The Descendants

by Kirk Kilgrave

  The Descendants

  Kirk Kilgrave

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Author Note

  Copyright © 2019 by Kirk Kilgrave

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, locations, and events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Seated at a six-carrel computer station at Fairfield Public Library Branch, Logan Pryce finished his online job search, got to his feet, and turned around. A young woman headed straight toward him, but she was carrying a stack of books under her arm and looking off to the right. She had a black pixie cut with purple highlights along with a kind, compassionate expression, and plump lips. The same ones he’d dreamed of kissing during their last year of high school, which ended six months earlier.

  Logan attempted to sidestep Eloise Blythe to avoid a collision, but there wasn’t enough time to jump out of her way. And now, rather than coming off as cool and nonchalant, his nerves shook at the possibility that he’d slam into her.

  At the last moment, Eloise redirected her gaze toward him. Surprise registered on her face, forcing those beautiful turquoise eyes to open wide and making those luscious red lips part. She unfurled her arms, and the books hit the ground at her feet. Her eyes opened even wider now as she lifted her arms to keep from colliding with him.

  Logan did likewise to avoid banging into her, but even though they held their hands out to keep from bashing into each other, their arms slid alongside their sides, preventing them from stopping the inevitable.

  With nothing to keep them from smashing into each other, Logan threw his arms around her waist to keep from accidentally knocking her to the ground. Then it happened. What he’d always dreamed about.

  Their lips touched.

  The softness of her mouth and its strawberry scent propelled a spark of excitement through him, but it was mingled with the dread that she would react in disgust. He could take getting brushed off by any other woman on the planet. Except Eloise.

  Stunned by this unexpected event, Logan separated from Eloise as heat entered his cheeks. He wanted to look away, but those strikingly long, dark lashes below smoky eye shadow held him captive. He hadn’t seen her since graduation, and it seemed impossible, but she’d grown even more gorgeous since that day. It sent his heartbeat thundering.

  “Well,” she said, closing her lips. She lowered her gaze to the books on her feet. “That was certainly a first.”

  “You’ve never kissed anyone?” he asked, immediately blanching at the assumption.

  “Not like that,” she admitted in a calm voice.

  “Oh.” His face felt like it was on fire. Now that he knew where she worked, he already looked forward to seeing her again, so he could make a better impression and hopefully not embarrass himself, a recurring theme in his life when it came to girls.

  “Hey,” she said, “I didn’t mean—”

  “That’s okay.” He looked off the side, trying to find a way to salvage the situation.

  “Hey, you’ve got…”

  Seeing her stretching a hand toward him, Logan set his gaze on hers and discovered that she looked far from repulsed. It was obviously an accident, and he appreciated that she hadn’t gotten upset. It lessened some of the nerves that jangled under his skin.

  “You’ve got lipstick on…” she said.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” he said, reaching up and touching his lips with his fingertips. “I like it.” He looked at the color on his fingers and smiled.

  “You like wearing lipstick?”

  Did Eloise think he was gay? Or that he dressed up as a woman at home in private? The idea that she thought of him as feminine sent alarms blaring through his head. He had to turn things around. Fast.

  “So,” she said, gesturing towards the books with a smile. “I guess I should pick these up.”

  Logan’s heart no longer drummed in his chest. It now ached at the sight of that alluringly playful smile. He could stand there looking at it for hours. “Let me help out.” He bent down at the same time Eloise did, and his forehead bumped against hers. The impact sent him back to the ground.

  Eloise fell onto a few books before stretching out on the floor. “Wow,” she said, massaging her head. “You really have it out for me.” She splayed both elbows on the carpet to support her upper half. “Should I be worried about a mob hit later?”

  “No.” The pain in Logan’s head offset all of his anxiety. It felt good to be himself again and in complete control, instead of a blundering idiot. He chuckled as the color began to leave his face. “I’d prefer to handle things myself rather than hire a contractor.”

  Eloise’s head veered towards him. “So that’s a no on the mob hit because…you’re planning on taking me out later?”

  “If you’ll let me.” The words slipped out quicker than expected, shooting his confidence sky-high. He thanked God for letting his natural charisma make an appearance since he’d never found the right time or the exact amount of confidence to actually talk to Eloise in the past.

  “Wait,” she said, crinkling her nose. “Is that a yes on the murder, or are you asking me out?”

  “I’m sure not planning on killing you.”

  “Good to know,” she said, nodding and glancing around. “And we’re lying down in the middle of the library while patrons walk around us with confused smiles. Awesome.” She looked over her shoulder to the attractive, dark-haired woman about five years older than her, who sat at the public desk. “Hey, Rosalind. Just checking for insects. You know, since management won’t call in exterminators, which by the way, is still a big-time sore spot with me.”

  The woman unveiled a huge grin and waved at her before returning her attention to the computer, but the smile remained fixed in place.

  “That’s my boss,” Eloise told Logan. “Just want to make sure she doesn’t think I’m sleeping on the job.”

  Logan hopped to his feet and then went over and held out a hand. “Let me help you up.”

  “First you knock me down.” Eloise snatched the books from the ground and then eyed him suspiciously. “Then you head-butt me. And now you don’t plan on killing me.”

  Despite her remarks, she accepted his palm and rose to her feet.

  “I promise not to end your life. Fair enough?”

  She shook his hand. “Deal.”

  “This seems backward.” He frowned at the handshake in an exaggerated way so she knew what he planned to say was a stab at humor. “You know things aren’t going well when she kisses you and afterward shakes your hand.”

  “I didn’t kiss you.”

  “Yes, you did.” He raised his discolored fingers to eye level. “Lipstick, remember?”

  “Nuh-uh.” She drew closer,
hitching the books against her hip. “You stole that kiss.”

  “How can you steal a kiss?” He pointed to the books in her grasp. “I could steal those because they’re physical property, but I couldn’t steal a kiss.”

  “So you’re not a murderer. You’re a thief. Glad we straightened that out.”

  Logan really liked Eloise’s off-the-wall sense of humor. It was light and fun. For someone who spent way too much time in his head while around her, Logan was glad that he’d need to stay in the moment and not get lost second-guessing what he said or did.

  “I’m not a criminal,” he said.

  “If our books get stolen, I’m coming for you, buddy.”

  “I’m not a thief, remember?” He scanned the area, only to smile at a middle-aged man who walked past on his way to the public desk to check out his materials.

  “You stole that kiss.”

  Thankfully, her smile remained in place, letting him know not to take her seriously. “I can’t be judged by that kiss. We did that under unusual circumstances.”

  “Yeah, because you stole it.”

  “You know what?” Logan said with a hint of a smile. “I rescind my promise. I will take you out. As for when, I guess you’ll have to be on the lookout. See you soon, Eloise.” He walked past her, thinking that he couldn’t have asked for a better nineteenth birthday present than to finally chat with her.

  A few hours before his encounter with Eloise at the library, Logan had quit his job at Proud Papa’s Pizza because he’d asked for a week off so he could watch his fifteen-year-old sister and ten-year-old brother over the next week while his mother went on a seven-day cruise with her boyfriend. He’d hoped to give advance notice of his request, but his boss was difficult to contact during yet another vacation, so when his supervisor returned, Logan asked him about taking time off minutes upon greeting him.

  His boss refused. Logan offered to ask other staffers if they wanted to take his hours, but his supervisor wouldn’t consider it, so Logan resigned. His mother, a widower since Logan’s father had committed suicide ten years earlier, had worked two jobs to support their family without taking time away from her kids. So when she won a five-night, six-day cruise in the Caribbean, Logan refused to let her give away the reservations and free airfare to a friend.

  His mother had left earlier in the day, and Logan now returned to their white, two-story colonial a few hours after dinnertime. Although it was the first day of Christmas vacation for Logan and his siblings, he was shocked at the mild weather anticipated for the Chicagoland area over the next week. The temperatures were expected to be in the upper forties and fifties until after his mother returned from her trip.

  Logan hung up his coat on the rack nailed into the wall beside the wooden staircase and slipped off his shoes onto the welcome mat. He passed the small flat screen set atop a wooden stand they had gotten from a garage sale and the nicked-up piano that Tyler practiced on daily, as well as the beige loveseat and coffee table that had been in the family for two generations.

  He found Ashleigh at their maple kitchen table under a cast iron chandelier filled with a dozen ornamental lights. Although the table slanted slightly upward on one side, the flooring proved the culprit, as the home had begun shifting, making certain sections of the house tilt.

  The room smelled of a burrito and Fritos, both of which sat on a plastic plate near his sister’s right wrist, even though they appeared untouched. Instead, his sister added another group of bite marks to the pencil in her mouth.

  “Hey, Merida,” he said, referring to Ashleigh’s childhood hero from the Pixar film, Brave. The young ladies shared the same determined, exaggerated facial expressions, and thick, flowing curls. “You ready for a week without Mom?”

  She removed her gaze from her mathematics book and gave him an annoyed look. “If you don’t talk to me the entire week, it’ll be a fair trade-off.”

  Her attitude stemmed from the fact that a couple of Ashleigh’s friends had a crush on him. He’d overheard his sister confiding in Tyler about it earlier in the week, which made little sense since Tyler kept secrets as private as the farts he took so much pride in ripping. Despite their different personalities, his siblings shared a bond that had so far eluded Logan in life. In truth, he envied their close relationship. So to learn that two of Ashleigh’s friends were crushing on him saddened Logan because it provided one more reason for Ashleigh to keep him at a distance.

  Just like the rest of the house, with the exception of Tyler’s room, the kitchen was immaculate. No crumbs on the stove. No hair or lint on the ground. The small yet wide counters to his right were as clean as the plates in the cabinets. Even the calendar and family pictures in their magnet frames on the fridge were orderly. When it came to cleanliness, Ashleigh had obsessive-compulsive disorder, which often resulted in screaming matches with Tyler because he often left everything out of place depending on whatever stole his interest from one minute to the next.

  “Got some bad news,” Logan said. “I lost my job.”

  Ashleigh had planted her face in the math book again. “Sucks to be you.”

  He’d hoped for at least a little sympathy. That she lashed out upset him, so he decided to mess with her head. “Mom didn’t have enough money to leave with us. Now that I don’t have a job, we’re going to be strapped for cash.” Of course, he would get at least one more check, but it wouldn’t come for another ten days or so.

  “What?” She hopped to her feet, wincing in what looked like deep pain. “Why? You took math. You shouldn’t spend more than you make. It’s not hard, Logan.”

  “Oh,” he said, nodding as if taking that under advisement, as though the idea had never occurred to him. “That’s a good theory.” He struggled to keep a smile from popping into his expression.

  “It’s not a theory,” she said, wincing as her face carved into disappointment. “That’s a fact.”

  “Maybe that’s why I don’t have any money.”

  “But the new Pixar film comes out tomorrow night. You, Ty, and I always go to opening night. You know that!”

  “Sucks to be you,” he said, using her words against her. He turned on his heels and headed in the other direction, knowing Ashleigh would pick up on his sarcasm.

  “You’re such an ass,” she shouted. Her footsteps pounded behind him.

  Upstairs doom-laden guitar strings twanged from Tyler’s guitar, as though he’d been listening in and decided to add atmospheric music to add some extra drama to their argument.

  Logan pulled out his wallet, removed three ticket stubs, and spun toward her just as she stomped up to him. “You want to hold onto these for safekeeping?” He revealed the contents of his wallet, which included a couple of twenties and a credit card.

  A smile broke out across her face, pushing aside all the venom she’d shot his way moments ago.

  “Since I’m so bad with money, I might get desperate and try to sell these on eBay for a quarter each.”

  Ashleigh narrowed her eyes and clamped her teeth shut behind her closed lips. She snatched the tickets, swiveled around, and headed back to the kitchen table.

  “Hey,” he said, “it’s my birthday. You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

  She stopped and her shoulders bobbed upward. “Oh, yeah,” she said in a somber tone. “Forgot about that. I’m sorry.”

  With their mother being absent today, the family celebrated his birthday yesterday, so Logan understood why it had slipped her mind. And although his sister often mouthed off to him, when pressed to do the right thing or admit a mistake, she never failed to do just that.

  He headed back through the living room before taking the dozen wooden steps to the second floor. Turning left, unable to tear the evil-sounding guitar riffs from his brain, he strolled across the creaky wooden floor in their compact hallway and entered Tyler’s room.

  Tyler’s winter jacket, gloves, and Bears beanie hat were snaked around a Cubs hoodie and his pants on the floor, beside candy wra
ppers, an empty plastic bottle of soda and the short amplifier that emitted too much sound for such a small room. The walls were adorned with posters of rock ‘n’ roll guitarists alongside classical musicians.

  “Hey, bro,” Logan said, tip-toeing his way across the wooden floor to avoid stepping on something. “This place is disgusting. It smells like sweaty socks and licorice.”

  “Cool.” Tyler’s voice came out smooth and unconcerned. Not looking up from his beat-up black guitar while his fingers zipped along the fretboard, Tyler sat on his bed in his underwear and nothing else. His bushy blond hair looked like it needed to get cut two months ago, and his bangs made it impossible to see his eyes.

  Cool? Tyler thought it was cool to live in this pigpen and play guitar practically naked? Logan bent over and dialed back the volume on the amplifier.

  “Hey, man, you’re killing my vibe.”

  Logan almost laughed again, this time at Tyler’s use of slang. He found it shocking how anyone could be unaffected by the mess around him, but he envied Tyler’s ability to block out external stimuli and concentrate regardless of the circumstances. “Hate to break it to you, but Woodstock happened decades ago.”

  “Huh?” Tyler asked, finally lifting his gaze and shaking his head to remove the curtain of hair from covering his eyes. “Chopping wood for the chimney is your job, not mine.”

  Tyler had obviously not heard of the music festival from the late 1960s. Regarding his brother’s comment about getting wood, the family rarely used the chimney, so he didn’t anticipate making kindling anytime soon.