Here There Are Monsters

by Amelinda Bérubé

  “Prove me wrong, Soph,” William returns bleakly.

  “My daughter is missing.” Mom’s words are quiet, heavy as stones. “She might be dead. Whatever drama you three are trying to dump in my lap, I’m really not interested in sorting it out.”

  The quiet turns glacial, miles thick. Impossible to break. Even the clock is silent; it hasn’t occurred to anybody to wind it, these past few days.

  “You need to leave,” Mom says, in her very best manager voice. “Both of you.”

  “Mrs. Mackenzie, I don’t know what his problem is, but I would never—”

  “I said leave. Now.”

  Sophie gets to her feet, face flushed. She doesn’t look at me; only William.

  “You,” she tells him, “are making such an epic mistake.”

  She pushes past him, heading for the stairs.

  “Sophie, wait,” William says, and when she doesn’t pause, he follows her, thumping down the stairs. “Sophie!”

  Mom is slouched in place, massaging her temples, not even looking at me. So I run after them. William is just catching up to Sophie as I come outside. He tries to grab her arm, but she wheels and shoves both hands into his chest, sending him stumbling back.

  “Fuck off!” she yells. “How could you say that? How could you humiliate me like that? And for what? For her? You think it’s even going to work? Kevin was there too, you idiot! Whose side do you think he’s going to take?”

  “Sophie, wait. Please. You don’t understand!”

  “Don’t even talk to me! And you—” She sputters to a halt for a second, glaring at me like she’s struggling to find words vile enough. “I hope it’s worth it. Everything you’re destroying. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

  She turns her back on us, storms toward the road, almost running. William stares after her with his hands raked into his hair.

  My voice doesn’t want to work; I have to clear my throat before I can speak. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It was my fault.” He doesn’t look at me. “For asking you to come over this morning.”

  Silence. I scan his face desperately, waiting for something to change. For him to crack.

  “William.” It feels cruel to say it. Ungrateful. But that doesn’t make it any less true. “We’re running really short on time here.”

  He jerks his chin in a nod. Still not looking at me. “I know.”

  “Okay.” Nothing left to say. No other buttons left to push. Please, let it be enough. “Well. I’ll see you.”

  There’s nothing left to do but turn back to the house. I make my steps small and slow, hoping for him to call my name, tell me to wait.

  He doesn’t. When I close the door behind me, he’s still standing in the driveway.

  * * *

  My phone buzzes a few hours later as the afternoon is turning into evening, dull and gray. A text. It’s from William.

  ok let’s talk.

  When I get to the clearing, he’s already there, sitting as far away as he can get from the glass-eyed monster, but staring intently at it, chin resting on his folded hands, jogging his knees up and down.

  “Hey,” I say, when he doesn’t seem to see me. Even then, he doesn’t look up. His face is pale and set.

  “You were right,” he says.

  It’s snowed since this morning, leaving a thin, patchy crust not deep enough for boots. The wind drives flecks of ice like little needles. Even the cedars don’t do much to break it. I hug my coat tighter and crunch across the clearing to perch on William’s log. The tension radiating from him keeps an automatic distance between us. We’re like magnets pushing each other away.

  “Sophie’s in the hospital,” he says at last.

  The words are lightning, striking home. I sit transfixed, unable to speak, unable to move.

  “She was on her way to work. Right? She takes Old Almonte Road to get to work. So she doesn’t have to deal with the left turn onto the highway.”

  Old Almonte Road. The one that cuts across the swamp.

  “She crashed her mom’s car. Totaled it, pretty much. Broke her knee. Her mom said she’s going to need surgery. Her mom said”—he pauses, forces the words out between his teeth—“that something wandered out in front of them. Something weird.”

  There should be a word for this, for a problem suddenly, horribly erased, bringing no relief, no satisfaction. I refuse to be reminded of those empty, ashy days after Tyler, the quiet that set in as the rumors spread. This time it wasn’t me; this wasn’t my fault.

  “You were right,” William repeats. His voice teeters on the edge of breaking. “I should have listened.”

  Across the clearing, my monster’s mismatched eyes glint out at us, its cedar crest trembling in the wind. I bet they’re laughing. I can almost hear it in the ringing that fills my ears.

  “My dad’s going hunting this weekend,” William says beside me. Still not looking at me. “It’s the last weekend before gun season, you know. He goes with Kevin and his dad every year. He said I could come too, this time, if I wanted to.” His lips twist. “If I could handle it.”

  This is what I wanted. What I was pushing for. This is what it took. “Oh,” is all I can say.

  “Yeah. Oh.” He drags his hands down his face, closes his eyes. “Bow hunting’s pretty safe, you know? But still. Anything could happen out there. All kinds of accidents.”

  “Listen—”

  “Don’t.” He jerks his arm away from my touch like it burns. “Just—don’t. Okay?”

  I swallow and pocket my hand again. Sorry is a small, stupid word, and I won’t voice it. Either he knows or he doesn’t. Saying anything will just scatter broken glass for us both to walk on.

  As if my presence propels him to his feet, he gets up to pace back and forth along Deirdre’s stone circles, arms folded, eyes fixed on the ground.

  “I thought about telling her,” he says. “Her and Kev. We were always going to band together for the apocalypse, you know?”

  “They’d never believe you.”

  “I know. I know.” He scrubs his hands through his hair, pulling pieces of it loose around his face. “This whole thing sounds like a bad trip. But what if they go after Kevin? I should warn him, shouldn’t I?”

  God, bringing Kevin into this is the last thing I need. “We already talked about this.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” His shoulders slump. “How do you even stand it? Not telling people. Are you just…planning to tough it out through the end of the world alone?”

  “I think maybe you’re always alone for the apocalypse.” I kick at a crust of snow. “That’s how you find out who you really are. Survivor or zombie.”

  “Sure.” He looks out through the trees, his mouth a thin line. “And I’m the guy who’d turn on anyone to save himself, apparently.”

  “That’s what survivor means, William. It means you do what it takes.”

  “But you’re trying to save your sister,” he counters. “What does that make you?”

  It makes me the Queen of Swords. He has no idea what I’ve done to save my sister—what I’ve done to save myself. I rest my head on my knees so I don’t have to look at him. The wind flutters through my hair, trailing icy fingers across the back of my neck.

  “They’re not even done with you, after this, are they?” he says. “They still want you to do something. What is it? Do I have to…do you need my help?”

  I don’t want to think about the price that’s coming due next. It’s a train bearing down on us, a meteor. I can’t think about it. At the end of the world, you learn how far you’ll go. Whether there’s anything you won’t do.

  “I don’t know.” My mouth is so dry, it’s a rasp, barely more than a whisper. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  “Well. I had an idea. I should have thought of it before. Something that m
ight bring your guide to life, instead of…instead of what they want from me. And you have to be here too, right? In case it works.”

  “What are you talking about?” When I look up again, he’s holding one hand out. He shifts his weight, shakes his head, blows out a breath as if he’s bracing himself. It takes me a second to parse the gleam in his other hand, something held ready over his arm. The flash of an edge.

  “Jesus Christ, William!”

  He steps back, away from me, still holding the razor blade poised.

  “They said they wanted the blood of William Wright.” Something wild has crept into his voice. “So I have to try this first. I have to.”

  “William. Don’t. Give it here.”

  But when I lurch to my feet, he sucks in a breath and drags the blade down his arm, his lips skinned back from his teeth in a horrible grimace.

  “Fuck!” he gasps. He drops the razor, clenches his hand over the wound. “There! It has to hurt, right? That hurts like a motherfucker!” He holds his arm out to me, blood seeping up between his fingers in little red lines, welling over them to drip onto the ground. “That should be enough, shouldn’t it? Isn’t that enough?”

  The words ring away into the trees, into silence. Somewhere a crow calls. Laughing. Between us, the figure I built stands empty as ever, the skull hanging slightly askew, ridiculous, a parody of something that was ever alive.

  “Come on,” William pleads. He wipes his bloody fingers on it, leaving red smears across its long face. I count the seconds past. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three. “You’ve got what you wanted. That’s the blood of William Wright. Come on already.”

  But a minute slides by. Another. And we’re the only things that move.

  William sinks onto the ground, sitting hard in the snow, curled over his injured arm. The blood runs in jagged lines toward his elbow. I come unfrozen enough to yank a strip of cloth from my coat pocket; he doesn’t resist when I take his fingers, pull his hand toward me. The wound is like a mouth, not that long, a clean red slice edged in pink-white. I will not think about the ragged edges of the raccoon’s belly, the wet red inside of rabbit skin. I tie the cloth around it, cinch it tight, wind it round and round. Red blooms through the fabric in rusty patches.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says through his teeth. They’re chattering with cold or nerves, his face gone oatmeal-pale. “It doesn’t make a difference. I’m not like you. I can’t do this.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” My voice won’t stay firm, has slipped off its foundations. “You don’t want to be like me. I’m psycho, remember?”

  “And I’m harmless. It’s true, isn’t it? I really am. I’m pathetic.”

  “The only thing wrong with being harmless is that it makes you a target. You’re just a decent human being. Unlike some of us. And you might need stitches or something.”

  He shakes his head, his hair falling around his face.

  “I can’t do it,” he cries. “I have to. And I can’t. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t want to hurt my dad.”

  There’s nothing left to say to that, nothing to do except put my arms around his shoulders and lean my head against his while he struggles to choke down tears. The woods stand over us, watching.

  Twenty-Four

  “Skye?”

  Mom’s touch on my shoulder jerks me awake. I only sat down for a minute, in the rocking chair beside the window, but after so many broken nights, sleep sneaks up on me. The only warning was my carefully controlled panic loosening, breaking up into something raw and screaming, something I could sink into.

  “I made you some tea,” Mom says, setting a steaming mug on the side table.

  “Thanks,” I manage, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. I clutch my phone, but the lock screen is blank. No texts. No calls.

  Mom settles onto the footstool, her hand on my knee. “I thought we could talk, maybe,” she says. “About everything.”

  I close my eyes, close my teeth on the first words that spring to mind. Do we have to?

  “I know I’ve been kind of preoccupied,” Mom persists. “I know I came down hard on you. I just…I know I can count on you, Skye. You’re my rock. I always know you’re going to be okay. You’re the one person in this house I never have to worry about.”

  I can’t listen to this. “Mom—”

  “We’re all hurting right now. But that doesn’t mean the world has stopped turning, right? I get that. There’s something going on with you lately, isn’t there? I don’t want to pry. I really don’t. I’m just worried about you.”

  “Nothing’s—”

  “Skye. Come on. Even if we forget about that scene Sophie pulled, you’re glued to your phone. You’re obviously not sleeping. You look like you’re in the middle of a high-wire act. Without a net.”

  I’m standing in a floodlight. I’m on the road with headlights bearing down on me. They can’t start asking me questions. Not now. Every time I turn around, there are more eyes on my back, more ways this whole thing could go straight to hell.

  “I heard about her accident,” Mom ventures, more gently. “That’s an awful thing to have happen to a friend.”

  “We’re not friends.” Not anymore.

  “Yeah. Things are obviously pretty tough right now with all of them. With William.” I pull away, protesting, but she’s not giving up on this. “I’m only seeing the tip of the iceberg here. I could tell, yesterday. I’m here to help. Don’t you want to talk about it?”

  My face is going hot, my eyes blurry. Great. I’m so tired. Sooner or later, I’ll stumble. I’ll make a mistake. I have to keep it together.

  “It’s complicated,” I quaver, scrubbing a hand across my face. “Okay? It’s just…complicated.”

  “Of course it is,” Mom murmurs, squeezing my knee. “Love always is.”

  I sob a laugh. Love. Like that’s what this is about. Like there’s any such thing. Like there’s anything to any of us beyond our private stews of guilt and fear and obligation.

  My phone’s placid chime saves me from having to answer, but the screen lights up with William’s number. Oh God, now what?

  “Go ahead,” Mom urges, sitting back, but not budging from her seat. “You obviously need to talk.”

  I push myself out of the chair and swipe at the screen.

  “Hi.” My voice is unmistakably stuffy, but it’ll have to do.

  “Can you come to Kevin’s place?” William sounds as tired and strung out as I am. “Like, now?”

  “I…guess so?” I hesitate, bracing for the roller-coaster plunge. I know it’s coming. “Why?”

  “I’m telling him. Kevin. I’m telling him everything.”

  “What?” It’s a sucker punch, stealing my breath. Mom bites her lip, watching me, and I turn away from her. “You can’t do that!”

  “It’s not up for debate. He’s my friend. This is my decision. Just like going on this fucking hunting trip. He’ll be there too, you know. He should know what’s going on.”

  “William, listen to me—”

  “I’m telling him. Right now. And I need you to come over and back me up. So it’s not just me.”

  How did this get so far out of control? The room reels around me. I have to convince him. I have to stop him. But even if I run the whole way there, I’ll still be too late.

  “If you don’t show up,” William says, his voice a little stronger, a little more desperate, “he’ll think I’ve had some sort of mental break. That’s what I’d have thought, if you’d tried to tell me, right? You think they’d let me anywhere near a bow after that? I’m telling him, Skye! You decide how you want this to turn out!”

  “Fine,” I choke out. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

  I stab the end button and press my hands to my face. I can’t believe this.

  “Skye?” Mom’s hand c
loses on my shoulder. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing! I’m going out. I’m going to Kevin’s.”

  “You are not! Sit back down. Right now. You need to tell me what this is about.”

  “It’s about William! That’s all. Okay? This is between him and me. I have to go!”

  “Skye—”

  “No! You don’t get to ask me about this now. If you wanted to know what was going on, maybe you could have looked up from the computer screen for five minutes. Any time this whole year would have been great!”

  My aim is as good as ever. She wilts, shrinks into herself, just like I knew she would. When I turn away, she doesn’t stop me.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I mutter. I hurry down the stairs, out the front door. And then I run.

  * * *

  It’s a long, ridiculous story, even leaving out the parts I have to keep to myself. It comes out in clipped, awkward sentences that still manage to sound like absurd rambling. When I finish, Kevin—sitting in the big leather armchair in the corner of his living room, his arms folded—looks back and forth between me and William standing over him, his jaw working.

  “This is not fucking funny, you guys,” he declares.

  “Why did you tell him?” I demand, rounding on William. “Why him? Why the hell would you do that?”

  “News flash,” Kevin snaps, “he has actual friends.”

  “Guys, please,” William says wearily.

  Kevin focuses on him again, all intensity. “Seriously. Do you not get how textbook this sounds? Hearing voices telling you to hurt somebody?”

  “I know. I know, I know. But it’s not just me, Kev. That’s why I called Skye. To prove it.”

  “Are you kidding? What have you been smoking?” He jumps to his feet, stabs a finger at me. “I don’t know how the hell you managed to hypnotize him into this, but—”

  William puts a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off.

  “Why would you trust her?” Kevin demands. “Why would you believe a single thing she says? Look at her, she’s like some sort of goddamn robot—”

  “Oh, fuck you,” I snap, goaded past endurance.