“Probably she didn’t like your dad killing her best friend,” John said.
“John,” Fran warned. This was apparently an argument they’d had before. Fran crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Let’s just sit somewhere else.”
John held up a hand to quiet her. “Why did he do it? What was the reason? I’ve been trying to figure it out for weeks.”
“John,” Fran snapped.
Logan’s hands curled into fists under the table. “As much as I’d love to sit and theorize, how about you fuck off?”
John reached across the table and grabbed Logan sharply by the elbow. “Tristan was my friend. Bug was my friend. Ashley’s my friend, too. If you people do anything else to my friends, I’ll kill you.”
Logan swallowed. The bar was silent. The handful of other people in the room watched quietly, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. But they weren’t outraged for her. It was like the store all over again. People in this town didn’t care what happened to her. Logan wanted to kick herself for the sinking feeling of disappointment in her chest. She was still the enemy. In Snakebite, she always would be.
A whistle sounded from behind the bar.
Gus made his way out of the kitchen with the Chokecherry’s decorative double-barreled shotgun in hand. “Not in my bar,” he said. “Get out of here.”
“You couldn’t fire that if you wanted to,” John scoffed.
“I could,” Gus said. He gestured toward the door. “Now get.”
John rolled his eyes. Reluctantly, he pushed himself out of the booth and made his way to the door. Fran and Paul followed behind him—Fran cast a glance over her shoulder, torn somewhere between sympathy and anger.
Once the three of them were gone, Logan exhaled.
“Mind if I sit?” Gus asked.
Logan motioned to the seat opposite her. Banjo plucked from the speaker mounted on the wall, but other than that, the bar was quiet. Unrest simmered in the air. The rest of the bar patrons were apparently too afraid to speak. Logan didn’t like the idea of someone having to protect her, but she didn’t fight it. Gus returned his shotgun to its mount behind the bar, then slid into the seat across from her, pressing the table away to make room. He watched the sidewalk outside until John and the others disappeared around the corner, then leaned across the table.
“You okay?”
“Mostly, yeah.” Logan laughed uneasily. “Uh, sorry for causing problems in your bar. And thanks for sticking up for me.”
“Didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Logan waved dismissively. “I’d rather be embarrassed than get the shit kicked out of me.”
“It doesn’t help when you sass back at them,” Gus said. “Your dad was always the same way. I had to break up his fights, too.”
“Which one?”
“Alejo,” Gus said. “Whatever people say about your dads, they sure balance each other out. Alejo never knew when to shut up. Always said exactly what he was thinking, even if it turned right around and bit him. Brandon was always quiet, though. The day the two of them met was the first time I ever heard him say more than two words.”
“Wait—you were there when they met?” Logan asked.
“Oh yeah,” Gus said. “Well, I don’t know if it was the first time they met. Me and Brandon used to work together at Barton Lumber. He never talked to anyone. Just showed up on time, did his work, and went home.”
“That sounds about right,” Logan mused.
“He only worked there for a few years, though. Tammy hired a new site manager and the guy’s first move was firing him.”
“What?”
“Yeah, it was bullshit. But a lot of the guys agreed with him. They wanted your dad out.” Gus sat back. “I’d already opened the bar at that point, so I wasn’t there anymore. I would’ve said something.”
Logan shook her head. “Is that why you helped me?”
Gus exhaled sharply. “The way we pushed your dads out of town never sat right with me. I don’t know how I feel about all that gay marriage stuff, but they weren’t hurting anyone. Even their little cabin across the lake wasn’t far enough for some folks.”
Logan shook her head. “Just because they were together?”
“Mostly, yeah. We don’t like change around here. They were asking everyone to change a lot.”
Logan rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t sound like they were asking anyone to do anything but leave them alone.”
“Maybe not,” Gus said with a shrug.
“Thank you for telling me,” Logan said. “I just wish I knew why they left.”
“I’m not sure why, either,” Gus said. “Probably … well, you know. They tried to be as quiet about it as possible, but losing a kid isn’t easy. And they had to handle that on their own. I’m sure leaving felt easier than staying here. A fresh start.”
Logan paused with her water cup halfway to her lips. “Wait, what?”
“Me and my wife lost our boy just before he turned six. It’s the hardest thing that ever happened to us. After that, all I could think about was your dads.” Gus wiped his mouth. “Didn’t have any family or friends to mourn their kid. They didn’t even have a plot on the hill. They buried the girl at Pioneer Cemetery. I still think about it. All the time.”
“Gus.” Logan pressed her palm flat to the table. Her head spun. There was another child—one her fathers had never told her about. Whatever had happened—whatever she didn’t understand about her fathers—this was the missing piece. “What happened?”
“Can’t say for sure,” Gus said. “I know it was back a ways. 2006? Maybe 2007?”
“Thirteen years ago,” Logan breathed.
“Right,” Gus said. “They must’ve adopted you after they left. I know it doesn’t ever make up for losing a kid, but I’m glad those two got to have a family in the end.”
Logan could taste her heartbeat. “Hey, thanks for this. I’m gonna head out.”
“Wait,” Gus said. “Didn’t you have questions about your dads?”
“I think you answered everything.” Logan stepped out of the booth and shouldered her purse.
“You’re heading back to the Bates?”
“Straight home,” Logan lied.
“I can give you a ride.”
“Nope. I’m good.” She put a twenty on the table. “Thanks again for sticking up for me. See you around.”
Logan stormed out of the Chokecherry and turned right. Away from the Bates. Away from Snakebite. She walked down the sidewalk until it ended, and then stumbled along the gravel shoulder. Lake water slapped at the shore to her left, gray and endless along the valley. Between two massive hills, she saw the iron fence, the mounds of dirt, the dusty road up to Snakebite Memorial, and her stomach twisted in knots. It was finally time for the truth.
She’d waited long enough.
28
And Then There Was One
BRANDON VOICEOVER: Tonight on ParaSpectors, there’s no way out but down. The team heads to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where we’ll be tracking down the infamous Tulsa Devil. Local legend says that the Tulsa Devil isn’t your everyday demon. Everyone in this city has been touched by the Devil in some way or another. Alejo is out sick this week, but I won’t be investigating alone. Along for the ride is super-fan and detective-in-training Logan.
[A young girl is shown at Brandon’s side with a bag of gear. She wears a black T-shirt that reads WHO’S AFRAID OF THE DARK? A nametag appears across the screen: LOGAN ORTIZ-WOODLEY, INVESTIGATOR/DAUGHTER.]
BRANDON: I don’t know what we’ll find down here. But I bet you’ll be less scared than your dad.
LOGAN: Anyone would be less scared than Dad.
Ashley wasn’t sure why she was watching this. It burrowed into her like claws, reminding her of what she’d done. How she’d taken Alejo away from his family. How she’d probably ensured that this happy, excited Logan Ortiz-Woodley would never exist again. Her mother said that the Ortiz-Woodleys were a poison.
Ashley wondered
if Snakebite was the poison; if she was the poison.
[Logan smacks the SonusX against her palm. They stand in the basement of a Tulsa hotel waiting for the voice-detection box to power up.]
LOGAN: It doesn’t work.
[Brandon crouches beside her.]
BRANDON: It’s a button on the side here. It gets jammed all the time.
[Logan slides her finger along the side of the device and the noises begin. She jolts back. Brandon laughs.]
BRANDON: It still scares me sometimes, too.
For Ashley, it had been two weeks of radio silence. She’d gone to Bug’s funeral with her mother and spoke to no one. It was two weeks of no Logan, no Fran, no anyone but Tammy occasionally bringing meals to her room to make sure she was still eating. She wasn’t sure what made her turn on this episode of ParaSpectors other than an aching, rotting sense of loneliness. She wasn’t sure what the Logan-shaped hole in her chest meant. This episode was the thing that ate at Logan, and Logan was the thing that ate at her.
Ashley missed her old world. She missed Logan.
She wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two.
Tonight, Tammy was at a community dinner to raise money for the cattle ranchers outside town, which meant Ashley had the ranch to herself. Normally, it would’ve been her curled up on the couch between Fran and Bug watching something stupid on TV until they all fell asleep. Before that, it might’ve been her and Tristan planted in the chairs on the lakeshore roasting hot dogs over the firepit. She wasn’t supposed to be alone like this. She’d never been alone like this.
She couldn’t take being alone like this anymore.
She scrolled to Logan’s name in her contacts and hovered there a moment too long. She’d considered calling Logan a dozen times since their fight, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. If Logan’s life was ruined, it was her fault. But losing Logan felt like another death. Another person who she’d never get to talk to again. Just like Tristan, Logan would be another person gone and Ashley had spent their last moments saying all the wrong things.
Ashley scrolled away from Logan and pressed Fran’s name. Almost immediately, the other end of the line clicked. “Ashley?”
“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Ashley breathed.
“I didn’t, either.” Fran was so quiet that, for a moment, Ashley thought she’d hung up. Fran cleared her throat. “It’s late.”
Ashley glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was only 6:32 p.m.
“Sorry.”
After another pause, Fran sighed and said, “I’m gonna go, then.”
“Wait.” Ashley knotted her comforter in her fist. “I just wanna talk. We haven’t talked since—”
“Since Bug, yeah.” Fran’s inhale was sharp. “I can’t talk about it right now.”
The surge of tears behind Ashley’s eyes was sudden and overwhelming. She bit her lip to keep from crying. Just like everyone else, Fran was going to slip away like water between her fingers. “Do you think it’s my fault?”
“God, I don’t know.” Fran sucked in another breath and Ashley realized she was on the verge of tears, too. “What were you doing there?”
“I—”
“Visiting Logan, right?”
“Yeah…” Ashley sighed. “I was with Logan. And Bug called me so many times. She texted me. I didn’t see until after … I was right there. I don’t know what happened.”
Fran was quiet.
“Why didn’t she call me?” Fran asked. “I would’ve gone with her. Or talked her out of it, or … It’s because I said I didn’t believe any of it. She thought she couldn’t ask me for help. She thought I wouldn’t care.”
“She only went because of what I said.”
Fran was silent.
“Fran—” Ashley started.
“I’m sorry,” Fran said, sharp as a knife’s edge. “I can’t talk to you about this.”
“Fran, I’m…”
“’Night, Ashley.”
There was a beep, and the call ended.
Ashley sank to her mattress and stared at the window. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to breathe without this knotted mess of anxiety between her lungs. This town was wrong; this world was wrong.
There was a shift in the air of the room. It brought the quiet close to Ashley’s throat, smothering the sound of the wind. Ashley turned to face the door. She couldn’t quite see him, but Tristan was there. In the weeks after Bug’s death, his spirit lingered all the time, watching her, waiting for something she didn’t know how to give him. Maybe he wanted to lead her somewhere again. Maybe there was another body. If so, she ignored it. She’d found enough bodies in this town—someone else could find it this time.
“What do you want?” Ashley asked. She didn’t have the Scripto8G this time, so there was no real way for him to respond. But she asked anyway.
The air shifted. It crackled, alive with static for a moment, and then it loosened. For the first time since he’d started visiting her, it was like he listened. He was leaving.
“Wait.” Ashley clambered to the end of her bed. “Don’t go.”
The air came alive again. The pungent scent of fuel blossomed under her nose, flickering like a dying flame. For a moment, Ashley could almost see him. She saw the shape of him, at least. A cool draft blew through the window, skirting Ashley’s hair over her shoulder, but Tristan was undisturbed.
“You’re the only one left,” Ashley said.
The air lost pressure like a plane in turbulence. There was only silence. Ashley lay back across her bed. The blankets smelled like stale detergent and dust and she wished she could just sink down through the mattress, through the floorboards, and into the dirt. She wished she could cover herself in soil and burrow until this was all over. She wished she could emerge back in January and do it all differently.
When she spoke, it was only a whisper. “I think you might be dead.”
Tristan’s reaction to this was strange. Like smoke from a field fire, Tristan emerged from the dark. His hands were balled into fists, jaw sharp with tension like he was fighting to hold something back. He walked toward her, stilted and jarring like he could hardly manage it. The sight of him made fear catch in Ashley’s throat, but she stayed calm.
“I wish I could do our last night over,” Ashley said, pushing past the way her voice shook and her eyes watered. “I would explain it differently so you’d understand. I wish I could talk to you back then.”
Tristan’s ghost was silent, as always. He stood at the end of her bed and cocked his head to the side in a curious gesture that was so Tristan it hurt.
“I would’ve made sure you knew how much I loved you. I said I didn’t, but that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t love you like I thought I was supposed to. You were my best friend. Just because it wasn’t like—”
Ashley blinked. The house was silent with night and she was left dizzy and breathless. She didn’t know what she’d meant to compare it to. Or, she did know, but she didn’t mean to think it. It was too quick, too easy to say her name.
“It’s not fair,” Ashley said. “You and me should’ve worked…”
Tristan looked at her, and she imagined him like he was before. He would sit at the edge of her bed with his hands on his knees. He’d laugh at the roundabout way she explained everything. You’re being so vague, he’d tell her. Just say what you mean.
But she didn’t know what she meant. Trying to have feelings for Tristan had been this slow-rolling thing like waves on the lake in summertime. It was happy and it was calm and she thought she could spend her whole life building up to it. They would be okay; they would last long enough for it to be real.
This other thing was too fast. It gripped her and wouldn’t let go. It crushed her under its weight and didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. It shoved her to the bottom of the lake and didn’t care if she made it up for air. It was like she was always running out of time.
“You know how I said I wanted to break up beca
use I didn’t feel like you did?” Ashley swallowed. “I feel it now. I didn’t know how scary it was. I’m so sorry.”
Tristan’s fists clenched. Ashley wished she could see his face. The Tristan she knew always wore his whole heart in his expression, but this Tristan was only a shadow. His face was nothing but a trick of light, impossible to see clearly. He recoiled, sharp and sudden, slamming against the bedroom door. The ceiling light flickered and the curtains flapped against the window. Ashley clambered back in her bed until she bumped into her headboard. After a moment, Tristan calmed. He was fighting to stay solid, to stay with her, to stay here.
Ashley sucked in a breath.
“Do you wanna come back?” she asked.
Tristan flickered. Maybe it was an answer; if so, Ashley couldn’t understand it. It was almost dizzying sometimes, the way Tristan filled up the room. It wasn’t just sensory anymore—every memory of him sat at the surface like a coat of moss on the wood floor. Things she didn’t even realize she remembered, things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, things she’d tried to forget. “I’m glad I get to see you again.”
Tristan wavered. He reached for her, his movements stilted and jagged.
The sound of the TV broke through the quiet. When Ashley blinked, Tristan was gone. Her hand lingered in the empty air. Brandon’s and Logan’s voices droned on and the rest of the room was empty.
Ashley turned back to the TV.
Brandon and Logan had made their way down into the tunnels now. Brandon was several feet ahead of Logan, scanning the graffiti-laden walls with a device Ashley didn’t recognize.
Logan called to Brandon, fiddling with another device.
When the camera caught Brandon, everything was wrong.
Ashley narrowed her eyes at the screen. It was only a flicker of static at the edges of the TV. The infrared space was distorted, just warped enough to notice. Ashley nudged her TV, but the static remained. At Brandon’s feet, something black pooled like oil. He stood completely still, eyes wide, and Ashley recognized his expression.
He’d looked at her like this in the cabin.
He was afraid.
The Dead and the Dark Page 20