Darkness by John Saul

would go on with his work as if nothing had happened.
    Phil Stubbs was beginning to worry about Michael. What was he doing, those nights when he worked late, hanging around the little complex where the tours were headquartered long after everyone else had left? Of course Stubbs knew how most of Michael’s time had been occupied—the evidence of his work was usually obvious the next morning. But was there something else? Something Michael might not even be aware of, that held him there each evening?
    Stubbs finished counting the morning till, observed with satisfaction that all the tour boats for the day were fully reserved, and made a note to himself to keep track of the turn-aways. Perhaps it was time to buy yet another boat. His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a little boy’s voice, shouting excitedly.
    “It’s not either asleep, Mommy! It’s dead!”
    Stubbs looked out the window to see a clump of tourists clustered around the nutria cages. They were buzzing amongst themselves, and several of them seemed to be pointing at one particular cage. Stubbs hurried out to see what was going on, elbowing his way through the crowd until he was in front of the cage where Martha lived with her litter of pups. The pups, as usual, were tumbling around, scrambling over each other as they struggled to get to the food dish.
    Martha lay unmoving on the floor of the cage, just inside the door.
    “Well, if you ask me,” he heard a heavyset woman whisper loudly to her companion, “it’s cruel to keep the animals caged up this way. Of course they die—they probably die every day.”
    Ignoring the woman, Stubbs unlocked the cage, opened the door, and lifted the lifeless nutria out of the pen.
    “Did something kill it?” the little boy who had yelleda few moments earlier demanded, his eyes staring accusingly up at Phil Stubbs.
    “Nope,” Stubbs replied, returning the little boy’s gaze. “Martha here just got old, that’s all.”
    “I’ll bet she starved to death,” the heavyset woman observed.
    Well, that’s not something you’ll ever have to worry about, Stubbs said silently to himself as he took the nutria away. Returning to the office, he examined the animal.
    What
had
happened to it?
    He picked it up again, fingering it carefully, searching for a wound. When he set it down once more, the head flopped over at an unnatural angle. Frowning, he explored the creature’s neck with his fingers. Even to his unpracticed touch, he could tell the nutria’s neck had been broken.
    An unbidden memory came to his mind of Michael, standing perfectly still, the mop clenched tightly in his fists.
    If it hadn’t been a mop in his hands a few days ago, but instead one of the nutrias …
    There was a rumbling noise outside, and a moment later Michael himself appeared, pulling his motorcycle to a stop outside the gates. Stepping outside, Stubbs beckoned him over to the office.
    “Got something I want you to look at,” he said as Michael approached. He led Michael back into the office, then stepped aside so that the boy could see the dead nutria on the desk. “You know what might have happened to her?” he asked.
    Michael stared at Martha’s limp body. He couldn’t explain what had happened, since he still wasn’t sure. And if he told the truth, he knew he would be fired. But he couldn’t lie, either. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “Last night, she didn’t look too good—”
    Stubbs’s eyes fixed on him. “Her neck’s broken, Michael.”
    Michael swallowed. “Oh, God. I thought she wasgoing—I thought—” He fell silent, staring helplessly at Stubbs.
    Stubbs’s anger eased in the face of Michael’s obvious torment. “Now just take it easy, boy. Tell me what happened.”
    “But—But I don’t know what happened,” Michael stammered. “I was petting her, like I always do, and I heard a siren. And it scared me.” His eyes flicked around the room, as if he were searching for a way out. At last his