by Kasi Blake
“Bay-Lee Bishop, get your butt down here now!” The angry shout thundered through the house on the end of Hickory Lane minutes after she dropped her backpack in the foyer and went upstairs to her bedroom. She just wanted this day to be over. Falling on her bed, she squeezed her eyes shut and dreamed of a world where no one had ever heard of Tyler Beck.
She thought she might actually fall asleep and that was when Connor yelled her name. Usually a laid back guy, when Uncle Connor started shouting at the top of his lungs, it was time to tread carefully. When he used her full name, her real name, the situation was dire. She enjoyed hearing it though, even when it was being screamed at her. She heard it so rarely these days. Bay-Lee was her mother’s middle name, and she looked forward to the day she could use it with pride.
The furious sound of Connor’s voice reminded her she hadn’t heard him yell this loud in over a year. Whatever it was, it was bad.
She raced through the house until she found him.
Her feet froze to the kitchen’s threshold, her least favorite room in the house. Connor couldn’t cook without making it look like a tornado had ripped through the place, and he didn’t do dishes which meant she got stuck with the mess. Then there was the fact nothing belonged to them. Living in a house surrounded by items picked out by strangers gave Bay-Lee an eerie, detached feeling as if she didn’t exist.
She hesitated in the doorway and opened her mouth to ask what was wrong. Then she saw it, the science test clutched in Connor’s hand. Holding it up high, he demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”
She stared at the big, red ‘A’ on the top. Flipping from defense to offense, she threw her hands up and tried to hit him with the biggest ‘freak out’ possible. That usually worked. With an indignant edge to her voice she yelled, “You went through my things? Are you kidding me? I thought we were still living in America where I have the right to privacy.”
“The only rights you have under my roof are the rights I give you.” He crossed the room and shook the test in her face. “Are there more? How long have you been doing this?”
“I’m tired of pretending to be dumb. You have no idea what it’s like to sit there in class, knowing the answers and not being able to raise my hand. It’s hard to put down the wrong information on tests when I know the right answers. School sucks when you’re surrounded by morons and have to pretend to be dumber than they are, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
To be honest, there were a lot of smart kids in her classes. Not everyone was dumb. For the sake of this argument, however, she needed to paint a picture for Connor of being stuck in a sea of idiots. Maybe he would understand her need to pass a test once in a while.
Still clutching the incriminating evidence, he said, “I know it isn’t easy, but you have to stick to the rules. You are a C student, average.”
“No! Not anymore. I’m sick of it. Why can’t I be a good student just this once?”
“Because we can’t afford the attention. You know we have to fly under the radar. You can’t do anything to stand out.”
She snorted. “Are you kidding me? I always stand out. I’m always the tallest girl in class.”
“Well, there isn’t anything we can do about your height.” He laid the test on the bar. Hands on either side, he lowered his head for a moment. “Are there more like this? Be honest. I need to know if damage control is necessary.”
There were a lot more, but she wasn’t going to tell him. As far as she was concerned there wasn’t a logical reason for her to get bad grades. Passing a few tests wasn’t going to get her killed. Besides, a reaper already knew where she was living. If the Order wanted her dead, the reaper would have killed her last night.
But she wasn’t going to share that info with her uncle either.
Bay-Lee went to the island and ran her fingers over a cabinet drawer while changing the subject. “Have you turned the TV on yet today?”
He gave her a queer look. “I’ve been busy. Why? Did you do something to get yourself put on the evening news?”
“Ha ha. Very funny. It has nothing to do with me, just karma.” After sliding the drawer open, she pulled out a sharp knife and absently played with it. “Tyler Beck died last night.”
The color immediately drained from Connor’s face. She wasn’t sure what sort of reaction she’d expected to get over blurting out the news, but this wasn’t it. He grabbed her by the shoulders in a too-tight grip. The knife flew from her hand and skated across the linoleum. “How? What happened to him?” He shook her once. “Tell me!”
“C-car accident. He was running from police.”
“Are they sure he was in the car?”
“Of course he was in the car. The police were chasing him.” Before she finished the statement, Connor was on the move. Walking fast, he vanished around the corner. She spoke to an empty room, stunned. “Since when are you a Bad-Rock fan?”
When it became apparent he wasn’t going to return, she followed him into the living room. The television blared as he flipped from station to station, searching for a news segment on the dead musician. There were several to choose from. A picture of Tyler Beck’s demolished car filled the screen. Connor leaned forward in his seat, elbows on knees.
“What...” she started to ask a question, but Connor cut her off with a violent slash of his hand. She sank into a nearby chair. Her gaze flicked from her uncle to the television and back to Connor again, totally confused.
The sight of Tyler’s car, twisted metal, hit her with a sense of déjà vu. It was almost like she’d been there when it happened. A flash of a burned body set her mind on fire, remembered pain, almost real. She could smell the acrid smoke.
Connor started flipping channels again as if searching for something. Every major network seemed to be covering the story. One channel was doing a retrospective of his life. Connor frowned at the picture montage and returned to the channel before it, the one showing the last known video of Tyler Beck.
This was the video Bay-Lee had heard about, the video taken by a teen directly after the rock star murdered sixteen of his fans. It was ironic that the most memorable video of the rocker wasn’t going to be a music video. Unable to help herself, Bay-Lee leaned forward in her seat. Even though her first visitor last night had been a monster in a Tyler Beck disguise, she felt a strange sort of connection to him now.
Tyler emerged from the night club to find himself surrounded by police. Uniformed cops took cover behind their car doors, guns aimed and ready. Using a bullhorn, one of them ordered, “Lay your weapon down.”
Another officer yelled, “Hands in the air!”
Tyler took several cautious steps until he was standing in the center of the street. The camera zoomed in for a wobbly close-up of his face. Head lowered, his gaze flickered left and then right beneath lowered lashes as if he was calculating the odds of survival should he choose to resist.
Realizing he was incredibly outnumbered, Tyler turned his sword sideways, giving up. He slowly bent his knees until he could lay it on the asphalt. The police continued to yell for him to put his hands on his head. Although he didn’t immediately comply, his hands moved in that direction. He stood straight as a few of the uniforms came at him, one with handcuffs.
Arms back at his sides, Tyler spun into a cop, using his body to send the guy flying through the air before two more rushed him. Going down fast, he hit the road in push-up fashion, hands flat on the ground. The two cops collided. He jumped up and used several special moves Bay-Lee recognized from training with Van.
Before anyone could guess his intention, he ran up the hood of a police car and kept going, jumping from one vehicle to the next. Since the police had cut off traffic there were at least thirty cars lined up with anxious drivers behind the wheels. Tyler used them to escape.
How had a musician learned to fight like that?
Did he know Van?
She wondered if she could take him in a fair fight. Too bad she wouldn’t get the chance to find out. The idiot had gotten himself killed. Her mind went on a wild tangent. Was it possible her first visitor had been the rock star and not a monster in disguise? Had he stopped by her house before getting killed?
Her eyes went north of their own volition. Sure, Tyler Beck had taken time out of his busy schedule—killing people and being chased by police—to drop in for a little chat with a girl he didn’t know.
The picture of Tyler running across the tops of cars was replaced by the news anchor’s face. “If you are just joining us, rock star Tyler Beck died last night. He was traveling over a hundred miles an hour when he hit a fuel truck, causing his car to explode. The police were unable to recover the remains, but the police chief has gone on record saying Tyler Beck is dead, no doubt about it.”
They went to a commercial and Connor muted it. He transferred his gaze to Bay-Lee as if just realizing she was in the room, and he smiled a totally fake smile. Bay-Lee knew him well enough to know when he was worried. There were tight lines around his mouth and eyes.
“Better go get dressed for your Halloween party,” he said. “I don’t want you to be late.”
