by Sara Clancy
Chuck’s eyebrows knitted. “She ran out in front of a truck, Dorothy.”
Really? No one else saw it? In the fuzzy recesses of her short-term memory, Nicole could recall her mother saying so. But she hadn’t really believed it. Honestly, she just assumed people had gone into denial. With a little more thought, she remembered that Zack and Meg had become jammed in the doorframe. Did they block Chuck’s view? Did they see anything? Doctor Young Eagle had refused to let them come into the small room as well. The only other option she could think of right now was that only Benton and herself could see it. But that was too complicated to dwell on right now when every cell in her body was screaming at her to get back to her files.
“I know you’re rattled, Dorothy. I get it. I am, too,” Chuck continued. “But there’s no one to blame except her and her stupid decision making. No offense, Nicole. But if you don’t want to be called an idiot, don’t do idiotic things.”
“Chuck,” Dorothy snapped.
“No, it’s fair,” Nicole said.
“Dorothy, there are people out here who need you. So, come on already and get back to work.”
“My daughter needs me,” Dorothy said.
“I’ll be okay,” Nicole assured.
“I’m not leaving you unsupervised.”
Benton visibly steeled himself for what he was about to say. “I’ll call my parents.”
Even Chuck was stunned by the decision, and he had only spent a few hours around the Bertrand family.
“Really?” Dorothy asked, clearly not believing him.
“They both work from home,” he grumbled. “One of them can come out and get us. We’ll stay at my house until you come and pick her up after your shift.”
“You snuck out before,” Dorothy noted.
“Yeah, when they weren’t expecting it. I doubt they’ll let me out of their sight for a while after this.”
She contemplated this for a moment, clearly remembering that letting Nicole out of her sight was quickly proving itself a bad idea.
“Dorothy,” Chuck said. “I’m not telling the boss ‘no’ for you.”
“Go, mom,” Nicole assured. “Benton won’t let anything happen to me.”
Unhooking one arm from its folded position, she jabbed a finger towards her daughter.
“You go anywhere other than his house and I will destroy your entire existence. Got it? Your punishment will reach into every single aspect of your life and destroy everything you love. Do you understand me?”
“I understand and am appropriately afraid,” Nicole said solemnly.
Benton should have been ready for the Constable to lock her eyes onto him. He still jumped, though.
“If anything happens to my girl–”
“Please don’t say anything,” Benton cut in. “I already have a healthy fear of you.”
“Take care of her. Keep her in the house.”
Benton nodded. After Dorothy turned to handle her obligations, Benton leaned over to whisper into Nicole’s ear.
“What is the likelihood that you’ll let me keep that promise?”
“Slim to none,” Nicole confessed.
“Oh, God.”
“We need to go,” Nicole whispered. “I need my files.”
Benton sighed. Finally, she released his hand to cup his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.
“I think I know what this is.”
Chapter 9
While waiting in the hospital reception, it became unavoidably clear that Nicole didn’t actually have a plan to get around his parents. She had just started to spit ball with him when the electric doors opened and his father stormed into the room. Theodore barreled into his son, drawing him into a crushing hug that almost knocked them both off their feet. They had barely regained their footing when Cheyanne joined the embrace. Benton clenched his teeth as his parents unintentionally squeezed his wounds.
Looking around Theodore’s shoulder, Benton caught sight of Nicole watching them as if they were an after-school special. She was beaming brightly, with hands clasped before her and tears in her eyes. When is that stuff going to wear off? Even as he rolled his eyes, he couldn’t deny that the situation was getting to him, too. His parents weren’t the physically affectionate type. If he was ever brave enough, he’d admit to himself that this is why he was touch starved but utterly against seeking out contact. With everything that happened since his childhood, they had become even more standoffish. Sometimes, it was easy to believe they didn’t care about him at all.
It was nice to have the reminder.
Theodore cupped the back of Benton’s head as he finally pulled away. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a few scratches.”
Cheyanne pushed her hand through his hair, the touch making the dried blood crackle and sending little shots of pain along his scalp.
“It’s nothing,” Benton insisted. “It just looks like a lot in the blonde hair.”
He grew to miss his hoodie with a burning passion as his mother continued to check every inch of his scalp.
“Mom, stop.”
“You have a metal plate in your skull,” she said. “Head injuries are not a good thing for you.”
“The metal plate would help him,” Theodore said.
Cheyanne drew in a sharp breath and glared at her husband.
“That’s not how it works.”
“Chey, he’s standing, he’s breathing, and the doctor’s letting him go home. Our boy’s okay.” That said, he turned back to his son, his fingers tightening at the base of Benton’s neck. “Why would you run out into traffic? Should we go talk to Dr. Aspen?”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, dad.”
“Then what were you trying to do?”
“Let me guess,” Cheyanne said, the muscles of her neck growing taut. “All of this has to do with the Rider girl.”
“She’s right over there, mom,” Benton said.
Nicole awkwardly waved when the Bertrands turned as one to face her. Her smile was tense, as if she was physically trying to hold back the flood of words that wanted to spill free.
“Hi,” she settled on at last. “Thanks for letting me come home with you.”
“Yes, well, Constable Rider didn’t leave us with many options,” Cheyanne replied, her stone smile still in place.
“Mom,” Benton sighed.
“I’m just curious,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “What exactly were you trying to achieve?”
“A dog,” she blurted out.
Her eyes widened and she looked to him for help.
“There was a dog,” he agreed. “We thought we saw a dog run out into the road.”
“And you ran out in front of a truck for it?” Theodore asked.
“I like dogs.” It was clear from her wince that she heard how robotic she sounded.
This conversation is going downhill fast, Benton thought. “Can we just go home, please? Mom, dad, I’m exhausted.”
“Then perhaps you should have stayed home,” Cheyanne said. Casting a quick glance at Nicole, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “We will discuss that matter later.”
“I thought Dorothy cleared that up,” Benton said.
“Yes, she did,” Cheyanne said sourly.
“You’re still grounded, though,” Theodore added. “We have rules and you willfully broke them.”
“Yeah, that sounds about as good as I could have expected,” Benton acknowledged. “Can I just go to sleep now?”
Cheyanne mumbled a few words of agreement and quickly began to usher her family to the exit. Nicole was an after-thought. The passive-aggressive insult wasn’t enough to take the smile off of Nicole’s face.
“What are you smiling about?” Cheyanne asked over her shoulder.
“It’s just nice to see Benton getting fussed over,” Nicole said before realizing that she probably should have kept that to herself.
Both Cheyanne and Theodore chose to ignore the comment. B
enton was grateful for it. There was nowhere that conversation could go that wouldn’t be extremely awkward. They stepped outside and the afternoon sunlight burned his eyes, temporally blinding him and almost making him miss the car entirely. Nicole was clearly bursting to start talking again.
“What is wrong with her?” Theodore asked. “She seems weirder than normal.”
The answer came out on reflex. “Painkillers. She gets goofy on them. They’ll wear off soon. Hopefully.”
The highway was the only way in and out of town. Unfortunately, their turn off was on the other side of the accident site. Tension radiated from his parents as they joined the traffic. By the time they passed it and were moving at a normal speed, Benton was choking on it. Unable to bear the stifling silence for a moment longer, he pulled his headphones from his backpack, attached them to his phone, and turned up his music. He let the trumpets and brass band flood his ears. All the while, he kept sneaking glances at Nicole. She was too busy flipping through her binder to notice.
Dread crashed in his stomach as he stared out of the window. The seemingly endless fields of grass. Gathering rain clouds hung as a low blanket over the sky. A few hills rose up in the distance, creating the buffalo jumps that had first drawn people to the area. All the while, he couldn’t shake the notion that it was out there. Watching them. Waiting. He constantly scanned the area, anxiously expecting the next attack. A deep sigh of relief left him when they finally pulled up in front of their farmhouse.
“Nic, we’re here,” he said, pulling out one of his ear-buds.
She didn’t look up from her binder, now flicking through the sheets with bitter resentment.
“I know that I know this,” she hissed through her teeth.
“Know what?” Cheyanne unclicked her seatbelt but didn’t turn, instead eyeing Nicole in the rearview mirror.
Nicole’s head snapped up, her eyes becoming as wide as dishes again. “A lot of things,” she blurted. “I know a lot of things.”
Cheyanne eyed her for a moment but, luckily, didn’t care enough to ask any follow-up questions. A low rumble of thunder announced the first raindrops. Cheyanne lingered long enough to order Benton into the house, then ducked out to beat the rain. He followed her without complaint and was halfway to the porch before he noticed that Nicole wasn’t following him.
“Benton?” Theodore asked with an edge of concern as he watched Benton turn.
“I’ll be right there.”
The temperature dropped as the storm rushed towards them. Both of his parents waited under the cover of the porch, watching him carefully, as if they thought he would just sprint off without warning. Nicole lifted her chin to the sound of the door opening but didn’t take her eyes off the open binder.
“You need to come in, too,” he told her.
“Uh huh.”
“Now, Nic.”
She flicked through a few more pages. “I’m almost done.”
“Come on. It’s going to rain.”
“Uh huh.”
“Nicole!” Cheyanne snapped from the porch.
Instantly, Nicole snapped the book shut and inched over the back seat to push past Benton.
“Seriously?” Benton asked. “What is with you and parental figures?”
“I want your mom to like me.”
“She never will,” Benton said.
For a split second, he was worried that he had gone too far and hurt her feelings. He should have known that she would just dismiss it with a snort.
“I remember you saying you’ll never be my friend. Now you love me. She’ll love me, too.”
Even as he grumbled, he helped her collect her things, wincing each time the backpacks bumped against his raw side.
Nicole paused. “Does it hurt? Do you want me to carry something?” The now steady patter of rain left them damp by the time they jogged up the stairs.
“Get inside now, talk later,” he replied.
It only took them a few steps to get to the porch. A swift dump of rain was nipping at their heels as they hurried up.
“I’m sorry,” she said, once they got up.
“You probably should be,” Cheyanne said under her breath.
Nicole clutched the binder to her chest and was curling in on herself, shying away from his mother’s words as if they were a physical threat. Benton looped his good arm over Nicole’s shoulders with an exhausted sigh and let her take his weight.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
“Oh, I think I still will,” Nicole said.
“Good,” Cheyanne said.
Theodore had unlocked the front door and they all hurried inside. The high roof dulled the sound of the rain, turning it into a low but constant hum. Water ran down the windows, the stream playing with the afternoon light.
“I never get over how large your house is,” Nicole said.
It was both the largest and most isolated property in Fort Wayward. Not grand by any means. But while it was basic, it was huge. She tipped her head back as she walked, looking up at the hollow center. He never could figure out what she found so entertaining about it.
“You mother and I are going to put on the alarm,” Theodore said casually. “If any door opens, we’ll know about it. You might have your friend over, but you’re still grounded.”
Benton nodded.
“I hope you understand how serious this is,” Cheyanne added.
All signs said she was gearing up for a rant. Something Benton wasn’t in any condition to deal with now.
“I do. Thanks for coming to get us,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll be in my room.”
Nicole didn’t bother to try and make the transition less awkward. She just hurried behind him, thundering up the staircase without a word.
“Leave your door open!” Theodore called after them.
“You still haven’t put one up,” Benton shot back.
His parents didn’t respond. In all likelihood, they didn’t want to open up that particular Pandora’s Box. It was yet another one of their safety measures for their potentially dangerous son. A means of making sure that he wasn’t torturing small animals in his bedroom. He had no door, which they still hadn’t admitted to taking, while they had a few extra locks on theirs.
Halfway up the stairs, he began to feel the aches of his blossoming bruises. Nicole gave him room but wasn’t exactly subtle about her preparations to catch him. He deliberately ignored his mother as she trailed along behind them. That was their status quo. Benton could never figure out why she was so concerned with the stairs. Does she think I’m going to push Nicole over the railing? They reached the landing and he headed straight for his room.
“Thanks, mom,” Benton muttered without looking back. It was half sarcasm, half honest.
“Benton.”
His head snapped around, a confused frown curling his lips. He hadn’t been expecting a reply. Cheyanne stood at the top of the stairs, clutching the banister with both hands, looking almost close to tears. Silence lingered between them, neither Bertrand willing to speak first. Something about that moment brought whispers of his childhood. Unexpected and gut-wrenching. Looking at her, he found himself recalling an alleyway. The cold and the dank. Pain easing away as death crept closer. And his mother, stroking his hair, telling him that everything will be okay.
Only she wasn’t in the alley, he reminded himself. I was there alone. The plate in his head began to throb and he rubbed at the scar through his hair. The motion snapped the moment. Cheyanne took in a sharp breath and cleared her throat.
“I’ll bring you some painkillers. How do you feel about Chinese food for dinner?”
Benton didn’t say anything. The disgusted look on his face said enough. I remember the last time you gave me tablets. At least you’re telling me about it this time.
“It’s only aspirin,” Cheyanne said.
Benton quickly escaped to his room. It had the same overall grandeur as the rest of the house and was even less decorated. Long
er than it was wide, with a fireplace marking the middle and a full bathroom at the very end. Here, too, ran the overall theme of ‘no doors’. There wasn’t even a privacy wall. In the beginning, Benton’s parents had put his mattress into the corner opposite the open threshold, so they could check on him just by walking past the door. As the winter chill encroached into the barren space, he had steadily pushed his bed closer to the fireplace. Beyond the mattress, topped with a tangled mess of towels and sheets, there wasn’t much he had done with the space. No decorations. No curtains. Just a small pile of clothes, baseball gear atop ignored moving boxes, and a few books scattered within arms-reach of the mattress.
Dumping the backpacks, he collapsed onto the mattress, instantly regretting it when he felt the impact. Hissing out a few curse words, he squirmed to take the pressure off of his side. Nicole came breezing into the room. He had just enough time to pull his knees up before she claimed the end of the bed as her own. All the bouncing aggravated his wounds again.
“Does it really hurt?” she asked as she gently placed a hand on his ankle.
The brief contact made him smile.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s just the bruise on my hip that’s acting up.” Squirming again, he pulled a hand through his hair, aborting the motion halfway through with a grimace. Dirt, sweat, dried blood, and rain weren’t the most appealing mix.
“Do you want to help?” she asked as she opened her binder. “I know I’ve heard of this thing before, but I can’t really recall where from.”
Benton looked at her for a long moment before he shrugged and struggled to sit up. He took up the other binder and studied its cover. Banshee was written in curly, glittery lettering.
“Have you ever heard of the bunyip?” she asked absently. “They’re Australia swamp monsters. They look pretty weird.”
“Is that what you think this is?”
“No, I just thought it was a fun word to say.”
“Right.” Benton said slowly. He held up his binder. “So, this is all on me? It’s pretty light.”
“I’m doing my best,” she snapped defensively.
Almost instantly, she lost interest in the conversation and began to mumble rapidly under her breath, “I know him. I know him. I know that I know him.”
