Page 34 of Bound By Fury

And maybe Gigi’s death was karma come to lay claim.

THIRTEEN

YOU KNOW WHY.

In the dim of the chapel his eyes are even darker than they were that night. Assessing. Calculating. I step back, but he doesn’t let go. Instead he looks up and down my body with an intensity that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

“You look different,” he grunts.

Internally, I cringe. I know that grief hasn’t been kind to me. My skin is breaking out and my hair feels thinner, my pants are tighter than they were before. Still, I lift my chin in defiance. “No, I look the same. You must not be remembering me right.”

I yank my wrists out of his grasp and wipe my palms down my face, turning away to hide the flush that’s reddening the tips of my ears. I only make it two steps before his hand is on my arm again, firm against my sleeve, and I’m turning, tipping my head back to meet his eyes, no longer level with mine, but nearly two heads above my own. How is it possible that’s he’s still growing.

“You’ve gotten taller,” I say.

He hums thoughtfully as he turns my arm over, his eyebrows pinching in the middle. “Yeah, no, you must not be remembering me right.”

There’s a pulsing in the back of my skull. I gaze at his face, all muted blues and reds. No matter how hard I search, I can’t find the freckle-faced little boy with a lopsided smile reserved just for me. The townie kids seemed to know a different version of him. A scrappy, angry thing they either chased in admiration or cornered outside the two-pump gas station three streets downriver. Maybe I’m finally seeing what they did, and that sweeter version was just an act.

“Why were you following me?” I ask.

“I wasn’t. I just so happened to see a figure breaking into the chapel, and when I came to check it out, I realized it was you.”

“Okay… but why were you out past curfew?”

He ignores my question and instead says, “Though, it seems like some things will never change.”

The turn in subject is jarring.

“Wha—”

He holds up my hand by my sleeved wrist like I’m contagious and he can’t bear to touch my actual skin. My fingertips poke through a beam of slanted moonlight. “Oil pastels. You should probably wash the residue off your fingers before your next breaking and entering attempt. Wouldn’t want to leave behind any evidence.”

I snatch my arm from his grasp, this time for good, taking a few extra steps away just in case. He looks like he maybe wants to murder me.

“Uh, yeah, thanks for the advice,” I say, turning my back to him and making my way toward the front of the chapel.

It takes a while for his steps to follow, but when he realizes that I’m not leaving and instead am turning down the hallway, he quickens his pace.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I turn on my phone’s flashlight and pull the bobby pins from my pocket. “You should probably get back to your dorm. Wouldn’t want your uncle to find you out past curfew!” I call behind me.

“Where are you going?” His voice is much closer now, and a tad higher than before. “You’re not even supposed to be in here.”

I scoff. “What are you, the church police? Well, ACAB, buddy.”

He smacks his teeth. “I’m not the ‘church police.’ I just know that campus security will be making their rounds any minute, and the last thing we need is for you to be putting your greasy little paint fingers on everything!”

I sigh. He’s never been a fan of shenanigans. Lucas and I were always much more alike in that way.

When I reach the end of the hall, I shine my light against the door and inspect the seam, following it down until I find the keyhole again. Instinctively my fingers rub the pendant at my neck while I think, the metal growing warm from the friction.

“What is it?” Malachi asks, squeezing past to wedge himself between me and the door.

I blink, remembering that he was right behind me. “I, uh… what’s behind this door? I’ve been trying to remember if I ever went in there as a kid, but I’m not sure.”

“What door?” he asks, his eyebrows creasing.