Black Chuck

by Regan McDonell

  Mark shook his head. “Look, you asked me to help you, and this is what I got. I mean, cut me some slack—I don’t even know northern medicine. My family’s Cayuga.”

  Ré took a long, deep breath and blew it out slow. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. It just doesn’t seem like this is what it should be. A cure, I mean. For this.”

  “I swear, I read through everything my mom had, dude.” Mark shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive, just a little disbelieving. “All the stories said you need to eat meat. Lots of greasy, red”—he lowered his voice to a hush—“nonhuman meat.”

  Ré shuddered. His fingers went to the mouth of the bag again, tipping it open. He peered in. His bottom lip pulled down, like he was afraid to know, but he asked anyway. “What’s in the jar?”

  Nestled in beside the biggest, bloodiest slab of meat he’d ever seen was a large mason jar, half full of a waxy, yellow substance that slid down the glass and pooled in gelatinous lumps.

  “Bear fat,” Mark said. “You have to drink it.”

  “Oh fuck,” Ré moaned. “You gotta be kidding me!”

  “I’m not,” Mark said, but not without sympathy. “You have to heat it up and drink it.”

  The horror was all over Ré’s face. “All at once?” he asked.

  “Shit. I don’t know,” Mark said. “Yes?”

  Ré went blank, the thought just too awful to process. Then he said, “So it’s bear too, obviously.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said, wrinkling his nose. “Sorry.”

  The thing must have weighed ten pounds, oozing red into the wrinkles of the cling film it was wrapped in. Réal couldn’t help picturing the poor creature it had been taken from. The thought of eating it made him feel utterly worthless. “Well,” he said. “Thanks, I guess.”

  Mark held out his hand for Ré to take—not in a handshake, more like they might arm-wrestle. Ré took it, gripping hard. “Hey, man,” Mark said. “Good luck.”

  Black Chuck ate his only daughter.

  When she was just small, they said. The size that you are now.

  It was deep in winter, there was no meat but hers.

  Just snow and snow for miles. Eyes, scared and wild.

  He knew this story well, but there were others just like it. Fathers feeding on blood when the food ran out. Burying starved-to-death children under frozen lakes to kill the temptation to suck their little bones. Windigo spirit passed down from one on to the next until it got to him, Black Ré.

  He thought of Evie’s eyes today, red and glassy. He wasn’t just no good like this—he was dangerous. How was he supposed to be there for her, for the baby, with his dreams so full of teeth?

  The cure sat on the Buick’s passenger seat, staring up from its brown paper bag. Ten pounds of bear meat and a liter of fat. How in hell was that gonna kill a demon?

  Mark had said something about tricking his mind, leading it away from dark desires. But seriously. The last time meat had passed Ré’s lips, it had been going in the wrong direction. He had no idea how this horror show was supposed to stay down.

  Just as he turned the key in the ignition, his passenger door flew open.

  His heart jumped out the window and ran away.

  “Hi, Réal,” Sunny said. She ducked in the open door, giving him a look that blinded like bright lights.

  “What do you want?” he asked, angry, panic rising. He reached for the bag.

  “I want to talk,” she said, “and I don’t want your bullshit answers.” She shoved the bag over and got in the car, slamming the door behind her.

  “Where’s Alex?” He looked past her out the window.

  “Home,” she told him. “His dad picked him up.”

  “Does he know you’re with me?” She rolled her eyes and flashed him a look that said, Don’t be stupid. He shook his head. “Okay. So talk.”

  “Not here, Ré,” she snapped. “The entire school is watching.” She gestured toward the park with a bangled arm, but she was exaggerating. No one seemed to have even noticed them.

  “Okay, Sunny,” he said, giving up. “Where do you think we should talk?”

  “My parents are out tonight,” she said. “My place is empty.”

  “Fine.”

  That familiar, crowded feeling he got when she was too close started to bloom inside his chest. Like she couldn’t be reasoned with or resisted, and it was easier to just let the storm blow him down than to fight it. It was exactly what had got him into this mess with her in the first place.

  He threw the Buick into reverse and stomped on the gas, jarring her so she had to brace herself against the dash. It was childish, he knew, but she didn’t exactly bring out the best in him.

  Sunny’s place was a little north of downtown, on the west side of the river, in a pretty nice neighborhood. Réal didn’t know what her parents did for a living, but they had a big house and a car with a pearly gold paint job and real leather seats. Sunny had an older brother Ré had never met, who went to university down in the States somewhere. Fucking golden boy was all Ré had ever heard about him.

  When they got to her street, she said, “Don’t park in the driveway. The neighbors will get weird.”

  He parked farther down, hidden from her house by a boxwood hedge. He turned the key. “Sunny, can’t we just talk right here?” But she got out of the car and threw the door closed without answering.

  He shook his head and looked at the bag on the seat beside him. How in hell was a guy supposed to eat ten pounds of meat and not drop dead of a heart attack on the spot? His chest hurt just thinking about it.

  “Ré!” she snapped, banging her hand on the trunk. “Come on!”

  21

  R

  The inside of Sunny’s house was all soft edges and beige. The furniture matched the knickknacks, and the carpet went right to the walls in a color that wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds at Ré’s house. And it was quiet, the low hum of central AC the only sound. He had a hard time believing that the hurricane had swirled up out of a place as calm as this.

  She went up the stairs ahead of him, leading him to the third floor. Her bedroom was at the front of the house. Like Evie’s, it had a gable facing the lawn, but unlike Evie’s, it had a door onto a small balcony, and the paint wasn’t all chipped to shit.

  Sunny sat on the bed. Ré walked past her to the balcony door, looking out instead of at her. “So what’s up?” he asked, sliding his hands into his back pockets.

  “What’s up?” she echoed indignantly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do, Ré.”

  He took a deep breath, still staring out at the trees. “Okay,” he said. “What’s up is that you’re my buddy’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh, whatever, Réal,” she snapped. “You and I both know how much that means to you.”

  He turned to look at her. “It means a hell of a lot more than you think it does, Sunny.”

  “Oh yeah?” She raised her voice. “That’s funny. ’Cause it didn’t seem to at all until Evie came along.” Seeing his reaction, she said, “Yeah, that’s right. I know something is going on with you two. I’m not blind.”

  He stared at her with his lips pressed thin. “There’s nothing going on,” he told her quietly.

  She said, “You’re a shitty liar, Ré.”

  He’d known Sunny for three years, and they’d been almost instant friends, but not in a buddy-buddy way. More like fire and gasoline. Hornets and honey. So when had things got so fucked up between them? He thought back to September, to Shaun getting a real girlfriend instead of just laying his good looks down and catching whatever walked by.

  That’s it, I guess, Ré thought.

  Before Evie, he and Shaun had spent most of their time together. But girlfriends have a way of taking time, and so Ré had spun loose, found a new constellation. He and Sunny couldn’t be more different from each other, but somehow that had only made them like each o
ther more. He acted like he hated her, but the truth was a lot more complicated.

  He shook his head and said, “Sunny, I can’t do this anymore.”

  She didn’t answer right away. And then she whispered, “I knew it.” Tears had welled in her eyes, pulling his heart out through his bones.

  He crossed the room and sat next to her on the bed. He put his hand on her back lightly, but didn’t know what else to say. He’d never broken up with anyone before. And she wasn’t even his girlfriend. It was all just such a mess.

  She took a shaky breath and wiped her eye with the back of her wrist, smearing black makeup across her cheekbone. Then she put her hand down on his thigh.

  “Sunny…” he warned softly, looking at it.

  “I know,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper. He closed his eyes.

  She turned into him and touched her mouth to the curve of his neck, where it met the collarbone. He gasped, eyes fluttering open, then closed again. I can’t, he wanted to say. Please, stop. But the words never made it out of his brain. Her lips opened, her tongue warm and wet against him, and her hand moved slowly up his leg.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  His breath caught in his chest. He wanted to put his hand over hers, to stop her, but he couldn’t move. Instead, he leaned into her, his whole body wrapped up in the warmth of her mouth, dangerous and perfect and bewildering all at once, like it always was with her.

  Her long fingers went under the edge of his T-shirt, tickling his bare skin, gathering up the shirt and pulling it over his head so it flipped inside out. She threw it on the floor.

  “Sunny,” he said again, his voice a quiet whine. “I—”

  But she kissed him, stopping the words before he could say them. And he kissed her back, hard, their mouths tangled up together, his hand going to the back of her neck. Silky black hair sliding through his fingers.

  She’d lured him here for this. And he’d let her. He knew that now. In all the months they’d been careening at the very edge of it, they had never let actual sex become a possibility. And that fact had been the one and only thing convincing him that he wasn’t a total asshole.

  He’d told himself over and over that it was under control, that it would never in hell get as crazy as this.

  But like she said, he was a shitty liar.

  They’d never been this alone before. And now they had this whole house to themselves, and he was half naked, and her hands were on his belt buckle. His mouth was on her throat, his hand up under her tank top, her bone-white skin so soft and hot and alive.

  She wore a bandeau top, but no bra. He tugged at the stretchy fabric and it slid down, and her naked breast was in his palm, small and warm.

  This is insane, he thought. This is stupid-fucked-up-crazy.

  Last night, in his car, he’d wanted to be with Evie so bad it had made his stomach hurt. Not just be with her physically, like this, but to be there when she needed him. To care for her. Maybe even love her. He’d wanted to do the right thing, for once. To be brave.

  And he’d thought that it would change all this. That he wouldn’t want this anymore—this melting, sliding, too-hot feeling Sunny always gave him. But instead, he wanted it worse than ever.

  Maybe I can’t fall for someone new, he thought. Maybe I’m too far gone.

  Maybe I don’t deserve more than this.

  Well, if I don’t, he thought, then I’ll take what I’ve earned.

  Sunny pulled away from him. Her face was flushed pink and dazed, and she put her hand on his bare chest. She pushed him down onto the bedspread, and he let her. She straddled his hips with her knees, ripped up cutoffs riding high on her thin legs, making him want to tear them to pieces. Damn, he thought. Her fingers worked at the fly of his jeans.

  He dropped his head back, closing his eyes, arms sprawled across the duvet. His heart was beating so fast his breath couldn’t keep up, and he shivered all over.

  He thought of Evie at the lake. The V of her bare legs on his lap, goose bumps across her damp skin. The way she’d held him when he dreamed. He thought of her smile, her lipstick. He thought he might die and never taste it.

  Sunny got his zipper open.

  He grabbed her wrist.

  “Sunny,” he rasped, eyes open. She gazed down on him with a look like she was dreaming. A smile teased her lips but never fully got there. “I gotta tell you something.”

  He swallowed hard, his dry throat sticking. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see her face when he said the words. “I’ve never done this before.”

  She went perfectly still. He swallowed again, all his nerve fleeing through his chest and legs under her slight weight. And then she laughed.

  His eyes flew open. Her head was tipped back, and her shoulders shook, and she laughed that awful cackle. A cold spike rammed through him, like she was swinging a sledgehammer.

  “What’s so funny?” he snapped.

  “Oh my god, Ré,” she said too loudly, shattering the mood. “You are totally joking, right?”

  Anger, humiliation welled up. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “I am not fucking joking,” he said. “So I’ve never done it. What’s the big deal?”

  “Oh!” She gasped with laughter, eyes huge. “I don’t believe it! You are so full of shit.”

  She stings like a damn hornet too, he thought. Shoulda known. “Screw you, Sunny,” he muttered, but she only laughed harder.

  “Well, that was the plan, wasn’t it?” she shrieked gleefully.

  “You’re such a bitch,” he spat, pushing her off his lap. She fell to her side on the bed and shook with giggles.

  He leaped up, fists clenched at his sides.

  “Aw, come on, Ré,” she said in a cruel, condescending voice. “It’s okay. I just thought you were more of a man, that’s all.” She giggled again. “Hey, you’re a pretty good liar after all!”

  “Picrelle,” he spat. “Trou de passage!” They were harsh, nasty, terrible words his mother would have smacked his mouth right off his head for saying to a woman, and he was half glad Sunny didn’t know their meaning.

  “Seriously, though,” she said, a little sweeter now, but still smiling too much. “It’s totally cool, Ré. I’ll be your first.”

  “You think I want that now?” He was twitching with rage. She said nothing, just stared up at him wide-eyed, her pretty mouth pinned shut.

  “Y’know, you’re right, Sunny,” he said, shoving the blade in. “Things are different because of Evie. Because she makes me want to act like a decent human being.” He waved a dismissive hand at her. “All you ever make me feel is fucking ashamed of myself.”

  She jumped up from the bed. “You son of a bitch!” she spat back, shoving a finger into his chest. “You wanted it too. Don’t act like you didn’t. If you feel bad about it now, don’t blame me! I never twisted your arm.”

  He shut his mouth and just glared at her—because no matter how much he hated her right now, she was right. He’d never been helpless. He’d never actually tried to stop the hurricane.

  Just then a roar like thunder rose up through the trees, so loud it rattled the windows.

  They both looked toward the balcony. The roar had stopped in front of the house, and a second later there were footsteps banging up her front porch.

  Réal and Sunny looked at each other, wide-eyed. They both heard the front door open.

  “Hey, Sun!” Alex called. “You’ll never guess what my dad just gave me!” His feet were already bounding up the stairs two at a time.

  Ré went white. “What the fuck!” he whispered.

  Sunny looked around frantically. “The balcony!” she rasped, pointing. They both dove for it, getting the door open, and she shoved him outside. “Get down. I’ll keep him away.”

  The tiny balcony was only big enough for a small table and a folding sun chair, offering little shelter from the street. There was a large window on either side of the door and six small panes of glass in the door itself. It was the shittiest hidin
g spot of all time. He might as well have stood beside her bed with a lampshade on his head.

  It was dusk, almost dark now, and that gave Ré a little cover, but not enough to slow his heart. He crouched, leaning his bare shoulder against the door, below the windows, praying Alex would not come near it.

  He heard Alex burst into the room, cheerful, excited, talking a mile a minute. Sunny’s voice, low and anxious, muffled by the wall of glass between them.

  He heard the floor creak on the other side of the door as Alex chirped, “Come on—you gotta see it!” The doorknob turned. He tried to breathe, but his chest was so tight he thought it might crush his lungs, so he stopped.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Could he make himself disappear if he prayed hard enough? Could he fight Alex if he had to? It wasn’t his strength he doubted, but his conviction. He could easily take Alex out if it came to that, but he didn’t know if he would. He was the not righteous one, hiding half naked behind a bedroom door.

  And then he thought, Is she really worth all this? Fighting and hiding and sneaking around for a girl who took every chance she got to make him feel like he’d never, ever be good enough for her, never be exactly who she wanted…

  His eyes flew open with a revelation—that he did the exact same thing to her.

  He was never kind to her, never gentle. And no matter how much he liked her, he had never touched her with anything but lust and want and emptiness. Because even if she wasn’t with Alex, and they were free to be together, the only chance in hell they had of ever lasting was if they were both completely different people.

  Fire and gasoline was a mix meant to burn itself out.

  All at once, he felt the fire drain right out of him, the puff of smoke rise up from the ash. It was over. Really over. At last.

  And then their voices were gone, and it was only his own heart slamming in his ears. Relief washed through him, and he relaxed a tiny bit, adrenaline still pumping so hard he could taste it, bitter, at the back of his throat.

  Moments later Alex’s voice rose from the street below. Ré edged toward the wooden railing of the balcony, jeans still half hanging off his hips. As he leaned, his knee nudged the sun chair, making it scrape against the gritty floor. The sound echoed off the arch of the balcony, amplifying, and he froze, clenching his eyes shut.