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Another flash of red.
Billy continued. “Well, the vampire took her. Duh.”
I choked on a breath as I handed his joint back. “The … what?”Please, not this fucking shit again.
“You didn’t know? Hart Hollow is the forgotten town where dreams die, God rules, and the Vampire King resides high on the hill.”
My vision darkened like someone had draped a heavy blanket over the night, over the trees. “I think you took too many hits of that, man.” I wondered if saying the word had awoken something. I never should have uttered the word vampire on that stage with Sorina. Never should have snuck into that church on the hill. The likeness of God’s son haunted me.
Billy laughed. “Ah don’t believe in the bogeyman, then?”
I laughed a bitter laugh as I drifted back into my past. “Nah. I once knew someone who did, and he hurt a lot of people because he believed Jesus Christ was a vampire.”
Billy’s eyes widened. “Who did?”
I cleared my throat. “Someone I used to know back where I used to live.”
“Where did you live?”
I offered my partial truth to him. “On a ranch in California.”
He seemed disappointed in my answer. “Ah. How’d that work out for him? Because we don’t talk about the truth around here.”
I ran a hand through my shaggy hair, turning around in a circle. “Well, he’s dead.”
Billy nodded, pulling out a lighter. I recognized it as a Zippo. He held the glinting silver up to the light, his thumb on the bottom, his index, middle, and ring fingers all on the top. He squeezed the lighter, and it popped open, shifting in his hand. It was a neat trick.
“I probably shouldn’t be running my mouth to new kids in the woods about all this shit, anyway. I’ll end up dead like your friend.”
My throat tightened. “He wasn’t my friend. And I doubt you’ll end up six feet under for telling me that.”
Another flash of red caught my eye in the trees, and I knew Sorina was up there.Watching.
“Oh, I never said six feet under. That’s not where you go when he gets ya.”
“I feel like there has to be another explanation for people leaving,” I tried.
“Like what, MoMo?”
“What’s MoMo?”
Billy grinned widely, waving his hand in the air. “Oh, the Missouri Monster,” I thought Billy was pulling my leg at first, but as he continued on, I could tell he wasn’t. “Great beast of a thing, watches in the dark and stalks the woods. Eats up little kids at night.Don’t go far, kiddies; MoMo will gobble you up if you stay out past curfew. Stay under the streetlights, and peddle fast little kiddies. You can tell he’s here by his stench.”
I thought of the animal in the road again, the screams. “And what does MoMo look like?”
“Big black beast. Spotted up by St. Louis in the 60s. Might say it’s Missouri’s own Bigfoot.”
“So, we have Bigfoot and vampires? What about werewolves? Do we have those, too?”
Billy put his hand on his hips. “Nah, that’s fairytale shit, man. Don’t be dumb,” he joked.
I laughed, and Billy came closer.
“In all seriousness, I know you probably think I’m high or whatever, but be careful in this fucking town, man. You either never leave or get taken.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, practicing the words. I’d learned this was something you said to someone who lost someone they loved. We never said it on the ranch because every death served a higher purpose, according to Markus. So we weren’t allowed to mourn, cry, or feel loss when someone was … sacrificed. Feelings meant death. Insubordination meant death.
Or worse.
