Something Of A Kind (7 page)

~

Day faded from the sky, leaving a periwinkle residue where the
sun dropped below the horizon. As the sky darkened, a crackling fire
was the only light in the forest’s pool of black. Between the heat
radiating from Noah’s side and the close lick of flames, the night’s
unseasonable chill was hardly a menace.

She flinched as a popping knock drew her attention to the trees.
She expected Owen or Luke to come running from the shadows
laughing, having disappeared again without notice. Instead, they sat
across from her, looking confused and alarmed. Noah’s brow
furrowed as he stared at them. She assumed he had the same
inclination.

The knocks continued, increasingly louder, like someone was
throwing boulders at a tree. A sudden silence was quickly pierced
with a whooping screech, like an owl. As the boys traded confused
stares, Noah shook his head.

“Can’t be.”
“No way. No way, no way!” Owen repeated, his eyes scanning
the coniferous silhouettes. His head cocked as he listened harder,
like a trained house dog investigating noise.

“Yes, yes!” Luke whispered excitedly, back arching and hand
cupped over his ear. A series of foreign howls answered.

 

Aly shifted with anxiety. “Those are coyotes. It’s getting dark.”

 

“They’re different though. Listen. Shh,” Luke shushed, face
tensing.

 

“No way,” Owen repeated. “Seriously?”

 

Aly glanced up, offering a questioning stare.

Noah explained hesitantly, “They think it’s the wood beast.” She
frowned, trying to summon the mental image of the monkey-like
totem pole. Seeing her concern, he added, “Because they’re idiots.”

“Hey now, don’t hate,” Luke insisted, listening for a second
whoop. “It’s the Gigit, man.”

“The what?” Aly asked, pulling her hoodie closer around her.
The sound continued, and seemed to summon quiet. It was difficult
not to hear, like something big was in pain.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Luke demanded, waving his han
ds as though
he was directing traffic. “You are Greg Glass’s daughter, and you
don’t know what the Gigit is?”

“My father and I are not exactly close.” She sighed, ignoring the
hackles along her spine. She spoke clearly and firm, setting straight
a record too warped for her own comprehension.

“Noah would know all about parental issues,” Luke added. “A
real ballbuster that one.”

 

“What’s the guy-geet?”

 

“The Gigit… like Omah-” Owen began.

 

“Bigfoot,” Noah chimed.

She laughed, cheered on by another round of howling coyotes.
“Sasquatch, hmm?” They grinned, pleased with themselves. “I’m
not really getting the Greg reference, but that’s priceless.” She
applauded, forcing the discomfort of the noise away, out of her head.

“She’s joking, right?” Luke asked, turning to Owen and Noah
for an explanation.

 

“My father’s a biologist.”

 

“Researcher,” Owen corrected, suspiciously.

“A biologist,” she repeated, adding, “Not exactly an
anthropological-phenomena buff. He sent me a pamphlet about the
area for Christmas when I was seven, but I think that’s the extent of
his cultural interest. I can’t imagine he’s all that into legends. He
pleads science like it’s an amendment.”

Noah bit his lip. Owen and Luke blinked, chuckling nervously,
unsure how to gage her seriousness.

 

What am I missing here?

A thunderous crack sent Owen and Luke to their feet, alarmed.
Noah tensed, gently placing a concerned hand on the small of her
back.

“Like you said, it’s getting late.” Noah’s eyes moved between
Aly, his friends, and the forest’s shifty profiles.

 

“We should leave,” Owen agreed, nodding emphatically with
Luke who was silent for the first time since Aly met him.

She observed as Owen dumped water on the fire and stomped
out the embers, bending his leg backward to inspect his sneakers for
melted rubber. Flicking on flashlights and gathering their bags
hurriedly, Owen and Luke scrambled, looking increasingly nervous.

Where Noah’s hand had rested on her back he began to trace
small circles. She resisted the urge to let her eyes flutter shut; tingles
sparked the skin beneath the clothes he touched.

When Noah stood, she was reluctant to move, as though her
stillness would convince him to sit again. As the howls started again,
she shivered. Accepting his offered hand, Aly followed as the others
tore down the trail.

“Bizarre,” she murmured, waiting until Luke and Owen had
disappeared around a corner. They ran ahead for the quads like a
tsunami was about to lap at their ankles.

They say the waters come slow.

“Welcome to Ashland,” Noah laughed. Th
e stress and fear of the
situation immediately dissipated. She smiled, her shoulders relaxing
as he continued, “So what's your theory?”

“My theory?” She was unsure how to answer. “Is that Luke
suffers from Napoleon syndrome.”

 

“Evil,” he considered, “but justified.”

“You see it?” Aly teased, leaning against his arm. He walked
with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. She felt herself mirroring
his body language.

It occurred to her the posture wasn’t in her physical vocabulary,
and suddenly felt unnatural. Aly eased her fingers out of the pockets
of her boot cuts, locking her fists into her elbows, hugging herself.

“I do,” Noah agreed. “They're awful aren't they? Possibly the
worst way to convince a pretty girl to stick around.”

She found herself holding her breath again, and slowly exhaled.
He smiled to himself, watching her reaction as carefully as she
searched his. She let her hair fall across her face, breaking eye
contact. Shifting, she forced to shoulders slacken beneath the
scrutiny.

I’m being such a freak.

“Not awful,” she corrected. Staring at her wringing fingers, she
was unsure how to calm the flutter in her chest. Aly smiled, braving
a glance at his eyes.

He squinted across the horizon as they walked, his grin fading in
distant thought.

Her gaze traveled the hem along his shoulder, realizing his jacket
would have been unseasonable in a Kingsley summer. Even if to
escape the plague of black flies, he'd seem peculiar amongst crowds
of bare skin and swim shorts. It was unheard of to avoid the lake
beaches in June. The water was cherished until tourists invaded midJuly.

A dimple quirked, preceding his growing smile before twisting
to an unreadable expression.

 

Pushing up his sleeve, he scratched at his wrist.

She caught a flash of ink. With her fingers outstretched, she
traced the curling image of a snake, while pretending not to notice
his shiver.

“Is this what Owen was talking about?” Aly asked, endlessly
curious. She hoped that removed from the previous conversation, he
wouldn’t be so quick to
unnerve. The
nagging
thought was
irresistible.

“Yeah,” he said, tugging on the fabric to expose the tattoo.
Twisting his wrist, he scrutinized the work like it was a recent
discovery. “In a lot of cultures, the snake represents regeneration and
revival. Shedding the skin… It’s supposed to be the end of an
existence and the beginning of another, in the middle of your life.
It’s not the prettiest thing in the world. I don’t think rebirth is
supposed to be, though.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aly whispered. The style
was tribal, but not
native in an Alaskanindigenous sense. She couldn’t place an origin,
only noticing it was more fierce than cartoonish, certainly not
grotesque. She didn’t understand what he was thinking. Grinning,
she added, “Much more manly than the apron.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Pulling her
close, he planted a playful kiss on the head. She bit her lip, unable to
disguise her smile.

Okay, try not to die.

He watched her for a moment before becoming lost in thought,
his thumb tracing the serpent. After a while, she realized he was
considering the afternoon’s events.

“He's a good guy –
Tony. He and his wife used to do foster care
and stuff before she died. I mean, he drinks, but everyone does.
That's Ashland,” Noah said, finally. “He's the most lighthearted
drinker in town though, strange… goofy, I guess. Not so depressing
and sloppy. When my sister, Sarah, was a toddler, he actually saved
her from a rip current. You'd think he'd be a hero or something the
way the locals talk. People don't get him, but he's cool.”

“Why don't they like him, then?” Aly mused, tucking a curl
behind her ear.

 

“They're judgmental. What are you going to do?” Releasing a
sigh, he bit his lip, shifting his gaze to her again.

Noting that it was rhetorical, Aly stayed silent as he watched her.
They shared a snicker when they reached the lean-to, finding the
other quads gone. He unlocked a chain from the key-start and
ignited the engine.

Taking his hand, Aly was more than happy to join him.

 

CHAPTER 6 | NOAH

 

“Should we be worried about Luke and Owen?” Aly asked for
the third time.

When they got to the parking lot the guys were nowhere in sight,
but neither were the ATVs, Luke’s mom’s jeep, or Owen’s sedan –
nicknamed ‘Junker’. Noah laughed it off.

Young and Hunt mocked the elders and the culture with their
chest puffed out and their chins in the air, but the moment they got
spooked the legends were their first conclusion. He knew they took
it as seriously as their parents and ancestors did. Or, if not so
religiously, they were
certainly skittish enough to freak at the
concept.

Noah had never found Lee or any of his comrades particularly
convincing.
He
was much less inclined to join in with their
hysterics.

I’m kind of pissed they scared her, though.

Noah had tried to reassure Aly, but he knew it bothered her.
When his friends had something in their head deep enough to
believe it themselves, their panic switch was so dramatic it became
persuasive.

“Aly, I’m more than sure they’re fine. They get hyped
up over
the legends around here. The funny thing is, most of the stories don't
even belong to this area. They drift from town to town.”

“It’s a beautiful culture,” she finally said. An endearing
appreciation took the worry from her voice.

She stared at the trees, only glancing at him when they spoke. As
he drove her home, he found himself slowing down the closer they
got. He wasn’t ready to say goodnight. He was too conscious of her
place by his side, of her smooth hand in his palm. Hyperaware of the
blood moving through his fingers, he couldn’t help but notice
whenever she twitched, or trembled.

As Noah forced himself to watch the road, he scanned for
animals in the thick brush. Gaze locked twelve minutes ahead and
behind the vehicle, he kept one hand atten o’clock on the wheel.

Aly, in her untouchable silence, was a screaming blind spot after
nearly spinning out of control on the trails. Owen had him paranoid
he’d get the poor girl killed. He had paid too much attention to her
knees pressing against his sides and the palms flat against his ribs.
With her fingers clutching his chest, he wondered if she felt the wild
beats below his sternum.

As the headlights lit up the sign labeling Thorne Avenue, he
shoved away the thought of circling the block or pretending to run
the turn. Hesitantly letting go of her to cross over the corner, he was
unable to gather the courage to replace his hand. After a moment,
she tucked her hands beneath her knees, crossing her ankles as they
approached her drive.

He needed to
know when he’d see her again.
“The culture, huh?” he murmured, stealing a peek at her. She
shifted in her seat to face him, a smile on her face. “You know those
tracks I was talking to you about, and the paintings? If you’re up for
it, maybe tomorrow I could drive you up there. I’ll ask around and
get more info on the legends.” Unable to hide his grin, Noah
playfully added, “Unless you’re scared, of course.”

"Of course not. Sounds perfect," Aly agreed, sounding pleased.

 

After unbuckling, she elbowed out of his coat, a loan he offered
after watching her shiver while he fastened the ATV to the trailer.

 

She folded it in half and slid it over the dash, whispering thanks
for the afternoon, the ride, and the jacket.

He wanted to say something besides ‘you’re welcome’ –
anything to keep her in the truck, to continue the conversation, to
apologize for his friends, for making her sad about her mom, for
getting her scared of the woods. Something to get inside her head
and figure out what it was that made it work.

Someone so quiet has to be screaming inside.

 

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he promised, feeling pathetic.

Aly thanked him again, smiling as she gently waved goodbye
and slipped onto the path winding towards the tiny porch. As she
approached, a light stirred, flooding the yard. She waited by the
door, knocking and ringing the bell. He grew anxious, afraid he
pulled into the wrong place.

She moved in yesterday. Would she even notice? Oh, hell.

They waited a few moments more. She stood on the tips of her
toes, peering into the tiny window above the peep hole. It remained
dark. She turned and covered her eyes, peering into the darkness. He
flashed the headlights and her frame shook with a breath of relief.
Aly raised her arms questioningly, shrugging in spite of her nervous
expression. Unsure whether or not she could see him, he beckoned
her back to the truck. After a moment she spirited towards him,
opening the door and leaning in to speak.