The voices are silenced at last.
I look over my shoulder and watch as the entire house catches fire, the roof collapsing within seconds.
The smell of oil, burning wood and melting plastic is so strong it singes my nose hairs.
It smells like…revenge.
Freedom.
I inhale deeply.
It’s the best that fucking house has ever smelled.
Chapter Two
KEVIN
My brother is dead.
I found this out within five minutes of arriving in Logan’s Beach.
“What you need, kid? Beer? Smokes?” The gas station clerk asks in an accent I can’t quite determine.
“No, I would, but I don’t have any money,” I answer. My stomach growls as if emphasizing my point.
I haven’t eaten in the three days it took me to hitchhike here to Logan’s Beach.
“Then, what you want?” she asks, turning her attention to the clip board resting on top of her register.
“I just want to know if you know him,” I say. I press his mug shot to the bullet proof glass. “Samuel Clearwater is his name.”
She peers over at the picture. Her eyes light up with recognition. She smiles and points to my brother. “Yeah. yeah. Everyone knows him. Samuel Clearwater, but he goes by Preppy.”
Excited by her answer, I press further. “Shit, great. Um…so, do you know where he lives or where he works? I’m trying to find him.”
She shrugs. “Sorry, kid. He gone.”
“Gone where?”
She yells at someone in the back in a language I don’t understand then turns back to me. “Almost one year he be gone now.”
My voice rises with my frustration. “What’s one year? Gone where? Where did he go?”
Her shoulders fall. My empty stomach fills with dread.
“Almost one year. That how long Preppy be dead.”
I don’t know what happened after I left the gas station, but I know it was a while ago. Two days? Two weeks?
I’m not sure because I’m in a heavy fog that won’t clear, not around me, within me.
My head throbs, but I can’t remember why. I let out a hiss from the sting of pain when I touch my right eye to inspect it and find it almost swollen shut.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, then slowly although still vaguely, I recall the beating I took at the truck stop earlier. But where am I now?
A car horn honks in the distance. It grows louder and louder until it breaks through my dream-like trance. I turn toward the noise and groan, shielding my eyes as I’m assaulted with blinding headlights from the sedan only a few feet away.
“Get out of the fucking road, kid!” an angry voice yells.
The road? I look around. I’m standing in directly in the center of a road. No, not just a road. I’m on a high bridge. How the fuck did I get here?
The pavement scratches my bare feet as I limp to the side, allowing the car to pass, and I remember that I lost my shoes when the truckers dragged me across the parking lot.
The driver of the passing car speeds by with a wave of his middle finger.
I lean on the railing when something in my back pocket clinks against the metal.
I reach around with a groan as my muscles protest and pull a half-empty bottle of vodka that was hanging from my back pocket.
“There is a God,” I mutter, taking two long swigs. I look to the sky. “Where were you when I still had shoes?”
The fog takes over again. When I come to, I find myself sitting on a small ledge as cars pass on the other side of the guard rail. The only thing separating me from the water below is the night air. I look down into the shallow waters below. The pointed peaks of sharp rocks spear through the top of the softly rolling waves.
“Way to find somewhere to take a rest,” I tell myself. I lift the bottle to my mouth once again and take a long pull.
The night is humid and beyond hot, but the air is cooler up here on the bridge, the breeze drying my sweat as quickly as it beads on my skin.
I’m not going to jump. Or at least, I don’t think I’m going to jump. That’s not why I’m up here, but I’m not leaving this spot. Not yet. I just want to sit. I don’t want to die, even though it feels like I’m dead to the rest of the world. Regardless, I keep my eyes closed for a beat longer, long enough not to notice the headlights of the parked car or the person getting out of it until I hear a scraping on the railing above my head.
I look over and there’s a girl. She’s about my age with short, platinum blonde hair that is chin length on one side and slightly shorter on the other. She’s climbing over the railing. Her eyes are wide on her heart-shaped face, but I can’t tell the color because her pupils are huge as she looks down at the water below. Her chest is heaving. Her expensive looking white cut off shorts and light blue off the shoulder top are quickly streaked with grease and grime from the bridge. Slowly, she lowers herself down to sit, her arms above her head, pushing out her chest as she clings to the metal wires running alongside the bridge. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply through her nose.
“Welcome. Want a drink?” I ask.
Her head whips toward me, a startled expression on her face. “What are you doing up here? Who are you?”
I raise the bottle. “You know, just having a drink. Enjoying the breeze.” I hold out my arms. “The usual thing one does on a bridge.”
I can’t see her face, but I can practically hear her roll her eyes. “Sure, I always climb to the top of the highest bridge in town and teeter over the edge of the railing just to feel the wind and have a nightcap.” Her voice drips sarcasm.
“You got a better reason for being up here?” I ask, taking another swig.
“Maybe not better,” she says, her voice losing some of its edge. “I just wanted to be alone.”
“Ditto.”
After a few seconds of silence, with only the sound of the occasional car passing behind us and the soft waves crashing into the mangroves below, she speaks again. “What happened to your face?”
I shrug. “I fell.”
“You fell?” she asks, not buying it. “Let me guess, down a flight of stairs?”
“Nope, upon the fists of angry truckers,” I grate, remembering the night’s events more and more clearly with each passing moment. The trucker I tried to rob. The beating I got in exchange.
Her hair floats around her face as she looks down below her swaying feet. Almost as if she’s contemplating the distance.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“There.” She points to the other side of the bridge. “You?”
“Here. There. Everywhere. Mostly just the streets.”
She doesn’t reply. She’s too focused on her feet, or more accurately, what’s beyond her feet.
“You going to jump?” I ask, casually.
“I’m not sure,” she whispers. “I don’t think so, but also, I’m just…not sure.” She’s still looking below when she adds, “The boundaries which divide life and death are, at best, shadowy and vague.”
I huff. “Ah, good ole, EAP,” I say, then reply with a quote of my own. “’I was never insane except upon occasions where my heart was touched.’”
“Very good, you know Edgar Allan Poe?” she asks, finally looking up. I can almost see the surprised look on her face even in the darkness. The tone of her voice is…cute? I don’t remember ever thinking anything or anyone was cute before.
“What reasons could you possibly have to be up here?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “You first.”
I try to take a deep breath, but I can’t. Not yet. It’s like both my brain and my lungs don’t think I’m ready for that kind of effort. “I’m just trying to catch my fucking breath and figure shit out.”
“Okay, but WHY?” she presses.
“You don’t want to know, but trust me, my reasons would make your fucking skin crawl. Why are you up here? Trust-fund not as much as you thought? Oh, no, let me
guess, you got a Mercedes instead of the Tesla you wanted for your birthday,” I say.
“If only any of those were the real issue. Let’s just say that if I were to jump right here and now that I have reasons, and that nobody would be surprised,” she says. She inhales deeply. “It really is beautiful up here isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it kind of is,” I agree.
“Can you tell me why? I don’t care if my skin crawls,” she says, her voice pleading almost like she isn’t just curious, but for some reason, she NEEDS to know. “Does it have to do with why you look like you have a peanut allergy, but just smeared peanut butter all over your face anyway?”
I didn’t realize she can see me that well since she’s covered in shadows. “What does it matter?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I’m not sure, but it does.”
“Fine. It’s drugs,” I lie. I’m not spilling my guts to a stranger, no matter how beautiful this one might be.
“That’s a lie. Try again.” She lifts her bare foot off the ledge and dangles it in the air like she’s testing the wind on her skin. She’s only holding on to one of the wires now.
I growl at her new boldness, but what do I care if she jumps? But I do care, even if I don’t want to.
I give her a very shortened version of my story. “Fine, the truth is that I live on the streets. I was in the system my whole life and recently found out I have a brother. I ran away and went looking for him. Found out he’s dead. Needing some cash for a place to stay I stole from a trucker tonight, who retaliated with several of his bigger and badder buddies who beat the living shit out of me.” Amongst other things.
I feel the burn of regret and the pleasure of relief all at once.
“Makes sense,” she says without a trace of pity in her voice.
“Your turn,” I say. “You said no one would be surprised if you killed yourself. Why?” What I mean is, what issues could a beautiful rich girl like you have to be up here right now?
She sighs deeply. “My parents…they died. Today. They died today.” She says the words as if she’s both in pain and disbelief.
My chest tightens for her.
I take another swig and try to answer her logically and like my own heart isn’t hurting for her. “But you’ve got to be my age, right? Seventeen? Eighteen? You can handle shit on your own.”
“Eighteen,” she says. “I’m eighteen.”
Several seconds of silence pass between us.
“Thank you for not apologizing. Everyone who knows that happened keeps calling and apologizing to me. I hate it.”
I laugh. “Why the fuck would I apologize? It’s not like I killed them.”
To my surprise, she laughs with me, and the sound is the best thing I’ve heard tonight, if not ever.
“You know, that’s the greatest thing anyone has said to me so far.” The shadow moves, allowing me to see more of her face. Her eyes are wild, her pupils huge like she’s high, but I know high and this is something else, more like she’s high on crazy. And as I look over her pale, pristine skin and dark rose lips, I decide that crazy doesn’t suit her because she’s more than that. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but in a really different kind of way.
“Tell me, girl who hath no parents, what did you want to do with your life before you decided to climb up here and contemplate ending it?” I ask.
She looks me over, with confusion, a small smile plays at her lips. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re blunt. It’s…refreshing? If that’s the right word.”
“I don’t know if it would be the wrong word, but it’s sure as shit the first time someone has said I was refreshing.”
She bites her bottom lip and thinks. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those guardians. You know, the ones who go to court on behalf of kids who either can’t or are too afraid to speak for themselves. To me, I think if I could make just one kid not feel alone in this world….it’s stupid, huh?”
“No,” I say, finally able to speak. My heart’s in my fucking throat. I needed someone like that, and there’s so many kids out there who need someone like that now. “I think it might just be the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
She blushes. “There’s also something else I’ve always wanted to do, but I never have before. Too scared I guess.”
“What?” I ask, hanging on her every word, intrigued by what she will say next.
However, I’m not at all prepared for what’s about to happen.
She shuffles over to me, pressing her thigh against my torn jeans. She takes the bottle from my hands and takes a swig, coughing and handing it back. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and clears her throat.
I take a swig and there’s no burn no cough. I think this vodka’s broken.
“I’ve…I’ve always wanted to…” She blows out a frustrated breath and musses her hair. “Okay, I mean I’ve…Ugh! I’ll just say it. I’ve never been kissed before!” she blurts.
How is that even possible? I’ll kiss you.
“You will?” she asks, her face lighting up.
I’m surprised by her answer since I didn’t realize I’d spoken my thought out loud.
“Yeah, I mean, sure,” I say with a shrug, trying to appear cool and casual.
Cool and casual with a swollen face and no fucking shoes.
“Only if you don’t jump,” I add, suddenly needing to know this girl is going to live.
She bites her lip and nods. “Same goes for you.”
“Deal.”
We shake on it. I like the feeling of her small hand in mine. The energy that courses between us shoots up my arm, and she gasps, feeling it, too. Her lips turn upward into a smile, and I swear to God, for the first time in my life, my heart actually skips a beat.
“So, how do we do this?” she asks, sheepishly. “On the count of ten?”
She’s cute. Eighteen and acting like a kid on the schoolyard about to play spin the bottle. It’s making my heart beat faster and faster.
“Ten?” I ask. “Why ten?”
She turns her head so her cheek is on her shoulder and she’s staring up at me sideways. “I may not be ready by three,” she explains.
“Ten, it is,” I say, feeling my pulse pounding my chest, a welcome change from feeling it hammering behind my swollen eye.
She leans in closer, and I do the same. We’re only inches apart. I can smell her perfume, something floral mixed with fresh laundry. She counts slowly. Agonizingly slow. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight—”
“Nine,” I interrupt, and press my lips to hers. I snake my free hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, while keeping us pressed as close as possible to the bridge. Her peach lips are softer than I imagined. Her tongue tastes of mint and sweet tea. I’m consumed with thoughts of her. Her lips. Her skin. Her warmth.
Every time I’ve ever kissed a girl, it’s brought back unwanted memories of the past. Not now. Not with her. I’m only thinking of this moment and this kiss. The way she smells. Her taste. Her soft tongue.
How she would look naked beneath me.
If I ever needed a reason to live, I’ve found it, because I’ve never before felt so fucking alive.
She pulls away, and I immediately feel the loss of her lips on mine. I open my eyes to find her smiling slyly up at me, a small dimple playing on her cheek. “I think you might be just what I need right now,” she whispers, as if she can’t believe what just happened. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Never have before.” I register the slight fall of her shoulders with disappointment before adding, “but I do now.”
“What do you say we get off this ledge and keep ummmm…talking and stuff on the other side.”
Done. Talking and stuff. I want to do all the talking and stuff with her.
I nod.
She presses her fingertips to her swollen lips as if she’s already recalling the memory of a kiss that only ended seconds ago. When she traces her
bottom lip with her tongue, my cock jumps at attention like the good soldier he is.
“You go first, then you can help me back over?” she suggests.
I climb over the rail, ignoring the pain it brings because I’m still high on the pleasure and the promise of more of her lips on mine.
She stands and faces me, holding onto the wires. “I said ten. You only waited until nine,” she teases as she shuffles her feet on the ledge.
“You said you wouldn’t be ready by three, but ten was too damned long,” I reply. I’m watching her feet, and with each movement, I’m dying a thousand deaths.
She chuckles, and the sound shoots right through me. To my heart. My cock. Who is this girl?
I can’t wait to find out.
“Take my hand,” I command when she’s close enough to reach me.
She raises her arm, at the same time the clasp of her necklace breaks and catches on another wire a few inches below her feet. “My necklace!”
“Don’t worry about your necklace. I’ll get it for you after you’re on this side, just take my hand,” I stretch my arm until I’m sure it’s going to pop from the socket.
For a second, I think she’s going to put her hand in mine, but instead, she bends down to retrieve her necklace. It’s got a pendant hanging from it. A black bird with outstretched wings and red stones for eyes that shine under the full moon. “I need to get it. My mother gave it to me.”
I don’t even know her name, but in my frustration, I give her a nickname. “Poe, forget the necklace. Just take my fucking hand!”
“Poe.” She smiles brightly. “I like that.” She splays her fingers and bends her knees, stretching her arm out as far as it can go. “You know my mother used to say…” she trails off, distracted by her own thoughts and remembering for probably the thousandth time today that her mother is dead.
Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater Page 2
