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But it’s all become more confusing than ever, the red noise only building in my head.
Why does chaos follow me everywhere I go?
It really is starting to feel likeI’mthe common denominator.
Did I leave one shitty man just to latch onto someone worse?
“How long until you’re done with his fence?” Jude says.
“I don’t know, maybe a couple more days.”
I’m not looking at Jude because I hate lying to him. But I hate even more the idea of admitting that I haven’t touched Dane’s fence the last two visits because I was too busy letting him put his hands down my pants. And fuck with my brain.
Jesus, I really am losing my mind.
“I don’t know what else he’ll want me to do.”
“Tell him to fuck off.” Jude scowls. “The fence is enough.”
“He kind of has us over a barrel.”
“That doesn’t mean he gets to break into our house!”
“I don’t know if he did.”
“Then who did all that?” Jude points in the direction of the kitchen. “A raccoon?”
“Maybe,” I say, though I don’t think either of us believes that for a second. There were piles of dishes on the floor, like someone cleared off the shelves with both arms. “But then who plugged the sink?”
“You ever see those YouTube videos where the raccoon tries to wash the cotton candy, but it keeps disappearing?” Jude smirks. “Maybe he was trying to do that.”
I snort. “That’s gotta be it.”
I slosh back across the entryway, curious about what, exactly, is blocking the sink. We don’t even own a proper plug.
I stick my bare arm down into the basin of cold water, its surface darkly opaque even when Jude holds the lantern aloft.
Reaching into the drain gives me an eerie feeling. There’s no garbage disposal, but my mind still treats me to an image of blades suddenly whirling to life around my probing fingers.
“Hold on,” I say to Jude, who’s holding the lantern, “just a little farther…”
My fingertip touches something hard and slightly slimy, with a wet, fibrous texture wrapped around it.
“There’s definitely something jammed in here…a tree root, maybe?”
I’ve dealt with plenty of tree roots growing into pipes, especially in basement renovations. This could be a bit of woody root tangled up with finer hair-like threads…
I manage to wedge my fingers down enough to grasp the knobby head. I tug and yank until finally it comes out of the drain with a horrid sucking sound.
I hold the root aloft in the lantern light, where it drips something darker than water…
The root isn’t a root at all, but hard, pale bone, hung with shreds of flesh and bits of bloodstained hair.
Jude takes one look, covers his mouth, and bolts from the room.
* * *
17
