Rotting Souls

by Sara Clancy

  “Spicy taco latte?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Nicole almost sounded insulted by the question.

  There was an almost physical need to taunt her, but he settled for sipping at the sweet, spicy liquid instead. The first mouthful made him choke, and he cupped a hand around his aching throat.

  “Move your hand,” Zack grumbled.

  Benton grunted as Zack jerked the edge of the blanket down, trying to position himself for a decent shot.

  “Zack,” Nicole hissed. “Give him a second.”

  “No one is going to believe this happened if we don’t document it properly.”

  “Zack.”

  Nicole’s reproachful glare was enough to make Zack back up a step, but he didn’t stop clicking off photographs. Benton was too busy fighting for air to care what Zack did. He cared even less when Nicole settled onto the dirt beside him, wrapping one arm protectively around his shoulders. She was so damn warm; a tropical heat in a world of ice.

  “This has to be a trick.” Zack almost chuckled as he flicked through his photographs, the small screen of the camera illuminating his face. He laughed a little harder. “Nicole, it looks like you’re beating the hell out of Benton in these. What did it look like to you, Benton?”

  He explained as best he could while keeping his word count low. Coffee was far more important than dealing with Zack’s zeal.

  “Aw, man! Why can’t we get that on camera?” Zack bellowed.

  “Keep your voice down,” Meg hissed.

  “Hey, I got some orbs on film,” Danny cut in.

  It was a minor thing ghosts did with cameras. Little glowing balls that showed up for no real reason. They weren’t all that impressive, but enough to have the twins and Zack crowding around her camera screen.

  “I’m just telling you now,” he mumbled to Nicole. “If anyone asks me to go back in there, I’m going to have a very colorful response. Complete with hand gestures.”

  “That sounds fair,” she replied, rubbing his arm to work some warmth into it. “What do you think is going on with Mr. Ackerman? He wasn’t like this before.”

  “Well, it’s not like he wasn’t always a creeper with no sense of personal space.”

  Nicole shot him a disapproving look. They didn’t work at the best of times. Now, still defrosting and with a mug of coffee, there was little she could do to make him feel guilty.

  “You didn’t have to deal with him in your face all the time,” Benton countered. “He never watched you sleep.”

  “Admittedly, that’s a bit odd.”

  “Amazingly disturbing,” he corrected.

  Again, another glare that withered away quickly. “He wasn’t aggressive before.”

  Benton sipped at his coffee and countered with, “He wasn’t scared before.”

  “Scared of what?” she asked instantly, a small spike of fear weaving into her voice. “The Slaughs? Does he think they’re coming back?”

  “You know, I keep forgetting to ask him,” Benton grunted. “We just get so caught up in politics and world events.”

  “Any chance you can be a little less sarcastic for the rest of this conversation?” There was no heat in her words; just an affectionate exasperation.

  Benton felt like smiling, but his exhausted body couldn’t pull it off. “Nope, sorry. I have a medical condition.”

  “That forces you to be a jerk?” she asked with a smirk.

  He nodded solemnly. “Scientists are hoping for a breakthrough. Until then, the only recommended treatment is to let me do what I want.”

  She giggled, shook her head, and seemingly decided that the conversation had to get back on track.

  “Do you think he’s protecting his grave?” she asked. “No, that can’t be it. He has a nice new one now. A real one.”

  “One that doesn’t have a creepy cult symbol,” he mumbled before taking another mouthful of coffee.

  “Professor Lester said that it was only supposed to disperse negative energy,” Nicole mused.

  Benton didn’t bother to reply. That had already said everything there was to say about the damn thing. It was from a cult that historians only vaguely, remembered. As far as anyone could tell, it worked with the theory that there existed a kind of paranormal fog. It blanketed the world. Killing something that belonged in that realm stirred it up and lured in bigger and worse things. Putting the seal at the location of death was supposed to keep that ripple effect from happening. The problem that hung over their heads like a razor-sharp knife was that the Slaughs had been a swarm. A flying one. It was impossible to put them all up. Even if they could, plastering the whole town in the signals would draw some unwanted attention.

  “Do you think the Slaughs count as one death or hundreds?” Nicole asked abruptly.

  The night replayed in Benton’s head. Monsters swirling within the fury of a storm, seeking out souls to take. A scream unlike any he had produced before. Something that cracked him open, coming from a part of his soul that he hadn’t known existed. His throat ached as he recalled the last hands that had wrapped around it. Living, human hands. A killer that would have killed him, too, if Nicole hadn’t been there. He flinched as a phantom gunshot rang in his ears. Somehow, it seemed sharper, more real, not like it was in the past.

  “Benton?” Nicole asked.

  He cleared his throat, ignored the spike of pain, and offered her a smile. “They must not count for much. It’s been pretty quiet.”

  “Apart from Mr. Ackerman,” she reminded. “Are there any other ghosts in town? Have they been acting weird?”

  Benton summoned enough strength to slit his eyes towards her. “I don’t exactly go around looking for them.”

  “Has anyone come looking for you?”

  “You mean since three A.M this morning?”

  Despite his best efforts not to get drawn into this whole ‘friendship’ thing, Nicole had weaseled her way into just about every aspect of his life. She’d found out all of his secrets and, she didn’t give him time to make any new ones before checking in on him again. She was a one-woman Viking raid, smashing all resistance in her path and claiming whatever she wanted as her own. It was a personality type that should rightfully drive him mad. But, somehow, Nicole had managed to make her knowing every insignificant detail of his existence oddly comforting. She knew him. She heard him. She listened. All he needed was a taste of one to be completely hooked on this whole ‘friendship’ idea. And it was probably why he really didn’t want or need the others around.

  “Maybe the ghosts are feeding off of the negative energy of the Slaughs’ deaths.” Nicole mused.

  “I can’t really express how little I care.”

  “You probably should care a little,” she chastised with a small pout. “Mr. Ackerman wasn’t able to touch you before. Now he can and is obviously willing to do so. That’s not a good situation, Benton.”

  He released the hot cup just long enough to gesture to his throat. “Oddly enough, I did figure that out for myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed playfully. “I hate when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Argue with me while proving my point,” she said.

  He grinned. “Makes it hard for you to keep arguing, huh?”

  “Exceedingly so.”

  A strange sense of pride washed through him. Nicole lived like a Miss America contestant mid-interview, hiding everything behind a bright smile and sunny disposition. It made it hard to know when he actually got to her.

  Benton glanced back at the barn. “I want to move him on.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Nicole replied instantly.

  “What?” Zack cut in. “You can’t do that. Not yet. We don’t have him on tape.”

  Benton was in mid-sip, so Nicole was the one to answer, “So?”

  “So, no one will believe us. They’ll just think that Benton threw himself around.”

  “Who do you intend to show this to?” Nicole asked.

  Zack shrugged as i
f it were obvious, pulling his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. “I’m putting this on YouTube.”

  Benton swallowed hard. Wincing in pain, he glared at Zack. “I’m sorry, dumbass. What was that?”

  “Where do you want me to post it?” Zack shot back.

  “Nowhere,” Benton said. “Obviously.”

  Zack paused, looking to each girl in turn before meeting Benton’s gaze again. “Then why are we even doing this?”

  “Because you’re an idiot!” Benton declared. He continued in a rush before Nicole could tell him to play nice. “You saw ghosts. You saw Slaughs. Hell, you even saw me kill them with a scream. What more do you need to convince you?”

  “That’s not proof.”

  “Screw off!” Benton snarled. “No one has to prove to you that they exist. You’re not that important.”

  A sudden burst of light washed over them, making all of the teenagers whip around to face the house a few yards off. The variety of spotlights created a noonday glare. It was painful to look at and almost impossible to spot Benton’s mother standing at the front door, screen door opened halfway.

  “Benton! Honey, is that you?”

  Benton cringed at the forced endearment. It just sounded awkward coming from Cheyanne Bertrand. But nowhere near as bad as when his dad tried. Lately, he was attempting to call him ‘sport’ and make it sound normal. He hadn’t succeeded once.

  “Yeah, mom,” Benton called out.

  “Who’s that with you?” she asked, her voice overly sweet. “Is that Zack I see?”

  The motion lights renewed their time as Zack waved an arm in greeting.

  “Hi, Mrs. Bertrand,” Nicole chirped happily.

  There was a moment’s pause before Cheyanne replied, “Nicole, you’re back again.”

  The tension was thick enough that even Nicole couldn’t dismiss it. Her smile didn’t waver, but her eyes did flick over to Benton.

  “Yeah, she’s not a fan of yours,” Benton whispered.

  “What? Why? Since when?” The questions left Nicole’s mouth at a rapid pace. “I’m delightful.”

  “Yes, you are,” Benton placated with a smirk.

  “What are all of you up to out there?” Cheyanne broke into the conversation again. She still hadn’t left the doorway.

  “We’re working on a film for a class assignment,” Nicole blurted out.

  “Smooth,” Benton mumbled, scrubbing his face.

  “I told you we needed to practice,” she hissed out of the corner of her beaming smile.

  “We did.” Even he thought he sounded a bit too smug. “For thirty minutes.”

  Nicole was steadily getting better at lying, which wasn’t that hard given where she had started.

  “What subject is it for?” his mother called from the porch a few yards off.

  “English,” Benton said. Nicole nodded rapidly until he nudged her with his elbow. “We have to do a short movie.”

  “Well, it’s late. You can finish up in the morning.”

  He might not have been able to make out his mother’s facial features, given the floodlights that refused to turn off, but he was sure his mother could see him. And the deadpan glare he was tossing her way.

  Cheyanne and Theodore Bertrand were proud city dwellers. For the vast majority of his life, they had displayed nothing but resentment for anything that closed before midnight at the earliest. Staying up to six p.m. on a Saturday night wasn’t something they would have ever called him on before.

  But Fort Wayward was different. Benton’s warnings of death tended to draw unwanted attention. And accusations of being a serial killer. Because of this, the Bertrands had exhausted every large Canadian city. Fort Wayward, a tiny town hidden way in the Alberta prairies, was their last hope. A quiet place to squirrel away their troublesome son. They had prepared themselves to be maximum-security correctional officers. It must have thrown them off script when Benton started showing signs of becoming a well-adjusted teen.

  Begrudgingly, Benton struggled to his feet. Zack and the twins hurriedly packed up their stuff, and Nicole swept into action. They were getting pretty good at looking casual while fighting to keep Benton upright. She pressed against his side, hugging his waist while avoiding his most current cluster of bruises. In turn, he slung an arm over her shoulders, letting her take his weight. There was a certain sense of pride that came with being able to pull the move off without snagging her hair. To complete the ‘everything is normal’ facade, Nicole lazily swung her duffle bag as they walked.

  Avoiding all eye-contact with Cheyanne, and with little more than a wave of acknowledgment, the trio fled to Zack’s car. Spinning tires kicked up the gravel and dust before they shot past Nicole’s jeep and barreled down the long driveway. Benton and Nicole watched the taillights fade into the darkness that surrounded the isolated house.

  “Subtle,” Benton muttered.

  “Come on, guys,” Nicole beseeched at the same time.

  Sharing a glance, they finished their journey to the front porch. Cheyanne hadn’t left the threshold. One hand gripped the sturdy wooden door while the other clutched the fly screen, keeping it halfway open. Her smile was so forced it looked painful. Benton cringed. This isn’t going to be a fun night. Nicole’s skill at concealing her emotions behind a smile made Cheyanne look like an amateur. She beamed like a soldier coming home.

  “Hi, Mrs. Bertrand. You look lovely tonight.” Before his mother could reply, Nicole continued, “My mother’s still eager to have you and Mr. Bertrand over for dinner.”

  Cheyanne barely hid her flinch. While the Bertrands were on good terms with Royal Canadian Mounted Police Constable Nicole Rider, they weren’t exactly friends. At this point, Cheyanne was nervous around law enforcement officials. As if she was waiting for them to start throwing accusations around.

  “We’ve just been so busy,” Cheyanne said. “We’ll get around to it shortly, I’m sure.”

  “Great. I’m really excited. I’ve already decided that I’m going to make my special Saskatoon Berry Bannock for dessert. It’s an old family recipe.”

  “Oh.” Cheyanne dragged the word out as she struggled with how to respond to that.

  That was one of the things Benton’s parents hadn’t considered when they decided to move to Fort Wayward. Here, they were the only people who weren’t linked to the Siksika tribe by marriage or blood. It left his parents, who had never put any thought into heritage, family connections, or history, in this awkward limbo. They were determined not to cause offense but completely ignorant about how to go about that.

  Nicole’s smile grew. “Think of scone-cake hybrid with blueberries in it. You’ll like it. It’s delicious.”

  “That sounds lovely dear,” Cheyanne said swiftly. “But it’s getting late. Benton needs his sleep.”

  “You really do,” Nicole agreed with a nod.

  What followed was an awkward silence.

  Cheyanne licked her lips. “I’m sure you have a busy day tomorrow, Nicole, sweetie.”

  Nicole pursed her lips and hummed. “No, not really. I mean, I do have to babysit five kids tomorrow. Their parents are still helping with the town clean up. But I’m not complaining. The little ones are going to be a big help. We’re going to bake cookies for the blood drive I’m running in the afternoon. I hope to see you there, Mrs. Bertrand. The turnouts have been incredible. We’re sending any excess to Peace Springs this time. I’m not driving it over, of course. I’ve got to help catalog the items in the Fort. We have to get all of the antiques out of it before they can start restoration efforts. I probably shouldn’t let the kids help with that.”

  Benton took advantage of her first pause for breath. “Hold up. You’re doing all of that in one day?”

  “It’s no bigger workload than what I’ve had before.”

  “That’s the point, Nic.”

  “I like to keep busy,” she dismissed with a shrug.

  She’s not dealing with what happened. It wasn’t the first time this
had occurred to Benton, but it still made his stomach churn.

  “Are you alright?” Nicole asked when she noticed him staring at her. Hooking the straps of her duffle bag into the crook of her arm, she pressed a hand against his forehead, checking for a fever. “Maybe you should rest for a bit.”

  “I think she’s right,” Cheyanne agreed quickly.

  Once again, silence settled upon them, deep enough that Benton could pick up on the distinctive click of owl talons against the roof slats. When it became unbearably awkward, he leaned over and whispered to Nicole.

  “She’s waiting for you to leave.”

  “Oh.” Nicole started, toppling into nervous chuckles. “Right. I don’t live here.”

  “You’re around enough to make that mistake,” Cheyanne said with a bittersweetness.

  Nicole’s sudden burst of energy caught both Bertrands off guard. Neither were prepared for her to dart off the porch and half crawl into her jeep. A split second later, she was back, bouncing on her toes as she presented Benton with a present. The small box was perfectly wrapped with silver paper that reflected the light like a polished mirror. A tiny string of fairy lights served as a ribbon, accentuating the pristine paper. Benton arched a quizzical eyebrow.

  “It’s not my birthday.”

  “I know.”

  Benton’s brow furrowed. “You know when my birthday is?”

  “December 26th is kind of memorable,” she dismissed with an indulgent smile.

  His first instinct was to demand how she knew that. Then he recalled that he was talking to a girl who had stolen both his medical and police reports on more than one occasion.

  He hesitantly took the box. “You wrap a random gift like this?”

  She nodded, looking confused, as if it were completely normal to put this much effort into spontaneous presents.

  “Of course, you do,” Benton smiled. “Thanks, Nic.”

  Unraveling it all was an intelligence test. A sharp yank took off the fairy lights. Not knowing what else to do with them, he dumped them on Nicole’s head, giving her a battery-powered halo. She didn’t bother to take them off, and instead, watched with barely contained excitement as Benton pulled a small ring of tangled willows out of the box. It was filled with a spider web of sinew and trimmed with three feathers that twisted in the slight breeze.