obviously unhappy. Shelby sighed.
“I’m not breaking things off with you, Alex, all right?” she said. “I’m not thrilled that we’ve had so little time lately, but you’ve got to stop thinking that every road bump is the beginning of the end. You don’t throw out the car just because you’ve run over an echidna.”
I stopped. “Please tell me that isn’t something you actually say in Australia.”
“What, you don’t like my folksy Australian sayings?” Shelby put her turkey leg down next to my sandwich, shaking her head. “It’s incredible just how many people around here are totally willing to believe that we really walk around talking like that.”
“To be fair, Australia does sound sort of fictional if you’ve never been there.”
“I get told that a lot. Doesn’t feel like a very fictional place to me.” She picked up a napkin, beginning to wipe the grease from her fingers. “I mean it, though. You need to relax. You’re too tense, and you’re taking everything far too seriously. Are you having trouble with your research?”
“Not trouble, it’s just . . . taking some turns I didn’t anticipate, that’s all.” I began to pace, trying to look like I was raptly drinking in the scenery that I’d seen a hundred times before. Anything to keep Shelby from pressing, and me from being forced to lie to her.
The tiger garden was definitely one of the zoo’s better-kept secrets, a picturesque little quirk of the landscaping that no one had yet thought of tearing out in order to install a new enclosure or walkway. It was only a matter of time before somebody looked at an aerial map of the zoo and went, “Hey, that spot is so isolated that it’s only going to get used by zookeepers and horny teenagers looking for a place to make out. Let’s level it.” (Sadly, whatever unnamed bureaucrat was eventually responsible for that decision probably wouldn’t take into account the existence of horny zookeepers who didn’t like making out right next to where they fed the lions. Such are the trials of the working world.)
Thick greenery ringed the circular garden on all sides, surrounding the brick patio flooring and lone picnic table with a concealing veil. Hardy, just-exotic-enough flowers bloomed riotously among the general wash of green, planted by gardeners who enjoyed their privacy as much as Shelby and I did. Even the noises of the zoo were dampened here, muffled by the vegetation, until we could pretend that we were someplace much less artificially designed. A real jungle, maybe, albeit one with an inexplicable amount of landscaping.
“You want to talk about it?” asked Shelby.
“I honestly don’t know where to begin. Do you know much about colony collapse disorder?”
“Isn’t that the thing with the bees?”
“Yeah, it’s . . . the thing . . .” I tapered off mid-sentence, losing the thread of what I’d been trying to say as I stared at the object protruding from one of the decorative hedges.
“Alex?” I heard Shelby sliding off the table. She sounded alarmed. I couldn’t say for sure that it was the wrong emotional response.
The object in question was a shoe. Just a simple white sneaker, the laces still tied. That wasn’t unusual, in and of itself: lots of people manage to lose shoes at the zoo, for reasons that I have never quite understood. No, the problem was what was protruding from the shoe.
The problem was the human ankle.
I stepped closer to the hedge, leaning forward to gently part the branches and look down into the greenery. Shelby stepped up behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders as she craned her neck to get a better view. I didn’t ask her to move back, even though all my years of training were telling me that I should be doing exactly that.
“Well,” I said, after a long moment of silence had passed between us, “I guess I know why Andrew didn’t show up for work this morning.” I released the hedge. It mercifully sprang back into its original formation, blocking the horrified, distorted face of the junior zookeeper from view. I turned, and Shelby put her arms around me, folding me into a strong embrace. I closed my eyes. It didn’t help. Even with my eyes closed, I could still see his expression.
Worse, I could still see his eyes, which had been gray from side to side. Something had turned them to stone. Something that had killed him at the same time. Something not human.
We had a serious problem on our hands.
Five
“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. It’s much easier to be brave when you don’t believe that the monster under your bed is real.”
—Alexander Healy
Ohio’s West Columbus Zoo, telling polite lies to the local police to avoid panic, institutionalization, or institutional panic
I ADJUSTED MY GLASSES with one hand, resisting the urge to glance toward the unfortunate Andrew’s half-calcified body. My fingers itched. I wanted—no, I needed—to get my dissection tools and dig into his remains. Whatever had petrified him would have left traces, subtle cues in the striations of the stone that had replaced an undetermined amount of his original substance. The local medical examiner would never be able to decode those markers. Even if I stole a copy of his autopsy report (and let’s be honest here: I was going to steal a copy of his autopsy report), I wouldn’t have all the data. We’d still be essentially flying blind.
“Now, you say that you were simply enjoying lunch with your—what did you say your relationship to Miss Tanner was, again?” the officer asked.
“She’s my girlfriend.” The words were out before I realized they were a relationship upgrade. I winced, but pressed on, saying, “We’ve been seeing each other socially for about three months.”
“I see. And is your relationship public knowledge?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I arranged for the bizarre death of one of my junior zookeepers because Shelby was some kind of dirty little secret? Zoo management is completely aware of our arrangement. It was the zoo’s HR director who introduced us. We don’t work in the same part of the zoo, we don’t answer to the same managers, and a little fraternization is encouraged if it means we’re more likely to volunteer for overtime and double-shifts.” Like when your significant other had already been drafted by her own manager, thus canceling yet another in a long string of canceled dates.
“I guess I can’t.” I dropped my sandwich back onto the paper bag it had come off of and stood, trying to make it look like a natural stretching gesture. It didn’t work. I was too stiff, and too obviously unhappy. Shelby sighed.
“I’m not breaking things off with you, Alex, all right?” she said. “I’m not thrilled that we’ve had so little time lately, but you’ve got to stop thinking that every road bump is the beginning of the end. You don’t throw out the car just because you’ve run over an echidna.”
I stopped. “Please tell me that isn’t something you actually say in Australia.”
“What, you don’t like my folksy Australian sayings?” Shelby put her turkey leg down next to my sandwich, shaking her head. “It’s incredible just how many people around here are totally willing to believe that we really walk around talking like that.”
“To be fair, Australia does sound sort of fictional if you’ve never been there.”
“I get told that a lot. Doesn’t feel like a very fictional place to me.” She picked up a napkin, beginning to wipe the grease from her fingers. “I mean it, though. You need to relax. You’re too tense, and you’re taking everything far too seriously. Are you having trouble with your research?”
“Not trouble, it’s just . . . taking some turns I didn’t anticipate, that’s all.” I began to pace, trying to look like I was raptly drinking in the scenery that I’d seen a hundred times before. Anything to keep Shelby from pressing, and me from being forced to lie to her.
The tiger garden was definitely one of the zoo’s better-kept secrets, a picturesque little quirk of the landscaping that no one had yet thought of tearing out in order to install a new enclosure or walkway. It was only a matter of time before somebody looked at an aerial map of the zoo and went, “Hey, that spot is so isolated that it’s only going to get used by zookeepers and horny teenagers looking for a place to make out. Let’s level it.” (Sadly, whatever unnamed bureaucrat was eventually responsible for that decision probably wouldn’t take into account the existence of horny zookeepers who didn’t like making out right next to where they fed the lions. Such are the trials of the working world.)
Thick greenery ringed the circular garden on all sides, surrounding the brick patio flooring and lone picnic table with a concealing veil. Hardy, just-exotic-enough flowers bloomed riotously among the general wash of green, planted by gardeners who enjoyed their privacy as much as Shelby and I did. Even the noises of the zoo were dampened here, muffled by the vegetation, until we could pretend that we were someplace much less artificially designed. A real jungle, maybe, albeit one with an inexplicable amount of landscaping.
“You want to talk about it?” asked Shelby.
“I honestly don’t know where to begin. Do you know much about colony collapse disorder?”
“Isn’t that the thing with the bees?”
“Yeah, it’s . . . the thing . . .” I tapered off mid-sentence, losing the thread of what I’d been trying to say as I stared at the object protruding from one of the decorative hedges.
“Alex?” I heard Shelby sliding off the table. She sounded alarmed. I couldn’t say for sure that it was the wrong emotional response.
The object in question was a shoe. Just a simple white sneaker, the laces still tied. That wasn’t unusual, in and of itself: lots of people manage to lose shoes at the zoo, for reasons that I have never quite understood. No, the problem was what was protruding from the shoe.
The problem was the human ankle.
I stepped closer to the hedge, leaning forward to gently part the branches and look down into the greenery. Shelby stepped up behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders as she craned her neck to get a better view. I didn’t ask her to move back, even though all my years of training were telling me that I should be doing exactly that.
“Well,” I said, after a long moment of silence had passed between us, “I guess I know why Andrew didn’t show up for work this morning.” I released the hedge. It mercifully sprang back into its original formation, blocking the horrified, distorted face of the junior zookeeper from view. I turned, and Shelby put her arms around me, folding me into a strong embrace. I closed my eyes. It didn’t help. Even with my eyes closed, I could still see his expression.
Worse, I could still see his eyes, which had been gray from side to side. Something had turned them to stone. Something that had killed him at the same time. Something not human.
We had a serious problem on our hands.
Five
“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. It’s much easier to be brave when you don’t believe that the monster under your bed is real.”
—Alexander Healy
Ohio’s West Columbus Zoo, telling polite lies to the local police to avoid panic, institutionalization, or institutional panic
I ADJUSTED MY GLASSES with one hand, resisting the urge to glance toward the unfortunate Andrew’s half-calcified body. My fingers itched. I wanted—no, I needed—to get my dissection tools and dig into his remains. Whatever had petrified him would have left traces, subtle cues in the striations of the stone that had replaced an undetermined amount of his original substance. The local medical examiner would never be able to decode those markers. Even if I stole a copy of his autopsy report (and let’s be honest here: I was going to steal a copy of his autopsy report), I wouldn’t have all the data. We’d still be essentially flying blind.
“Now, you say that you were simply enjoying lunch with your—what did you say your relationship to Miss Tanner was, again?” the officer asked.
“She’s my girlfriend.” The words were out before I realized they were a relationship upgrade. I winced, but pressed on, saying, “We’ve been seeing each other socially for about three months.”
“I see. And is your relationship public knowledge?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I arranged for the bizarre death of one of my junior zookeepers because Shelby was some kind of dirty little secret? Zoo management is completely aware of our arrangement. It was the zoo’s HR director who introduced us. We don’t work in the same part of the zoo, we don’t answer to the same managers, and a little fraternization is encouraged if it means we’re more likely to volunteer for overtime and double-shifts.” Like when your significant other had already been drafted by her own manager, thus canceling yet another in a long string of canceled dates.
