Acting for Shapeshifters [Anne Bishop's The Others]

Chapter Seven - Bedroom Struggle

"Tansy, wake up." Samantha shook her not too gently.

"Huh?" Tansy's eyes felt gritty. Her brain didn't want to wake up. It was still dark outside; she hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. She clutched her blanket and tried to go back to sleep. "Go away," she mumbled.

"Shhh!" Samantha hissed, and her large hand landed on Tansy's mouth. "Someone is at the door, trying to pick a lock. They smell familiar." She hauled Tansy out of bed, blanket and all, and shoved her into the dark hat closet. "Sit quiet. Don't squeak. Don't move. I'll deal with them." She closed the closet door without turning on the light.

Dizzy with the lack of sleep but fully awake now, Tansy, wrapped in her blanket, huddled on the cold wooden floor between the shelves full of her hats. She shivered in the darkness and listened intently, but all she heard was her own hammering heart. She pushed one hand tightly against her lips to stifle a wail of terror. Samantha inside the apartment was utterly silent.

It felt like an eternity, but was probably just a minute or two, when she finally heard someone stealthy footsteps in her bedroom, on the other side of the flimsy closet door. Then a quiet bang—a gun with the silencer. She flinched and clutched at her blanket in desperation, as if it would protect her from the gun. She didn't make a sound, but she quaked incessantly and stared into the pitch-black darkness of the closet with unseeing eyes. In a moment, the killer would realize she wasn't in her bed and open the closet door. And shoot her here, beneath her hat collection. A fitting end to a comic actress, she thought hysterically.

But the killer didn't open the door. Instead, she heard a thump, the brief sounds of a struggle, a single agonized scream, cut off by a muted roar. Then something nauseatingly wet, like flesh tearing apart. Tansy whimpered and swayed repeatedly, until the darkness in the closet penetrated her skull and absorbed her.

She came to on her sofa, still wrapped in her blanket, Samantha in her human form, already dressed, on her knees in front of her. The Tiffany torchier beside the sofa was on, bathing the room in dim multicolored light. The door to her bedroom was closed. Samantha was caressing Tansy's tangled hair and murmuring something senseless but reassuring. When she saw Tansy opening her eyes, she attempted a weak smile.

"I called the police," Samantha said. "And I called the Courtyard. They'll be here soon."

"I fainted?" Tansy said helplessly. "I was so afraid."

Samantha nodded. "I know. These two won't trouble you anymore. Only one is left."

Tansy gulped. She eyed the door to her bedroom uneasily. She was naked under her blanket. She had always slept in the nude. "I need to get dressed." She attempted to get up, but Samantha's strong hands pressed her back into the sofa cushions.

"You don't want to go to your bedroom now," Samantha said. "Sorry."

Tansy's breath caught in her throat. No, she didn't want to go to her bedroom now, not after the sounds she had heard. It took her an almost inhuman effort to exhale and inhale again. To keep breathing.

"We'll clean it up," Samantha said.

She probably wanted to reassure Tansy, but Tansy just reached her limit. A keening howl tore out of her throat, and tears burned her eyes. She pulled the blanket over her head, hiding completely under it, curled into a ball, and sobbed noisily. She couldn't stop.

"Tansy, please," Samantha murmured on the other side of the blanket, patting it awkwardly. "Please don't cry. I'm so sorry." Her hands withdrew for a few moments. Then she seemed to reappear, making vaguely comforting sounds. "I brought you clean clothes. You can get dressed," she said.