Ember X (9 page)

“You mean that creepy one you just put up on the wall?” She frowns. “The one that sounds like it was written by a serial killer?”

“That’s what you say about all poems,” I remind her. “And his was just deep.”

“Whatever, Em. In my opinion, the guy is a total creep… looking at you like that… you practically had an orgasm.”

“No, I didn’t,” I protest. “And why is he a creep? Because he knew my name and writes poetry?”

She laughs disdainfully. “I’m not jealous of you.”

I flip through the radio stations. “I never said you were.”

She smacks my hand away from the stereo and cranks up some upbeat pop song, knowing I’m not a fan of that kind of music. She belts out the lyrics at the top of her lungs, waving her hands and bobbing her head. I rest my head back and watch the trees drift by. I’m almost asleep when she slows down the car.

I open my eyes and start to unbuckle my seatbelt, but we’re stopped in a line of cars, not at the store. “Where are we?” I rub my tired eyes.

“Stuck in traffic.” She impatiently drums her fingers on the steering wheel.

“Wait, what… traffic?” I quickly sit up. The town is too small for traffic, yet there’s a row of cars lined each way over the bridge and down the road. Police vehicles barricade the street and uniformed policemen are sectioning off the center of the bridge with yellow tape and trying to detour everyone to the side.

“What’s going on?” I mumble, rolling the window all the way down to get a better look.

“Somebody probably did something stupid,” she replies in a bored tone as she inspects her fingernails for chips.

The line of cars crawls forward and Raven presses on the gas, driving by slowly. In the middle of the taped off section, an
X
is spray-painted across the asphalt and smashed into the cement barrier of the bridge is a rusted black Cadillac. The windows are broken, the hood is demolished, and there’s blood dripping from the back tire. And there are black feathers on the ground and on the hood.

“Isn’t that Laden’s?” I squint at the car. “Oh my God, it is.”

“Hmm… I guess he must have got into some trouble last night.” She smiles at the thought.

“This couldn’t have happened last night,” I say. “I just saw Laden this morning.”

“How can you be sure of what you saw?” she questions with a sparkle in her eye.

I eye her over questionably. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“There’s a lot of things I’m not telling you.” She grins and cranks up the stereo.

I turn back to the scene. There’s an hourglass painted on the back of the window in red, and feathers all over the hood and the ground. It’s the exact scene of when the police found my dad’s car, just a different location. And I worry that, like with my dad’s disappearance, I’ll become the prime suspect.

When night arrives, I don’t visit the cemetery. The news announced that Laden is considered a missing person and that there is evidence of foul play. My mom ended up skipping out on dinner and so Raven took her place at the table. She acted like a lunatic, like she was high on the news of Laden’s disappearance, or high on something.

While Raven and I were out shopping, I tried to press her about the details of last night, but she shifted the conversation to clothes every time. I end up going to bed early, but late during the night, I’m woken up by the sound of my mom’s voice.

“Ian,” she yells up the stairs in a drunken slur. “I need your help.”

Ian is locked away in the attic, with his “muse,” a mysterious person that sneaks in every night so he can paint them. I climb out of bed and pad to the top of the stairway.

“Mom, Ian’s in the attic,” I say tiredly, rubbing my eyes and yawning. “What do you need?”

She frowns up at me. “I need help getting up the stairs.”

I sigh and trot to the bottom of the stairway. Her brown hair is disheveled and knotted and her eyes are bloodshot. She used to be pretty, but her lifestyle has rapidly aged her.

She tugs down the hem of her dress and drapes her arm around my neck, sighing. She smells like tequila and cigarettes and her death omen smothers me, like it always does when I come into contact with her.
She’s
lying in a bed of pills and bottles, dying in her own flames.
Holding my breath, I guide her to her room, lie her down on the bed, and slip off her high heels.

She blinks at me through her blurry eyes. “You look so much like him,” she mutters. “You have his eyes and everything.”

She’s referring to my father. “Shhh… Get some rest,” I say, tossing her shoes onto the floor.

“I wonder if you’ll turn out like him,” she says, rolling onto her side. “I bet you will… A killer… You did kill your grandma.”

Her words stab at my heart, like a rusty, jagged knife, but it’s not the first time she’s uttered them. “Mom, Dad didn’t kill anyone.”

“Yes, he did… Yes, he did.” She drifts off to sleep.

I force back the tears and rush out of her room. I don’t cry—I never do—but I can’t fall back asleep. So I read Cameron’s poem, over and over again until the words blur together and make no sense at all. Just like my life.

***

I’m running late the next morning and if I don’t hurry my ass up I’m going to be late for my English class. There are bags under my bloodshot eyes and I look pallid. I quickly get dressed in torn jeans, grey combat boots, and a black vest over a striped T-shirt. Raven texts me as I’m barreling down the stairs, pulling my hair into a ponytail.

Raven: Need 2 get ur own ride 2day.

I halt at the bottom of the stairs and text back.

Me: Why? Is something wrong?

It takes her a second to answer.

Raven: I got things 2 do 2day. Can’t b late.

Me: Just hold on. I’m almost out the door.

Raven: Already gone.

Raven: FYI the news said Laden disappeared the night of the party

Me: … that makes no sense. I saw him outside the house.

Raven: whateva u say. U would know how he died though. U saw it remember. It’s why I had 2 hang out with him

Me: He’s not necessarily dead yet, only missing.

Raven: If you say so. But anyway gotta go. C u in Biology :)

I throw my phone into my bag, wondering how the hell I’m going to get to class. I’ve already missed too much and I don’t want to bail. I consider hitting Ian up for a ride, but then I’d have to explain what happened to Dad’s car. And I’m not ready for that yet. The only other alternative is to take the overly crowded public bus that is crammed with unavoidable death omens.

“What’s up with you?” Ian asks, munching on a Pop-Tart in the kitchen doorway.

“Nothing.” I snatch my house keys off the table. “I’m just tired.”

“Did Mom say anything to you last night?” he asks. “Like maybe why she hasn’t been taking her meds.”

“Does she ever talk about anything?” I snap, shoving my keys into my pocket.

Ian holds up his hands and backs up. “
Sorry
. I was just asking a question. But I guess I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

I open my mouth to apologize, but he turns back into the kitchen, shrugging me off. I grab my jacket off the banister and step outside. I slip on my jacket and stare at the end of the street at the bench in front of the bus stops. Walk or ride the bus? God, I have no clue.

Cameron’s Jeep suddenly appears beside the curb. He rolls down his window and crooks his finger at me.

I start to walk over, but then hesitate.

“I promise I don’t bite.” He dazzles me with an exquisite smile. “Unless, of course, that’s what you want.”

I start to pant, my chest actually heaving. My feet trot down the steps and across the grass on their own accord and I stop inches away from his door.

“You look lost,” he says, his dark gaze skimming my body behind his sunglasses.

“I have to get to class,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel naked and I’m not sure if I like it or if it makes me feel uncomfortable. “But my car’s… broken.” I shift my weight uneasily.

“Hop in.” He nods at the passenger seat. “I’ll give you a ride to the college… I was headed down there anyway to enroll for next semester.”

“I was going to walk.” I adjust the handle of my bag. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shakes his head and laughs, sliding his sunglasses off. “Hop in, Ember. I don’t mind giving you a ride. Trust me… In fact, I’m more than happy to.”

I hold his gaze for a moment, catching onto his hidden meaning, then I glance at the corner of the street where a line of people wait for the bus. “Okay… Thanks.” I walk around the front and hop into the passenger seat. The inside of the car smells like vanilla mixed with a hint of earthy cologne. Cameron waits for me to buckle my seatbelt, then pushes up his sunglasses up, and drives down the road. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hand rests on the shifter and his fingers tap to the music murmuring through the stereo. The compulsion to reach over and entwine my fingers with his nearly devours me.

“So are you always this quiet?” he asks after minutes of silence drones by.

I turn my head away from the window. “I just don’t see the point of talking unless there’s something to say.”

His eyes enlarge. “Okay, sorry for asking.”

I fidget with my leather bracelet. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so bitchy. I’m just having a rough morning.”

He nods and proceeds with caution. “But I’m pretty sure you and I do have something to say, so the question is, do you want to say it or should I?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to put it out there,” I say, shocked. “But okay.”

“The first thing you should know about me is that I hate secrets. They are pointless and request too much energy from an individual, unless the revelation of the secret brings pain to someone.” His lips move like they are a poet’s pen on a sheet of paper.

“Okay, so why were you digging up a grave in the cemetery the other night?” I lay it on the table.

His grin enhances with amusement. “To see if they really do put dead bodies in coffins.”

I’m unsure how to respond. “I’m pretty sure they do.”

“See, that’s why I think you and I can get along,” he remarks cleverly. “Most people would have jumped out of the car with that response.”

I tuck my bangs out of my eyes. “Most people wouldn’t have gotten in the car in the first place.”

“Excellent point.” He flips on the blinker and turns onto the school road. “I was doing my parents’ dirty work. My grandfather—or Old Man Carey as your weird friend calls him—owned a jewel that had a lot of sentimental value to my family. It’s been passed down from generation to generation. But no one can find where my grandfather put it, so they sent me to check in his coffin, just in case he requested to be buried with it and never told anyone except his friend who handled my grandfather’s funeral arrangements.”

For some reason, his story reminds me of a 1980s Tom Hanks movie I watched once—
The Burbs
. “Did you find it?”

“Again, you’re not fazed.” He grins, pleased and entertained. “No, I didn’t find it.”

“Did you think to ask your grandfather’s friend before you went rummaging around in his coffin?” I question. “It might have been an easier place to start.”

“Hmm…” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I never thought of that.” He laughs and smiles. “Of course I did, but it turns out my grandfather’s friend has already passed away himself, only days after the funeral ended.”

“That’s weird.” I’m torn on whether I believe him. “So who was that man doing the actual digging?”

His smile falters and his face reddens with anger. “You saw him?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah…”

His anger alarms me. “He’s my uncle.”

“You don’t like him?” I ask.

He fiddles with the keychain and sadness hues eyes. “He’s… tolerable.” He turns into the crowded school parking lot and everyone stares. The town has a very low population and an unidentified vehicle is
big news
. I can almost see the invisible stream of gossip move from car to car. “Wow, it’s like being a movie star,” he comments as he parks in an empty spot.

A smile curls at my lips. “Oh, it’s going to get a lot worse for you. Trust me. The new guy—it will be the headline of the newspaper.” I make a motion with my hand. “Well, maybe it won’t be quite that big. Someone else just moved here today too.”

He takes the keys out of the ignition. “Do you know who it is?”

“Yeah, I met him at a party Saturday night.” I unbuckle the seatbelt. “His name’s Asher Morgan.”

A dark shadow possesses his expression. “And you’ve already met him?”

“Yeah…” My eyebrows scrunch. “At the party, like I just said.”

He stares at the dashboard, jingling the keys with anxious energy, and then he opens the door and climbs out of the car.

I hop out and meet him around the back. “You said you don’t keep secrets,” I say as we head for the bricked canopy entrance. “But it kind of seems like you are.”