Afterlight (8 page)

Nyx came over later and we hung out, sketching new designs and eating pizza. Seth stayed in his room until around eight thirty, when he wandered into the living room. Yes, with his shades on. Chaz growled, staring at my brother. “Be quiet, Chaz,” I commanded. I jumped up from where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sketch sheets spread out before me, and hurried over to where Seth plopped down on the sofa. I felt his cheek and forehead. Actually, instead of feeling warm, he felt a little cool.

“Wow,” Nyx said, her wide smile seemingly reaching each ear. “I’ve never seen this motherly side of you, Poe. It’s kinda sweet.”

I shot Nyx a glare and turned to my brother. I moved to pull his shades off, and he jerked his head away. The abrupt shift wasn’t anything like Seth’s usual demeanor.

“Lay off, Riley,” he snapped. “Jesus, I’m fine.”

This time, Chaz jumped to his feet, head lowered, and moved toward Seth, growling. “Back,” I snapped. Chaz froze in his tracks, and I returned my gaze to my brother.

No one, and I repeat,
no one
, had the power to hurt my feelings. Ever. I just didn’t have that weakness in me anymore—except with Seth, and maybe Preacher. And that small snub actually wounded me. “Yeah, well,” I said, and moved away. “I’m worried about you, Seth.”

“Don’t be,” he said just as sharply. He stood. “And keep that freaking dog away from me.” He left the room, and I could do nothing more than stare after him, shocked.

“Hey,” Nyx said gently. “Take it easy on the kid, Riley. He’s fifteen. Hormones, remember? Just leave him alone for a bit.” She patted the floor. “Here, have another slice of spinach and mushroom and finish this design. Looks wicked fab so far.” She lifted a wide wedge from the box on the floor and took a big bite. Nyx’s appetite was legendary, and hopefully it’d keep her busy for a while, because I just couldn’t let my brother walk off.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and followed Seth. His door was cracked, so I gently pushed it open and stuck my head in. Seth stood by the window, his back to me as he stared out over River Street. “Can we talk?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I pushed. “What’s going on, Seth? Talk to me.” Still, he kept his back to me, not answering, and I moved into the room to stand beside him. I could feel the air between us grow cold, and his posture stiffened, as though he couldn’t stand me being close. It hurt like hell. “Please?”

“Nothin’ to talk about,” he said quietly. “Just need space.”

I moved closer. “Seth, take your shades off and look at me.”

For a moment, he simply stood, rigid, debating whether or not to do as I’d asked, I supposed. Then, with a heavy sigh, he did, but he stared at the floor, at the wall, out the window—anywhere but at
me
. For now, I accepted it.

“Look—I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but . . . just hear me out, okay?” I asked. “I used to be your age, too, ya know, and not that long ago. Some things I do understand. I’m here for you—no matter what, okay? If there’s something bothering you, tell me. Or if Riggs and the guys—”

“There’s nothing bothering me, Riley,” he said sharply, and this time, he did look at me, and his gaze was cold, angry, the green a shade or two lighter, and he slipped his shades back on and returned his stare to the window. An instant dismissal.

I stared at my brother’s profile for several seconds—noticed the tousled brown waves, his straight nose and firm jaw—and suddenly, I couldn’t see my baby brother anymore. I saw a young guy. An angry young guy. “Okay,” I said, and placed my hand on his shoulder. “But I’m here anyway.” I didn’t linger or wait for a response, but simply left the room. Inside, my heart hurt—literally ached—from Seth’s coldness, but I knew that to stay and try to pry stuff out of this new Seth wouldn’t do any good, so I put my brother’s behavior behind me for the night. It wasn’t easy. I’d gone from street punk to grown-up real fast, and I’d been responsible for Seth since I was nineteen. I loved him more than life, and I now knew what my mom probably went through when I did the same thing to her.

When I walked back into the living room, I instantly saw Nyx’s already pale face staring at the TV, a shocked expression pulling her mouth taut. “Oh my God,” she muttered, and I glanced at the flat screen to see what it was. The local news was on, and the reporter, standing in front of the Cotton Exchange building, looked grave as he reported the brutal murder of a young marine recruit. A police car blazed blue lights nearby, and the rapid-fire flash recoiled off the black plastic bag covering the body strapped on the gurney. Then a picture of a handsome marine recruit flashed across the screen, along with a name: Zachary Murphy, age nineteen. “Zac,” I muttered. My heart seized as I recognized the young guy who’d come in for the Celtic lizard tattoo Saturday, and a wave of sadness swept over me. “Damn, Nyx,” I said, and glanced over at her. “That’s two murders in one day. I wonder what happened to him.” God, his poor parents. I knew exactly what they were going through.

Over the next few days, Seth’s condition changed. I’m not positive it worsened, just . . . evolved. What made matters worse was that Preacher had extended his trip to Da Island, so I didn’t have his counsel to rely on. Seth’s excessive sleeping eased up somewhat, but he wore his shades all the time, indoors and outdoors, sunshine or no sunshine. He barely spoke a word to me, or Nyx, and as soon as it was dusk, he was out, saying he wanted to hang out with his friends before school started. I’d never let him just run the streets—I knew where that could lead, and no way in hell was I about to let my brother screw up like I had. No
freaking
way. So when Riggs and the other boys showed up at Inksomnia at sundown, all wearing shades and looking like a band of thugs, I put my foot down. God, I sounded like an old stick-in-the-mud. But this was Seth, and I wasn’t about to let him set even one size-eleven sneaker in the wrong direction if I could help it.

“Hey, babe, where’s your brother?” Riggs asked. He leaned a hip against my vacant inking table, arms crossed over his chest, trying way too hard to look cool.

Chaz rose from his rug, the hair along his back bristled, his head down, and the now-familiar low growl emanated from deep in his throat. This time, I let him. I turned to Riggs.

“Babe? Yeah, I don’t think so, porcupine. Try again. And take off those stupid glasses,” I said, totally irritated.

Riggs’ expression turned . . . I don’t know,
hateful
, and froze into place like stone. Slowly, he slid his shades off, and if the look on his face had seemed startling, the glare in his eyes was even worse. They seemed like ice, his eyes, without feeling, or anything, really. They even looked lighter than before. How could that be? Inwardly, I flinched, and that shocked me. The boy might be a teenage peckerhead now, but I’d known Riggs Parker since he was a little guy, and until tonight I’d known him to be harmless. Now? He studied me with the intensity of a predator, and that made me want to smack him on the back of the head.

“Where’s Seth, Ms. Poe?” His smile was as icy as his eyes. “Better?”

“Hardly.”

“Right here,” my brother said behind me. “Ready?”

I continued to scrutinize Riggs. “Where are you guys going?”

A small grin tipped the boy’s mouth. “Mellow Mushroom. See?” he pulled out a wad of balled-up bills. “My mommy gave me money.” He slid his glasses back on and looked up at me. “Don’t worry, babe,” he said sarcastically. “We’ll be home early.”

The others laughed—including Seth—and Chaz grew more agitated. He began to bark threateningly. “Chaz, back,” I said, and my gaze snapped to Seth as I swallowed the hurt. “By eleven, Bro. Don’t make me come looking for you. I’m dead serious.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, which again irritated me because we all know what
whatever
really meant.
Eff you.
The boys left the shop. Outside, Riggs glanced back at me through the storefront and smiled, and swear to God, it gave me chills. Chaz noticed and lunged at the window, barking like crazy. I knew the feeling. I wanted right then to go knock the hell out of him, and if he’d been of legal age, I would have.

“What’s up with Chaz lately?” Nyx asked, rubbing the fur between his ears, talking soothingly to him. “Don’t worry, Riley,” she said comfortingly. “He’ll be all right.” She grinned. “He’s just trying to show off in front of his friends. I’ll bet you were the exact same way at fifteen.”

I continued to stare out of the storefront. “Way, way worse, Nyxinnia. That’s what worries me.” And that was exactly what I did for the rest of the evening—worried. I beat the hell out of the bag that night, hoping to work out some of the tension, and by the time I’d worn myself out, my knuckles, feet, and shins hurt like hell. I was in the kitchen sucking down a bottle of water when Seth came trudging up the stairs, right at eleven on the nose. He didn’t even acknowledge me and instead went straight to his room and shut the door. I almost followed. But Nyx’s words rang in my head, so I cut him some slack—especially since he’d made it home on time—and decided to talk to him in the morning. Obviously, something was bothering him, and I hated that he didn’t trust me to help him.

I showered and got ready for bed, but sleep evaded me. Instead of tossing restlessly, I wandered out onto the small balcony outside my bedroom. There was just enough room to stand, with a black, wrought-iron railing to keep me from tumbling over. I stood there and stared out into the night, watching the sliver of moon glimmer over the river. The night was still, and I felt vulnerable, not a feeling I particularly liked. My thoughts turned to Zac, a guy I didn’t even know, and how he’d been so young and had died so young. What had happened? I couldn’t help but wonder who’d done it, and think about how the killer right now walked the very streets my brother and I lived on. I mean, the Cotton Exchange building was two seconds from Inksomnia. I could see it from my back door.

I turned to leave, but before I stepped back inside, that gnawing feeling came over me once more—the one that made me look over my shoulder. I stared out into the night, into the afterlight, searching the darkness. I felt with all certainty that a pair of eyes watched me from the shadows. Swear to God, I couldn’t take much more. It was happening all too frequently, and frankly, it was pissing me off. Especially if it was that tough guy from the other night. I closed and locked the balcony door. I did not sleep well after.

Sometime later, I jerked wide-awake with a gasp and sat straight up. At the same time, I heard Chaz’s lowthroated growl. My blurred vision, groggy from sleep, scanned the dark corners of my room, straining to see. My insides froze. Someone was in my room. I slipped my hand slowly toward the back left bedpost, where I kept a baseball bat. My fingers gripped the handle. I slid my feet slowly to the floor and lifted the bat over my shoulder. A car ambled down the cobbles on the street below, and the headlights cast an illuminated arc across my bedroom wall—
and my brother
. Again, I gasped, taken off guard. “Seth? What are you doing?” I lowered the bat.

Seth didn’t speak or move; he stood completely still. I couldn’t see his expression now, but I had for a fleeting second as the car had passed. He’d looked . . . vacant, angry. I won’t lie—it scared the hell out of me. What scared me even more was that I hadn’t loosened my grip on the bat.

“Seth?” I said, not too loud, but definitely assertive. “What’s up, Bro? Are you sick?”

Chaz now stood and had taken a few steps toward my bed. His growling grew louder. Seth remained silent.

“Hey,” I said, and eased toward him. “Want me to—”

“No,” Seth finally said. His voice sounded . . . different. Strained. Deeper.

“Okay, okay,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. “I’m going to turn on the light—”

“No!” Seth yelled, and lunged at me. Chaz lunged at Seth, knocked him down, and latched onto his arm. Seth cried out in pain, struggling to shake Chaz’s grip loose. “Get off me!” he cried, and shoved Chaz hard with his free hand. The dog flew across the room and landed against the wall with a shrill yelp. He immediately leapt up and charged Seth.

“Chaz, no!” I yelled, and ran to grab his collar. Seth slammed out of my room, and seconds later the back door downstairs crashed against the wall. Yanking on the shorts I’d worn earlier, I slid into my flip-flops and took off after my brother. What was
wrong
with him? I ran outside, the heavy, early-morning air thick and soupy as a mist rolled in from the river; I closed the back door and searched both sides of merchant’s drive but found no signs of Seth anywhere. With my heart in my throat, I edged up the cobbles, ducked into the narrow alley that led to River Street, and hurried to the line of storefronts facing the river. I found myself alone, and I continued up the river walk at a jog. “Seth?” I called out. “Seth!” No answer. I still found myself alone at the west end, past the Hyatt, then made my way up to Factor’s Walk and searched Bay Street. The early-hour fog hung like a cloud, and it slipped in and out of the oaks like inching fingers. The air was still; not even the slightest of breezes moved through the moss. I stood still, watched, and listened. Nothing. There was absolutely no sign of my brother.

It was at that point that I realized someone stood close by, and this time it wasn’t just a crazy feeling that someone watched me. I
knew
it. I was sure it wasn’t Seth. My adrenaline surged as my gaze roamed the area. Shadows fell and stretched from the lampposts, the parking meters hugging the curb, the storefront awnings, and trees; it was impossible to search every nook. I turned and walked up the cobbles, and just as I ducked into the alley next to Inksomnia I was shoved hard against the wall; my breath
whoosh
ed from my lungs. With my front pressed to the bricks and a hard body pressed against my back, I hadn’t a clue who held me—until he spoke. There was no mistaking that smooth voice and odd tinge of accent.

“Do you have a death wish?” he said, his voice low and annoyed, his mouth brushing my hair, close to my ear. “Or are you just fucking crazy?”