artifacts at one end of the house, glistening in the setting sun.
“I guess this answers my question about his home life,” Brooklyn said, her nose scrunching in distaste.
“Maybe.” But it didn’t really look like the stereotypical poverty-stricken household to me. Except for the junk metal, the yard was pristine, well kept. There was no trash, no overgrown brush, no empty beer cans or broken lawn chairs in the front yard as I would have expected. True, Cameron dressed like he lived in a perpetual state of poverty, but I felt his wardrobe was more a choice than a product of his upbringing. He liked grunge.
I raised my hand and knocked on the vinyl-covered door.
When it didn’t open immediately, Glitch asked, “Can we leave now?”
He really didn’t want to be there. Just as I was about to answer, a stocky dark-haired man opened the door. He wore a dirty gray T-shirt and held an unopened bottle of beer in one hand. He eyed us suspiciously at first, then allowed a small upturn of his lips to soften his mouth.
If this guy was Cameron’s father, he looked absolutely nothing like his son. Where Cameron was ridiculously tall, blond-haired, and blue-eyed, this guy was average height with black hair and brown eyes. His skin had dried to the consistency of leather—clearly having worked in the New Mexico sun all his life—and his thick arms and neck were nothing like Cameron’s lanky frame.
“Um, Mr. Lusk?” I asked in a whispery, uncertain voice.
“That would be me,” he said easily. “But I don’t have any cash if you’re looking to sell something. Don’t keep much around the house.”
“Oh, no,” Brooklyn said from behind me. “We were just wondering if Cameron was home.”
“Really?” he asked, surprised. “You came to see the kid?” He looked directly at me then, calm, knowing. “I didn’t figure he’d have let you out of his sight for anything.”
I stilled in bewilderment. “You know about that?” I asked. “About how he’s been following me?”
“Why don’t you kids come in.” His smile was gentle and reassuring, not unlike a serial killer’s, from what I’d read. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as we stepped across the threshold.
The interior was actually very nice. Light beiges, ashen wood accents. It was all very warm and inviting. And a soft fire crackled in a wood-burning stove on the far wall.
“I’ll take a beer,” Glitch said, his tone completely serious.
The man laughed. “And I’ll take a one to five in the state pen. I don’t think so. There’s soda in the fridge. Help yourself.”
As Glitch shuffled to the kitchen, I checked out Cameron’s house in fascination.
“I know,” the man said with a smile. “You expected olive green carpet and gold filigree wallpaper. I get that a lot.”
Despite all efforts to the contrary, I felt myself blush. Clearly my surprise could’ve been taken as an insult.
“Please, sit down,” he said.
Glitch had grabbed an orange soda, our absolute favorite, for us to share, then sat beside Brooklyn on a small sofa. I sank down into a comfortably overstuffed chair, the kind you could sleep in for days.
“Sorry about my attire,” he said. “I was working on the house. Didn’t know I would have such auspicious guests.”
We should have called first. I knew it. Grandma said it was rude to just show up on someone’s doorstep uninvited, but I didn’t want to give Cameron a heads-up, so we went with a surprise attack. Not that it had done any good.
“You were working on this house?” Brooklyn asked.
“Oh, no.” He grinned as if the thought amused him. “I was working on Cameron’s house. We’ve been building a house for him since he was about, oh, eleven I guess. Good thing we started early, eh?” he added with a wink.
The man’s behavior floored me. Based on Cameron’s personality, which was mostly angry with a side of angry, I’d expected an ogre. Possibly an abuser. Instead I found a charming, sincere, hardworking gentleman.
I cleared my throat. “So, can I ask what you meant?”
“I figured you might.” He put his unopened beer on a side table, apparently unwilling to drink in front of us. “He’s been on this mission for several days now. He does that from time to time. Told me he was watching you.”
“Yes,” I said, “he was. But do you know why?”
“Kind of. But I don’t see the things he sees. And I’m all the happier for it.”
The things he sees? My chest tightened with hope. Finally, I might get some answers.
“I don’t have any answers, though, if that’s why you’ve come.”
Just as quickly, my hopes plummeted.
He seemed to pick up on my distress. Leaning forward, he looked at me like he understood how I felt. “I’m sorry I don’t know more,” he said quietly. “I’d help you if I could. Heck, I’d help the kid if I could. He doesn’t let me in much. Never has.”
“Why?” Brooklyn asked as though desperate for answers herself. “Why is he so … well, he’s just so—”
“Bullheaded?” he asked.
“Yes!”
He shook his head, unfazed by Brooklyn’s zeal. “Been like that since his mom passed away. Stubborn as the day is long.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, regret softening my voice, “about your wife.”
“And I’m sorry about your mom and dad,” he said. “I knew them both.”
I gasped softly in surprise. “You knew my parents?”
“Sure did. I used to work at the railroad with your dad. Hard man to please, that one. But fair. Your mom kept his britches pulled up tight. She was a firecracker.” He beamed at me. “Just like you, from what I hear.”
I couldn’t help the proud smile that spread across my face. Or the lump that suddenly formed in my throat. I swallowed hard. “I only remember them a little.”
“Naturally. You were a young one when all that happened.”
“How old was Cameron when your wife passed away?”
A sadness clouded his eyes, and I regretted the question the instant I asked it, wished I could take it back. But he didn’t seem to notice.
“He was two, almost three. He saw it even then. Saw it come for her, take her.”
I froze and something squeezed tight around my chest. “What did he see?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
He looked up. “Are you sure you don’t know?”
Glitch passed me the soda, then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest as though refusing to listen. I took a quick swig, the acidic fizz of orange soda making my eyes water. After a moment—and a light cough—I answered, “Mr. Lusk, I don’t know anything right now, other than the fact that I don’t know anything.”
An understanding smile spread across his face. “Please, call me David. And that would put us in the same boat. I only know bits and pieces, the parts the kid yells out in his sleep. I learned a long time ago not to ask questions.”
“He yells in his sleep?” Brooklyn asked, her face a picture of concern, and I suddenly realized how much she cared for him. I couldn’t believe I didn’t pick up on it before. I couldn’t believe she didn’t tell me. And I couldn’t believe the tension that had Glitch grinding his teeth together. Was he jealous of Cameron or just worried about Brooke? We’d been friends for so long, it had never occurred to me that he could have genuine feelings for her.
“Sometimes,” Mr. Lusk said, “yes, he does.”
Brooklyn sank back against the cushions.
“Mr. Lusk,” I said, then corrected when he gave me a teasing glare, “I’m sorry, David, whatever you know, I promise it’s more than we know. Anything you can tell us would help. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening,” I added when I could see he was going to protest.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, his dark skin a shadow against the light fabric. After a long moment, he finally said, “He calls it the reaper.”
