He's looking me in a way that says he knows. He knows. He knows, and I'm in the car with him, along with this cat from hell. How the hell does he know? The blood stains on my pants look like desperate handprints, growing bigger slowly because I'm still bleeding. The cat hums contendedly.
"Jordan, what did you mean you heard?"
"I heard your thoughts," he says slowly.
"I mean, you don't believe in that kind of stuff, do you?"
"I didn't," he says patiently, coldly. "But something strange happened at the animal shelter. I looked at the cat--Nemesis, I think her name will be--and something spoke to me. A tiny little voice that said, choose me. At first it was just a feeling, but the more I've been with her, the more it's turned into a real voice." He laughed sharply. "And ever since we got in the car, she's been telling me the most interesting things."
I put my hand on the door handle. As if reading my mind, he slammed his foot on the gas. "What's the matter? Don't want to talk?"
"Not really. I'm kind of tired."
"I bet you are."
"You're scaring me a little," I say. This is totally unlike him. I mean, ten minutes ago--normal. Now I'm wondering if he'll go berserk and jerk the car off the road. Or pull over and do something to me. Something bad. Because he knows. I know he knows.
"You're right," he murmurs. "I do know."
The cat, with a hiss of pure evil, twists in an acrobatic burst and launches herself into the air, grazing the ceiling of the car and stretching out her claws like razor sharp grappling hooks. She lands on the passenger headrest, perching like a gargoyle for a moment before slinking down to the seat beside Jordan.
He smiles and pats her head. They're in this together. Planning. What should we do about her? he's probably telgraphed, while the cat, watching him lovingly from her half-closed eyes, whispered, Leave her to me.