He was at the edge of the field now, coming straight towards them. That much was obvious. Wearing a dark coat and a plain mask, it was impossible to tell who this surprise was.
“What does he want, though?” Zada wondered out loud.
“I don’t wanna find out.” Will grabbed her hand and started pulling her away from the ruins. “Come on, Zada, we need to go.”
Reluctantly, she followed him. The mystery had reached closer, only fifty yards away by now. She glanced back at it, curiosity in her eyes.
“Zada... he has something in his hand…”
As soon as she saw the gun, Zada broke out of her trance and began to sprint. Soon, she was pulling on Will's arms, urging him to keep up. Crashing through the tall grass and over weeds, he struggled to keep up, his breath coming in gasps.
"Let's go!" she shouted, her eyes wild and voice shaking.
"Don't slow down for me. I'm fine!"
Their fingers slipped apart and she yelled for him to hurry up.
Will's foot snagged on a large rock, and he fell forwards, landing in the grass. It took Zada a few moments to realize what happened. She twisted around, putting out a hand, but she was too far away to help now.
Peeking from his spot in the grass, Will spotted the figure, closing in on them. With one swift moment, the man raised the gun, pulled the trigger, and a shot fired in Zada’s direction. She crumpled to the ground, with a shriek of pain, and Will cried out as if it’d shot him too.
Getting off the ground, he set up to sprint towards her, but heard the gun click behind him. Quietly, his lips quivering, he faced that direction, turning his back on Kaydence’s body.
“Please, just leave us alone,” Will begged, starting to falter.
Holding the gun, the man nodded at the ground. Will took a deep breath and knelt down, his head facing downwards. He felt the barrel of the gun against his forehead, pressing into his skin.
“I could’ve killed you,” he growled in a low voice, unrecognizable. “Remember that.”
With an exhausted sigh, the man pulled away and left in the other direction, back towards the road. Will remained on the ground, holding back tears and itching to run to Zada. As soon as the man stepped across on the asphalt and disappeared into the forest on the other side, Will darted to his feet.
“Zada!” he yelled, jumping down next to her. “Zada!”
She winced. Her face had gone pale, and her hands were covered in blood, clutching at her thigh.
“It’s my leg,” she moaned. “I can’t make it to town. I can’t walk.”
Will snatched his phone from his pocket and dialed 911. There was no address to give for the ambulance, just “the old church.” They knew where it was, after all. Everyone did.
“We’re gonna be alright,” Will assured her. “They’ll take care of you. It’s gonna be okay, Zada.”
She reached out for his hand. He grabbed hers, feeling the blood soak his palm, his tears falling to the dirt. She smiled feebly, then let her head fall back onto the ground, closing her eyes.
Chapter 30
The Library
Ann McBay sat at her desk in the library, her glasses on the edge of her nose, and those cold eyes glaring over top at him. Her fingers were drumming on the desk as she sipped a can of soda through a straw. Every so often, she would hold her left hand up, inspecting her ring finger. A pale circle, just a shade lighter than the rest of her skin, and two wedding rings hanging from a chain around her neck; they told the full story.
There was a little too much red on her lips, a little too much black around her eyes, and a little too much interest in her stare that made Will’s skin crawl. But at the same time, he felt guilty for being so disgusted. She was, after all, a twice-divorced, twice-cheated-on librarian, trying to make her way in a small, forgotten town.
He took a seat at one of the tables, void of anything except for four computers, each facing one of the seats. Propping himself in a direction where he could easily see her, Will logged into his library profile and set to work on Khan Academy. Today, he’d study some history, and then whatever math took his interest. Anything to prepare for the next year of school. Pre-Calculus was supposed to be the hardest, and he wanted a head start on the teacher.
It was hard to concentrate today. Usually, the absolute, totalitarian-enforced quiet made it easy for him, but today it was the opposite. If there was just some noise, maybe then he could ignore the hawk over at the desk who kept her eyes trained on him, and also on her own computer monitor, where he knew she could watch his own screen.
“Are we the only two in here?” Will asked, without raising his eyes from the screen.
“For now,” she answered, taking a long slurp. “There’s some kids downstairs, two or three families.”
He nodded, his vision fogging over as his mind drifted. He started to shake again, but hid it by tapping his fingers on the table.
“Why are you watching math videos?” she inquired. “It’s summer break.”
“That doesn’t mean I stop learning.”
She laughed dryly. “One of those kids, are you?”
“You think being a librarian would give you some respect for education.”
“You think being a teenager twerp would give you some respect for your superiors.” She took a long drink, swished it around in her mouth, and swallowed. “Why aren’t you outside, doing something fun? You actually like being stuck indoors on a Friday, instead of partying and drinking?”
“Why would I go outside?” he countered. “I have no friends. Also, I can’t legally drink at my age.”
She winked. “Never stopped me. And what about that girl who… Oh, that’s right.” She curled her lip. “Sorry to hear about her.”
“It’s fine. She’ll be back in a few weeks, as soon as the leg heals.” Will leaned back in the chair, folding his arms and focusing entirely on her. “I have a question for you, actually.”
Ann raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
“How well do you know Cyrus?”
“Don’t antagonize me.” Ann rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he told you all about us.”
“Actually, no.” Will cupped his chin in a hand, shaking his head. “Your ‘relationship’ was one of the few things he chose to keep to himself.”
The librarian grinned, raising one finger into the air. “I knew he thought something of me.”
“Just answer the question. Did you know him well or not?”
She sighed, answering with a deep frown. “No, not really.”
“Not really?”
“Well, I had a few business deals I proposed to him, but Cyrus never took the bait and chose to do things his own way. I thought we had a sort of… connection. But clearly it was one-sided.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Will peppered her with another question.
“Why? Has he gone missing or something?” She squinted, ripples marking her forehead as she thought intently.
“Well… not missing. I went to his house the last two days and haven’t seen him home. And whenever I called, it went to voicemail. I was just wondering if you knew where he might have gone. I need to find him!”
“Not a clue, Will. Not a clue. You know, if you’re ever interested in learning a bit more about the human anatomy, I think I’m a fairly good teacher. If you happen to find yourself around my house, come on over. We can have some dinner, and I’ll show you all the basics you might need to know for next year’s classes.”
Will’s eyes widened, as he tried to make out exactly what she meant. “I… already took that class, thanks.” He signed out, and stood up to leave. “Got an A, actually.”
“Oh, good then.” She grinned. “Maybe I can teach you some of the more advanced lessons.”
“Nope. Sorry.” Will snatched his keys from the table and darted towards the exit.
“But, Will, just- Will, come back!”
He barged out into the warm afternoon, taking a deep breath and hurrying away from
the library. It was hot outside, but a cool breeze made it bearable. Everything smelled like new gardens and sweating men with rust and dirt on their hands. The blacktop seemed to leak different odors, some pleasant and others not so much. Heat, itself, had a kind of stench.
“Hey, Will,” an unfamiliar voice addressed him from behind.
Will turned to see a middle-aged man wearing glasses and slightly overweight. He was sweating profusely, dressed in a striped shirt and khakis.
“Yeah?”
“How’s Zada doing?”
“Oh, good.” Will nodded awkwardly, staring to head for his car. “She’s well. Recovering nicely. They just took to a hospital off in-”
“I know.” The man smiled, showing hints of yellow teeth. “Good day, then. Have a nice afternoon, Will. You two are a lovely couple.”
Once the man had passed, Will approached his car, running a hand over his face. It was hard enough having to deal with thinking about her and the injury, but answering questions for random strangers made the whole ordeal a lot more stressful. The gun wound was nothing life-threatening, but it would take some rehab and she’d lose a lot of that strength which made her so athletically talented. That was the worst, for her.
“Will? Right?”
He spun around to find another stranger addressing him. This time, it was an older women, her hands clothed in white gloves and a sparkling necklace hanging proudly from her neck. She seemed to have some wealth, as her walking cane was embroidered with gold at the top.
“Yes?”
“How’s your friend doing? I heard she was in the hospital.”
“Yeah. Shot in the knee. She’ll be alright, just staying there a few weeks.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” she exclaimed, although her facial expression didn’t change from that innocent, bemused smile. “Well, I hope it all turns out alright.”
“Me too.”
“Good day, Will. Have a nice morning.”
She left quickly, heading in the direction of the library. Will watched her go, wondering how three hours after lunch could be considered morning. Maybe she was a late riser. Very late.
He climbed into the car, eager to get away before any other strange characters held him up. There was one more place he wanted to visit now, especially after Ann McBay’s answer. It seemed, more and more, that Cyrus had only been open with him, and nobody else. Rather than making him feel secure, that fact caused Will’s suspicions to rise.
After all, if Cyrus only told him things about his past, it would be all too easy to lie. Everybody else either knew the truth or didn’t care for it. But Will was gullible, and wanted to hear certain truths, which he’d now been fed by Cyrus. Perhaps there was something hidden in the house that would reveal some truth. Or maybe he was being paranoid.
So ten minutes later, Will found himself staring at the back door of the house, where he’d worked so many times, learned so many things, and really grown up over the last almost-two months. Cyrus might not have been a good person, but he gave Will a chance, and he let him develop, right here under this roof. So many memories… such a presence…
But Cyrus’s car was nowhere to be seen, and he knew the door standing in front of him couldn’t be locked. The front door, yes, but not this one. It never was. A part of him hoped, maybe, this one time it could be, but that seemed unlikely.
“Well… Do it.” He reached out and grasped it, feeling the cold knob. He turned, felt it slide, and pushed the door forwards with ease.
The kitchen stood before him, clean as usual. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary, except for a vase of flowers that sat in the center of the table. He brushed his fingers on them, musing over everything he saw. With nobody watching him, and Cyrus absent, the house felt more sinister than before. Like every wall was telling him to leave, not asking. This house wanted him out.
He came to the staircase, and stared up it. Any moment, he expected to hear a creak, and see Cyrus come running down. That’s how it usually went when he came here. But the car wasn’t outside. Cyrus was gone, for now. What was going on?
Will raised a foot a fraction of an inch, gritted his teeth, and placed it on the step. Then he did the same with the other. Whatever was up these stairs, it was truly the most secretive thing in the house. That would reveal, for better or worse, what kind of man he called his boss, and his companion. His friend.
Frozen in place, Will remembered the first time he’d been near these stairs. The strange bell from Ophelia. He wondered where it was now. If Cyrus had placed the object upstairs, he was about to find it.
Gravel crunching in the driveway, and Will darted from the steps to the backdoor. He tried to think of a lie. He could tell Cyrus he’d come to mow the yard, or check where he was. That’s why he was out back.
He crashed through the door, to the backyard, and raced around the house, dissolving to a jog as he rounded the final corner and approached the driveway. His mind went numb as his feet slowed, eventually halting.
There were no cars but his own. And yet, he knew there’d been a noise. Somebody had pulled into the driveway and sat here for a moment. He’d heard the engine outside as he raced from the house. It was even obvious, at the edge of the gravel, that someone had backed out rather quickly and fled the scene.
Perhaps he wasn’t the only one interested in Cyrus and his empty home. Interested enough to trespass.
Chapter 31
Curtains Closed
Unlocking the front door of his home, listening for any sounds around him, Cyrus stepped quietly into the house. He chuckled, casting an eye towards the stairs as he left the door standing open, only the screen door separating him from the outside town. There wasn’t anything different about the living room, or the kitchen, but he knew. It was obvious.
Humming a song to himself, Cyrus stepped into the kitchen, his eyes flicking around and finally landing on the vase of flowers. Silently, he passed by the table, rubbing his fingers over the top of the petals. Snatching peanut butter and a loaf of bread from the cabinet, he set about making a sandwich.
Going through the motions with intense care, he spread the condiment as perfectly as possible, trying to cover every morsel of the two slices without any slipping onto the counter. He was methodical and patient, eventually finishing with a deep sigh. Throwing the knife into the sink, he took both pieces and slapped them together, lining up the edges until they were flawless to his eyes.
“Decent,” he mused, taking the meal and centering it on his plate. He carried it over to the table, picked it up with both hands, but then the flowers caught his attention.
“Ophelia’s food…” He closed his eyes, lowering his chin. “No.”
He threw the sandwich violently into the trash can, screaming at the top of his lungs for a solid minute. Then all was silent, and strolled over to the fridge for a can of beer.
Holding the can, still frosty on the outside, he placed both hands on the counter and stared out the window. He felt sweat dripping down his arms, to the edges of his hand. There was a chill in the air, now. The veins on his forearms popping out, his head throbbing, Cyrus took a long gasp of beer and gulped it down. Within a minute, there was nothing left.
Crushing the can in his right hand, Cyrus held it up like a weapon. He spread his left hand on the flat surface, and began to smash it. Again and again, gritting his teeth, Cyrus held the can and stabbed with its sharpest side, feeling it scratch into his flesh and pierce his skin. Blood began to drip into the sink, but he didn’t stop.
Once the can was too slippery to hold onto, he threw it down into the small pool of blood and stepped back. His shoulders felt weak now, and walking made him light headed. Taking a deep breath, he reached up with the blood and drew a small cross on his cheek. Focusing on the copper smell and the drawing he could feel, Cyrus calmed himself and turned away. He needed a bandage and to clean the cut.
As he left the kitchen, he saw a sticky note on the wall, bright yellow. A simple, smiley face was drawn
in black, standing out brightly. He made eye contact with it, smirking, and moved on.
In the bathroom, he was able to find some medical tape and a large gauze pad. Cleaning out the wound only took a few minutes. He winced as his hand stung, letting the liquid drip into the sink as it ran red.
Glancing up at the mirror, he met his own eyes, taking in the various marks on his face. The bloody cross wasn’t as neat as he imagined when drawing it, nor were his features as young anymore. Cyrus began to breathe heavily, placing his palms on the glass surface, staring into his own mind.
He started hearing Ruby’s voice taunting him, seeing the faces of his high school friends. Memories and dreams flashed in his vision, a blur of motions and moments. Cyrus glanced down at his hand, then back to the mirror. His muscles tingled. He wanted to strike out and shatter the glass, punch it as hard as he could, but that’d be more blood, more pain, more evidence.
“Cyrus?”
Whipping around to face the doorway, he found Ophelia standing there. She was as dazzling as the good days, her dress flowing over his torso and hips to the ground. Ophelia stood leaning against the frame, her eyes intently locked onto Cyrus. Her lips were frowning, her cheeks and skin glimmering with beauty.
But one thing remained just as in his memory. Those eyes, haunted and haunting, void of all love. She was gone, still.
“Cyrus?”
He shook his head. “You’re not real.”
“What’s real and what isn’t doesn’t matter, Cyrus.” She folded her hands on her chest. “Come with me, please.”
“You aren’t real!” he yelled. “I know you aren’t real!”
“But I can be,” she said in a tantalizing voice. “Just follow me, Cyrus. We will be real… together.”
He fell to his knees, beginning to cry. One hand held onto the counter of the sink, his head bowed over and refusing to look up at her. “I can’t.”
“You can,” she pleaded. “You know who killed our son. You know already.”
“No!” he shouted, his words morphing into desperate plea. “No, please, no!”
Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller Page 16
