The Dying Breath

by Ferguson, Alane

  “But my timing sucks,” he broke in. Softly, he added, “The thing is, you’ve just upped my motivation to get Kyle O’Neil.” His lips were close, too close. She could smell cinnamon on his breath and the clean scent of his skin as her thoughts spun like a whirligig.

  “Justin . . .” She couldn’t finish because she no longer knew what she wanted to say.

  He pulled away and placed his hands on the steering wheel. “I’d better get you home.”

  The engine roared as he backed up, the end of the car spinning against ice. “One thing you should know,” he said, shifting as he accelerated onto the Million Dollar Highway, “when I say ‘get’ Kyle, I don’t just mean catch him. I’m going to find him and make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

  Chapter Three

  “SO JUSTIN’S REALLY into you, just like I told you he was from the very beginning,” Lyric proclaimed in the school lunchroom, her kohl-rimmed eyes opened so wide Cameryn could see the whites all around. “I said he liked you, remember? Now the romance is finally about to happen! And I can’t believe the man checks out your house at night—the way Justin’s trying to protect you is hot.” Lyric, her best friend since grade school, pumped her chubby fist in the air and made a whooping sound so loud everyone in the cafeteria turned to stare. At least, to Cameryn, it felt that way.

  “Lyric,” Cameryn begged. “Stop.”

  “Why should I? This is good stuff. And you, ever-cautious one, should go for it. Besides, I would think this Kyle thing would really up your ‘carpe diem’factor. Come on, Cammie, seize the day!”

  Over the clanking plastic trays and hum of lunch-time conversation, Cameryn heard another, more sinister sound: the current of gossip, a riptide of innuendo that she was forced to wade through once again. Cameryn saw it in the way heads bent together, the concerned looks being shot her way, the thrilled sympathy that made her want to crawl away and hide. Only Lyric seemed oblivious to the drama being played out all around. Leaning forward, she put her hand on Cameryn’s arm and said, “Listen, it’s going to work out between the two of you. I’m a psychic—I know.”

  “Why don’t you tune your psychic powers to another channel?” Cameryn hissed. “People are staring.”

  “Not a chance. I’m digging this one.” Lyric shook her hair, this time dyed black and cut with swaths of ruby red. In many ways Cameryn’s opposite, Lyric was the closest thing to a sister Cameryn had ever had. And yet, from the outside, everything about the two of them seemed paradoxical. Lyric towered over Cameryn, both in height and personality. While Cameryn’s wardrobe consisted mainly of hoodies and jeans, Lyric favored loud colors that reflected her mood. Today she wore a peasant blouse tie-dyed in every shade of orange, black jeans, and platform shoes that made her taller than most of their teachers. Every finger on her hand sported a chunky ring, each a different jewel color that bumped against the others like a plastic rainbow. Honey brows revealed her natural shade of hair, while her pale blue eyes seemed to brighten and darken with her moods. In contrast, Cameryn felt she was a plain brown package. Dark hair, brown eyes, simple jeans, no flash. It was lucky that Lyric had enough character for the two of them.

  “So when do you think you’ll move up from the air kiss to the real deal? My spider sense is tingling.”

  “See, this is exactly why I should never tell you anything. I think Tiffany just heard you.”

  “Sorry,” Lyric replied in an exaggerated whisper. “But since when did you start caring about them? We’ve been rebels since fifth grade, remember?” She waved her hand dismissively toward the corner table. “And who worries about what Tiffany and her Bratz posse thinks? Actually, that might be an oxymoron.” Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she added, “I don’t believe Tiffany actually thinks. “

  “Great. Now she’s whispering to Heather.”

  Lyric frowned. “You know what your problem is, Cameryn Mahoney?”

  “Having a friend who seeks divine guidance from transparent minerals?”

  “You’re hilarious today. No, it’s the fact that you’re too much into facts. You need to expand your mind beyond the constraints of science. So, to get back to the point, I’ve always known how you felt about Justin even when you were in deep denial. Quit throwing up roadblocks and go after the guy. You might as well do it because I see it in your future anyway.”

  Cameryn snorted. It was an old argument between them, one that would never be resolved. Like two puppies tugging on a rope, they chewed on philosophy and religion from different ends in a never-ending battle. Picking up a carrot stick, she took a bite and wagged it in Lyric’s face. “See, this is why I question your psychic powers—the ‘information’”—Cameryn made quotes in the air with her fingers—“provided by your ‘feelings’ is never actually useful. I don’t need your ‘inner eye’ blinking over Justin. It’s Kyle I’m worried about. Tell me where he is, and I’ll buy some tarot cards.”

  “It doesn’t work that way and you know it.” Lyric rolled her eyes. “God, you’re such a skeptic.”

  “And this would be the part where you refuse to admit you are wrong—”

  A voice, smoky yet smooth, cut into their conversation. “Ladies, ladies, this isn’t a time to fight.” The voice belonged to Adam, Lyric’s boyfriend. Long and sharp boned, Adam looked even more angular next to Lyric’s curvy figure as he slid onto the bench beside her. He wore, as always, his usual black, although today his tee shirt sported a pirate’s skull with an eye patch that glowed in the dark. Adam’s fish-white skin looked even paler next to his hair, which, dyed the color of ink, hung in sheets to his shoulders. His fingernails, tipping long fingers, had been painted a metallic green. He put a thin arm around Lyric as he shot a look at Cameryn. “Now is the time for peace.”

  “Exactly.” Lyric nodded, looking smug. Crossing her arms, she leaned into Adam’s shoulders, saying, “Okay, so check this out. Justin has finally made his move, which I was trying to talk about, but Cameryn being Cameryn of course changed the subject and is instead belittling my psychic powers. I think it’s her way of avoiding emotional subjects. Cameryn tends to repress instead of express. Not a healthy way to be.”

  “Lyric,” Cameryn said, narrowing her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Shut up.”

  Adam looked nervously from one to the other, but Lyric and Cameryn each threw a fry at the other, snickering as they dodged their bad throws. It was hard for an outsider to understand how Cameryn and Lyric worked. Their squabbling was a way to anchor Cameryn to life, because Lyric knew Cameryn almost as well as she knew herself. It had been Lyric who’d shown up in her bedroom that morning. After Kyle’s note, Cameryn had thought of staying home, but Lyric had insisted that Cameryn get up and come to school. “Come on, slacker. Rise and shine.”

  “No,” Cameryn had murmured, clutching her pillow over her head. “Mammaw says I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.” This had been a first: her grandmother, called Mammaw after the Irish way, had told Cameryn that under the circumstances she could stay home for the rest of the year if she wanted. But Lyric would hear none of it.

  “What are you going to do,” Lyric had demanded, “hide underneath your sheets forever? Screw that! If Kyle keeps you afraid, he wins. Besides, nothing’s going to happen on my watch.” Yanking the bed covers onto the floor, Lyric, with her large frame, had loomed over Cameryn, who had curled herself into a protective ball. “Don’t forget I’m bigger than he is. At least my curves are good for something. Get up! We’re going to be late.”

  Now, sitting in the cafeteria, surrounded by the familiar rhythms of life, Cameryn realized that Lyric had been right. The smell of the rubbery burgers, the safe, institutional walls, all made the fear fade back to a place where she could manage it. Kyle couldn’t get her in school, not in this solid building where people milled around her like cattle in a stockyard. No one could.

  Adam rubbed his chin with his long fingers, his green polish flashing like scales. “Since talking about you a
nd Justin is more of a girly thing, I would like to switch the subject back to the murder of Leather Ed.”

  “No one’s sure if it was murder,” Cameryn corrected. “They won’t know what killed him until the autopsy.”

  “Ri-ight.” He drawled the word. His hands moved up his face until he stopped at his forehead, which he began to tap in a staccato rhythm. “So you got bounced from the case because of the note, which makes sense since you’re the subject of said document. That constitutes an obvious conflict of interest.”

  “Adam’s thinking of studying law,” Lyric whispered conspiratorially. “You should listen to him.”

  “And there are, like, six versions of the note floating around. Just out of curiosity, what did Kyle say?” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but Cameryn could sense by the way he leaned in that he was as excited to hear the details as everyone else. She was distracted as Tiffany and her pack of friends breezed by, their whispers trailing like a wake. Cameryn watched them and tried not to listen as her name bobbed softly along their waves. Their muted laughter sounded like water slapping the shoreline. “You know she loves the attention . . . Kyle O’Neil . . . work with the dead, that’s what you get . . . freak.”

  “Come on, Cammie,” Adam pressed, “the hallways are buzzing with the news. This is big-time stuff—local girl gets stalked by deranged killer who leaves a love note etched in blood.”

  “It wasn’t in blood, it was ink,” Cameryn said woodenly. She picked up a French fry and pushed a mound of catsup to one side of her tray, trying to make her face look as though she hadn’t heard a word of the hushed conversation. But Lyric was way ahead of her.

  “Ignore them,” she said fiercely. Lyric’s eyes burned as she hissed, “They are idiots.”

  Adam looked up in surprise. His gaze bounced from Lyric to Cameryn to Lyric again. “Ignore who? Wait a minute, what am I missing here?”

  “Being a typical guy,” Lyric replied, “that would be everything.” She swelled in her orange peasant top, her red hair catching the light like flames. “Don’t let them get to you.”

  The other girls in her school—most of the students, Cameryn guessed—had always seen her as an outsider. She’d first been tainted by her high academic marks and then shunned for her love of forensics. When she’d become assistant to the coroner they began to call her the Angel of Death, cutting a swath around her in the hallways as if her passion was contagious. It was Kyle who had changed her spot in the teen hierarchy. For a blazing moment she’d ridden his coattails to popularity until she was finally acknowledged by Tiffany and company. Cameryn had almost believed the girls with the empty eyes would see her as more than a science geek. But after Kyle disappeared, their attention had, too. It was, as always, Lyric, Adam, and now Justin who stood by her. She would never again forget who her real friends were.

  “The note?” Adam prodded.

  Winter light poured through the cafeteria’s high windows, and through the glass Cameryn could see the flash of an airplane’s wing. The school’s yellow brick walls gave off sunny warmth as Cameryn retold the story. Resting his chin on his palm, Adam seemed mesmerized until the last syllable. “Wow,” he breathed. “How did your dad take all this?”

  “Exactly the way you’d expect. Now he tells me I can’t go anywhere except to school and to work. He needs to know where I am at every single exact second. Mammaw’s at the church lighting enough candles to burn the place down.” Attempting a smile, she added, “On the upside, Dad’s finally cool with Justin. I guess he likes the idea of me hanging out with a man who wears a gun. But, as I was just saying to Lyric”—she shot her friend a look—“I don’t know if I’m ready just yet.”

  “Wow,” Adam said again. “You’re talking about going out with Justin, like, officially?”

  “Well, yeah, that’s the general idea.”

  “But you’re only seventeen. Isn’t that illegal?” His eyebrows arched up into his pale, narrow forehead. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

  Cameryn gave an exaggerated shrug. “It’s not illegal, and anyway I’ll be eighteen soon. And I’m not even sure yet what I’m going to do. I’ve got Kyle to deal with.”

  “Besides, even if it was illegal,” Lyric added, “what would Justin do? Arrest himself?”

  Adam snickered as he buried his face in Lyric’s dyed hair.

  “All right, you two, enough!” Cameryn cried. “This conversation is over.”

  Lyric rubbed her hands together with glee. “No, I see it. I feel Justin’s vibe and it’s strong. He’s thinking of you right now!”

  As if on cue, Cameryn’s BlackBerry hummed in the pocket of her jeans. Her eyes widened as she realized it was Justin, calling during school. Odd, she thought. Tossing her hair back, she pressed her phone to her ear. “Hey, what’s going on?” Justin, she mouthed to Lyric, who responded with a thumbs-up.

  “Cammie, I need to know what the rest of your day looks like,” Justin said. His words were quick, sharp. “As in your schoolwork, I mean. Your pop says it’s okay as long as your schoolwork is cool. Is it?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. But what—”

  Justin cut her off. “It’s Dr. Moore. He wants you in the autopsy suite right now.”

  It took Cameryn a moment to register the information. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and she could barely think above the screeching of the metal legs against ancient linoleum as the room disgorged itself of students. Trays clattered one on top of another, bodies bumped in a line as leftovers were dumped through the revolving plastic lid.

  “Wait, Justin, if this is about Leather Ed, I’m not allowed to work the case.”

  “It’s not Leather Ed. This is . . . something else.”

  Lyric leaned close, the fabric of her peasant shirt drooping like orange wings. “I told you I felt his vibe,” she whispered into Cameryn’s free ear. “Who’s got the power?”

  Shaking her head, Cameryn frowned and held up her index finger. “So who died?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. All I can tell you is that this whole thing is freakin’ weird. Dr. Moore says the inside of the first body is not like anything he’s ever seen before. He wants to wait to begin the second autopsy until you’re there.”

  Cameryn blinked. “Excuse me—did you say second autopsy?”

  Students shuffled past, their feet digging forward as they chewed on the last of their lunches, hurrying toward the exit. Cameryn’s whole mind focused on the word second. Two deaths. Two bodies, prepped to be dissected and reassembled like pieces of a puzzle.

  Justin paused and added, “This is the first time I’ve heard Moore ask for help.”

  That fact alone seemed impossible. Dr. Moore, the curmudgeon pathologist from Durango, stomped through his autopsy suite like an aging bull, barking orders at everyone within earshot. And yet he wanted Cameryn’s presence. She could feel her internal gears shifting as she flipped into her scientific mode. “Do you know the manner of death?”

  “No idea. These guys keeled over and dropped dead in some restaurant. Boom—they were gone. Moore told me to tell you that this case is ‘sensitive.’ That translates to: keep it under the radar for now.”

  Lyric pulled at the edge of Cameryn’s sleeve. “Cammie, what’s going on?” she asked, at the same time as Justin fired his next question.

  “So, are you in?”

  “Of course I’m in.” Then, to Lyric, she whispered, “It’s forensic stuff. I’ve got to go.”

  “I’m sorry, Cammie,” Justin apologized. “I was hoping to keep you away from the stressful stuff and this is definitely not what I had in mind.”

  “No worries.” She tried to ignore the way her stomach wobbled when she thought about spending time alone with Justin. It was better this way, having a focus. It made her less nervous.

  The last of the departing students whirled past like confetti, blurring in the edge of her periphery. “I’ll go to the front office and check myself out. Where are you now?” Cameryn as
ked. She slid out of her chair and onto her feet, stacking her tray neatly on top of Lyric’s.

  “I’m out in front. Hurry, Cameryn. I’m already waiting.”

  Chapter Four

  “YOU READY FOR this?” Justin asked.

  “Yeah. Are you?” Cameryn replied. The two of them climbed the cement steps of the Durango Medical Examiner’s Building. She’d never entered by the front before. Instead she and her father, in their station wagon hearse, had always arrived via the garage. Now as she and Justin stood side by side she studied their reflection shimmering in the glass door. With a start she realized how much he towered over her—a good eleven inches separated the top of her head from his.

  I look so young, she thought. Her dark hair, which hung past her mid back, made her look every bit the teenager she was. The blue Land’s End parka and faded jeans didn’t help. Instinctively she rocked slightly onto her toes, adding a modicum of height, which made her feel better somehow.

  “Just how short are you, anyway?”

  He must have seen her stretching. “Tall enough to cut up a body,” she replied.

  “Point taken.” Smiling, he pushed open the door and ushered her inside. That was how it had been the entire drive down—they’d kept it light, talking about the case and the urgency of Dr. Moore’s call. They both knew they had sailed into new waters, and yet Justin, thankfully, was giving her space. Still, there was an unspoken tide moving just beneath the surface. She could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on hers a beat longer than before, the way he let his hand graze against hers, his fingers light against her skin. He was holding back, waiting, watching for her “yes.”

  “You know, no matter how hard they scrub it, this place still reeks of death,” Justin whispered into the top of her head. “I’d rather smell your hair.”

  “You mean my dandruff shampoo.”

  “Ah, is that what it is?” He took in a deep whiff. “Nice.”

  “You like the smell of salicylic acid and selenium sulfide?”