Blood and Other Matter

by Kaitlin Bevis

  “Oh,” Tess said.

  “Yeah. Oh. So on top of all the questions that came with that, she’s spinning her wheels and going nuts over a case that isn’t even hers anymore because she’s like me. She needs answers, and I—I took them from her. She may never figure this out because she doesn’t have all the pieces and—”

  “We don’t have all the pieces either,” Tess said gently.

  “I know that!” I drew in a sharp breath when Tess flinched at my raised voice. “Sorry. Anyway, she needed a minute where she’s not Mom, and she’s not the sheriff, so we’re getting out of her hair for a bit.”

  With any luck, by the time we got home, she’d be watching a chick flick and getting tipsy off her wine-cream. Mom balanced all the demands of her job and home stuff pretty well, but every now and then she needed to decompress.

  Tess fingered the hem of her dress. “Yes . . . she’s clearly very upset.”

  I didn’t miss her pointed tone, but I didn’t acknowledge it until Tess put a hand on my arm. “Pull over, Derrick.”

  When I actually did, her eyes widened. “I’m sorry you haven’t been able to figure out what happened that night.”

  It sounded so vain when she put it like that. Like I just figured I’d magically be able to put together what I knew with Mom’s investigation because of my amazing brain. “I didn’t think—”

  “Yes, you did.”

  I lifted my eyes to the roof of the car. “Yeah. I did.”

  Tess stared at me for a long moment, then without warning threw open her door and got out of the car. I started in surprise when she came around to my side and opened my door. “Scoot.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Driving.”

  I moved out of her way.

  An hour later, we were parked on a hilltop, sitting on the hood of my car finishing off a dinner I knew for a fact Tess couldn’t stand. But she knew I loved barbeque, just like she knew this was my favorite place to stargaze. She’d even turned on my playlist—a major concession for her since she pretty much hated real music.

  “Thanks for this,” I said, opening my soda.

  “It’s nothing.” She tapped the top of her soda three times, the way she always did, before popping the top.

  I notice things like that because I’m an idiot. “Don’t say that. It’s not noth—”

  “No, Derrick, it’s nothing. Literally.” She tied off the plastic Slick Lizard Gizzard’s Barbeque bag. “I bought the food with your money and drove out here in your car, and—”

  “Mom’s money. Mom’s car.” I scooted toward the windshield, careful not to let too much weight rest against the glass. “You’ve never let that stop you from thanking me when I use her stuff to do something nice for you because it’s not about the resources. It’s about the thought. This,” I motioned to everything around us, “is a nice thought.”

  “You don’t ever feel like this friendship is really one-sided? You give so much, Derrick. And I—”

  “One-sided?” I snorted. “Tess, you went through something so traumatic, you’ve got like, soap opera grade amnesia, and you’re bending over backward to comfort me. You’ve always been there for me when I needed a friend, even when the stuff going on in your life makes my crap look trivial by comparison.”

  “Pain is relative.” She shrugged. “Mine doesn’t invalidate yours. Especially when mine causes yours.”

  “You didn’t cause—”

  “You know who was great at grand gestures?”

  I rolled my eyes but let her change the topic. “Ainsley.”

  We both fell silent at the ghost her name resurrected. Stupid drunk drivers.

  “But that wasn’t always a good thing.” I drummed my fingers against the hood of the car. “Remember the time she lit my hamster on fire?”

  “Hey, you killed Peanut. She just gave him an epic funeral.”

  “I didn’t kill him! He was in the wrong place at the wrong time when I snapped the play tube off his cage.”

  “Murderer.” Tess smiled to show she was joking.

  “Whatever. I’m not saying Ainsley’s heart wasn’t in the right place when she torched Peanut, but—”

  “You loved Vikings back then!”

  “It was thoughtful,” I acquiesced. “And the prayer to the Valkyries was a nice touch. But you have to admit, dousing a toy boat in gasoline—”

  “It wouldn’t light on fire any other way! We tried everything else.”

  “And sending a burning hamster corpse downstream in a public park—”

  Tess’s peals of laughter cut me off. “Oh God, the screaming.”

  I laughed, despite myself. “It was definitely a grand gesture. But you know what actually helped?”

  “What?”

  “When you tracked down the recall notice on the cage.”

  “It was a two-minute web search, Derrick. Hardly a—”

  “You showed me it wasn’t my fault, Tess. I needed that. Especially then.” Peanut’s epic funeral had been within a month of my dad’s.

  Starlight glimmered in her eyes as she looked up at me, and I found myself leaning closer to her. “You’ve always known exactly what I need.”

  Tess ducked her head, but she didn’t argue. Maybe she knew I could come up with hundreds of other times she’d been there for me on the spot. Or maybe because she worried I’d start talking about everything she did for me after Ainsley died. The stuff we never talked about.

  “I miss her,” she whispered, her slim frame sagging against me.

  “Me, too.”

  Chapter 19: Finn

  Tuesday, September 20th

  FINN. THE HISS of his name manifested in Finn’s mind with an almost physical sensation. Like someone’s hand paused just short of touching his flesh. His name curled around him as he slept, caressed his sweat-soaked skin and crept up, up, up until the whisper pricked against his ears and burrowed into his mind. Each echo crescendoed until his name became a full-fledged scream.

  Finn . . .

  Blood met flame with a hiss. Shadows came alive with a vengeance.

  What did you do? Aaron demanded, grabbing Josh by the front of his shirt and giving him a rough shake.

  Josh held his hands up in surrender, voice panicked. I didn’t—

  Finn!

  Finn bolted upright, breathing hard as the images in his mind replayed over and over again. Heat poured out of the vent above his bed, smothering the air and leaving his throat raw and dry. He reached for his nightstand and found his water bottle empty.

  Finn sighed, wincing when his lips cracked. He licked them then flopped back into bed, sucking at his cheeks in a futile effort to ease his parched throat with saliva.

  “Oh, come on,” he groaned, glancing at his water like maybe, just maybe, the bottle had magically refilled. No dice. The second his feet touched the ground, his chances of sleep for the night would be shot. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t slept through the night since the bonfire.

  The nightmares were getting worse.

  After tossing and turning for another couple of minutes, he gave up and rolled out of bed. Who needs sleep, anyway? Finn paused on the stairs to adjust the thermostat, cocking his head to listen until the heat shut off. If the weather would just make up its mind between high summer and dead of winter instead of bouncing around a few times a day, maybe he wouldn’t have to adjust the stupid thing so much. Finn said a few choice words about the temperature as he continued down the stairs.

  “Water,” he rasped, like a hiker lost in the Sahara. Draining a bottle, he threw it in the recycling bin, then reached into the fridge to grab another.

  Finn didn’t worry about noise. Dad would be out in the truck until sometime in the middle of the week. This was a busy time of year fo
r truckers.

  Fueled by a desperate need for air that didn’t taste hot and stale, Finn escaped to the balcony.

  Fairdealings had exactly four townhouses from way back when developers thought downtown was going to become a thing. They’d put them adjacent to the Main Street shopping center.

  Finn’s dad bought this one fresh out of college, Imogene Kepner purchased the one next door, the house two down had been purchased as a rental by the McNair family and changed residents every year or so, and the last one had sat empty since its construction.

  You did this.

  Finn did his best to ignore the voice in his head and the accompanying images of blood and fire. Instead, he studied the empty street below. He’d always been able to lose himself in his surroundings. Unlike his friends, he couldn’t tune out the constant bombardment of sensations of the world around him.

  They never seemed aware of the temperature or the bright lights or any of the million tiny details threatening to overwhelm Finn at a moment’s notice. He wasn’t sure if he envied them or pitied them.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” asked a voice so fragile, it sounded like it was about to break.

  Finn about fell off his chair before he realized the voice came from the next porch over. He’d been so focused on the street below, it never occurred to him to look elsewhere.

  When he saw Wren, he did a double take. She sounded so hollow, he hadn’t recognized her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been staying with Gran.” She perched on the railing, her back pressed to the white siding, gaze focused on the street below. Finn worried one strong gust of wind would knock her down. There was something brittle about the way she held herself. Like if he made one wrong move, she’d shatter into a million pieces. “I couldn’t sleep knowing they’re all—” She broke off.

  Her dad owned the funeral parlor. Finn’s stomach lurched as he realized whatever was left of his friends was down in her basement.

  “I broke up with Isaac.” Her hair stirred, which seemed odd, because Finn didn’t feel any wind. He could hear the steady rustle of the leaves beyond the parking lot, see its movement in the lone paper drifting across the asphalt beneath him, but he couldn’t feel the breeze.

  Probably blocked by the roof or something. Maybe the angle of the walls. “I know.”

  Her head shot up in surprise. What, did she think Isaac hadn’t told anyone they broke up?

  “I know why, too,” Finn added, answering the unasked question in her eyes. Maybe she’d decide this was way too awkward to talk about and go inside.

  “I wish I’d waited. One more day, and he wouldn’t have known I—” She broke off as sobs wracked her body.

  Finn closed his eyes. The nightmare wasn’t fading. He could still feel the heat of the fire. Still hear the cries of pain. The scent of blood hung so heavy in the air, his mouth tasted faintly of sea-soaked metal.

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” Finn found himself assuring her despite his unwillingness to be her shoulder to cry on. “It wasn’t like Chris. Isaac didn’t—”

  “I know.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, glittering in the ambient light. “But I hate that the last conversation we had was such a bad one.” She wiped her eyes. “How are you holding up?”

  “How do you think?” God, was he tired of that question. “Sorry,” he grumbled when hurt flashed through her eyes.

  “Stupid question,” she admitted, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.

  Finn resisted the urge to nod. “It’s . . . no one knows what to say to us. To anyone, really. No one knows how to help, and it’s not like we have any freaking clue.”

  “Will this help?” Wren held up a bottle of clear liquor.

  Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s a start.”

  By the time they’d passed the bottle back and forth a couple dozen times, Finn found himself sitting on the balcony rails between their townhouses, laughing at some stupid joke Wren made. If his laughter had an edge of hysteria, Wren didn’t notice.

  He wished he could stop blinking. Then he’d stop seeing carnage every time he closed his eyes. Blood. Screams. Shadows.

  I’m gonna . . . get a drink.

  Wait. That wasn’t a nightmare. That was . . . memory?

  Tess stumbled against Josh as they headed deeper into the woods.

  Yeah, I’ll take a stab at her.

  Finn swallowed hard as the whole night came together with a click. Every. Single. Piece.

  You did this. Every syllable was coated in truth, accompanied by visuals so vivid, they touched on each of his senses.

  “I did this.” Nausea roiled in Finn’s gut. He’d touched the shadows that night. Literally. That shouldn’t have been possible. Nothing that happened should have been possible.

  Wren knocked on the siding. “Hey? You still there? Hello?” She waved her hand at him.

  He jerked back, blinking rapidly. “S-sorry.”

  “Lost you there for a minute.” She smiled at him. “You okay?”

  “Wouldn’t you be more worried if I was?” Finn shook his head and took another pull from the bottle. The burn as the liquor slid down his throat and settled into his stomach dulled the memories of what they’d done. At least for a moment. “Do you regret it?”

  She considered the bottle he offered her, then shook her head. “Regret what?”

  “Dumping my best friend?”

  The laughter in her eyes died. She swallowed hard and slid off the railing onto her balcony. “I already told you, I wish—”

  “I don’t mean the timing.” Finn persisted, leaning toward her with tenuous balance. “I mean the reason.”

  “No.” Wren’s eyes glittered with anger, but she shied away from Finn. “I meant every word I said to him. I can’t date someone I think could be a part of something so horrible.”

  “You’re here with me.” The bottle landed on the porch with a thunk and rolled away into the shadows.

  I deserve this.

  “You looked like you needed someone to talk to.”

  She sounded friendly enough, but Finn got the message. She’d speak to them. Be polite. Nice even. But she’d never trust them, they’d never be friends, not really, and she sure as hell would never date any of them. How many people would take her approach? Was the bonfire going to follow them for the rest of their lives? Not just in nightmares and the pain of loss, but in the way people looked at them from here on out.

  Wren tilted her head, studying Finn with concern. “Do you want to talk about . . . what are you getting at, Finn?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay.” She flashed him a wary smile and stepped back. “Well, I’m heading to bed then. Goodnight.” She turned and pulled at her sliding glass door.

  “You weren’t wrong, though.” Finn pulled himself up into a standing position on the rail, holding his hands out for balance. “To dump him.”

  She froze, then slowly turned. “What do you m—what are you doing? Finn! Get down.”

  “You’re too good for him. Too good for any of us. What we did . . .” Finn shook his head and edged across the railing, away from the siding. The frigid air felt stiff enough to hold him. “We deserve this.”

  Wren jerked forward, hands held out like she could yank him down. “Deserve what? Finn! Get down before you—”

  “I deserve this.” He stepped off the rail.

  Wren’s scream shattered the still night air, bursting into shadows. Intense pressure tore through his thigh as the shadows ripped through him.

  He landed on his feet, knees bent slightly to absorb the impact. Holy shit! It wasn’t like he lived in a skyscraper; he’d fallen from the third floor, but still.

  Then the pain registered, and all the details; the crunch of the asphalt bene
ath him, the brightness of the light, the stiffness of the air, the scent of gasoline that always permeated the parking lot, stopped mattering.

  His fractured bones ground and creaked against each other as he folded. Eyes widening, he took in glistening white and red shards jutting from his thigh. A spray of blood coated the asphalt and his lower leg.

  Finn’s fingers shook as he fumbled to stop the bleeding. Too much blood, too fast. The pain was incredible but also very distant, like Wren’s screams from the balcony above. Urgent but elsewhere.

  Hands closed on his, moving his fingers aside. The creature knelt beside him. Something tugged at his thigh. Then all at once the creature was gone. The air beside him felt still and lifeless. And in another moment, he would be, too.

  But death was only the beginning.

  Chapter 20: Derrick

  Tuesday, September 20th

  BLOOD DRIPPED ON my big toe. Swiping at my nose, I blinked, startled to find myself standing outside the door to Tess’s room. Just standing there. Staring at her door for an undetermined amount of time. Like a creep.

  I gave a sharp jerk of my head and stepped backward. Ducking into the bathroom to clean up, I tried unsuccessfully to snap my befuddled brain into wakefulness.

  I stumbled back to the living room, blinking in confusion when Mom set a plastic bag on the table. A tube of blue paint fell out of her bag, but Mom didn’t seem to notice.

  “Mom?” When did she get home?