Inquest

by Gladden, DelSheree

A frustrated groan slips through my teeth. I was so focused on keeping them off me and trying to make them believe I wasn’t some mutant, terrorist freak hell-bent of annihilating the world that I had barely even thought about how everything was being taped before I hit that guy. “I can’t believe I did that,” I moan.

  “It’s not like it’s going to make people have a worse opinion of you,” Milo says.

  “How so?”

  “Because they already hate you. What’s stronger than hate?” he says.

  My head feels like it’s going to explode. I hope the fragments of my skull bash right into Milo’s face when it does. “You suck at cheering people up, do you know that?”

  “That’s only because I wasn’t trying to cheer you up.”

  I sigh and laugh weakly. “Well, then let me say, you’re fantastic at making people feel even worse than they already did.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s just one more thing to love about me, I guess,” he says, “but I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse, either.”

  “Too bad, because it worked.” With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, my hands start shaking. I stuff them under my legs to hide them.

  “I was merely stating the obvious. People are going to hate you when they find out who you are no matter what you say. Words don’t matter when it comes to people protecting their lives or their family’s lives,” he says seriously. Very seriously.

  “So what do you want me to do? Admit I’m going to kill everyone?” I demand.

  “Are you?” He asks it with all the concern of a bug for the blade of grass it’s crawling over.

  My eyes narrow at him. “No.”

  “Then you probably shouldn’t admit you are,” he says.

  “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly irritating you are?” I ask.

  “Often. But my point is, if you want people to believe you aren’t going to hurt them you have show them you aren’t. Those vans are going to be back. They’ll follow everything you do for the next two years. Do whatever you have to in order to make sure the world knows who you really are. And by that I don’t mean the Destroyer, I mean Libby Sparks.”

  The length of his speech is surprising enough, but the honest, thoughtful tenor of his words is even more shocking. Plus, he’s looking right at me for once, rather that peering at me from behind his mop of wild hair. His eyes aren’t red from smoking too much pot. He isn’t covered in acne or tattoos or piercings like I thought he might be at first. He’s actually kind of…attractive. Milo notices me watching him and looks at his feet.

  “Or you can just keep punching people if you want,” Milo says. “That’s cool too. You've actually got a pretty mean right hook.”

  Stress, or maybe embarrassment at being caught staring at him, makes me burst into a fit of little girl giggles. I can’t make myself stop, either. Tears are rolling down my cheeks before I finally get control of myself again. Milo tilts his head to the side enough to see me and smiles. It’s a nice smile. But it disappears quickly.

  “Sorry,” I say as I wipe away the last of my hysteria-induced tears. “It’s been a rough day. I’m not usually so unstable.”

  “That’s too bad. You’re pretty interesting when you’re unstable,” Milo says.

  I laugh again, and say, “Thanks.”

  Neither of us says anything for a few moments. The quiet of the empty parking lot is comforting in its own way. My eyes start to drift closed and I have the fleeting thought that I should get up and find my car. I’m just so tired.

  “Hey,” Milo says, waking me back up, “do you need a ride home?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ve got my car here somewhere.” I look out at the sprawling asphalt in confusion. There’s nothing there. Milo’s car is the only one left in the lot.

  “Um, did you maybe park in the south lot today?” he asks.

  I glance around one more time just to be sure I’m not missing something, “No,” I say, “I parked right over there, under the third light post. I always park under a light post.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I forget where I park a lot,” I say absently. Milo snorts. “I know I parked in the north parking lot,” I argue. “It has to be here somewhere. It didn’t just disappear.”

  “Maybe it got towed.”

  The keys in my hand start trembling as Milo’s comment reminds me of how my cell phone suddenly stopped working halfway through the day. She wouldn’t need to tow my car. She has the spare set of keys. My phone dying should have prepared me, I guess, but I’m still shocked.

  “I can’t believe she did it,” I say. “She actually took my car.”

  “Who took your car?” Milo asks.

  I shake my head as my weariness deepens. “My mom.”

  “Your mom stole your car? Why would she do that?”

  “Because I didn’t die last night like she thought I should have.” Even emotionally challenged Milo looks a little taken aback by that. But whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t give it voice.

  “Is that offer for a ride home still on the table?” I ask.

  “Sure. Hop in,” he says. “It’s no Audi, but it’s clean, mostly.”

  Mostly. Ha. If it’s anything like his general appearance, mostly might be the best I can hope for. “It can be a pigsty for all I care at this point. As long as it runs and can get me away from this school it will feel like Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage to me.”

  “Climb in and tell me where to go then, princess.”

  I hold my breath and halfway close my eyes before opening the door and dropping into the passenger’s seat. One eye at a time, I open my eyes and glance around. Incredibly, the only trash I see is a few burger wrappers and an empty plastic soda bottle in the door. Releasing my breath slowly, I take another one in and am greeted by the scent of fabric freshener. Who would have thought? Clean and fresh paired with Milo. Something about books and covers pops into my mind and scatters immediately as Milo slides into the driver’s seat.

  “It’s nice,” I say.

  He shrugs and starts the car. I point south and we’re driving out of the parking lot before he responds. “It’s alright.”

  My skin ripples with goose bumps like it usually does when I catch a glimpse of someone else’s emotions. Skepticism. He doesn’t think I really like it. He assumes I’m being polite, but not honest. Irrational as it is, it bothers me that Milo thinks I would lie to him.

  “I tried to convince my mom to buy me a Ford Bronco. A red, nineteen-ninety Ford Bronco. It had some rust on the undercarriage, but other than that it was perfect. Plus it had a winch on the front,” I say with a wistful smile. “I could have climbed some monster cliffs with that Bronco.”

  Approval washes over me.

  “I didn’t know you like rock crawling,” Milo says.

  “I love it, but I don’t get to go very often. Or at least I didn’t used to.” My mom disowning me might change that significantly.

  Milo nods. “I take my Jeep out most weekends. It’s a total piece, but that just means I can be rough with it and it won’t matter. There’s more scratches than paint on the thing.”

  “That’s why I wanted the Bronco, so if I dinged it up a bit no one would be able to notice,” I say. “Oh, get on I-40 and go until you reach the exit for Rio Grande.”

  “Downtown?” Milo asks. “I would have pegged you for a Sandia Heights girl. I don’t think Rio Grande is even in our school boundaries.”

  “It’s not. And you would have been right about Sandia Heights, if we’d met yesterday. My mom kicked me out after my Inquest.”

  “Huh, you must have quite the mom.”

  “You have no idea,” I say as I close my eyes.

  “And your dad went along with it?”

  My whole body tenses instinctively. Releasing my muscles one by one eases the hurt from my mind. “My dad’s dead.”

  Uncomfortable silence fills the car. I shut myself down to any external influences. I don’t want to feel Milo’s pity, or whatever
he might feel after that announcement. Quiet and still, it only takes me a few seconds to drop into a coma-like sleep. Dreams of my dad and how different the past two days might have gone if he were still alive plague me relentlessly. When Milo shakes my shoulder to wake me up I blink at the afternoon light in relief.

  “Forget Cinderella, you’re more like Sleeping Beauty. I’ve been shaking you for a good two minutes,” Milo says.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “We’re coming up on Rio Grande. I don’t know where to go after that.”

  “Oh, right.” I rub my eyes, probably smearing mascara, and try to dredge up the rest of the directions to the hotel. “Um, take two lefts and then a right.”

  Milo nods and signals a left turn after we leave the interstate. I’m still trying to wake up when he makes the last turn, but I’m at least awake enough to point to where I need to go. “It’s right there on the left. I’m all the way at the end.”

  The car stops and Milo throws it into park. He turns to me with another flash of seriousness that seems wholly out of place on him. “You live here? At a motel? That doesn’t seem like a very good idea, Libby. It could be dangerous.”

  “It’s fine,” I argue.

  “Libby,” he says, sounding very much like my dad used to when he was trying to talk me out of something foolish, “this isn’t the best part of town. Maybe you should stay somewhere else.”

  My smile comes out more as a sneer. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  He opens his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off quickly.

  “And just in case you’re having a sudden urge to play my knight in shining armor, not that that seems very likely, don’t bother offering me a place to stay. I barely know you, Milo. Not even my own best friend could swing it with her parents. And I’ve known them my whole life. Nobody wants me near them anymore.”

  Milo laughs, a mirthless, grating sound. “Believe me, I wasn’t going to suggest you crash at my place. My parents barely let me live there. There’s no chance they’d take in a stray out of the kindness of their hearts.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel to the point of turning his knuckles an angry white. “What I was going to suggest was that you choose a different motel.”

  “No thanks,” I say quickly. “I like it here just fine. Nobody knows me, nobody bothers me, and it’s free. Besides, why do you even care? You've known me for all of a couple hours.”

  Concern vanishes and Milo goes back to his normal, barely conscious state of being. “I don’t know,” he mutters, “I just do, okay? Maybe I don’t want to see your dead body on the news and feel responsible for leaving you here.”

  Some hero, he just doesn’t want to be plagued by guilt if I die. How can he go from strikingly genuine to an irritating slug so quickly, and so often? All I want to do is throw myself on my bed and scream. “Well, let me soothe your conscience right now,” I say. “I hold you in no way responsible for my safety, Milo. If I get murdered in my sleep, feel free to gloat and tell everyone that you told me so.”

  I grab my bag and push the car door open. The walk to my door barely takes four steps, but Milo’s own door slams before I can get my key out and unlock the door. I’m so exhausted and irritated that I fumble the key twice and completely fail to unlock the door before Milo yanks them out of my hand and shoves them into the lock. He pushes the door open and drops the keys back in my frozen fingers. Despite having closed myself off from him earlier, I can feel his anger and concern roiling all around him.

  “Doesn’t it bother you at all?” I ask. “Who I am, I mean?”

  His stance softens, very slightly. The hard set of his shoulders fills out his tired sweatshirt for the first time all day. The baggy, worn quality of his jeans doesn’t match the firm stance of his feet. “No, it doesn’t,” he says simply.

  “Why not?”

  His grimace deepens, and I feel a sharp spike of blazing pain and anger. “Because maybe I wouldn’t mind if you did destroy everything.” And then he gets back in his car and drives away.

  Chapter 8

  Lurking

  Banging on my door snaps me up from my bed in a jerking, terrifying jolt. Somebody found out, and Jen’s uncle is going to kick me out. I panic. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, but I don’t want to leave. I like it here for reasons I can’t even comprehend in my hazy state. I roll over and blink at the glowing green numbers of the alarm clock. Six o’clock. Morning or evening? The much too bright light spilling around the drawn curtains clue me in. Too bright to be morning. I must have fallen asleep watching TV. The banging comes again. I groan and bury my face in the pillow. Part of me considers not opening the door, but my body isn’t cooperating and I find myself pulling the door open before I can remember why I shouldn’t. It’s not Jen’s uncle.

  “Milo?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

  Milo. He’s standing at my door. My numb brain sends a shot of relief through me, eliciting a smile. Which I instantly suppress. And then I wake up and consider the fact that I’ve been sleeping and probably look horrible. My hands fly across my clothes and hair, trying to de-wrinkle my general appearance. Milo just watches me with one eyebrow cocked.

  “What are you doing here?” I repeat.

  “You aren’t actually a vegetarian, are you?” he asks.

  Am I still asleep? “What?”

  “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It has to do with the fact that I’ve been in hotels like this enough times to know that they don’t have kitchens or room service,” Milo snaps.

  My arms cross my chest protectively. “What do you mean you’ve been in hotels like this a lot? Why do you spend time in seedy motels? Whatever you’re thinking…”

  Milo’s expression goes completely blank, even less emotion than I usually see him display. His hands come out from behind his back and he shoves a paper bag at me. “Do you want your burger, or not?”

  “Burger?” Then the tantalizing scent of greasy French fries and salty hamburger patties hit me. My stomach growls in elation. I snatch the bag from his grip eagerly. “Absolutely! I’m starving. I’ve barely eaten all day. I didn’t have any food here for breakfast and the only thing I could grab from the lunch lady was an apple because my mom emptied my lunch account. You have no idea how happy this makes me, Milo.”

  Milo shrugs, but I swear I can see the hint of a smile on his lips. “Well, stop talking about eating and actually do it, then.”

  Grinning so much over a burger seems mildly stupid to me, but I don’t care. I practically jump onto the bed and start dragging my meal out of the bag. Milo’s awkward shuffling draws my attention. He’s still standing by the door with his own takeout bag in his hand.

  “Oh, sorry, Milo, come on in.”

  He hesitates for a half second before stepping over the threshold and gently pushing the door closed. My heart leaps in fear at the sight of the door closing. In that brief moment, images speed through my mind of what a guy Milo’s size could do to me with no one around to stop him. Then reality nudges its way back into my mind. Despite my performance in the gym today, it’s pretty unlikely Milo could ever actually get his hands on me, and even if he did, my own Strength could beat him off in a heartbeat. Plus, his snarly, mildly curious interest in me is leaps and bounds away from physical attraction. Or at least it seems to be. You can never really tell with guys. But the veritable wave of anxiety rolling off him convinces me the most that I am in little danger. He is more nervous than I am. So much for not caring who I am.

  Milo scans the room before he seems to realize there is nowhere for him to sit except the bed. He plops down on the edge and glances over at me. I offer him a quick smile to let him know he’s fine sitting there, and take an enormous bite out of my burger. It is heavenly. Months spent trying to convince the people closest to me that I was going to be a Naturalist forced me to give up processed food in all its forms. It was almost wo
rse than just telling everyone the truth. I sigh in peaceful pleasure, a feeling I haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s kind of weird that a burger would be the thing to bring it back.

  A quick shake of Milo’s head distracts me from my bliss. I look over to see him watching me as he takes a sip from his soda. “What?” I demand, although the pleasure in my own voice steals most of the sting.

  “Nothing, I’ve just never seen anyone so happy about a little hamburger. You’re practically making out with it.”

  “Shut up. I’m hungry, okay?”

  “Okay, okay. Just let me know if you need a moment alone with your dinner. I’d be happy to step outside,” Milo says.

  “Shut up, you jerk,” I laugh. If he’s going to tease me… “You never answered my question, you know.”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me, and asks, “What question?”

  “About the hotels.”

  He shrugs again. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Yeah, I bet. You must bring girls to places like this all the time if you’re so familiar with them.”

  Milo ducks his head but I can see the way his jaw tightens. He looks angry at my suggestion, which is startling, but the idea of him having girls around him actually doesn’t feel that alien to me. His less than stellar grooming habits might make people think he was the last person in the world to entice a woman. It was certainly my first impression, but there is something else lurking beneath his surface. Something that could definitely pull people to him if he put forth the effort. I can feel it pulsing under the anger. Strong and solid, it’s impossible to identify with all the distraction. Something is there, though.

  Suddenly, I don’t want to tease him anymore.

  “I’m just kidding, Milo,” I say seriously. “Why do you come to motels? I don’t believe it’s for girls.”

  “Why not? You don’t think I can get girls?” He’s gone back to his usual lazy, unconcerned way of talking, but I can hear the slight edge of irritation still lingering in his voice even without Perception.