“For real? Hey,” I say, taking her hands. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“No,” she says. “No!”

She scrambles forward and grabs my phone.

“Unlock it,” she says, throwing it at me.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to watch it again.”

“Rory!”

I unlock it and pull up the video.

She watches it over and over and over. Every time it ends, I watch her doubt reset. Then she rewinds, and I watch it vanish over my screams.

“How is this real?” she asks me.

I shrug. “It’s easy to get stuck on how. Doesn’t really matter, though.”

She has tears in her eyes. “It looks so painful.”

“I’m not trying to upset you, Scarlett. I just needed you to believe me.”

“I am upset,” she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “How could I not be upset? This is deeply upsetting!”

“It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”

“You’re my sister. How is it not my problem?”

“Because it doesn’t happen to you,” I say. It comes out meaner than I intend it to.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she says.

“Me either.”

I let her cry on the other side of the couch. I don’t comfort her because I shouldn’t have to comfort her. It’s my bad thing. My rotten thing. My burden.

“Scarlett?”

“I have a headache,” she says, standing. “I’m going to bed.”

“What?” I ask, calling after her as she hurries up the stairs. “Scarlett? Scarlett, wait.”

I hear her door shut. I hear it lock.

I thought if she knew, I would feel less alone. But I feel even more alone now. Because I am alone. I’m alone in this.

I pick up my phone.

I watch the video.

I watch myself waiting at twilight in a dirty, abandoned building. I handcuff myself to a pipe.

I wonder if when Scarlett watched the video, she saw me or if she saw herself. Maybe we don’t ever really see each other, just a confused reflection.

The chicken spills, and I lunge after it. The handcuff breaks my wrist. My hand goes limp. I don’t even notice.

I’m salivating, spitting, foaming at the mouth.

The scene grows dim, and soon I’m screaming.

It’s all worse than I could have imagined. The cruel expansion of my shoulders, the broadening of my back. My skin disappearing, replaced by coarse gray fur. The rising knolls of spine.

I stop the video.

I failed. I couldn’t control myself. It might not even be possible.

What the hell do I do now?

—

The woods are dark. There’s a second set of footsteps. There’s someone behind me. Following me.

I’m wearing the same clothes I was the night of the attack, but I’m little. I’m young again.

I move faster.

“I like a challenge,” he says.

It’s Dave.

“I like you, kid,” he says.

His breath grazes my ear.

I’m fifteen now, in the front seat of Jay Coker’s car. I know what he wants because I know that look. Only this time I want it, too.