An indeterminable amount of time later, I peeled myself
off of Penny and gathered my clothes from the floor. I didn’t check to see, but
judging by the scuffle of shoes along the floor and the swish of fabric, he was
dressing too.
“I gotta get home,” he said.
I nodded, careful to ensure our eyes didn’t meet. I was
successful, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping an arm around my waist and
kissing my forehead.
I stood at the reception desk, fingers pressing into the
wood, waiting for the sound of his feet on the stairs and the closing of the
exterior door. When I was sure he was
gone, I locked up the office, hurrying to my car.
It wasn’t very late; the sun still bright in the summer
sky, but the events of the day had left me exhausted. I didn’t even want to
think about it.
When I walked into the house, my parents greeted me from
the kitchen, where they were putting the final touches on dinner. I said hi, I
think, but mostly I just wanted to get to the shower.
I brushed my teeth until streaks of blood blossomed along
my gum line. The temperature of the water in the shower was so hot that it was
almost intolerable, stinging my skin, turning me lobster red. I didn’t care. I
couldn’t stand the taste of Penny in my mouth; the smell of him in my hair,
clinging to my body. I wanted to erase the feel of him against me.
It wasn’t that I regretted sleeping with him. We were hot
together. We always had been. But it was easier before. Then, he was popular
and had a girlfriend; we had built-in boundaries. Now, I felt more pressure for
this to be a big labeled “Something.” And that’s not what I wanted. Not with
Penny. Not with anyone. I’d decided long ago that my life had a certain
trajectory that I didn’t intend to stray from. A romantic relationship with
Penny wasn’t part of the deal.
I
only got out of the shower once the water turned freezing. By the time I got
downstairs, my fifteen year old brother was setting the table, turning to me
with a grimace of indignation at having to complete the chore.
“Okay, Care?” Dad asked, laying his hand on the middle of
my back.
“Yeah,” I made myself smile. “It was just a really long
day.”
Mom monopolized the dinner conversation, as usual, but
she had a habit of asking each of us our opinion to check if we were listening,
so I couldn’t totally space out. I dodged most of her scrutiny until I asked to
be excused. She turned her laser-like eyes to me, and asked “what did you do
today, Caro?”
I
shrugged. “Worked with Penny,” I said, smashing my fork into my vegetables.
“You better not be getting into any more trouble,” she
said, picking up her wineglass by the stem and swirling the remnants.
“Sheila,” Dad said with a warning tone.
“I’m fine, mom,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “You were ‘fine’ the last time, too
and your father and I ended up having to bail you out of jail. For the second
time, might I add.”
She did this to me about every month, or so. I hadn’t
been arrested in over a year, but she was sure I would fall off the wagon at
any moment. I was a perpetual disappointment to her, with my black clothes,
short, dyed black hair, and talent for martial arts. She didn’t believe in the
supernatural and thought I was a “hooligan.”
“I’m not getting in any trouble,” I said. “I was with
Penny all day working on a case.”
She
sipped at her drink, clicking her fingernails against the table. I didn’t know
what she wanted from me. Dad and I had tried to explain to her that the
supernatural things whispered about around town were real, but she didn’t want
anything to do with it. It almost broke up their marriage. She’d wanted to have
me committed. Thinking that I was a delinquent was her way to ignore what was
actually happening. Dad thought she’d chill out if we told her I’d started my
own PI firm. Nope.
Before she could start in, Dad said, “I saw Penny’s mom
at the dollar store today. She told me he’d gotten into Arcadia. I’m glad he’s
back on his feet after everything that happened last year.”
I nodded, then stopped. “Wait,” I said, dropping my fork
with a clunk. “What do you mean he got into Arcadia?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “That’s what she said. He
applied a little late and wasn’t sure he’d make it, but they were happy to have
him. He didn’t mention it?”
“Yeah, of course he did. It was all he could talk about
today,” breathing didn’t used to be this difficult. “May I be excused?”
I didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed myself away from
the table and hurried up the stairs. Mom yelled something at me, but I’d ceased
listening.
We’d fucked today, but he couldn’t mention, even in
passing, that he decided to go to Arcadia—which meant he was joining McGregor’s
pack. A decision that really seems liked something you’d want to discuss with
your best friend.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, intending to call
him, but the thought of hearing his voice made rage pulse in my ears. I tossed
the phone to the bed, pacing the length of the room to calm my irrational
anger. It was great he was going to college. I didn’t think he would every leave
Pine Grove after becoming a werewolf. And I wasn’t jealous. Exactly. He needed
the support of the pack. This last month and a half was the closest he’d been
to Past Penny since he was bitten.
Knowing that I was overacting didn’t make me feel better.
It just made me angry at myself for being so ridiculous.
Pacing wasn’t doing any good, and I had chewed on my
bottom lip until it started bleeding.
I needed to get my mind off of everything that happened
today. I snatched my laptop from my desk and climbed into bed. It was time to
use some (slightly) illegal means to look into Wesley’s background.
I found his records from Wilkesville High School, but the
only address listed was a P.O. Box and the emergency contact phone number was
disconnected. I doubted I’d have much more luck with his elementary school records,
but I checked anyway. At first, I was right; same P.O. Box and phone number. I
skimmed through the rest of the documents, not expecting to find anything of
note.
But
the end of the electronic file was devoted to medical and immunization records.
There was something from a hospital in Columbia with a Wilkesville address
listed at the bottom. I sat up straighter in bed, adjusting the zoom on Adobe
Reader to make the image less blurry. The address was listed as 12 E County
Road 15. I didn’t even know there was a County Road 15.
I
opened up a navigation website and plugged in the address, but the site kept
telling me the destination didn’t exist. I pulled up the map for Wilkesville,
and tried to study the highway names. It was like trying to find Waldo.
I
slammed the lid of my computer and stalked out of my room, heading for Dad’s
office. He had the tendency to be kind of a hoarder, and most of the stuff he
refused to part with was packed into this one room.
I
flipped on the overhead light, scanning the shelves. The good thing about Dad’s
obsession was that he kept everything in order. The bad thing was that he was
so meticulous, I had no idea if the map I was looking for would be in the
geography or South Carolina section (yeah, there were labels). I shuffled
through the material on both shelves, finding the faded, improperly folded
state maps on the South Carolina shelf. I searched through them until I found
the only county map, copyright 1988.
I
spread the map open on the floor, resuming my search. Pine Grove is in the
center of the county. Riverview is on the east side by Lake Bartlett.
Wilkesville is in the northwest corner, not far from a little populated stretch
of marsh, fed by tributaries of the Savannah River. County Road 15 was deep
into this swampland, right on the edge of the county line.
I
debated on whether or not to go. I really did. But with everything today—Wesley’s,
suicide, fighting with Penny, having sex with Penny, learning that he was
keeping his admission to Arcadia College a secret—there wasn’t any other choice
for me to make.
I
folded the map and stuffed it into the back pocket of my jeans, before running
to my bedroom and grabbing my car keys.
The
GPS on my phone couldn’t locate County Road 15, but I programmed it to take me
to State Route 122, the road that intersected with County Road 15.
There
wasn’t much traffic out at nine o’clock on a Tuesday night. There weren’t any
signs of life at all once I turned
onto the state highway. It allowed me to drive slow enough to check street
signs for the obscure county road. I drove fifteen miles before I found it.
The
pavement was cracked, grass and weeds growing up between the breaks in the
concrete, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Tall, dense, forest grew right next
to the street; roots pushed through the pavement in some places, but after a
few miles, the trees thinned and then disappeared altogether.
I
couldn’t see much, but the reflection of the stars on the water meant I’d
reached the swampland. My stomach tightened at the thought of how little
separated the road from the (probably) snake infested waters.
Further
and further I drove, with no sign of habitation, or anything other than swamp.
The road had ceased being an official road, instead becoming nothing more than
a gravel path.
It
seemed more and more likely that the address listed on the hospital records was
faked. I would’ve turned around, but there was wetland on either side, so I
kept driving.
As
more and more miles passed, panic curled at my toes and twisted up my spine.
And then—far up ahead, the glowing gleam of electric lights.
I
pushed down harder on the gas paddle, throwing gravel as I accelerated. There
was a small bend in the road. Once past the curve, the left side of the path
turned from marsh to solid ground. There were houses; with lights blazing in
every window.
Calling
them houses was pretty generous. They weren’t much more than clapboard shacks.
Some of the windows were busted out; others had makeshift tarp roofs. They
weren’t all in states of total disrepair, but none of them were pretty.
The
lights were on but every house was empty of inhabitants. There were no cars
parked around the area, and no typical sounds of human life. Just crickets,
frogs, and lapping water.
The
entire drive out here had been unsettling, but this was by far the worst. Ghost
towns are, by their very nature, creepy. There is something inherently
terrifying about a place that looks populated, but is devoid of humanity. Like
everyone disappeared from the earth without a trace at the same moment; lights
on and dinner on the table.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I
would’ve made it if the wind hadn’t picked up, bringing to my nostrils the
sweet, rancid smell of rotting flesh.
Goddammit.
It
didn’t take long to find them. Past the empty houses, in a small clearing, was
a shambling mass of the undead.
Unlike
their previous counterparts, the sound of crackling grass under my feet caused
them to growl and strain forward, gnashing their teeth at the prospect of a
fresh meal.
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