Cemetery Boys

by Aiden Thomas

  Maritza hung back. Donatello whined and Michelangelo shook himself out nervously. She cut Yadriel a wary look.

  Her words from earlier needled into Yadriel’s head.

  He won’t be Julian anymore.

  But this wasn’t Julian losing grip on himself and slipping toward turning maligno. Yadriel knew that.

  “Julian—” Yadriel reached out for him, even though he knew he’d be nothing more than frost on his fingertips.

  But Julian jerked away. “DON’T.”

  So Yadriel didn’t.

  Instead, he watched, cautiously. He didn’t try to move closer, but he didn’t retreat, either. Gently, he tried, “Hey, you—”

  “I know, I know, I know!” Julian growled impatiently. “You’ll flush me down the toilet!”

  Maritza gave Yadriel a startled look.

  A blush swept up the back of his neck and across his face. “I’m not—”

  “Just give me a second!” Julian dropped into a squat and pressed his shirt against his face. Framed under the arch of the gated doors, the fluorescent lights spilled yellow across the steps of the church, but it didn’t quite touch Julian. There was a saint painted on the cement wall above him. A faceless man in a black robe with a white rope tied around his waist. In his right hand, he held a skull. In the left, a crucifix. Colorful swirls of paint spiraled out around him.

  Yadriel’s chest ached, but all he could do was stand back and give Julian space as he warred with himself.

  Julian’s back rose as he gulped down air. Slowly, the wind settled.

  He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it through pursed lips. When he stood up and faced Yadriel, his cheeks were splotchy, his edges watery. He dragged his fist across his eyes before finally letting his hands fall to his sides.

  Yadriel wrapped his arms around himself. “Are you okay?”

  Julian’s laugh was forced. “Jesus,” he sniffed, looking anywhere but at Yadriel. “Can we not talk about feelings right now?”

  “I don’t think Rio meant all that,” Yadriel continued, joining Julian on the step. “He’s just hurt. I mean, you could see that, right?”

  Staring at the ground, Julian didn’t look so sure. “I didn’t mean that shit I said to him,” he mumbled. His finger moved to his throat, searching for something that wasn’t there. He glanced over to where his necklace hung around Yadriel’s neck. “I just got so mad!” He shook his head, jaw clenched.

  “He’ll understand, he’ll—”

  Julian’s eyes snapped to his.

  “He’ll what, Yads?” he demanded. “Forgive me? Talk it out? Welcome me back?” Julian clutched at his chest, balling up his T-shirt in his fist. “I’m dead.”

  Yadriel snapped his mouth shut. A shiver rolled through him. “We can figure something out,” he offered, having no idea what. He didn’t want to see Julian like this, and he didn’t want Rio going the rest of his life thinking his brother had abandoned him.

  Julian was already shaking his head.

  “Maybe I could try talking to him again?” Yadriel offered, scratching at the prickle on the back of his neck.

  “No,” Julian said. The anger in his voice was quickly weighing down with exhaustion. “It’s better that he just thinks I ran away,” he repeated for the umpteenth time. “It’s easier this way.”

  Maybe it was easier, but it didn’t feel right. Yadriel wanted to argue, but this wasn’t his family. This wasn’t his choice. “I’ll do what you think is best,” Yadriel conceded.

  Julian looked at him, eyes dark and calculating.

  “Hate to interrupt…” Yadriel had nearly forgotten Maritza was still there until she stepped forward. Donatello and Michelangelo were two unmovable boulders at her sides, lying on the cement and looking thoroughly unperturbed. “But it’s getting late,” she said, still giving Julian a wide berth. “And my phone says it might start raining soon.”

  They all tipped their heads back to stare up at the sky. Heavy, dark clouds were creeping in, chasing away the afternoon sun.

  “The dogs aren’t really good at this whole tracking thing to begin with,” Maritza pointed out. Donatello and Michelangelo stared up at her, tongues happily lolling out of their mouths. “It’s already been a couple days, and if it rains…”

  “Then there will be no way for them to pick up the scent,” Yadriel finished.

  Maritza nodded, giving Julian a nervous glance.

  After the mess he’d made, Yadriel didn’t expect Julian to want to continue with their plan. He didn’t want to tell his brother or his friends that he’d died, so what reason did he have to help them find his body?

  “Take it.” Julian stepped forward and pushed his shirt into Yadriel’s hands.

  The material was worn soft and there was a hole in the shoulder. He got a small whiff of musky cologne and the faint sting of gasoline.

  Julian brushed past them and started walking down the sidewalk.

  Yadriel’s heart dropped to his feet. He gripped the shirt tightly and turned to Maritza. A look of defeat crossed her face, and panic rose in Yadriel’s throat. He wanted to call out and tell Julian to stop, that—

  Julian glanced back at them over his shoulder. He frowned. “Don’t we need to hurry?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “Come on.” He jerked his chin. “The park is this way.”

  Yadriel stared at him.

  Maritza let out a loud, relieved breath.

  Julian looked between them, brow furrowed. “What?”

  “I—I thought—” Yadriel stammered.

  “Jesus, Yads,” he sighed in exasperation with a grand roll of his eyes. “We’ve still got your cousin to find, right?”

  Yadriel could only bob his head in a nod.

  An amused grin tugged at the corner of Julian’s lips. “So let’s go,” he said, waving them on. “Before the rain wipes out any chance Tweedledee and Tweedledum got.”

  Maritza gasped. “Don’t you dare call them that!”

  Julian chuckled.

  “You’re the dumb one,” she said, starting after Julian, Donatello and Michelangelo obediently following along.

  Gratitude flooded Yadriel with warmth. He wanted to stop Julian and thank him, truly and genuinely, but he could picture his reaction in his head.

  Can we not talk about feelings right now?

  Instead, he clutched the shirt tightly to his chest and chased after Maritza and Julian as they continued to bicker down the street.

  Belvedere Park was made up of two parts. The north side was the community park, which had a public pool, a skate park, and sports fields. The south side had a man-made lake. The 60 freeway cut through the middle. There was a pedestrian bridge that you could take over the freeway that connected the north to the south. Julian took them to the south end, where the pedestrian bridge bottomed out at a small parking lot.

  “We were coming down that ramp,” Julian said, pointing to where the caged bridge ended. “Luca went up ahead, I heard him yell, saw some guy—”

  “Are you sure it was a guy?” Maritza asked, scuffing the toe of her shoe against an empty beer can.

  “Yes it was a guy,” Julian said, annoyed. “He was taller than me, and—”

  “There’s plenty of women in the world over six feet—”

  “Well, they were strong enough to murder me,” Julian shot back.

  “I’m sure plenty of women are smart enough to overpower you,” Maritza said, casually examining her nails.

  Julian spluttered, but Yadriel cut in before they got too off topic. Again.

  “And that’s all you remember?” Yadriel asked, turning in a slow circle.

  Julian shrugged. “That’s it.”

  The pavement was cracked and overgrown with weeds. The barrier walls were covered in graffiti and did little to block the thunder of traffic on the other side. There were some trees and large, overgrown bushes. Litter was ensnared in tufts of dead grass: straws, take-out containers, and plenty of cigarette butts.

  There weren’t
any telltale signs of a struggle. Though, to be honest, Yadriel didn’t know what to look out for. Either way, there was nothing glaringly obvious, like blood or a murder weapon, let alone a dead body.

  But that was why they had brought the dogs along. Hopefully, they could pick up on things the humans couldn’t, and lead them to something useful.

  “Ready to give it a shot, boys?” Yadriel asked.

  The sudden attention got them both wiggling with enthusiasm.

  “Fingers crossed,” Maritza said, taking off their leashes.

  Yadriel crouched down, holding Julian’s shirt out for them to get a good sniff. Their wet noses snuffled against the material, making sounds that were more pig than dog.

  Michelangelo wandered off first, probably realizing there was nothing edible hidden between the folds.

  Donatello, on the other hand, didn’t give up so easily.

  Before Yadriel could realize what was happening, Donatello was choking on a sleeve. “No, don’t eat it!” He yanked on the shirt, and Donatello hacked it up. “Oh, Santa Muerte,” Yadriel groaned, nose wrinkling as he held it out of Donatello’s reach as the dog tried to jump up on his stubby legs.

  Julian ran forward. “Man, that’s my favorite shirt!” he lamented.

  “He didn’t tear it,” Yadriel said, examining the sleeve cuff covered in slobber. “It’s just kinda … wet. Down, Donatello!”

  Donatello ignored him and continued to whine, pawing pathetically at Yadriel’s leg.

  Julian scowled at the dog. “Some help you are.”

  “Guys!” Maritza stood next to a line of overgrown bushes that Michelangelo’s entire front half had disappeared into. “I think we’ve got something!”

  Yadriel and Julian rushed over. Leaves rustled as Michelangelo dug farther into the bush. He planted his paws and started to tug on something.

  Suddenly, Yadriel realized how much he didn’t want to see Julian’s dead body. Julian stood rigid, dark eyes large and chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths.

  “What is it?” he asked, voice tight.

  Julian was the most alive person he’d ever met. Even as a spirit, he was bright and full of constantly moving energy. A sun crammed into the body of a boy. Yadriel didn’t want to see him without his light.

  Maritza moved in to investigate, pushing branches out of the way as she reached into the leaves.

  Yadriel held his breath.

  Maritza cursed. When she stood upright, she held a white paper bag. KING TACO was written across it in red, loopy letters.

  “My tacos!” Julian exclaimed with pleased surprise.

  Yadriel exhaled heavily, feeling light-headed.

  “Ugh, that’s rank,” Maritza said, face scrunched up as she held the bag as far away as possible in pinched fingers.

  Michelangelo sat on his rump, looking very proud of himself. Donatello waddled over and tried to get at the bag of rotten tacos.

  “Is that it?” Yadriel asked, stepping forward. “There’s nothing else?”

  Maritza pushed more branches around with her free hand, searching, but ultimately shrugged. “That’s it.”

  Relief was quickly replaced with disappointment. He had really thought, or hoped, they’d be able to find something useful. If not a body, then at least some kind of clue to point them in the right direction. Yadriel spun in a slow circle, triple-checking that there wasn’t something obvious they’d missed, but there was nothing.

  “You don’t remember anything else?” Yadriel asked Julian for the umpteenth time.

  Julian lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “That’s all I got.”

  No sign of Julian’s body. No sign of Miguel.

  “We should really head home,” Maritza said, tossing the bag back into the bushes. She snagged Donatello by his collar before he could dive in after it. “I think it’s going to start raining.”

  Yadriel knew she was right, it was getting darker by the minute, but he didn’t want to go home empty-handed. He wanted to help Julian, to find Miguel. He hated the idea of just waiting around for Día de Muertos, to see if Miguel’s spirit would return and tell them what had happened. And, even if he did, what if, like Julian, Miguel couldn’t remember, either?

  Yadriel felt the first drop on the very tip of his nose.

  Julian held out his hands as it began to drizzle, and rain fell right through his palms.

  SEVENTEEN

  By the time Yadriel and Julian got back to the cemetery, the drizzle had turned into full on rain. Yadriel’s hoodie was sopping wet, and his jeans were starting to chafe. Water had soaked into his binder, making it tight and freezing cold, sucking all the warmth from his core. His hair was a limp mess. Drops of water trailed down his scalp and the back of his neck. As they jogged across the street, his combat boots splashed in shallow puddles.

  “Careful,” Yadriel whispered to Julian as he slipped through the front gate as quietly as possible. “My dad’s on graveyard shift tonight.” The dark clouds plunged the world into night as soon as the sun went down.

  Julian hadn’t said much on the way back, and Yadriel hated it. Their roles seemed to reverse as Yadriel tried to fill the silence that Julian left.

  “We just need a new plan,” he said, trying to throw out solutions and words of encouragement that would jump-start Julian back to talking.

  Julian’s face was tense. Deep creases lined his forehead.

  Yadriel wished he would just tell him what he was thinking. “Are you okay?” he asked Julian as they moved between graves. The slick stones reflected the streetlights, giving everything an eerie shine.

  “I’m fine,” was Julian’s curt response, not even bothering to look in Yadriel’s direction.

  “You don’t seem fine,” Yadriel pointed out, carding his fingers through his wet hair, but it flopped right back into his eyes. “Are you still upset about your brother?”

  Julian stopped suddenly and frowned out across the cemetery.

  Yadriel clutched the dripping straps of his backpack. Julian had every right to be mad at him; he didn’t blame him for it.

  “I could try talking to my tío, see if he can help us. I mean, he saw my portaje, so he knows now,” he said, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms as he shivered in the rain.

  Julian gave a frustrated shake of his head and started walking toward the house again, not even listening to Yadriel’s suggestions as his eyes swept back and forth across the headstones and colorful tombs.

  Yadriel chased after him, desperate to get Julian to just hear him out. “I mean, I know I messed up, but I still think I can—”

  Annoyed, Julian spun around. “Yads.”

  But then he froze, staring.

  “What?” The word billowed in a cloud from Yadriel’s lips. Electricity ran up his spine, jarring his teeth.

  Julian wasn’t staring at him.

  He was staring past him.

  Yadriel turned and found himself face-to-face with a figure. He sucked in a sharp breath. His first thought was they’d been caught—someone had seen them, had seen Julian, and now they knew he was hiding a spirit and would tell his dad.

  But then he recognized the burgundy jersey. The floppy straw hat.

  Relief crashed over him. “Coño. Holy crap, Tito—” He forced out a laugh. “It’s just Tito.”

  He threw Julian a glance, but his posture was still rigid. His dark eyes wide with alarm.

  “It’s okay, he’s—” But Yadriel cut himself off as he turned back to Tito. Something was wrong.

  It hit Yadriel’s senses all at once.

  Tito didn’t look right. He was perfectly still, his gardening shears held in his hand. His beloved Venezuela jersey was covered in dark stains. His skin was puffy and gray. The brim of his hat cast his eyes in dark shadows. Then the smell hit Yadriel’s nose. It was an earthy, putrid stench.

  Tito’s mouth yawned open—too wide, as if his jaw had unhinged. He drew in a deep, rattling breath. His bloated fingers tightened around the handl
es of the shears. They made a rusty squeal.

  “Yadriel!” Julian shouted.

  He didn’t have time to do anything more than suck in a gasp before Tito raised his arm and brought the shears down toward him. Yadriel tried to scramble away but tripped over his own feet, landing hard on his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He expected to feel rusty steel sink into his chest. Instead, he heard the colliding of bodies meeting with a sharp grunt.

  Coughing, Yadriel rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath, the taste of mud on his lips.

  Julian was on his feet and fighting. Tito brought the shears down at him, but Julian used his arm to deflect the blow. He threw his fist into Tito’s nose. There was a loud crunch and a ghoulish wail, something entirely inhuman that put Yadriel’s teeth on edge. Julian sank his knee into Tito’s gut with a wet thud, slamming his elbow into the back of his head when he doubled over.

  The shears clattered to the ground.

  Yadriel arched his back and twisted, pulling his portaje out from its sheath. He needed to sever the tie between Tito and his shears.

  Ripping open his bag, Yadriel plunged his hand inside, searching for his Hydro Flask filled with chicken blood.

  Julian fought hard, but this wasn’t some scuffle in the school halls. It wasn’t a brawl in the street. His opponent wasn’t even human anymore. The horror that used to be Tito caught Julian around his throat, fingers catching under his jaw and pulling him off his feet.

  “Julian!” Yadriel shouted, fear shredding his voice.

  Julian thrashed, hands scrabbling at Tito’s arm, feet kicking wildly as he choked.

  Yadriel yanked out the bottle and clumsily unscrewed the top. With shaky hands, he dumped the blood onto the blade.

  “¡Muéstrame el enlace!” he said, and his dagger burst to life with glowing light.

  The golden thread appeared, drawn between the garden shears on the ground and the center of Tito’s chest.

  Tito’s head swung to Yadriel. He tossed Julian to the side with surprising strength. Julian careened through headstones and out of sight. Yadriel had no idea if a spirit could destroy another spirit, but he could hear Julian groan.