As if noticing the way I’ve begun to cut my stare around, seeking ways out, stripes guy steps forward and lifts his hands in a non-threatening gesture. With him, it helps a little, but if it had been one of the giants behind him, I’d likely be running for the hills. As it stands, I’m balanced on the balls of my feet ready to run.
“Hey, it’s not like that. Whatever your thinking. Whatever you’re worried about, you don’t need to. Not from us. We’re just a couple guys in a band. Well, that’s not all... Damn, I'm going about this all wrong," stripes guy mumbles as he tugs at the sides of his beanie and has to adjust his square-framed glasses after bumping them. It's clear he realizes how close I am to running.
“What Fred here is trying to say is that none of us have any intention of hurting you. You can leave at any time, though I'd probably wait until we're closer to town. The choice is yours. But he's not wrong. We're just normal guys trying to figure this shitstorm out."
I stare at brown eyes as he speaks and hear the genuine note to his tone. I want to believe him, to trust that I need not fear them, but my faith in people is on the low side right now and I need more than just that.
As if he can tell that he’s not convinced me, brown eyes pulls out his ID and hands it to me. I stare at it only a second before looking up at him with my brows furrowed together.
“My name is Jase. I’m the lead singer in the metal band, Insidious Nightmares, with these two. We practice in my garage, and I work full time as a maintenance man at a camp for troubled teens. I played hockey in high school, and I’m a terrible swimmer. Anything else you’d like to know?”
I think about it, decide I’m satisfied with his answer for now, and I turn to stripes guy… err… Fred. I arch my brow at him, as he pushes his thick, glasses up higher on his nose.
"Uh… guess it's my turn then, huh? Well, my name is Fred. Fred Springwood. When I'm not shredding on the electric guitar, I moonlight as a janitor at Elm Elementary school. It works for me since I'm an insomniac. Oh, and I’m adopted. After my mom died, I moved here.”
Fred’s cheeks tinge pink as he shrugs, and I nod softly at him. It’s clear he’s shy, but I don’t feel bad about making him introduce himself. A girl can’t be too careful after all. So, with his presentation of himself finished, I look at the last of their merry band of misfits.
With a grunt, the big guy meets my stare, not looking happy about having to go through with this when he’s so intent on carrying out his plan. Well, too bad buster, I’m not happy about this situation either, so I match his glare with my own.
"Fine. Let's get this shit over with. My name is Mikel Carpenter. My friends call me Mike. I work in waste management, and my parents are dead. I have a younger sister, Hadon, but she lives a few hours north in Groverdale. I play the drums, and I fucking hate Halloween. Anything else you need to know, princess? Care to introduce yourself? You know, so we know you’re not some serial killer.”
There’s no hiding the growl in Mike’s voice, but while I want to flick him off for his attitude, it’s only fair that I answer the same questions. They’d told me about themselves, so the least I can do is do the same.
Turning from Mike, I keep my gaze centered between Jase and Fred, as they come across as the nicer ones of the bunch, and think about where to start. When Mike grunts to hurry me along, I roll my eyes.
“My name is Laurie. Laurie Sterling. I work from home and have an interest in psychology, though I’ve not taken any classes for it. My parents moved away years ago, and I live…” My words catch on Liberty’s name, the reminder of her painful. Collecting myself, I fidget with the bottom of my shirt. “I used to live with my cousin, Liberty, but she was with me in yoga, and I’m not sure what she is now… So, yeah, pretty boring, right?”
I try to laugh, to soften how sad my life sounds when laid out like that, but no one joins me. They all look too lost in their own heads to care much for my story. But as a cool breeze kicks up, a sign that the night is going to be chillier than the day, I decide to take a shot and throw my lot in with them.
We’re all just misfits, after all. Who am I to act like I’m any better. And like it or not, they’ve been the ones with all the answers to this point. Their plan might be crazy, but it beats the hell out of my idea to build a pillow fort in my living room, and stock it with all the junk food we have in our cabinets.
Without a word, I crawl back into their van and make myself comfortable. After a second, the others join me too, and in no time, we’re racing back down the deserted streets toward Tara and Tino’s radio station.
It’s going to be a long night.
7
“I don’t know if you remember it, but we were in Math together our Senior year.”
I slowly open my eyes from where I’ve been resting them as we drive, and turn my head to see that Jase has joined me on the floor of the van. He sits close enough that I catch a woodsy scent coming off him. Which makes sense for someone who works outside mostly. When I think about his question though, I shake my head.
“I don’t think we were. I don’t remember you.”
He smiles almost sadly and lets his head fall back to the side of the van. “No, we were. I sat a few rows back from you, but I don’t think you noticed me. You were pretty close with that one dude. What was his name? Lassie? Scooby?–”
“It was Benji,” I answer as my cheeks burn. At my side, Jase nods.
“That’s it! Benji. Never understood you with him, honestly. Always thought he was kind of a little bitch.”
I chuckle darkly, but there’s no humor to it. “Oh, he’s definitely that.” I sit there for a moment then glance over at him, taking in his handsome profile. “You noticed that much about me?”
He rubs his hand down his neck, and cuts his eyes my way, pursing his lips. "Yeah... I kind of had a crush on you. I even wrote you a poem once, but you never mentioned it, so I figured you didn't feel the same way."
I copy his motion and lean my head back against the steel side of the van wall while I rack my brain. I never got a poem from anyone but Benji, and even then, it hadn’t made a lot of sense.
I smack my hand against my forehead as I sit up straight. “That son of a bitch! ‘I’ll strum you like a guitar, speak your name in dulcet tones!’ That was you. Benji said he’d been the one that wrote that. I always thought his choice in words was weird since he didn’t play any instruments. I guess I know why now.”
Every instance, every gesture I ever shared with Benji begins to run through my head as I wonder about what else he’d lied about. Not only is he a cheater, but he’s a thief too. Stealing the credit for someone else’s work. Loathing for him is a heady feeling.
A touch to my shoulder has me turning my head to the side, and I see that Jase has moved closer. Close enough, that I can see his eyes aren't wholly brown as I'd first thought. There's a ring of blue that encircles them, which puts them closer to hazel.
“I’m sorry he lied to you, Laurie. I just always assumed you weren’t interested.”
“I mean, I wasn’t, since I didn’t know you, but still. He’s an asshole that stole your work. I think you get to be as upset by that as me,” I tell him honestly as his gaze drops to my lips.
As he leans closer, gaze intent on my mouth, I gasp as his lips meet mine. He doesn’t move them around, merely a brush against mine, but for a second, all thoughts of Benji and cannibals flee as I lose myself in his touch.
Too soon, he pulls away, and I’m left with my heart racing as he hovers in front of me.
“Damn, that was hot.”
My head jerks to the side when Fred talks, his voyeuristic side out weighting that of his shy one, and I narrow my eyes on him. At my side, Jase tosses something black and heavy his way, catching him in the chest.
“Fuck off, Fred.”
With a cough, Fred rubs at his chest but meets my gaze with an unapologetic smile. Instead, he looks pleased with himself as his stare slides slowly up and down my body, and despite m
yself, I can't help liking the attention. It's been a long month of feeling sorry for myself, questioning if I'm even attractive after being left for a seventy-year-old woman, and having not only one, but two men look at me as if they'd eat me up, feels good.
Still, I don’t want them to know the effect they’re having on me, so I raise up my middle finger and flip him the bird. Across the van, he pantomimes catching something and placing it inside his pocket, and with a wink and kiss blown my way, he starts to swipe through his phone.
“If you three are done fucking off back there, then get ready. We’ll be at the station in five, and we don’t know what we’re going to find in there. Make sure you arm yourself.”
Jase and Fred react instantly to Mike’s orders, and soon the small space of the van is a flurry of activity as they move about, preparing themselves.
Fred slides a set of brass knuckles out of the pocket of his tattered jeans, and Jase lifts a blade the size of my forearm from a space behind the tire well. The same place he had hidden his hand behind earlier when I recounted my story. It occurs to me then that he'd been planning to use that on me should I have responded that I used the essential oils.
Noticing where my gaze has fallen, Jase opens his mouth like he’ll say something, but I clear my throat and interrupt him.
“Is that a machete?” I ask, fighting not to shudder at how sharp the curved blade looks.
Peering down at the weapon he holds, Jase shakes his head. “No, it’s a Kaiser blade,” he says, lifting it so that I can peer closer. The name means nothing to me and I furrow my brows.
My confusion must be obvious because he holds it closer to me, pointing at the curved end. “Machete’s don’t have an almost hooked end like this. Kaiser’s do… Some people call them sling blades though, so maybe you’ve heard it called that?”
I slowly blink at him, completely lost, and Fred snorts from his side. “Don’t get so technical Jase. It’s a big ass blade likely compensating for something smaller. Does it really matter what it’s called? Machete, Kaiser, sling blade… it's all the same. Just like I eat french fries and you obviously prefer ‘french fried taters.' The end result is the same," Fred adds with a chuckle and Jase flicks his middle finger up at him.
Releasing a sigh at the two's murmurs of classic movies, even more, bewildered by what french fried taters… or whatever they called them have to do with sling blades, I try to think of something to say to change the subject, but the van slams to a halt and stops my words before I can.
Killing the ignition, Mike turns from his spot upfront and lets his gaze run over us all, lingering on me. "Where's your weapon?" he asks in his gravelly voice, and I look around the space, and grab a pair of drumsticks poking out of the bag. Without asking for permission, I take them into my hands, and in one fluid motion, bring the mid part down over my knee.
“Holy shit that hurts!” I shout when all I accomplish is bruising my knee. From his spot, Mike scoffs and snatches them from my hands.
He gazes down at the sticks for a moment, probably looking for any damage I may have caused, and in a motion that looks way too easy, he snaps them like toothpicks. Once he’s broken them, he hands them back to me.
“Showoff,” I murmur as I swipe them from his grasp. “They only broke because I weakened them for you first,” I add, not missing his arched brow.
Letting the subject die, whether because he wants to spare me my dignity or just doesn’t give a shit to argue with me, Mike lifts a butter knife from under his seat, and a laugh gets lodged in my throat.
“Something you want to say, Laurie?” Mike says with a dangerous glint in his eye, but I’m still too amused by his weapon of choice to care, and I point toward where he clutches it in his grasp.
“I was just wondering what you were going to do with that? Is it even sharp?”
Mike twists the knife in the light a few times before leaning toward me. “In the right hands, Laurie, anything can be a weapon. And my hands, are always the right ones,” he replies vaguely, and with a nod at the rest of us, opens his door and steps out. It closes softly behind him.
“Guess this is it,” Jase mumbles, and with one last look at my face, slides the van door open and joins him.
I’m ready to follow the two, despite reeling over Mike’s comment, but before I can, Fred lays his hand on my shoulder and clears his throat. "Shit's fucked up, but we got your back in there, Laurie. You get in any trouble, scream and I’ll come for you,” he says, and my brows raise in surprise. Of the three of them, I’d expected him to be the last to play hero, and I nod because I don’t know what else to say to that.
With a shy grin, Fred easily slips out of the van, and after a pause of gazing at the jagged ends of the broken drumsticks, I climb out too. It’s time to face the music.
8
Dusk is nearing as we look around the abandoned radio station parking lot, and the harvest moon is beginning to make its appearance, looking eerie amid the greyish clouds that dot the sky.
Besides the blue van we arrived in, there are only two other cars in the parking lot, one's red and looks to be my dad's favorite car, a Plymouth Fury, and the other is a yellow car that I don't know the name of, but it has a long frame, and a white soft top.
Sticking together, we walk in a loose circle with Mike leading, and I swing my head back and forth, jumping at every sound. To my side, Fred appears much calmer than me, and Jase brings up the rear of our group, his steps are slow but somehow manages to not fall behind.
When we near the double glass doors of the station, we pause as we see that one has been shattered, the glass scattered across the area out front, and I audibly gulp. Turning from where he's bent examining the pieces, Mike meets my wide eyes with a grim nod. He's picked up on what this means.
"We go in together, and we stay together," Mike says. Nobody protests and he takes that as his cue to step over the glass, and into the clear entryway.
Walking closer to his back than before, mainly because the door had busted from the inside, I practically step on Mike's heels as we move. Yet after a few times of bumping into him when he would suddenly stop, he turns to me with a frown cresting his face.
Wordlessly, he reaches down and clutches my hand in his, switching his knife so that it's held tightly in his other one. And this time when he begins to walk, he keeps me tucked into his side, abating some of my fears but causing my stomach to nervously flutter. The fluttering is only made worse when I peek over my shoulder and find both Jase and Fred watching our conjoined hands intently.
Our steps echo almost deafeningly loud in the abandoned station, as the lights flicker ominously in the halls. Few doors line the walls, but so far, all have been opened, and all empty. They're numbered, and the guys take turns stepping into each to ensure it's clear. It's not until we come to room 0237, that we find our first closed door, and I eye it warily.
"I want both of you on either side of that door. When I open it, I want you ready to take on anything, okay? I'll be in front, but we don't know what all awaits," Mike says in a low, harsh whisper. His eyes are as hard as granite.
"We got it, man. You just cover your side, and we'll cover ours," Jace replies shortly, surprising me by the venom in his tone.
Mike notices it too and tilts his head as he gazes at his friend, neither looking away. As they continue to stand there, caught in some pissing contest that I have no clue about, I start to fidget, becoming increasingly anxious and exposed. I keep waiting for some creepy kid to ride up on a tricycle and tell me I only have a few days to live or something, and though it's ridiculous, the fear of that has me acting without thinking and swinging the door open.
"Damn it, Laurie! What the hell are you thinking?" Mike demands as he thunders past me, throwing me a glare before blocking my view of the room inside.
Moving quickly to cover his back, Jase shoots me a disappointed look that feels like a punch to the gut and disappears after Mike. This leaves only Fred out in the hall with me, but u
nlike the other two, who seem to have moved past their macho bullshit and united against me, Fred doesn't look upset at all. Instead, he's practically doubled over as he laughs, clutching his side as if in pain.
"Fuck, Laurie, I like you. Those two could have gone on like that for hours, but you just throw open the motherfucking door like a boss. Damn, if I weren't so worried about being eaten, I could kiss you right now for pulling the sticks out of their asses," Fred says, wiping at the corners of his eyes. His face suddenly turns serious. "You know what? Fuck it. I'll take my chances," he adds, and before I even have a chance to consider what he means, I'm pulled into a tight hold and dipped backward as his lips dance across mine.
For someone that bounces between shy and obscene, Fred kisses with a passion that normally eludes him. His skill with his tongue is so shocking that I don't even try to pull away. I'm too swept away in the danger of our situation and the comforting strength of his lithe frame. It's not until he lifts me back to standing that my brain even catches up with what just happened, and with a resounding smack, I knock his face sideways with a slap across his cheek.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, Laurie," Fred says, rubbing his cheek but grinning. His face is serious, and his eyes dance with a heat that makes things low in my body stir.
"Don't touch me without my permission, then, Fred," I reply, turning away so that he doesn't see the answering call in my gaze. Whatever I'm feeling is just caused by stress and fear because my hormones aren't normally so crazy. I can't want to do naughty things with three different men. Especially not three strangers. Nope, not me. Not today, Satan. Not today.
Insidious Nightmares Page 3
