by Gina Damico
Lex tried to keep up. “Good idea. Find me a nice tree to puke on.”
They were now ascending the gently sloping side of a grassy bluff. When at last they reached the top, Lex gaped at her surroundings, which included, among other things, an enormous gray boulder that almost seemed to be keeping watch over the town below. “Where are we?”
Uncle Mort walked to the brink of the precipice and sat down on the cliff’s edge. “Best place in Croak to watch the sunset.”
Something in Lex snapped. She didn’t want to watch a sunset. She wanted to be told what in holy hell was going on here. The rage stirred yet again, spurring her to grab her uncle’s arm and twist it behind his back as hard as she could.
Seemingly bored with her antics, Uncle Mort breathed a peaceful sigh and gazed into the distance. The sun, a fiery ball of neon orange, set over the village below them.
“What can you see out there, Lex?” he asked in a tranquil voice.
“Well,” Lex said, twisting harder, “I see a pitiful excuse for a town, some trees, a few hills, and an abusive, stark raving madman.” She dug her nails into his wrist. “That about cover it?”
“More or less. Hey, would you mind letting go? It’s starting to tickle.”
Lex dropped his arm with a defeated grunt. How had she not separated his shoulder by now? Why wasn’t he begging for mercy?
“Just sit,” he said. “You may continue your attempt to detach one of my limbs later. Right now, there are some things you need to know.”
Lex sat, defeated, exhausted, but most of all, confused—because despite all efforts to suppress such inclinations, she could not help but feel the tiniest bit of admiration for her uncle, who was now wiping away the few drops of blood that emerged where her nails had dug into his skin.
He caught her sheepish gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ve encountered much worse,” he said, his eyes sparkling with either youthful excitement or demented delirium. “I knew you’d put up a good fight. I’d be surprised and frankly insulted if you hadn’t.”
Lex cocked her head. The wrath that had raged within her only seconds ago seemed to be rapidly melting away of its own accord, like an ebbing storm. What was going on?
“But you’re also smart,” he went on, “which is why you’re going to listen very closely to what I’m about to tell you. Right?”
Lex found herself nodding. How did he do that?
He turned serious, all traces of insanity abruptly leaving his face. “Your parents haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you, Lex. Nor have I been entirely forthcoming with your parents. It was my idea for you to come here, not theirs. When I heard that you had turned delinquent, I knew your time had come. So I suggested to your father that you visit me and experience some country living.” His eyes turned dark. “But that is not your purpose here.”
Lex listened as patiently as she could, tearing a piece of grass into microscopic shards.
“We’re going into town tomorrow, and I want you to be prepared. What we do here is important business and should never, ever be taken lightly. We have been blessed—and burdened—with a very grave responsibility, if you’ll forgive the pun.” He glanced over the valley. “Croak, as you may have gathered, is a different kind of town. All of its citizens exist for a common purpose. Naturally, from time to time we need some fresh blood, which is where you come in. And as I said earlier, you’re going to be a natural. Trust me on that one. All you need to do is pay close attention, learn as much as you can, and try not to be scared by anything you see.”
“Scared of what?” she said. “How disgustingly adorable your little village is? The perfectly groomed flowers? The—the . . .” Lex trailed off. A national coffee shop chain wasn’t the only thing missing from this town. She had seen no firehouses, no police departments, churches, gas stations, schools . . .
A furious outbreak of goose bumps flickered across her skin. Everything was starting to feel very strange.
That same electric crackle shot through the air once more as Uncle Mort opened his mouth to speak. “Lex,” he said, “Croak is a portal—one that sits between our world and the next.”
A strange noise escaped Lex’s lips, something between a stupefied gasp and a dubious snicker. “What?”
“That’s why you’re here. I’m going to teach you how to do what I do.”
“And what is that?”
He leaned in close. She could feel his breath on her face.
“I Kill people.”
5
Starving and exhausted, yet unable to fall asleep without the familiar sounds of Cordy wheezing from three feet away, Lex lay on top of her covers that evening and stared at Leonardo DiCaprio’s giant head. Other than the poster, everything else had been mysteriously remodeled after she and Uncle Mort left for their chat. Most of the pink items were gone, the armoire had been replaced by a small tank of jellyfish, and a series of satellite dishes and gizmos now stuck out of the window.
The poster, however, had been glued so strongly to the wall that nothing in the house could remove it.
Lex didn’t know how many hours she had been lying there awake, painstakingly analyzing every word her uncle had said, but it felt like at least a baker’s dozen. And the stomachache produced by the Family Size bag of Doritos she had eaten in lieu of a proper dinner wasn’t helping, either. So she simply clutched at her pillow, dazed beyond belief—and not just by Leo’s whimsical coif.
“Excuse me?” she had said back at the cliff. “You Kill people? What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I am one of a very select group of people who are endowed with the power to transport souls from this life to the next.” Her uncle looked at her, his green eyes flashing. “That’s who we are. That’s who you are.”
A small surge rose into Lex’s chest. She almost recognized it as excitement—something she had not felt in a long time—but the rational part of her brain bulldozed it too quickly for her to savor.
“You’re nuts,” she said to him. “Really. Is Dad aware of your mental deterioration? You need help.”
He watched her, amused.
“I mean, listen, I appreciate the effort to make this farm stay thing a little more fascinating than just an exercise in dispensing pig slop, but this is just moronic. Or—wait, I get it, you’re speaking metaphorically, right? We butcher the cows and deliver them to a new ‘afterlife’ on the shelves of supermarkets? Hilarious. Really clever.” She got up, dusted off the seat of her pants, and crossed her arms. “Let’s just go,” she said miserably. “Why did you even drag me up here? Don’t get me wrong, the sunset was simply breathtaking, but here’s the thing: I’m stuck in this stupid town for the summer no matter what. So I’ll clean up as much goat shit as you want to throw at me, fine, but don’t bother to make it sound like a higher calling.”
He nodded slowly. “Well, a thousand apologies,” he finally said with a shrug. “I guess I was wrong about you.”
She started to walk away, back down the hill.
“Unless, of course, you’ve ever seen a deathflash.”
Lex turned around. He was standing at the edge of the cliff, his body a silhouette against the sunset.
“A what?”
“Deathflash,” he said. “A white, blinding light that flashes when someone dies. Sound familiar?”
“I—” Lex screwed up her face. “On the bus ride here, there was an accident. I saw a light . . . a bunch of lights . . . ”
“You want to know why I dragged you up here, Lex?” He pointed out over the town. “Do me a favor. Count how many tractors you see.”
Lex walked back to the precipice and scanned the vista, really looked at it this time, and the sudden realization that followed almost short-circuited her brain: the sweeping panorama, green to the farthest horizon, was devoid of even the smallest agricultural endeavor. Not a barn, silo, field, or errant chicken in sight. She turned to him, dumbfounded.
He just smiled.
“Okay,” Lex said, co
mpulsively peeling the bark off a twig as they walked back to the house, “let’s just entertain for a moment the completely mental notion that what you’re saying is true. How come I’ve never heard of this before? How come no one’s ever heard of this before? How did a hole to the great beyond just pop up in the middle of the Adirondacks? How did a puny little human like you become entrusted with such a massive undertaking? How does one transport a soul? How does one even hold a soul? And what in the name of all that is disturbing did you mean when you said you’re going to teach me how to Kill people?”
He snickered. “You didn’t really think you were going to spend the whole summer milking cows, did you?”
“Don’t! Change! The! Subject!” she cried, stabbing the twig into his arm with each word until it stuck there.
He effortlessly yanked it out. “I gotta say, Lex, your negotiation skills really leave something to be desired.”
She blinked in disbelief at the bloodied splinter. “And even if all that other bullshit were true, why me? What makes you think that a walking calamity such as myself would be even a fraction of a smidgen qualified to Kill people?”
“Well, you did just shiv your own uncle with a stick.”
Lex shrank a little. “That’s . . . different.”
“And you beat up all those kids at school.”
“Yeah, but—hey, that’s not fair. It’s not like I wanted them dead or anything.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is that maybe you’re not really as bad a kid as everyone thinks you are.”
Lex’s mouth fell open. There it was, that one steadfast belief she had been clinging to all along, the one thing her principal, her teachers, even her own parents hadn’t been able to see. He had just said it. Out loud.
“You didn’t end up here by chance, Lex,” Uncle Mort said. “If you believe only one thing I’ve told you tonight, believe that. I know nothing else makes sense right now, but try sleeping on it.” He smiled. “And tomorrow I’ll show you how to do things that a walking calamity such as yourself has never even fathomed.”
***
Lex awoke the next morning with a start.
After a few seconds of disoriented panic she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, sat up, and immediately clutched her rumbling stomach, cursing her uncle for his paltry dining options. “Sorry for not preparing a welcome feast,” he had said when they arrived home, tossing her the Doritos as he descended into the smoggy basement. “Not really my forte.”
Lex took a moment to look around the room in the light of day and ponder exactly what his forte was, as it was becoming increasingly evident that it was not, in fact, farming. The weird gadgets poking out of the windows suggested some type of technological occupation, but she couldn’t imagine how that could be, seeing as how he lived in the middle of nowhere. And what did the jellyfish have to do with any of it?
Still, the only other explanation he had provided was, in a word, nutzoid. Lex had watched enough Discovery Channel specials to know that conspiracies and secrets of this magnitude did not exist in the real world. And even if they did, the chances that she was smart or talented or Bond-girl-sexy enough to be privy to them were slim to none.
Yet why would he bother to come up with a lie like that? And the deathflashes, as he called them—she had seen those, no question. How could he have known?
She resolved to torture it out of him today. She fell out of bed and threw on a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, sneakers, and her black hoodie, then shuffled down the hallway and pushed open the door to the bathroom.
“HEY!”
“Whoa!” Lex screeched. “Sorry!”
The kid standing at the toilet crumpled in embarrassment just in the nick of time, or Lex would have gotten much more of an eyeful. As it was, she could tell that he was probably a little older than she was, but not by much. His deep brown hair was the color of enriched soil, the kind sold at hardware stores. Like Mort’s, but cut shorter, it too stuck out in every conceivable direction, as if suffering an existential crisis over which way it should be going. He seemed tallish and lean, but not lanky; well built, but not bulgingly muscular. He wore a faded blue T-shirt, cargo shorts, and a beat-up pair of high-top Chuck Taylors. But none of these features made a bit of difference, because Lex was floored by only one element of his appearance.
His right eye was brown. His left eye was blue.
Both of Lex’s eyes, meanwhile, were blinking maniacally. Her face instantly flushed, though she was unsure whether this was due to humiliation or to the fact that this kid made even the hottest kid at her school look like a bog monster. “Who are you?” she asked.
“This bathroom’s current occupant,” he said breathlessly, his hands fumbling with the zipper as if they had never operated one before. “Ever heard of knocking?”
In an attempt to suppress any further hormonal shenanigans, Lex shielded her eyes and pawed at the doorknob, her motor skills failing her at the precise moment she needed them most. “I’m sorry!”
The kid, clearly no stranger to hormonal shenanigans himself, kept working at his fly and staring at her as if she were an advancing velociraptor. “And yet you’re still here.”
“Okay, I know. Sorry.” Lex ultimately managed to take a step back into the hallway and regain her faculties. She frowned. Uncle Mort didn’t have any kids, she knew that much. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I mean here in this house.”
With a final tug at his pants, the kid straightened up. He flushed the toilet, took a deep, cleansing breath, and walked to the sink in a far more composed manner. “I live here,” he said affably, washing his hands. “Nice to meet you, roomie.”
Lex didn’t know how to handle this. At school, not even the gym classes were coed, let alone the bathrooms. “I am no one’s ‘roomie,’” she replied nervously.
The boy took a step toward her. Lex jumped back, her contentious instincts kicking in. “Stop right there,” she warned. “I punch, I kick, and I feel compelled to warn you, I can bite harder than the average Amazonian crocodile.”
He smirked and leaned against the doorframe. “And I feel compelled to warn you that the bathroom we now share has a leaky ceiling,” he said, pointing up. “There’s an umbrella under the sink, if you’re going be in here for a while.”
“I mean it,” she continued, her voice rising. “I will kick your ass!”
“And the shower faucet sticks a little, sometimes you have to jiggle it.”
“Hey! Can’t you hear me?”
“I think the whole town can hear you.”
Lex sputtered. She was so confused. This was a girl who had once reduced the entire varsity hockey team to a chorus of high-pitched, hiccuppy sobs. She could understand Mort not being intimidated by her, since he was an adult, but this kid was just . . . well, a kid. His unflappability disarmed her, as did his stupid captivating eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked, still yelling.
“I’m Driggs.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “It’s an absolute—”
“That’s a dumb name.”
“—displeasure to meet you.” He withdrew his hand, stepped past her into the hallway, then gestured back at the bathroom. “All yours.”
Lex watched him walk down the hallway and into the room with a The Who poster. “Wait,” she said, following him. “I mean, who are you? Why are you in my bathroom? What are you—”
The door slammed in her face.
A loud crash of drumming belted forth from within.
Lex pounded on Pete Townshend’s face for a few moments until finally, realizing that the kid was infuriatingly incorporating her knocking into the rhythm, she was forced to admit defeat. She slumped back to the bathroom, concluded her business there, and upon exiting into the hallway heard a rustle of newspaper from the kitchen.
“Time to go, Lex!” yelled Uncle Mort.
She found him sitting at the table. “Who’s the prick with
the drums?” she asked.
“Driggs,” Uncle Mort said evasively, skimming a newspaper titled The Obituary.
“Yeah, I got that part. Who is he?”
“My pool boy.”
Lex shut her mouth and spent the next few seconds fighting a strong urge to flip over the kitchen table in frustration. Uncle Mort looked at the clock on the wall. “Half the day’s over. You sleep okay?”
“Spare me the pleasantries. What’s the plan?”
“You’ll see.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Shortly.”
“Enough!” Feral in the way that only cranky, overtired youth can be, Lex pounded her fists on the table. “Enough of all this squirrelly, evasive bullshit. You’re not a farmer. You’re not an importer-exporter. And you sure as hell aren’t the almighty Angel of Death. So you better tell me why I’m really here, or I’m leaving. I mean it.”
Her uncle leaned back in his chair and scrutinized her. “Why are you here, Lex? I know, your parents made you come, but we both know you could have wriggled out of it if you really wanted to. Why give up a summer at home, free to go to the beach, explore the city”—he raised an eyebrow—“hang out with friends?”
A little bit of the fight went out of her. Lex’s eyes dropped to the linoleum. “I don’t have any friends.”
She was not proud of this. As much as she had tried to convince herself otherwise over the past couple of years, the empty hole in her life where her friends used to be felt like a tender bruise. They had abandoned her with good cause, of course, but it still hurt. And it had only gotten worse with time.
Uncle Mort leaned in. “Lex, the reason the things I told you last night are bothering you so much is because there is a very small, very ecstatic, very curious part of your brain that thinks there’s a chance this might all be true, that this is the moment your life is finally about to kick in. But the only way I can make that happen for you is if you agree to drop the theatrics from now on, try to keep the sarcasm to a minimum, and start acting like an adult about all this.”
