by Kelley York
The chill in the apartment was suddenly all too evident. It crept in through his pores, making his muscles quiver. His hand came to rest on the knob and he listened. Maybe whoever it was would go away.
Another knock.
Archer took a breath and pulled the door open.
Evan stood at the top of the stairs in black jeans—the first time he’d seen him in actual pants—and a jacket, hood pulled up. He gave something of a sheepish grin. “Oh. I was starting to think you weren’t home. Did I wake you up?”
Yes. “No.” Archer hesitated. Had Evan mentioned he’d be stopping by? No, no, Archer was positive he hadn’t. In fact, he didn’t recall extending an invite to him at all. And yet he moved aside, pushing a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Come in.”
Evan stepped inside, looking around. Not like there was much to see. He wasn’t much of a decorator. The only reason his décor matched was because of Vivian. As far as personal touches? Knickknacks and photos? There weren’t many.
“This is nice. Layout’s a little different from mine. Darker, too.” Evan wandered into the living room, turning full circle.”
Archer rolled his shoulders back into a shrug, watching him anxiously. “I use special curtains to keep out the light.” Too much sleeping during the day and the sun got in the way of that.
“How vampiric of you.” Evan’s mouth twitched up. “So…sorry for stopping by out of nowhere. Were you going to The Grove tonight?”
“Hadn’t planned on it.” Archer made to shove his hands in his pockets, realized he didn’t have any, and fumbled for a moment while figuring out what to do with his arms. They dropped uselessly to his sides. “Are you?”
“I dunno.” His guest lingered near the couch before taking a seat on it. God, manners. No one had them anymore. One didn’t stop by unexpectedly and have a seat without being offered. “I thought about it, but it’s… I prefer when you’re there. Gives me someone to talk to.” Before Archer could point out that plenty of people talked to Evan, he tacked on, “Everyone’s totally cool and all, but I’m kind of awkward in groups. And you’re not quite as…uh.”
Archer raised a brow. “Loud?”
Evan’s smile was sheepish. “Well, loud, yeah. But you’re calmer. You exude this kind of relaxed aura, I guess.”
Calm? Relaxed? Him? Everyone always prodded him for being uptight. Archer thought he wouldn’t have to be uptight if they weren’t so stupid half the time. He had etiquette; he had a sense of what was appropriate. He didn’t need to be outgoing and loud like Vivian, Jordy, and the others because he didn’t want to stand out. But if Evan wanted to mistake antisocialness for calm and relaxed, then whatever.
“I took the day off from classes and social gatherings,” Archer muttered. “Do you…want something? A drink?” When Evan shook his head, Archer awkwardly sank down onto the other end of the couch. He hated playing host. Especially when his guest didn’t give him anything to focus on—like getting drinks.
“I’ll let you get back to avoiding interaction, I just…um, had a question, I guess.” Evan looked down at his hands in his lap, picking idly at his nails. Archer waited. “There’s this event going on at Fly’s—you know where that is, right? It’s this tournament thing. Kinda stupid, I know, but I got talked into entering and thought it’d be cool if someone came with me.”
Fly’s was an elaborate arcade in the mall, and its claim to fame was housing some of the first old-school arcade games right alongside the newest, state-of-the-art ones. Funny, Archer hadn’t really pegged Evan for the video-game type. Outdoorsy and spending most of his time in the pool and all was more how Archer imagined him… Not that he did that. Imagine him. “So you want me to be your cheerleader.”
“Yeah, well—no. That’s not exactly…” Evan rubbed at the back of his neck. A distinct shade of red crept up his neck and into his face. “I wouldn’t make you wear the outfit or the pom-poms.” He grinned.
It was a stupid attempt at a joke—except it made the corners of Archer’s mouth twitch involuntarily. “What will I be doing, exactly?”
Evan’s face lit up. How sad. Did he really not have other friends he could ask? “Mostly you’d just be watching me, I guess. Ten rounds, ten different games. Probably three hours, unless I flunk out really early on. Even the third-place winner gets a hundred bucks. I could buy you a drink afterwards as a thank you.”
Never mind they weren’t old enough to get served drinks anywhere. Or that Archer didn’t like to drink. Evan’s neediness rubbed him the wrong way. He had enough of that with Vivian, constantly texting and calling… Only when she wanted something, of course. Archer will take care of all of it. But he’d kept her around all these years because it certainly wasn’t her fault. She did the best with the shitty hand she’d been dealt. What was Evan’s excuse? Acting like everyone would bite if he reached out to them. Latching on to someone like Archer.
Evan watched him, chewing his lower lip. “It’s next Wednesday, the second. Starts at three. You can always…you know, let me know if you’re free later or something.”
Okay, he got points for giving Archer an easy out. I’ll check my schedule, he could say and politely decline later, stating he had other plans.
“I’m free.” The words came out of nowhere and he wanted to smack himself. “Come get me whenever you’re ready to go.” What are you doing? Bad idea, bad idea. He didn’t do the friend thing. Didn’t go out with people. It never ended well.
Evan gave him one of those shy smiles and started to say something when the front door opened. The room came alive with Vivian’s entrance, as it always did. She had a shopping bag dangling from one wrist, cell phone in hand, backpack over her shoulder. And no sooner did she shut the door behind her than she whipped open the curtain of the living room window.
“Jesus, Archer, let a little light in now and again—oh.” She stopped, her sunglasses slipping down the bridge of her nose while she stared at Evan and him over the top of them. “Evan, hey. I’m sorry, didn’t realize you were here.” Her bay-blue eyes moved from one to the other and back again.
Archer felt oddly warm. Not in the happy-fuzzy sense, either. More like the embarrassed-as-hell way. He stood abruptly, folding his arms across his chest—defensive, sure. But of what? It wasn’t a crime to have someone over. It was his apartment. “You’re back early.”
“Mick showed up, so I left.” Her confusion ebbed away and she smiled. “Staying for dinner, Evan? I’m cooking.”
“You don’t want her cooking,” Archer muttered. “’I’m cooking’ translates to ‘Archer’s cooking or ordering out.’”
Vivian wrinkled her nose.
Evan’s face was as red as his own felt. “No, that’s all right. I’ve got a report to get to.”
“Some other time, then.” Vivian gave him a smile. The kind of smile guys melted and tripped all over themselves for. Archer included. It only seemed to heighten Evan’s shyness, and he ducked his head.
“Okay.” His attention came back to Archer. “So, next week? I’m sure I’ll see you before then, but…”
From behind Evan, Vivian gave Archer a curious look, very interested. Well, shit. Archer forced a thin smile. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
After Evan slipped out the front door, Vivian let her backpack and bag hit the floor. “You’re actually going out with someone?”
Archer gave the bags a sour glare. They didn’t belong there. He scooped them up and redeposited them onto the two-person dining table. “You say it like it’s some sort of date.”
That gave Vivian pause. “…Is it?”
“No.”
“Wow, okay, Mister Defensive. ’Cause, I mean, just because Evan’s a guy…it’s not a big deal or anything.”
How stupid. When had he ever gone on a date? And not because no one was interested. Viv said he had the quiet-and-broody look going for him that girls—and the occasional guy—were drawn to. But he only ever had eyes for Vivian. Not that he didn’t think Evan was…at
tractive or whatever. Archer guessed he was, in that boy-next-door sort of way. It was hard for him to view anyone other than Vivian in that kind of light.
Archer bit his tongue and turned to glare at her. “It’s not. A date. He’s entered into some stupid video game contest and asked me to go.”
One eyebrow lifted. “If it’s so stupid, why are you going?”
Archer opened his mouth. Closed it. Exhaled. He didn’t have an answer. “Why does it matter?”
“Why are you getting snitty?”
“Why are you such a brat?”
Vivian started to giggle. “Why are you answering all of my questions with a question? And why are you blushing?”
How cute that his discomfort was so amusing to her. Archer threw his hands up in defeat and stalked out of the room.
Vivian didn’t know his reasonings. She didn’t know anything.
Then again, he was beginning to think…neither did he.
Thursday, September 25th
As recently as the beginning of the month, it’d been possible to go swimming all hours of the night. Now, though, cold had swept in from the ocean and fall was rapidly approaching.
Yet there was Evan, making the trek from his apartment with a towel slung over his shoulder. The pool closed at ten, but no one was around to call him out on sneaking in.
Around the gated enclosure stretched dewy grass, sand, a playground, along with the complex’s clubhouse and a gazebo. The pool was lit up, its underwater lights illuminating every ripple with an eerie glow. Everything else was shrouded in shadows.
Better for Archer. He could sit and watch from the gazebo without being seen. No real reason other than curiosity. Wanting to watch Evan in his own element.
Evan let himself into the enclosure, glancing around, and slid off his t-shirt in one fluid motion. He had a swimmer’s lean, compact frame. Skin darker than Archer’s, compliments of a long summer spent in the water and under the sun, he imagined. With one last look around to make sure no one was watching (his eyes passed right over Archer), he dove into the water with hardly a splash.
And Archer watched, transfixed. This wasn’t the Evan he was used to seeing. This Evan was graceful, each of his movements confident and sure. He was a good swimmer, and he knew it. Why wasn’t he always like this?
The pool wasn’t heated, so Evan emerged from the shallow end and circled around to the diving board again, shivering and rubbing his arms. In Archer’s mind, he pictured the flash of goose bumps on Evan’s skin, accented by a thousand tiny drops of water.
His heartbeat kicked up a notch, leaving him breathless.
Evan dove again. And again, and again. When he finally slid out of the water for the last time, he fetched his towel and patted himself dry. Archer could’ve applauded his endurance—he’d been swimming nearly an hour—but no. He didn’t want to see that confidence fade, didn’t want to see Evan’s shock and embarrassment when he found out someone had been spying on him.
Evan gathered his things and left. The night was drenched in utter silence again, no longer filled with the lapping of water against the sides of the pool or Evan’s long, even strokes. Archer waited a good fifteen minutes before getting up. His body ached from sitting still so long, and he was restless. Unbearably restless.
The cool air had calmed him a little by the time he got back home. Vivian was on the couch, watching television. Yet again, she was in one of his shirts, which had become the norm the last few nights. She was all legs, feet propped on the coffee table.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” He tried desperately not to stare at her thighs as he spoke. Viv shifted, dropping her head to one side and smiling.
“I was waiting for you. Where’d you go?”
“For a walk.” The coffee table was a better, and safer, focal point. “But it’s late. Class tomorrow.”
“Sure.” She drew her feet off the table and stood. The hem of her—his—shirt slipped down to nearly her knees. Archer wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. “You can sleep with me, you know. If you want to. The couch has to be getting uncomfortable.”
Archer missed being able to stretch out, yes, but sharing a bed with Viv for the first time since they were twelve? Bad, bad idea. He set his jaw, lifting his eyes from her now-concealed legs to her face. “You were the one who said years ago we needed to stop that.” Archer was her best friend, but he was still a guy. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d get much sleep with her body pressed up against him.
“Well…” She ducked her head, lifting a foot to scratch the back of her calf. “All things considered, I don’t see why it would matter now.”
Why not? Because she didn’t have a boyfriend to break down the door? There’d been plenty of instances where Viv had been single over the years. The opportunity for them to be more than what they were had presented itself again and again.
Looking at Vivian, at the way her shirt hinted at the curve of a hip, the swell of a breast, there was nothing he wanted more than to go to bed with her. Spoon himself around her. Let his hands trace up those long legs. Maybe, just for awhile, be able to forget how sick he’d felt listening to Richter’s mother scream.
And it would be a terrible idea.
She was lonely, and any guy’s attention was better to her than none. Archer bit back the pang of irritation, because he couldn’t use her like that. He wouldn’t let her use him like that, either.
He turned away. “I’m fine out here.”
While shrugging out of his jacket and toeing off his shoes, he could hear Vivian shifting restlessly. He expected her to say something but when he glanced back, she was already retreating to the bedroom.
Vivian shut the door. The light seeping from under it went out a minute later. He could finally breathe.
Friday, September 26th
Archer stared at the ceiling for the better part of the night, wavering on the restless sea between sleeping and awake. He thought of Evan, swimming back and forth, back and forth, diving again and again. He thought of Vivian, stretched out across his bed, wearing nothing but his shirt, with her eyes begging him to make everything better.
And he would. Just…not in that way. He had things to accomplish first and when that was done, if Vivian wanted him…truly wanted him…then he’d give her anything. Before that, he still had Hector and Bobby to take care of.
How strange when he reflected back on how many he’d already taken care of.
The first hadn’t even been planned. Not really.
Archer had been at Vivian’s house only a year after it happened. Brody had been kicked out months before, but he still occasionally came by, trying to swipe pills from the medicine cabinet. Marissa, Viv’s mother, was out, which meant…it was just Archer and Vivian.
Brody didn’t come by that day, but Jay Lee had. He used Brody’s key to get in and Vivian immediately took off to her bedroom, shutting and locking the door while Archer braced himself in the hall and waited.
Jay gave him a grin, ruffled his hair as he passed, and sauntered into Marissa’s room to raid her medicine cabinet.
Like nothing had happened.
Archer had felt so sick to his stomach, paralyzed to the spot. Struggling to say something, to do something, to get revenge for what happened to Viv.
He couldn’t do anything. And Jay came out with plastic baggies full of pills, cramming them into his pockets and heading for the stairs to leave without a word. There was something about his retreating back that had set Archer off. An old image in the back of his brain of Vivian pinned to a mattress, Jay’s pants around his ankles. The sound of his wasted laugh. The grin on his face.
And now there Jay was—at the top of the stairs—and Archer’s hands slammed into the small of his back. The next thing he remembered, he was staring at Jay’s body at the bottom of the steps, neck twisted at an odd angle.
Archer hadn’t meant to kill him, but the look on Vivian’s face when he told her Jay had fallen… The exhilarating rush at fi
nally doing something to get back at the people who had hurt her… After that, the murders were planned. Carefully so. Never too alike, never too close together to make anyone suspect him.
But there were still many nights when the image of Jay’s dead face still kept him awake.
Sleep or no sleep, he got up for school. Vivian was gone again. Archer remade the bed his way, got dressed, and headed out to his first class.
His professor, Mrs. Gonera, was an old hag of a woman, the worst of them all. She insisted on making every paper, every project, a long and grueling process for him. Never in high school did he have issues with English. His writing was articulate, well laid out, precise, controlled. Never a problem—not until he took her creative writing course.
Gonera passed out their most recent papers. Some exercise in stretching the mind for creativity, reaching for voice and style or…whatever. Everyone got their papers back except for him. That didn’t bode well. Neither did her singling him out as everyone else got up to leave.
“Mr. Pond, you can stay.” She shuffled through folders on her desk and didn’t even look up. Everyone else stared, though. He waited for the room to clear out, shoving book and binder into his backpack. Only when he and Gonera were alone did he bother getting up and approaching her.
“Yeah?”
She looked up at him, Coke-bottle glasses giving her an owl-eyed appearance. “Your paper.”
“My paper,” Archer repeated. One eyebrow lifted. “What about it?”
The witch held out his story. He took it reluctantly, noting the complete absence of a grade at the top. “It was complete,” he said. “I followed the guidelines.” To the T, in fact. He always did.
“My problem, Mr. Pond, is not the completedness of your story.” She sniffed wetly and sat down. “It is the tone of your story. Very dark. Very dreary. Depressing. All those D-words. Is that the kind of writer you want to be?”