“Aw, come on, Ré,” Alex sighed, shaking his head. “Nobody twisted her arm.”
“Yeah—but that super-loud hydro shit you smoke? That would knock a fucking elephant on its ass!” Ré knew Alex was right, but he couldn’t let it go. He was almost shouting, foot heavy on the gas like the car would do all the fighting he felt like doing right now.
Alex smirked out the window. “Dude,” he said quietly, “did you just call Evie an elephant? That’s harsh.”
Réal hissed a string of sacres, but as he turned his face away, he couldn’t help but grin.
“Seriously, Ré,” Alex continued. “Why are you so pissed off? She knew what it was. So she got hella stoned. It’s not the end of the world.”
Ré sucked his tongue against his teeth and said nothing. What could he say—that he was worried about the baby? Worried about the choices she was making? Half the time, he felt like Evie was screaming out to be taken care of, and the other half, she was screaming at him for actually doing it. He didn’t have a clue what she really wanted.
He squeezed the wheel in his fists, trying to keep her words from turning the car around and pulling him right back to her driveway. All of a sudden you’re in my life, in my head. Making me feel crazy…I can’t stop thinking about you…
He felt the same: crazy. He should be thinking about a thousand other things, a hundred thousand, but all he could think about was her.
That moment right after she’d said those words. Staring at each other, half scared. Heart beating sticks around his ribs. He’d wanted to just step forward, slide his fingers into her hair, pull her mouth to his, taste her tongue against his own.
What the hell is happening to me?
He thought, Am I cursed to only fall for my best friends’ girls?
He ran a hand over his face, pulling these thoughts away.
“Hey, Alex,” he said, glancing sideways.
Alex shifted to look at Ré, cheekbone propped on his fist, elbow resting on the door. “What’s up, man?”
Réal swallowed hard. “I, uh, gotta tell you something.” He squeezed the wheel again, biting his lip. His eyes darted over the road, looking for a way to not say what he was about to say and not finding one.
When he spoke again, his voice was thin.
“I was with Shaun the night he died.”
The silence that hung between them transformed. It became full and heavy and curious. Alex said nothing, but his mouth opened a little, his eyes narrowed.
“I beat the living crap out of him,” Ré continued. “And he near busted my nose.” He glanced at Alex again to see if the image would register—those Irish sunglasses, his nose all scabbed and bloody. It did.
“Why?” Alex’s voice was just a breath.
“That’s a long story I can’t tell you,” he said wearily. “But the thing is, he was alive when I left him at Nan’s. Beat up, but no worse than I was.”
“So what happened?”
Réal’s chest crushed. Alex’s face was as hurt and confused as a dog’s smacked by its master. Réal swallowed and shook his head, choking the words out. “I don’t remember. I left him, I drove around, and then—”
He gripped the wheel tighter to keep his hands from shaking. All the nightmares. The creatures. The lump of flesh in his throat…His mouth filled with spit, like he might puke, but he swallowed it back. “And then nothing,” he said.
Alex slowly pushed his long legs straight, spine pressing back into the vinyl seat. As Ré’s words took hold, Alex’s hands curled into fists. His voice, when it came, was reedy and desperate. “Are you fucking telling me you killed Shaun?”
“No, man!” Ré said, though it wasn’t very convincing. “I’m telling you I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember anything past midnight.”
“JesusFuckingChristRéal!” Alex cried. “When were you going to share all this?”
“I’m doing it now, aren’t I?” Ré snapped.
Alex breathed out hard, looking away. Silence. And then, “That is messed, bro. That is—”
“You think I don’t know that?” Ré shouted. “You think I haven’t been killing myself the last couple weeks? Like I’m not sitting here just waiting for red lights in my mirrors?”
He glanced again at Alex, his voice almost pleading now. “I really, really wish I could, man, but I can’t remember a goddamn thing.”
Alex shook his head, letting a long breath out between tight, thin lips. His skinny body, normally so loose and relaxed, was suddenly a sharp shape, digging in everywhere it touched the car. In an instant, his puppyness had gone. Next to Ré now was a knife.
Réal’s mind spun with images of sharpened hooves. Of deer skulls moving through trees, empty eyes spilling sightless white light.
The chunk of chewed flesh in his hand.
The Windigo.
Réal stomped on the brakes and yanked the car to the side of the road.
He threw open the door and leaned out, puking his guts into the dust. He heaved and clenched, all his muscles convulsing, trying to force up every single thing he’d ever eaten in his life, trying to get it all out, trying to cleanse.
Alex slammed his door behind him and walked away from the car, fists clenched in his coppery hair.
Ré breathed hard, ragged breaths, eyes bulging at the dirt. Tears streaked his cheeks, and silver threads of snot hung from his nose. He leaned his forehead to his arm on the car door and wept.
He hadn’t meant to lose it in front of Alex like this. Of all of them, Ré had it the most together—he was never the bombed-out mess or the reckless idiot his two best friends were. He was always in control. Or, at least, he used to be. Now he wasn’t sure what he was. Just some blubbering, vomit-covered loser whose life was totally falling apart…
For a moment, he just sat there, trying to get hold of himself.
Then he
