And it’s more difficult than she thought, because the cat chooses this moment to really claw at her, tearing her coat jacket, its paws sputtering out of the icy water, half-dead but still churning with that intrinsic, carnal sense of survival with which we’re all born.

Annie holds its head, presses its whole body down, down. And it’s shaking, sputtering, moving upward through the water, back toward her.

Banish the evil. Banish anything that gets between her and Suzy.

Until the night is still.

The water still, gentle even. Placid, like nothing happened at all. And Annie lets go, releases the body under the ice, trudges out of the water.

Much easier this way, she thinks. Much easier than having to watch herself break its neck, pummel its head with a rock. This is almost natural. It’ll be washed away with the current, provide food for the fish.

Much better than rotten meat and a night of howling, that’s for sure.

Back inside, the house seems quiet, more at ease. She’s shaking, chattering, her whole body numb, so numb she can’t feel herself, can’t even feel the warmth of the water when she hangs her wet clothes up in her bathroom and slips into the shower.

But at least it’s quieter. Her mind, too, at rest, as she finally climbs back into bed beside Suzy, her chin on Suzy’s head, the moon creeping out from behind a cloud, blinking its one eye at her.

27

The next morning, Beth long gone to work, I wake up angry. Entitled to answers. A pressure building in my chest, a welting sadness combined with a frenetic energy, a need to dig myself out of this mire, to find out what the fuck was going on. I haven’t been spurred into action in so long that the energy is foreign, like a caffeine infusion, my head tingling with it.

Beth offered her help in confronting Anneliese. And I appreciate that. But I think I need to do this myself. This is between her and me, after all. The whole microcosm, the whole world we’d built around each other, was only ever really about the two of us.

As I’m getting ready, pulling on black jeans, combat boots, slicking my bangs back like I’m ready to fight, it dawns on me that Anneliese has never seen me angry. That she has only seen me broken, groveling for her attention, in need of someone to pat me on the shoulder and tell me it’ll be okay. That the fierce intensity, the drive that used to motivate me in my old life, to wake up, work out, do well at my job, is something unknown to Anneliese. Have I lost myself, becoming so close to her? Reverted to the toddler I was when she cared for me?