All The Dark Places

30. The Shop

        It was surprisingly easy. Twilight came, and she felt the slow pulsing ache in her arms and legs, a painful pressure in her back that never happened when she was soft. Weeks of working in the garden, building hutches for the rabbits, chicken coops, a greenhouse, a forge, too many things and too many hours of manual labor she was not cut out to do. She grinned when she saw the tiny blue lights again, no longer afraid. One smash against the floor, one slide and clamp and then she had the thing. Too easy.

"You wanted me to catch you, didn't you?" she whispered and heard Scott stir from sleep. She stayed quiet a long moment, letting him fall back into a deep sleep. Under the glass bowl, the creature's lights pulsed. Dragging the bowl to the side, she slid the dome over the wooden cutting board until the creature was completely enclosed, and she could lift up the cutting board and set it on the desk. "I need tape or maybe glue. I need to make sure you stay in there. Do you need breathing holes? Do you even breathe?"

"Roz, are you still awake? Come to bed." Scott's voice was groggy with exhaustion. He spent the last few days working on the greenhouse.

"Shh, it's OK. Just go back to sleep."

"What are you doing?"

"Go to sleep. Everything's fine. I caught the thing."

"You what?" He opened one amber brown eye.

She stood up, holding the makeshift dome with the creature inside, smiling.

"I'm gonna tape the bowl on top and then I want to examine it, study it."

"You're insane."

"I know, but I can handle this. I got this."

"I know you do." Scott rolled over and went back to sleep.

That was what she liked most about him. He never underestimated her. He didn't hold her hand. A roll of duct tape worked wonders, sealing the creature inside and giving her a viewing window to an alien life form. She carried the dome down the hall and into a tiny staff bedroom that was no longer used and had not been used since the Victorian era. It was all wood and one hanging light bulb, but it had a good lock from the inside and out and enough light. A tiny old desk was the only piece of furniture in the room. Setting the creature on the desk, she bent down and peered into the dome until her breath fogged up the glass.

"You and I are gonna be friends."

Diane Tillydaff was a small woman, barely five feet tall. Despite her smallness, she commanded a substantial, if odd, presence. Her hair was a slightly orange tint of ginger-red, something she proudly referred to as "Pure Irish Red." Her face was pleasantly round and marked with smile lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes. She wore pearls, antique double strands of pearls lined by gold fixings. Her clothing was smart casual always, and usually in non-offensive neutral colors. Altogether, she was the image of a small town shopkeeper, a socialite and a woman of a certain age. Perhaps only her ginger hair, shot with one streak of silver-gray made her stand out and gave her a trademark that everyone in the village knew. That was Diane Tillydaff; organizer of every village social, the art gallery showings, the wine and cheese socials, the singles mixers, the Shakespeare Appreciation Picnic that was put on in the courtyard of the castle every July. Diane was the lady who furnished well-heeled villagers' homes with century old accent tables, delicate lace edged linens and Art Deco lamps. She was the epitome of respectable.

So when Diane Tillydaff smiled, and a gold tooth gleamed from the smile, she was more than surprised. She actually jumped and gasped.

"Oh, this?" The woman put a thumb to her gold tooth that spliced through a row of straight white teeth that were likely dentures. "It does tend to put people a little off at first." She leaned in, a little too close. "I like that."