by Sara Clancy
“Well, Victor broke it.”
“While under a drug-high caused by the Leanan Sidhe, so it’s still the paranormal’s fault,” she defended sharply.
“We’re not a collective community,” he shot back, hoping to move the conversation along before she remembered the mention of Victor.
They hadn’t really talked about him yet. It seemed Victor’s death was a personal loss for Nicole; something she kept separate from Benton. He didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject that she had avoided so long. Especially when he wasn’t sure if he could be as supportive as she needed.
He had only had a few limited interactions with the other teenager, and every one of them had been violent. So it hadn’t really affected him when the Leanan Sidhe had added Victor to its collection of corpses. If anything, he had actually felt a sense of relief.
But Nicole had grown up with Victor. She had known him before the Leanan Sidhe had gotten under his skin and into his mind. They had been friends, and she had loved him. The loss had destroyed something within her that hadn’t quite begun to heal, the damage only growing with the guilt that they couldn’t tell anyone where his body was. As far as Fort Wayward knew, as far as his family knew, he was a runaway. Not dead and rotting in a forgotten basement a few miles out of town. Luckily, she was too worked up to linger on the memory of him and quickly carried on with her tirade.
“Not to mention the time it took to clean up all that junk you vomited over my seats.”
“I was drugged,” he defended. “It’s not my fault that my body can’t take Leanan Sidhe venom.”
“It bleached everything! I lost my favorite jacket.”
“I apologized.”
“Apologies don’t pay the dry cleaning bills.”
The back of his neck was starting to cramp from the awkward angle the dashboard was forcing him into. It also made it impossible to pull off the shrug that he wanted to.
“I really don’t know what you want me to say about this, Nic.”
Finally, she let go of his leg and let him scramble fully into the passenger seat. As predicted, he could feel the roof pressing against the gelled spikes of his hair and gently scraping against his skull. Not enough to hurt. But definitely enough to be noticed. Nicole still hadn’t turned off the headlights even though they were safely within the glow wafting from the diner, and it was starting to draw the attention of the staff.
He followed Nicole’s example and offered them a wave. He felt like an idiot, especially since he still couldn’t get his legs under the dash without slamming his knees against it. But the gesture seemed to appease them and they went back to clearing tables.
“Does Oliver like horses?” she asked.
The abrupt question distracted him from his sense of victory at finally getting his feet under the dash without breaking his kneecaps.
“I’ve never really discussed it with him,” Benton replied.
She whirled around to face him so quickly that her long hair swung up and brushed against his shoulder. “Did you see a horse at the Jump?”
“No. Why are you stuck on horses?”
She jolted. “You did hear the thing circling us, right?”
“That thudding noise. Yeah,” he said before he caught on. “That’s what a horse sounds like?”
Nicole closed her eyes, her expression softening into one of forced patience. “Yes, Benton. That is what a horse sounds like. Kind of. Whatever that thing was, it sounded way too big to be any breed of horse I know.”
“I didn’t see a horse. Is that what you think was chasing you?”
She edged closer and her hand clamped down onto his forearm with an iron like grip. “You saw what was chasing me?”
She looked so hopeful that he actually felt guilty to say, “No. Sorry.”
“What about the ball?” She leaned towards him a little more, her hand tightening around him until his forearm began to throb. He could almost feel her restless energy simmering under her skin, pushing against him with the heat of a noonday sun. “When it was hovering in mid-air. What did you see? What was holding it?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“What?” she snapped.
“All I saw was the ball.”
“But you’re the one who can see ghosts!”
“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he shot back.
That got her to simmer down, in a way. Her grip loosened, but he could practically hear her rolling different ideas around in her head.
“Okay, we can figure this out.” While she spoke out loud, he was sure that she wasn’t addressing him. “Maybe you can only see Oliver when he wants to be seen.”
“It wasn’t Oliver.”
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline, a spark of interest sparkling in her eyes.
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” The moment Benton said it, he knew it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy her ravenous curiosity. He sighed, the long breath allowing some of his remaining anxiety to seep out of him. While Nicole wore the perfect expression of patience, the nails digging into his arm told a different story. “It just didn’t feel like him. Oliver has a very distinctive feeling. I get it every time he’s around and I didn’t get that with whatever this was. It felt different.”
Her head cocked to the side. “How does Oliver feel?”
Benton took a moment to give the question some real thought, trying to translate something that was never supposed to be put into verbal language.
“Like pins and needles in my bone marrow.”
“And what did this feel like?” She jerked her head in the vague direction of the Jump.
Benton didn’t have to consider his response, “I felt threatened.”
“No kidding,” she said with an unimpressed lift of one eyebrow.
“Not like it just wanted to hurt me,” he said as his stomach churned. “Like it hated me. Like my very existence offended it.”
Nicole’s eyes softened and her strong hold was replaced with a soft rub, as if he would actually be offended that the creature that had traumatized them didn’t want to be his friend.
“Thanks, Nic,” he mumbled, still slightly suspicious that she was messing with him.
But Nicole offered him a sad smile before she started to work her seatbelt open. How she had managed to fasten it, while breaking every speed limit sign, was beyond him. She didn’t say anything more and she didn’t need to. They both wanted to get into someplace with a bit more light. Someplace where the shadows weren’t pressing in on all sides. Someplace that didn’t have any attachment to what had just happened.
The second they entered the diner, the tension that had twisted up each knot along his spine began to loosen.
Like a lot of Fort Wayward, the diner was old, but pleasant. Family sized vinyl booths lined the wall of windows, while one long counter with stools separated the room from the kitchen. There were a few small tables speckled around the remaining space, but none of them were able to seat more than four people.
They were too late for the evening rush, but there were still a few people winding down their night on the town. In Fort Wayward, painting the town red never went past eleven PM. But even in their more busy moments, it was pretty standard for the first booth by the door to be left untouched. It was perfectly positioned to receive gusts of air each time the door opened, exposing whoever sat there to freezing chills in the winter and humid breezes in the summer. Nicole quickly scooted into it until her shoulder pressed against the window, her attention constantly jerking back to her jeep. Benton still felt a little awkward every time they sat here. It was where he had been when Victor had attacked him the second time. It was the first time he had come at him with a knife. But at least they had finally replaced the bulb outside so the parking lot was visible. Then they had added a few more, carving out a small patch of light in the darkness. The whole town had been shaken up that night. Violence wasn’t a common occurrence for the small town and no one had
known quite how to take it.
With her eyes still on her damaged car, she toyed with the beads that draped down from her choker. She seemed to have an endless supply of them and had recently been favoring any that were reminiscent of legends from her Siksika heritage. Nearly the entire population of Fort Wayward was connected in some way to a Native Canadian tribe. Like Nicole, most of them had their roots within the Blackfoot. Additionally, this was the first time he had ever lived outside of a major city. With these two factors working against him, it wasn’t uncommon for him to find himself surrounded with references and customs that he didn’t understand. But then, he supposed that this sensation would be the norm for anyone entering a small town community that wasn’t accustomed to new additions.
So he felt proud when he actually recognized the legend on the choker that she wore now. A black thunderbird stretched out across a bed of red and yellow beads. From what he understood, it was the legend that spoke of a gigantic eagle-like bird that could carry off unsuspecting people. It wasn’t exactly a comforting thought at the moment. She restlessly began to brush her hand over her dark, hip length hair.
“How am I going to explain that dent to my mother?”
“We’ll think something up,” he said as he settled into the other side of the booth, making sure that he had a direct line of sight to the door.
Her eyes skirted to him. “She’s an R.C.M.P officer, remember? As in Royal Canadian Mounted Police. She’s trained to investigate. She can always tell when I’m lying.”
“Everyone can.” He quickly continued before she could refute him, “And you can just tell her the truth. It was dark and you have no idea what it was.”
Nicole nodded to the side, indicating that Rick was quickly approaching their table, looking bored and staring at the phone he had not so discreetly placed on his notepad. With the time they had left, Nicole leaned across the table and whispered.
“How did I not think of that?”
“Too close to the project,” he replied in the same hushed tone.
Rick reached their table and they both sank back in their seats. Despite the fact that Rick was only a year younger than Benton himself, he still hadn’t been able to kick the habit of thinking of him as a kid. It didn’t matter that Rick had twice as much bulk as Benton did. Or that he had an impressive amount of chest hair for a sixteen year-old, which was once again on proud display.
“Button up your shirt,” Nicole groaned.
“You don’t really work here,” Rick said with a wide, smug grin. “So you don’t get a say.”
Rick and Nicole had both been with Benton when Victor had attacked him. And they had both been caught up in the mix. At first, Benton had carried some guilt over that. But it was hard to hold onto it when Rick decided that the way to cope with that kind of fright was to be as obnoxious as possible in every available opportunity.
“I can tell the manager,” she noted.
“Do they make chest hair nets?” Benton asked.
She glared at him. Her patented, ‘you aren’t helping’ glare, that never had as much effect as she seemed to think it did, was showing.
“Hey,” Rick cut in. “I work for tips, and women like it.”
Benton turned to Nicole with a smile. “I didn’t know that about you.”
She strengthened her glare. It still didn’t do much good.
“Are you guys ordering or just taking up space?” Rick asked, with no trace of amusement.
“We’ll have some coffee and a banana split,” Nicole said in her most sugary sweet tone.
Benton waited until Rick had left before he cocked an eyebrow at her.
“What?” she said as she straightened her hair again. “I survived an encounter with a violent paranormal entity, so I get a treat.”
Feeling increasingly relaxed, Benton didn’t try to fight the smile crossing his face. He rested one arm on the back of the booth seat and stretched out his legs. It was curious how quickly good overhead lighting and the promise of caffeine could make the world seem right again. And the company didn’t hurt. Nicole was exhausting at times, but she had a way of making him feel normal. Like being a banshee and all the baggage that went with it was just a personality quirk.
“What?” Nicole said, her lips quickly pulling into an answering smile.
“It’s still weird to think of myself as a banshee, you know?”
“Not exactly, but I can imagine.” She leaned forward again even though it wasn’t likely that many people would be trying to overhear their conversation. “Are you sure neither of your parents are banshees?”
“I haven’t asked them.”
Her eyes widened with far more surprise than he personally thought warranted.
“Come on, Nic, it’s not something that you can easily work into a conversation. And besides, I know they’re not. Neither of them can see Oliver. Or have my nightmares. And they’re both always so surprised whenever a dead body turns up. Which in itself is weird, since it happens a lot.”
“Not that often.” She couldn’t even get through the whole sentence before she lost complete faith in the statement. “How have your dreams been going? It doesn’t look like you’ve slept much.”
Benton rubbed a hand over the slope of his jaw and brushed his knuckles against his slightly pointed chin.
“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” she pressed.
“I haven’t felt like killing anyone lately.” He raised a hand to cut her off, “I know I’m not. But it doesn’t stop it from feeling that way.”
The memory of last night’s dream broke through into the forefront of his mind and he could almost feel the hot blood on his hands again. He kept rubbing them together until the sensation faded. Nicole didn’t know what to say to that, so she sat silently, waiting for him to give her some sign of where he wanted the conversation to venture to. For all of her empathy, he knew she would never really know what it was like to be forced under someone else’s skin, have them flood all of her senses, and force you to do the most horrific, bloody things one could ever imagine.
But the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable and he wasn’t in any hurry to disrupt it. Sinking back into his seat, Benton looked out of the window and watched as a group of teenagers headed out into the night. He recognized them from his high school classes and, while he had tried his best to ignore just about every living person around him, he could place a name to all of them. It was a natural talent. As soon as he had the connecting name and face, he never forgot it.
They seemed happy, their constant conversations overlapping each other’s as they lingered just outside, no one eager to head towards their car. As he watched them, Benton tried to imagine what it would be like to be in that group. But, no matter how attractive the idea of being accepted on a more massive scale was, it seemed like a lot of work. All he really wanted was to be back playing midnight catch with Nicole. It had been fun while it lasted.
Rick came back to the table and dropped the different items on the table, deliberately being as loud as possible and throwing a few elbows. It drew Benton’s attention and he had just started to turn when he noticed it. One of the shadows within the group didn’t belong. It was deeper than it had any right to be, dark enough to block his view of the others behind it. Benton focused his full attention back onto the cluster of teens, searching once more for the dark shadow that he had seen.
Nicole noticed his shift immediately and looked out the window as well. “What is it?”
“Not again,” Rick groaned with loud dramatics. “Who did you piss off this time?”
“Go away, Rick,” Benton snapped as something sick but familiar settled within his bones.
Not moving a muscle, Rick began to protest the dismissal with a bit of colorful language, and for once, Nicole didn’t seem to have any intention to correct or soothe him. He could feel her watching him as his eyes drifted over the parking lot. No matter how many hiding places he searched, he couldn’t find it, but he knew it
was there. Death. He had seen it before and it always felt the same, looked the same. Like a shadow, impossibly dark, and solid in the middle, even as its edges evaporated like drifting smoke. Indefinable, bone white smudges replaced its hands or face. They never had definition, but he knew exactly where they were looking nonetheless.
“Benton?” It was a rhetorical question, just a gentle reminder that she was there and waiting for some kind of response. When his only response was to press himself closer to the glass, she said his name again.
His eyes shifted to her, then to Rick, who was still around at the end of the booth. Rick had placed both hands on the table and was leaning in as much as possible, joining their search even though he had no idea what they were searching for.
Meeting her eyes again, Benton spoke calmly, “I thought I saw an old friend.”
He willed with every ounce of his mental strength for her to catch on. There was no need for such effort. Nicole was instantly on the same page. How she had sorted it out from all the other things that Benton could have been talking about, he would never know. But she had and forced a fake but brilliant smile on her face.
“Maybe we should go say hi,” she said without a hint of concern seeping into her voice. “Who did you see your friend with?”
Benton turned back to the window. The group had started to disperse. It only took a moment to see it again. Death was silently following a trio of girls. They were heading towards their car, completely unaware of the specter drifting behind them, never touching the ground, never moving but still leaving a trail of curling smoke drifting behind it. The flock of girls splintered as they moved towards the doors.
“Kimberly Bear Head,” he snapped.
Both of them lunged out of the booth, startling Rick enough to make him yelp, and raced the short distance to the front door. He let Nicole take the lead. She prided herself on being friends with everyone in town. Benton hadn’t had any contact with Kimberly, so there wasn’t really a non-creepy way for him to coax her into his car.