AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Kind of the start of a whole Romeo and Juliet thing?”
“Maybe.” Chris shrugged. “She drowned in that old rock quarry just south of Severna Park.”
The atmosphere in the car seemed to flicker. He’d shocked her. “Wait. So—she—she—”
“She died.” His voice was flat. He didn’t know any other way to say it. “It was the summer before their senior year. Lots of kids used to sneak in to swim there—they still do. There’d been a lot of rain. One of the rock walls was loose, and started to slide. People were diving, goofing off, the same stupid crap kids do every day. A large rock fell and hit Emily. She went under and drowned.” He paused. “Michael was there.”
Becca didn’t say anything to that, and Chris wondered what she thought. They were close to his road, so he hit the turn signal.
“They all thought Michael had something to do with it,” he said, his voice a bit softer now. “He was fighting with Tyler. I don’t even remember why. But it got out of hand. And it made people start to wonder if he’d started the rock slide.”
Chris had only been eleven. He distinctly remembered Tyler’s parents coming to the door. He’d never seen his father argue like that with anybody. Mom had sent him and his brothers upstairs, telling them to lock the door. Funny how his mind latched onto every detail of that moment, the gray yoga pants she’d worn, the soft tank top with stains from working in the yard. The way her hair had been tied into a ponytail, bangs dusting across her forehead. The way she’d stared hard at Michael. Lock the door. Do you understand me? Lock it.
They had, all of them bunched into their parents’ bedroom because it had the biggest bed. They’d tried to listen. Michael had been shaking.
He’d never forget that, either.
Chris pulled into his driveway and killed the engine. The SUV wasn’t back—but the porch lights were on. Becca made no move to get out of the car.
Chris didn’t, either. He was in no rush to see Michael. “You want me to keep going? Or are you too cold?”
She nodded quickly, then must have realized he’d asked two questions. “Keep going.”
“You ever see those old movies, where a mob goes through the village with torches and pitchforks, looking for the monster?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s what it was like, when they came after Michael. First it was Tyler’s parents. That was just an argument, but I get it. Their daughter was dead. They wanted someone to blame.” Chris gave a humorless laugh. “By midnight, we had twenty people in the living room, demanding that my parents turn Michael over. It stopped being an argument, and it started to get physical. We could hear every word—then furniture was breaking, glass, you name it—”
Chris stopped. This was over five years ago, but the memory still had the power to grab his throat and hold on.
“We were hiding upstairs,” he continued softly, as if he could sneak the story in before the panic caught up with him. “We had the door locked. Someone started pounding on the door. There’s still a crack in the wood. Mom started screaming—I don’t know if they were doing something to her, or if she just panicked to get to us. But every lightbulb in the house exploded, and half the lamps caught on fire.”
“Gabriel,” she murmured. “He would have been twelve or thirteen?”
He nodded. “I don’t think he even knew he was a Fire until that day. It cleared the house. The adults didn’t know who it was, but they knew it was one of us, and they were afraid. You saw what he did on the beach. Our level of power—it’s not subtle.
“Everything was worse after that. The adults started hassling my parents—saying they hadn’t kept up their end of the deal. My folks threatened right back. So the others started spreading rumors, destroying equipment from the company. We used to have a storefront in Annapolis, but they set it on fire—”
“They were never caught?”
Chris gave a short laugh. “Becca, everything is natural. With what we are—it’s easy to commit a crime without any evidence. Very easy.” He paused, thinking of the wave he’d called from the water. He’d wanted to drag Tyler and Seth under, to convince the water to hold them until they stopped fighting.
Water clung to his skin, to hers, reminding him it was still willing. He stared out at the night. “Too easy.”
Becca looked away from him.
Chris wondered if he’d frightened her again. His voice came out tight. “Right after Michael started his senior year, Tyler and a bunch of his friends ambushed him when he was out working a job for Dad. They tied him up, drove him to the quarry, and threw him in.”
Chris had been with him. He’d just started middle school, and he loved going along on jobs, having a purpose, feeling useful. The windows had been down, their skin full of sweat and sunshine, and Michael had just asked if he wanted to hit the batting cages before sundown.
Then Tyler had tried to run them off the road.
They were driving Dad’s truck—Michael wasn’t going to wreck it. They’d pulled over. Michael had gotten out. Chris remembered thinking his brother wasn’t afraid of anything.
He stared out the window again, running a finger along the weather strip.
“How did Michael get free?” she asked, her voice rough in the silence.
