Brighter, a supernatural thriller Page 7

Heather tried to smile back, but she couldn't. There wasn't anything to Ramona's ravings. Was there?

  "What you said just reminded me of that is all," he said. "I don't really think he's possessed by demons, baby."

  "Good," said Heather. "Because I don't think I could handle a crazy best friend and a crazy husband." And she definitely couldn't handle going crazy herself.

  * * *

  Blair Casey came into the library. She didn't speak, but she slid inside the door, locked her eyes with his, and sauntered to the counter. She leaned over, breasts and hair spilling out, nearly touching Garrett. She smiled at him.

  He knew why she was there. He'd done something wrong. What had it been?

  At first, he thought that it was the mere fact he'd been at The Brass Frog, but he'd been going to The Frog for months now, and Blair hadn't seemed to mind. So it didn't make sense for her to get pissed about it now. As he stood there and stared at her, her face inches from his own, the smell of her—patchouli and tobacco smoke—enveloping him where he stood, he knew that what it had to be. He'd fucked up because he'd talked to Ramona Brinks. That was it. It had to be. He'd told Ramona that he'd seen something the night he'd been run out of town. It had been about Blair and now—

  She surveyed him, chewing on her lip.

  Garrett glared at her. "What do you want?" he asked.

  "I heard you were talking to Ramona Brinks at the bar the other night," said Blair. "Talking about some interesting things from the sound of it."

  Shit. What was up with this town? People eavesdropped on his conversations? Screw that.

  "What the fuck do you care?" Garrett said. "You've got your version of what happened that night. I've got mine."

  Blair shook her head. "I know the truth about what happened that night. You don't even know how to admit that yourself." She heaved an enormous sigh. "Besides, I thought you and I had an understanding. You weren't going to talk about it."

  "I haven't. I don't even remember what happened," said Garrett.

  "That's not what it sounded like when you were talking to Ramona," said Blair. "And I remember what happened, Garrett. I remember everything."

  What had happened that night? Garrett wasn't lying when he said he didn't know. But whatever he'd hallucinated or misunderstood, it had seriously fucked with him. He didn't like to think about it. But with Blair so close, he couldn't stop himself. He could smell the humidity on the summer air, hear the sounds of the crickets in the darkness, the far off bleep of a car horn, taste the blood in his mouth because he'd bitten his tongue so hard in shock...

  Chapter Eight

  Garrett was in the admissions office.

  "Is that your boyfriend?" asked one of Ramona's co-workers.

  She made a face. Garrett?! No. Garrett was the crazy, possible rapist she'd talked to in the bar the other night. There was definitely nothing more to it than that. What was he doing here? Had she told him where she worked? She didn't think she had, but here he was. She must have. Sometimes when she got drunk, she didn't exactly black out, but...pieces were missing. She was probably missing the piece where she'd told him she worked in the admissions office and to stop by anytime. Fuck. Ramona went to him.

  "What are you doing here?" she nearly growled.

  "I need to talk to you," said Garrett. "I closed the library early. Can you leave?"

  Ramona looked around. Was he crazy? She was at work. "Um, I get off in half an hour?"

  "I need to talk to you," Garrett repeated.

  Ramona was annoyed. "Okay. In half an hour."

  Garrett swallowed. Nodded. Seemed to accept this. "Okay. I'll wait." He looked around for a chair to sit in.

  Oh, fuck. He wasn't seriously going to sit in the office for half an hour was he? Jesus Christ. She never should have spoken to him. Ever. God, what had she gotten herself into? She sighed heavily. "Wait here," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

  As it happened, Maxine didn't care if Ramona left early. She said, "You've worked through lunch a couple of times. It's no big deal. Have a nice evening."

  So Ramona and Garrett left the admissions office and emerged into the spring afternoon. The warm air wrapped itself around Ramona. She loved spring. It was a promise of summer, and summer was the realization of everything perfect and wonderful and—

  Garrett was shivering.

  Suddenly, Ramona didn't feel annoyed with Garrett; she just felt worried. "Are you okay?" she asked.

  He shook his head. Then, "No, I'm fine." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry for barging into your office like that."

  "Are you cold?" she asked.

  "You live in town, right?"

  "Yeah...?" Where was he going with this?

  "Do you have alcoholic beverages in your apartment?"

  Was he kidding? Was this Elston? Was the grass green? "Of course."

  "Let's go there," he said.

  Okay, so he'd just invited himself over to her apartment. Him and her. Alone. And Garrett was possibly a rapist. "Um..." she said. She looked at him. Hugging his jacket close to his body and shaking violently, he didn't look too dangerous. "Okay."

  Once inside her apartment with the door locked (Garrett insisted on this), she offered him a choice of Killian's or a Jack and Coke. Garrett took the Jack and declined the Coke. If Garrett was drinking, Ramona decided she would too, even though it was early. She grabbed a beer, and the two of them sat down in her living area.

  "So, what's up?" she asked him.

  "Blair came to the fucking library," said Garrett. "She doesn't like the fact I'm talking to you. And I just... I had this flash. For a long time, I guess I couldn't remember anything that happened that night. You know what night I mean?"

  "Sure," said Ramona. Garrett was starting to freak her out.

  "I..." Garrett shrugged. "I remember now. Everything. I have to talk to somebody about it. I never talked to anyone about it. And somehow I feel like I should... I should do whatever it is that Blair doesn't want me to do. I..." He trailed off.

  Ramona took a long drink of beer. She was curious about the night that Garrett had allegedly raped Blair. Really curious. But because Garrett seemed so intense, she wanted to seem nonchalant. "Okay," she said. "You can talk about it."

  Garrett started to talk. His eyes glazed, and he spoke dreamily, as if he was seeing it happen to him all over again. As he spoke, Ramona began to feel as if she could almost see it too...

  * * *

  The night air stuck to Garrett's skin like an old piece of hard candy, a chewed up piece of gum, a scab that had healed over weeks ago. He could feel the air. It was like he had to fight his way through it. It was hot. His t-shirt clung to him. He could smell his own sweat, mingling with the smells of summer in Elston. Marijuana smoke, floating sweetly past him on the breeze. The Chinese restaurant, a lingering scent of garlic. Garrett paused outside The Brass Frog, grinding his teeth and trying to get a grip on himself. He was so pissed.

  He wanted a drink. Or ten.

  He was afraid, however, that the alcohol wouldn't dull his anger, but sharpen it, make it more acute. He could feel it bubbling up inside him like lava, ready to spill out of his mouth and devour whatever was in his path. Garrett's anger frightened him.

  He could not believe he'd been fired from his job. It was ridiculously unfair. He'd—

  Fuck it. He wasn't going to think about it. It was a damned job. Tomorrow, he'd seethe. Right now, he wanted to be numb. He still hesitated, just outside the bar, unsure if he wanted to be around Elston people. Maybe it would be better if he turned around, got back in his car, picked up a six pack (or ten) from Sheetz, and went home to drink alone. But no, he wouldn't do that, because he lived with his parents, and there was no place that was worse to drink than that close to his mom and dad. Fuck.

  He took a deep breath of sticky, hot air and started for the bar. That was when Blair rounded the corner by the library. She was running, long hair streaming behind her, a look of sheer terror on her face. Alarmed, Garrett stepped di
rectly into her path.

  She collided with him, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her out at arms’ length. Blair struggled.

  "Let me go," she said. "Are you one of them too?"

  "Are you okay?" said Garrett, dropping his arms.

  Blair half-sobbed. "What the fuck do you mean? Let me go!"

  He stepped aside. "Go," he said.

  She didn't move. "You're not..." She stole a glance over her shoulder, fear in her eyes. "You've got to help me," she said.

  "Okay," said Garrett.

  "Do you have a car?"

  He nodded.

  "Where? You have to get me out of here."

  "Uh..." Garrett was at a loss. "What's going on? Is someone after you? We could find the police."

  "No." She shook her head furiously. "No. Just get me out of here."

  Garrett was torn. He didn't know this chick, and he didn't know if he wanted to put her in his car. On the other hand, if she really was in trouble... "Let's go into The Frog," he said. "You'll be safe in a public place."

  "I won't," she said. And she started sobbing. "Please help," she moaned. She threw herself into Garrett's arms.

  Garrett panicked. He didn't know what to do, how to react. Then, from around the same corner Blair had appeared, a group of townies appeared. Garrett knew most of them, even if he didn't really know them well enough to have a conversation with them. Owen, Zane, Dawn, Christa—

  —What had ever happened to Christa? She wasn't in town anymore. He hadn't seen her since that night, and she hadn't been with the group that had come for him later—

  —at least seven others. They sauntered slowly down the sidewalk. There was no hurry in their walk. No threat. Except...there was something menacing about them. Maybe it was their sheer calmness. Nothing rushed these guys. No. It was their eyes. There was something in their eyes. Something alive. Something burning. Blue fire or sparks or—shit. He didn't know. But as he saw them, and as Blair gave a little whimper of helplessness or fear or resignation, he suddenly knew she was right and seized her by the elbow.

  He dragged her with him, and they half-ran, half-stumbled down the street away from the group of townies. Towards Garrett's car. His heart raced in his chest. Beside him Blair breathed noisily. But somehow, they just weren't fast enough, because the monsters (that was all Garrett could think to call them—they didn't seem human) were on them in just a few moments. They were in the parking lot behind The Holy Grind. Garrett's car was steps away. And the monsters tore Blair away from him. She blew back, like a rush of wind coming in the door on a cold winter's day, and she shrieked.

  Garrett fell backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. He grunted and looked up. Zane and Owen and Christa had grabbed Blair. Zane and Owen had her arms. Christa was yanking on a hunk of Blair's hair. She jerked Blair backwards into her arms. Blair was shaking her head, whining, "No, no, no." Tears were leaking out of her eyes. Snot was flowing out of her nose. Christa put one arm around Blair's shoulders to steady her and wrapped one arm around Blair's forehead. In a quick, sickening motion, she snapped Blair's neck. There was a cracking, crunching sound and Blair slid lifelessly out of Christa's arms and fell into a puddle on the ground. Her arms and legs were tangled in an unnatural way. Garrett just knew she was dead.

  And then...then, he didn't know. There was—

  — blood spatters red lips fangs sink split skulls swirls screams wide jaws gape swish suck bodies dance shriek smooth death red —

  He gagged. Scrambled to his feet. Stumbled away, back towards the street. He half-paused for a second and vomited behind a bush and then kept moving blindly. He didn't know where he was going, but he must have followed his previous instinct that he'd be safe in a public place, because he ended up inside The Frog. He threw himself against the bar and held onto it while he shook and shook and shook.

  No one in The Frog even seemed to notice he was there.

  He had no idea how long he stayed that way. It seemed like hours. He couldn't think. He could hardly breathe. He wanted to throw up again. He wanted to steady himself. A long time later, he hadn't recovered. The bartender saw him. Walked over. Put a napkin in front of him and looked at him questioningly. Garrett made a few strangled attempts at speech. And then the door burst open, and Blair came in.

  If it were possible, Garrett started to shake even more violently. He couldn't quite put together why she shouldn't be there, but he knew it wasn't right.

  She pointed. "Him," she said, her voice cold.

  Zane, Owen, Ben, and a few other guys appeared from behind her. Owen started screaming profanities. Garrett tried to understand. He picked out a few words. Rape. Girlfriend. Motherfucker. None of it made any sense. Garrett clutched at the bar for dear life, but the guys came for him and pulled him away onto the street. They circled him. Yelled more. There was more about rape. Garrett couldn’t stop shaking.

  Someone started throwing punches, and then they were all hitting him. Fists collided with his jaw, his stomach. Someone kneed him in the groin. Pain blossomed like an orchid, wiping out the world in white-hot stars. Garrett was on his stomach on the pavement. He was bleeding. Someone leaned over his ruined face. She spoke. Her voice was like maple syrup. "Don't come back," she said. "Get out and don't come back."

  Then the voice of the bartender. Angry. "Break it up!"

  The sounds of feet hitting the pavement. People scattering.

  Then nothing. He could hardly see through the blood. It was in his eyes. It was in his hair. Everything hurt.

  The next day he packed his shit and moved to D.C.

  * * *

  Garrett stopped talking. Ramona just stared at him. She didn't know what to say. That was a crazy story he'd just told her. Part of her was trying as best she could to hold onto what Heather had said about everything being all in her head, and this was unsettling. She didn't want to deal with a freaked-out Garrett in her living room. She tried to stop him when he got up and brought the Jack Daniels bottle over. She didn't think his being drunk would help the situation much. But instead, she ended up taking shots with him.

  She tried to say the things that Heather had said. It didn't mean anything. Nothing had happened. He'd imagined it. She'd imagined it. But Garrett wasn't buying it. "I know I saw it now," he said. "I remember watching them kill Blair. I remember it so clearly now. It really happened. You and I...we know something. I don't know what it is we know, but we're making them nervous by talking to each other."

  Ramona didn't want to believe that. She didn't. Because it didn't make sense. People didn't see someone get killed and then see that same person later. That didn't make any sense. So, Garrett had to be mistaken. He just did.

  "Why did you tell me this?" she finally asked.

  "Because Blair was upset that I talked to you," he said. "Because it's got something to do with you too. Probably because you saw Angelica that night."

  Ramona shook her head. "No," she said. "It's ludicrous. It doesn't make sense." Dead people? A bunch of people, her friends, breaking someone's neck right outside on the streets of Elston? No way. And Garrett talked about them like they weren't even people. That was ridiculous. If they weren't people... "If they're these powerful monsters," said Ramona, "and we're such a threat to them, then why don't they just kill us?"

  "Maybe they're going to try," said Garrett, taking another shot of Jack Daniels.

  "What the fuck?" Ramona said. "These are my friends we're talking about. These are not monsters. They are not people who are trying to kill me."

  "What about the brochure with the picture of Dawn?" Garrett asked. "What about that?"

  Well. That was kind of weird. She hesitantly related to Garrett what had happened when she showed Dawn the brochure.

  "See?" said Garrett. "See? Something fucked up is going on."

  "Like clones?" said Ramona.

  "No," said Garrett. "Something worse."

  Ramona shook her head. "I just... I can't believe that."

  But she w
as drinking. And Garrett was drinking. And half a bottle of Jack Daniels later, she wasn't thinking properly. She remembered what she'd been thinking waiting in line at The Grind. She'd been thinking about Garrett's lips. She looked at them now. They looked soft. Soon, she was having a very hard time concentrating on the conversation. Garrett was sitting so close to her. And she couldn’t help remembering how long it had been since she'd had a boyfriend or since she'd even kissed a boy. It seemed like it had been an interminably long time.

  Right then, it didn't seem to matter so much that Garrett was spouting crazy theories and talking about dead people walking around. She gazed deep into Garrett's eyes, and he looked back, whatever argument he'd had for the existence of monsters dying on his tongue. Garrett kissed her.

  His lips were soft.

  His tongue was softer. Slick-smooth and sweet against hers. And almost immediately his hands were on her, and it felt like they were everywhere. Cupping her ass, stroking her breasts, between her legs. She moaned. She pulled him to his feet, and they stumbled over furniture to her bed. She pulled the curtain closed on the picture window. It felt good.

  It had been a long time since Ramona had been with anyone, and that was saying something, because there had been a period of time when Ramona had been slightly promiscuous. It was easy to do in a town this size, where she knew everyone, everyone seemed safe, and alcohol flowed like the lemonade springs in the big rock candy mountains. But lately, she'd been celibate. She guessed she'd been saving herself for Mason. Not anymore. She stopped herself from thinking anymore, because she didn't want to think. She wanted to give in to Garrett and his hands and his tongue.

  She lay beneath him, writhing beneath his caresses, arching her neck to meet his lips with her own. He'd settled onto her so that half his weight rested against her. She loved the feeling of him. The warmth. The heft of him. Garrett pushed himself up on his arms, so that he wasn't resting on her anymore, and so they couldn't kiss. He looked down at her. "Is this okay?" he asked.

  Was it okay? Was he insane? She pushed him onto his back to straddle him. "This is definitely okay." And she pulled her shirt over her head.