The bug man carries on talking about trauma and memory, and all his usual stuff but I’m not listening. I keep trying to tell him I don’t have any trauma but he won’t listen. I’ve learned to tune him out at times like this.

I wish I had not shown him my temper. I got distracted and I didn’t get the answers I needed. Lauren has worn me too thin. It’s hard, living with someone who’s trying to kill you.

The flyers are ragged on the telephone poles, tanned with weather. The Chihuahua lady’s face is growing ghostly. I pass her house without looking. I’m afraid that it might look back at me. I hold tight to my little brown paper bag from the bug man.

OLIVIA

The windows show full dark, no stars or moon. Ted is still out. How long has it been? Two days? Three? I think it’s kind of irresponsible.

In the kitchen, living things stir sluggish in my bowl. Well, I can’t eat that. I lick some water from the dripping faucet. Something scuttles in the walls. I am so hungry.

There is something I can do, of course, to get food … I sigh. I don’t like to let him in unless I have to. I’m a peaceful cat. I like patches of sunlight and sometimes stroking and the good feeling of sharpening my claws on the bannisters. I’m Ted’s kitten and I try to make him happy because the LORD told me to, and that’s what you do in a relationship, isn’t it? I don’t enjoy killing. But I’m so hungry.

I close my eyes, and feel him right away. He’s always waiting, curled up in an inky pile in the back of my mind.

Is it my time, now? he asks.

Yes, I say, reluctant. It’s your time.

I’m Ted’s kitten, but I have my other nature. I can let that side take control, for a while. Maybe we all have a wild and secret self somewhere. Mine is called Night-time.

He gets up in one fluid movement. He’s black, like me, but without the white stripe down his chest. It’s hard to tell, because he’s part of me, but I think he’s larger, too. The size of a bobcat, maybe. It makes sense. He’s a memory of what we once were. He’s a killer.

Now I tell him, Hunt.

A pink tongue strokes Night-time’s sharp white teeth. He comes out of the dark with his graceful stride.

I come to, retching. I’m in the bathroom, for some reason. The door is open and I can see the skylight over the hall. It’s still pitch black outside, not yet pink in the east.