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31 - Vincent
“It was just so creepy, you know? Hechasedme to the front door and then just stood there, ringing the bell. Like, what did he think was going to happen? That I’d invite him in for a sweet tea?”
Listening to Jess recount the story of seeing Reagan was literally going to give me hives. I swear I could already feel them popping up on my arms, but I was trying my damnedest to take it in stride and not freak the fuck out.
We were near Wickeston Heights, hiking through the hills, hand in hand. The wall of the gated community was ahead of us, and we were coming up to the back end of the neighborhood, where its oldest houses still stood. We traipsed through the trees, climbing over bushes and stomping through weeds. Funnily enough, Jess hadn’t even asked where we were going. When I’d arrived to pick her up after work, she’d come out to meet me without a moment’s hesitation.
More and more, it seemed like she was craving spending time with us. Not sex, not some wild game. Just company.
And honestly? I was craving the same thing. I’d admit that a lot of Jess’s initial appeal was the fact that she was a closeted freak. But now? Jess was so much more than that.
She was introspective and clever. She was passionate, and viciously loyal. All that loyalty she’d given to her unworthy friends, for so long, made so much more sense now. It was misplaced devotion, and now that she’d overcome it, I sincerely hoped she’d never find herself in that position again.
I wanted to make sure she didn’t. I couldn’t help it. The instinct to protect and care for her, like I cared for Jason, was overwhelming. It was that “oldest sibling” syndrome, I swear. I wanted to solve everything, always be there with an answer.
But this time, I wasn’t sure if I had one.
“I’m glad you called us when you did,” I said, holding a branch out of the way for her to pass beneath. My backpack was weighing heavily on my shoulders, but it would be worth it once we reached our destination. “I feel like shit that I didn’t wake up.”
“Don’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t feel guilty. I didn’t want to wake all of you up anyway.”
It was a relief that Manson and Jason had woken up and gone to her. But I still felt responsible. It made me never want to let her out of my sight. The fact that I couldn’t always take her home at night, that I couldn’t keep her in our bed and under our protection, was an annoying itch that grew worse every day.
“Where are we going anyway?” she said, panting as she paused for a moment after nearly stumbling on a tree root. We could see the wall now, a formidable ten-foot height of thick gray brick.
“We’re going to a house party for two,” I said, giving my backpack a little shake. Cans of spray paint and bottles of beer clattered together inside. “We’re almost there, we just need to get over the wall.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, with a mischievous smile on her lips. “Is what we’re about to do illegal?”
“Yes,” I said simply, and she didn’t offer a single argument.
Pulling myself up to the top of the wall first, I straddled the bricks and reached my hand down so Jess could scramble up. We dropped down on the other side, landing in an overgrown backyard. Jess immediately ducked down while I remained standing, and she looked up at me with wide eyes.
“Aren’t you afraid they’re home?” she whispered.
“Nope. The houses back here have been abandoned for years. Look.”
The first houses built in Wickeston Heights had been these overly ornate, ridiculously extravagant small mansions. The one in front of us only had a few of its windows still intact, and most of its gray-white facade was overgrown with vines. Chain fencing had been put up against the house to keep people out, but it was cut open and bent out of place.
“Is this really Wickeston Heights?” she said.
“Yep. These are some of the oldest houses in the neighborhood.” Taking her hand, we walked together toward the broken back door. Our shoes crunched on shattered glass as we stepped inside, ducking under the bent fencing. “My dad remembers when these were built. Wickeston wasn’t much back then; apparently these people were really hot shit. They wanted to turn Wickeston into some fancy, upper class town.”
Jess snickered. “That obviously worked out for them.”
We explored the lower floor together, taking our time. What I loved most about these old mansions was that so much was left behind. The rooms were still furnished. The remnants of tattered drapes hung limp around broken windows. There was canned food still left in the cabinets. Almost everything was destroyed, of course; broken glass and trash littered every room.
But it was still beautiful. Like wandering through an apocalyptic landscape, touching the remnants of someone’s hopes and dreams.
We climbed to the top of the stairs and sat side by side, cracking open a couple beers. From our seat, we faced the front door below and a massive chandelier overhead. It was strewn with cobwebs and thick with dust, but some crystals still caught the light and shimmered.
“You really like abandoned places, don’t you?” Jess said, leaning back on her hands as she sipped her beer. “Why?”
