echoes in the vast outdoors and curdles my blood. I turn to Mom, and her eyes are wide as we stare, both of us taking a minute to process what we heard.
“Shit. I think that was Alyson.”
“Go,” Mom says, and I drop everything and cut through the path between our two farmhouses, tree branches scratching at my skin as I run to Alyson’s and find her front door open. Panic welling up inside me, I enter, but a horrid—familiar—smell assaults my senses. What the fuck?
“Alyson, where are you?” I ask. Shit, high concentrations of skunk spray can be toxic. I need to get her out of this house.
I bury my face in the crook of my arm, but my eyes sting with the nauseating, pungent scent.
“In the living room,” she calls out, coughing, and with my eyes barely open, I feel along the wall until I find her.
I try to look her over, but my eyes are so watery, I can barely see a thing. “Are you okay?”
“Skunk,” she says, but I’m already well aware of that. “He was in the kitchen when I entered, and he sprayed me and everything. Ohmigod, Jay. I’m going to be sick.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s still in here somewhere. It’s so bad, Jay.”
I reach for her and tug on her shirt. “Close your eyes and follow me outside.”
I pinch my eyes shut, then open one as I guide her through the front door and leave it open to air the place out and hopefully give the animal an escape.
“How did he get in?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She wraps her arms around me, pressing her chest to my back to hold on tighter. “I thought maybe you left the door open when you went home this morning.”
“I didn’t.” I take her farther and farther away from the house. “I went out the back and made sure it was closed behind me.”
Worry worms its way through my blood, and I’m not sure why, but my thoughts are racing back to when someone stole her clothes.
“Take a deep breath,” I say. “And open your eyes slowly.” We both gulp air, and I tear off my T-shirt and press it to her face.
“Thanks,” she says and sniffs.
“We need to get you out of these clothes and cleaned up.”
“I am not going back into that house.”
“No, you’re not. Come with me.” I take her hand and lead her back to my cottage. Mom is standing at my door, alarm all over her face.
“Oh, no, Alyson.”
“Skunk spray. Doused Alyson and her house,” I say, stating the obvious. “The skunk was inside. Can you put a concoction together?” We’ve had dogs in the past that have had run-ins with local wildlife, so we’ve always known what to do in case of skunk emergency.
“Of course. How did it get inside?” Mom asks, gripping my doorknob.
“We’re both wondering the same,” I explain, and Mom turns from us. Her footsteps sound on my wood floors, followed by that of cupboards opening and water running.
“Are you sure you didn’t leave the door open?” Alyson asks, like she’s not quite certain she believes me, but why the hell would I lie about something like that?
“I’m positive,” I say. “If someone opened your front door, it wasn’t me, and whoever did this—”
“So, you do think someone did this? You think someone actually put a skunk in my house?” She coughs into the crook of her elbow. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know.” I clench down on my jaw. We have some bad apples in town, but the idea that someone would do this to her on purpose is actually unthinkable.
“I guess someone thought it would be funny,” she says.
“I’m not laughing. It’s actually dangerous. The spray can be toxic.” I cup her elbow to reposition her. “You have to get these clothes off.” She nods. “Close your eyes and hold your breath.”
She does what I say, and I carefully peel her T-shirt over her head, tossing it far from us. “We’ll have to burn that.”
“Burn it and then bury it.” I reach for her pants and gulp when I realize her lower half is already bare, except for a very tiny pair of lace panties.
“You’re not wearing pants,” I say, stating the obvious.
“I didn’t have time to put them on.” Her normal reaction would be to come back with a smart-ass comment at my evident observation, and when she doesn’t, everything inside me softens. This last week had been hard