by Callie Hart
Nipped launches out of his bed, hackles raised, barking loudly as he darts back and forth in front of the detective, showing him his teeth. Dad doesn’t say a word to call him off. I’d say I’ve never seen my father look so angry, but I’ve seen him riled like this too many times of late. He grabs Lowell by the shoulder, fisting his jacket, shoving him toward the hallway. “Nothing she just said to you is admissible. You do not have my permission to be in this house. Get the fuck out before I accidentally shoot you for trespassing.” He pushes Lowell, and the detective staggers back, nearly tripping over his own Nikes. He runs his tongue over his teeth, straightening out his jacket as he backs away toward the door.
“Not smart to threaten a DEA agent, Mr. Parisi. But not to worry. I won’t take it personally. I can only imagine how stressful it is, trying to raise a problem teenager on your own.”
Dad takes off his glasses, setting them down on the countertop. “I don’t give a shit who you are or who you work for. I swear to god, if you’re not out of my house in the next three seconds, you and I are gonna have issues.”
Lowell’s arrogant sneer doesn’t slip. Not even for a second. Glancing over Dad’s shoulder, he locks eyes with me and winks. “We’re not done, Silver. Next time, I’ll be asking these questions in an interview room, and there’ll be cameras pointed in your face. I’m sure the truth will come out then. Meantime, you two make sure you enjoy the rest of your weekend, okay?”
10
ALEX
“Let….me…OUT, you fuck!”
I know how to drive my Camaro, but Zeth puts me to shame. His car—a mirror of my own in nearly every way—is like an extension of his body as he drifts it around the bend, sliding perfectly in the snow, forcing the contents of the trunk to slam and loudly roll around. The hammering from the back gets louder as he jumps on the breaks at a red light so abruptly that I have to brace myself against the dash.
This whole thing, Zeth purposefully tormenting Monty, and Monty losing his shit so badly, would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that, best case scenario, my boss is going to fire me, worst case scenario murder me, and my little brother was lowered into the ice-cold earth twenty-four hours ago. Every time the fucker in the driver’s seat next to me coasts through the snow a little too recklessly, all I can see is Jackie’s supposedly extra-safe people carrier hurtling off the road and smashing into a tree, killing Ben in the process.
“Little tense?” Zeth asks, the suggestion of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Kind of surprising; I wouldn’t have thought the guy capable of such a thing.
I brush off his comment, pulling my pack of smokes out of my pocket. “What’s the big deal with this bag, anyway? I’ve seen everything inside it. Nothing irreplaceable.”
“I’m sentimental about my tools,” he replies. “Had some of them for well over a decade. And besides…” He drifts across the double yellow line, crossing onto the wrong side of the road as we hurtle through yet another bend. “It doesn’t matter what the bag contains, what it’s worth, or if it can be replaced. It’s mine. It belongs to me. I don’t let two-bit con artists from the middle of fucking nowhere steal my shit, kid. You let one person take something small one day, they’re trying to take that which you hold dearest the next. Bad for business.”
“Didn’t think you were a businessman.”
“I’m whatever the fuck I wanna be when the moment takes me, shithead. And you light that cigarette in my car without asking, you’re gonna wind up with a broken hand, you feel me?”
I’ve already sparked the lighter; the flame hovers two centimeters away from the end of the smoke that I’ve already put in my mouth. I consider holding the wavering yellow flame against the cigarette and pulling on it hard, just to defy him, but I meet his dark, flat stare and think better of it. “You mind?” I ask, laying the attitude on thick.
Zeth turns to look straight ahead out of the windshield again. “Be my guest.”
The smoke burns at the back of my throat, making me feel sick, but I pull on it hard again and again until I hit the filter. Shame I don’t have any Jack on me. I could really use a drink. Across Raleigh, Silver’s waiting for me to come over for dinner. Cam’s in the middle of making lasagna or some shit. There’s a girl who loves me, ready to hold me, and kiss me, and make all of this godforsaken shit feel a teeny, tiny bit better…but I’m happy to be headed in the opposite direction. I don’t want to feel better. I want to feel worse, because that’s what I fucking deserve, isn’t it? If I’d gotten my shit together a little sooner and not been such a fuck-up for so long, then perhaps I could have convinced CPS to give me custody of Ben early. If I hadn’t been so damn fixated on teaching Gary Quincy a lesson for treating me like garbage, then I might have been able to devote my energy towards the things that really mattered. Ben could have been living with me a goddamn year ago. Then he would never have been in that car with Jackie, driving through the night…
To see you. Because you’d landed your ass in prison, Alex. They could have been safe and sound, enjoying Hawaii, but no…
“You alright there, princess?” Zeth rumbles. “You’re looking a little peaky.”
Taking another cigarette out of the pack, I light it, scowling deeply. “I’m giving you what you came here for. That’s all you need to worry about. My general wellbeing’s none of your concern.”
He laughs under his breath. “So much drama. I forgot what seventeen was like.”
“Fuck you, prick. What, you think you’re gonna Doctor Fucking Phil me now? You kill people for money, old man. Let’s not forget that. And I’m a teenager. So what? I’ve had to deal with far more shit than most adults do in their entire lifetimes. I stood over my Mom when they buried her. I stood over my little brother when they buried him yesterday. My girlfriend thinks I’m an unfeeling piece of shit because I can’t mourn properly. And, oh, she’s recovering from being attacked and nearly fucking murdered as well, just to really ice that cake nice and good. Now I’m here dealing with your hostile ass. So…I get to be a little shitty, yeah? The past month has been fucking brutal.”
The cherry on the cigarette flares as I pull on it angrily. Bracing myself, I wait for the pain to arrive. A guy like Zeth doesn’t let people talk to him like he’s something they scraped off their shoe just because they’re having a hard time. There’s always retribution for that level of disrespect.
But the pain never comes.
I shoot him a casual glance out of the corner of my eye. He’s focusing on the road, his brow furrowed, but other than that he doesn’t look like he’s about to smash my face into the console. “I know what it’s like to lose a sibling,” he says softly. As softly as his gravelly voice allows, anyway. “I had a sister…” He trails off, the front of the car filling with an unspoken tension. The mention of his sister’s brought back painful memories, by the looks of things.
Not my problem, though. Just because he can put himself in my shoes and comprehend what’s going on in my head doesn’t mean we’re gonna be best fucking friends. “Just drive,” I grumble, flicking the smoke out of the open window. “No point in dredging up pointless shit anyway.”
Zeth follows closer than my shadow as I run up the fire escape to the apartment. The fucker should have waited down by the Camaro—I’m hardly gonna try and bolt, what with Monty locked in the trunk of his vehicle—but I keep a civil tongue in my head. Better to refrain from antagonizing the bastard at this stage in the proceedings. Once I’ve handed over the bag, he’ll disappear from my life and I’ll never have to see him again. From everything Monty told me about the owner of his precious duffel bag, Zeth’s a big fucking deal in Seattle. Unlikely that he’ll need to come out this way again any time soon.
“Nice place,” he comments, following me down the hallway. Admittedly, I’ve let things slide ever since Maeve showed up to deliver her life-shattering news; the apartment’s a mess, clothes lying in crumpled piles all over the place. No dirty dishes or take-out cartons, though. I ha
ven’t eaten properly in days so that’s a bonus, I guess. I intend on heading straight for the bedroom, but Zeth has other ideas. He sidles past me into the kitchen, his sharp eyes taking everything in.
Leaning against the door jamb, I watch as he opens up the utility closet and stares intently at the bucket of cleaning products on the shelf inside. “What? You think I got someone lying in wait for you?” I ask.
“Who fucking knows.” Satisfied that there’s no one in the cleaning closet, waiting to jump out and spritz him with Windex, Zeth kicks the door closed and turns to face me. He sees my shattered cell phone sitting on the counter and quirks an eyebrow at me. “You run that thing over or what?”
“Sure.” I don’t need to explain shit to him.
“Cool. Where’s the bag, kid?”
It’s still sitting in the bottom of the walk-in closet in the bedroom, right where I dumped it the night I moved in. “This way.”
He follows on my heels again as I enter the bedroom. I head straight for the closet and grab the bag for him, thrusting it into his chest. “It’s all there. Apart from the gun, of course.”
Zeth doesn’t look too stoked about this. “Where’s the gun?”
“Police lock-up. They confiscated it.”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
“What do you think? I shot someone with it. They took it away from me.” Zeth lets out a surprising bark of laughter that catches me off guard. “That’s funny?” I ask.
He nods, just once, a curt, efficient movement. “Sure. Why the fuck not. I can picture you shooting someone and getting away with it. You’re a hellraiser, huh, kid?”
I don’t know if I’m supposed to take this as a compliment; it’s hard enough trying to figure out if he’s fucking with me. Bitterly, I agree with him. “Looks like I’m turning out to be my father’s son. Giacomo Moretti would be proud, if only he knew how.”
Like a slowly deflating balloon, Zeth’s amused expression wilts. “You’re Jack Moretti’s boy?”
Oh.
Fucking.
Great.
Juuuuuuust fucking great. Why am I not surprised that a stone-cold killer like this guy knows my father? “Not voluntarily,” I tell him.
Zeth grunts, hoisting the straps of the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Looks like you just lost your job at that shit hole Cohen runs. You got money?”
I still have close to seventy grand in a pillowcase under the floorboards in the bedroom, courtesy of all the runs I did for Monty. Not that it’s any of this fucker’s business. What, am I supposed to believe that he feels sorry for me? He hurled a hunting knife at my head thirty-five minutes ago. “Plenty,” I tell him.
Zeth nods, sticking his hand into his pocket, taking out his iPhone. In a matter of seconds, he’s produced a paperclip from somewhere, popped out the SIM card, and then he’s tossing the device up in the air.
I catch it before it can hit the floor, frowning as the strange bastard turns and walks down the hallway, toward the door. “I know all about shitty fathers, too,” he rumbles over his shoulder. “You seem like you might be smart, Alex. Keep it that way. Stay away from guys like Montgomery Cohen and Giacomo Moretti.”
“Hey! Don’t you want your phone back?”
“Keep it. It was a burner.”
11
ALEX
I don’t go to Silver’s. After Zeth leaves with Monty still kicking and screaming in the trunk of his Camaro, I sit in the car, turning the keys over in my hand, trying to pull my shit together. I can’t make head nor tails of what’s been going on lately. It’s all just too fucking much, and I don’t think I can trust myself to be the person I need to be. How am I supposed to be good for Silver, help her recover from her ordeal with Jake, when I’m too fucking broken to hold myself together? How can she comfort me, when she wakes up clawing at her throat every morning, trying to free herself from a noose that isn’t there?
We’re both so bruised and battered that it feels as though we’re both going to try and support the other, only to break and unintentionally let them fall. I don’t want to do that to her. I love her so fucking much. The last thing I want to do is let her down. I need her more than I need the air in my lungs, but I also need her to be okay…which leaves me in a complicated, confusing situation. She won’t be okay with me around. Currently, she’s sacrificing her own sanity for the sake of mine, and that’s not healthy. For her or for me.
In the end, because I’m a weak piece of shit, I do drive over to the Parisi’s place. I don’t go inside, though. I sit on the curb, at the end of their driveway with the engine idling, watching the lights go on and off in the house as Silver and her father move from room to room. The snow that paused earlier returns with a vengeance, and for a little while I feel cocooned inside the car. With the air vents blowing hot air on full blast and the steady, throaty purr of the engine vibrating the entire vehicle, the world falls away and nothing exists apart from me, the Camaro, and the promise of Silver, safely tucked away in the house at the top of the driveway.
She texts me eventually.
SILVER: You thinking about coming inside?
She must have spotted me out of a window. Slowly, I type out a response and hit send.
ME: Will you still love me if I say I can’t?
SILVER: No matter what.
Cursing myself for being such a weak fuck, I start the Camaro’s engine and I drive off into the night.
MESSAGE RECEIVED
Message received from…Maeve Rogers…on Sunday, January second at eight twenty-two pm.
‘Hi Alex. Me again. I’ll stop calling if you actually pick up, y’know. Listen…I know this is tough. You miss your brother. I can’t even imagine how much you miss him. It’ll help if you talk about it, though, believe me. I’ll be here, when you’re ready. Just…just please, call back, okay?’
Press one to save this message. Press two to—
Message deleted.
12
SILVER
“Good morning, students of Raleigh High! Principal Darhower, Ms. Gilcrest, and the rest of the Raleigh High faculty would like to wish you all a bright and happy new year! We hope you enjoyed the Christmas holidays and made the most of your time with family and friends. After a long and well-earned break, we now return to Raleigh to create, learn, and excel in all fields of academia. The date is Monday, January the third, students. Let’s make today excellent in every way!”
As one, the entire student body stands in stunned horror, heads cricked at weird angles, staring at the brand-new PA speakers that have been mounted in the hallways, classrooms and changing rooms of Raleigh High. Shiny and new, the speakers have metal cages around them, bolted to the walls, as if Darhower and his cronies think we might object to the new additions and rip them from the walls.
“While our under-the-sea theme has been a big hit for numerous successive years, a new initiative at Raleigh means that we’ll be opening up a ballot box outside the cafeteria this week, where suggestions can be made for this year’s senior prom theme. Please note, all suggestions must be sensible and within reason. Any inappropriate, vulgar or offensive suggestions will be dismissed out of hand without discussion. Thank you for your attention, students. Go, Roughnecks, go!”
Confused chatter breaks out in the hallway as a loud, cheery chime blares out of the speaker, signaling the end of the morning’s announcements. We’ve never had a PA system at Raleigh before, never needed one, but this new addition to our small, controlled eco-system is a welcome one in my eyes.
See, for the time being, no one’s looking at me as I shove my books into my locker and rummage through my bag, trying to find a working pen. They’re all too astonished by the weird, old-new technology that’s invaded our little world to be thinking about Silver Parisi. I embrace the moment, reveling in an anonymity that cannot last. Raleigh’s a small town, and people gossip here like mother hens. Everyone knows what happened during break. Jacob Weaving’s larger-than-life presence is noticeab
ly missing already, and it won’t be long before my fellow students begin to ask questions.
I have a few questions of my own. Namely, where the hell is Alessandro Moretti? He texted me the other night, so obviously he has a new phone. He hasn’t made any attempt to find or talk to me since then, though. Hasn’t shown up at the house. I dropped by his apartment yesterday, but he didn’t answer the door and the Camaro was gone. It’s as though he’s just fallen off the face of the earth.
This was not how the start of the year was supposed to go. Alex and I were supposed to come back to Raleigh on top of our game, ready to buckle down, get through the remaining months before graduation, focus on getting good grades so Alex could apply for custody of Ben. Now it feels as though none of it is worth it. College doesn’t even seem like a consideration anymore. Further education’s more of an afterthought at the moment. Without Ben…Jesus, I don’t know what Alex will have to work towards now.
I take the long way around to get to my first class of the day, walking the outside perimeter of the building in order to avoid the long hallway that leads to the gym. I can still hear the wet slap and squeak of my bare, bloody feet fighting for purchase against the linoleum whenever I close my eyes. At some point, I’ll have to face my fears and walk that hallway. Worse, I’ll have to actually go into the gymnasium. For today, however, I’m showing myself a little kindness and making an exception. Not to mention, taking the outside route to class also has the added benefit of avoiding all of the senior prom posters that are already covering every free inch of wall space inside the hallways of Raleigh High. A year ago, I would have been so pumped up about our last hurrah as seniors before graduation, but I was an entirely different person back then.