It was odd, talking about it with someone who didn’t know the story already.
I could see a look in her eyes that I was familiar with. Pity, but not quite pity. An attempt at understanding that couldn’t succeed. There was no explaining just how bad it had been without having to explain why I hadn’t gone home. Pride, of an odd sort that drove someone down instead of raising them up.
To distract her, to end that inquisitive look, I commented, “I’m doing okay enough that I treated myself to my first big nonessential purchase.”
I had to lean against the wall, to angle myself so I could see it, leaning against the inside of the fence. I pointed, then stepped out of the way.
“A bike?”
“And the license and insurance. It’s about the shittiest, smallest, cheapest bike ever, and it’s used, but that doesn’t matter. It’s mine. What are you up to? University?”
“Second year. Business, hopefully law a bit down the road, if I can finagle it.” She showed me her crossed fingers.
“You still keep in touch with the people from high school? Shannon? Miracle?”
“Mira. She’s finally going by a different name. No longer a testament to why immigrants shouldn’t let their kids choose their English names. She still asks about you, you know?”
“At least someone did,” I said, smiling a little.
Paige looked like she was going to punch me, then stopped short. Remembering the issue with the hug. “I did, you jackass. Fuck.”
Molly stood from the bench and approached us.
“Here we go,” Paige said. She smiled, quirking her shoulders as she showed an uncharacteristic excitement. A little bouncy, even. “Us three, back together after… nine years?”
“Ten,” I said.
Paige was a year older than me, Molly a year younger. We’d always hung out, back in the days when the family had gotten together.
Molly didn’t look happy, though. She hugged her arms against her body. She still looked almost ill.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I want this to be over,” Molly said. She leaned against a doorframe. A moment later, she stood, shifting position. Restless.
“I remember how we used to make up stories about this place,” Paige said. “Gruesome ones.”
“Yeah,” Molly said, hugging herself tighter. “They weren’t all made up. That bit about great-grandpa and great-grandma being related?”
I shivered a little. “Thanks. Thank you for that reminder.”
“The duel where one of our ancestors murdered someone?” Molly asked.
“Killed,” Paige said. “I don’t think it counts as murder if it’s during a duel.”
“Semantics,” Molly said.
“I love arguing semantics,” Paige said, smiling mischievously. “Don’t get me started.”
The murmur of conversation further down the hallway dwindled. Silence, and the sound of footsteps.
Ellie, making her exit.
“Paige and Peter,” the man in scrubs said.
Paige’s eyebrows went up.
“Lumped in with the twin,” I noted.
Paige forced a smile to her face. “I’m a little terrified. Here goes. Wish me luck.”
“Paige,” Molly said.
Paige hesitated.
“Don’t. I can’t explain it. It would sound dumb if I did, but don’t take the offer.”
Paige frowned.
“Paige?” the man in scrubs asked. Peter was standing next to him. Blond, like Paige, the same height and build, even the same general shape to his face. But when Uncle Paul and Aunt Steph had split up, each one had taken one of the twins. Peter was rougher-edged, at a glance, somehow older, and very much like Ellie, who had joined him in going to their mom, in how uncomfortable he looked in more formal clothes.
He and Paige entered together.
Molly and I were left alone, at the end of the hallway. The volume of conversation in the hallway gradually rose. Whispered words to allies, barbs directed at enemies.
When I spoke, my words were closer to a whisper, a murmur. “Hey, Moll? What’s going on?”
“Don’t know if you remember, or heard, but my mom moved us here. So we’d be closer. Trying to get an advantage. So Callan, me and Chris, we’ve actually been here regularly. Usually when mom invited herself over.”
“I figured it was something like that,” I said.
“I don’t think Callan really gets it, but he moved a few years in. Chris and I have gone to school here. There’s a vibe. Too many things that don’t fit. Strangers knowing who I am and not liking me right off the bat. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. It’s about the property.”
“More than the property. It’s about old ladies glaring at me. Kids going after Chris on the playground, and it’s too quick and too mean for me to feel like it makes any sense. Feeling like I’m surrounded whenever I’m outside. Like a third of the people around here have decided we’re their mortal enemies.”
I could remember my nights on the streets. Finding a place to set up camp, out of anyone else’s way. Even with the city lights, it was hard not to feel like danger was lurking just out of sight, waiting until my eyes were closed. In quieter areas, where the glow of the city hadn’t been there, where deeper shadows could have hidden anything, the feeling had been all the more intense.
Twice, I’d even been right. Both times, it had been people. The worst types of people. I still had scars. Some were physical.
I could imagine how Molly might feel, facing a watered down version of the same situation. Being bullied by a whole community, being somewhere where anyone could be hostile without the slightest provocation. Being a focus, even. I could remember the looks the people on the corner had given me as I’d pulled up.
“You are their mortal enemy, Molly. We are. It’s a small town, people obsess over the smallest things, and this is a big deal to people. When you’re alone, feeling vulnerable to begin with, it’s scarier. I don’t want to make it out to be less than it is-”
“That’s not what I mean,” she interrupted.
“It’s… what it is, Molly. Trust me. Small communities have done scary stuff before, with little rhyme or reason. You’re spooked, you have a reason to be spooked. It’s legit. But don’t lose sight of the issue at the root of this whole business.”
She looked so abjectly miserable, standing there, restless, nervous.
“It’s almost over,” I tried to reassure her.
“I’m-” she started, then she stopped. She glanced back. “I’m going to go sit. I need to get my head clear before my turn comes up.”
“Sure,” I said.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Blake,” she said. She managed a smile.
“Thanks,” I responded.
I watched her make her way back to her seat.
Damn them. Damn it all.
I could feel the anger stirring, again. Anger at my uncle and aunts, at my parents, at everything here.
It got worse instead of better, as I waited.
When the door opened and both Paige and Peter stepped out, the arguing started right away.