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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 just..." 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. 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 directly 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. 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 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 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 was 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 on top of her. 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.
Garrett was gone when she woke up the next morning. It was early. Still dark. The Grind wasn't even open yet, because she couldn’t hear the music that they started playing every day at the ass crack of dawn. She'd lived in the apartment long enough that the music didn't wake her anymore. Not much did. She chalked up her early rise to the fact that she'd passed out sometime around eight the night before. It had still been light outside. For a few moments, she just lay in bed, staring into the darkness. When she did move, she realized she had the mother of all hangovers.
While pouring water down her throat, she looked around to see if Garrett had left her a note. He hadn't. She thought about calling him, but it was three-thirty in the morning, and she figured he was asleep. Besides, his not leaving a note tended to suggest that he wasn't interested in talking to her anymore. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.
The sex had been phenomenal. Weirdly phenomenal for first-time sex, which was usually a little awkward and strange. Maybe because they'd both been so drunk, their awkwardness had been burned off along with their inhibitions. She wasn't sure. But she did know that she'd had three orgasms, which wasn't normal for her, even if she weren't having first-time sex. Sex with Garrett had been...warm. There was a sweetness to their encounter. It had put in her in mind of sex scenes on movies. Like the one in Top Gun, with the music in the background and the shadows on the wall. Totally fucking intense. Totally fucking amazing.
And he hadn't left a note. What the fuck?
Maybe it hadn't been nearly as good for him. They hadn't really talked about it. But it had sounded like he was having a good time. And he'd whispered in her ear that she was beautiful. Just thinking about it made her stomach turn inside out. Damn it.
Why had she let this happen? Garrett was weird. Garrett was a social pariah. She had not just had sex with Garrett Hillard. Well, she obviously had, but she really wished she hadn't. It was fucked up. Especially because now she was totally developing feelings for him. Strong feelings. And he hadn't even bothered to leave her a note, because...well, she didn't know why. Maybe he'd call her tomorrow.
She tried to go back to sleep, but didn't manage it until about a half an hour before she had to get up for work, which meant that she woke up feeling groggy and almost worse than she had before she went back to sleep. But her hangover was mostly gone, thanks to the copious amounts of water she'd ingested. Trying not to obsess about what had happened to her the night before, she dragged herself to work.
She still had a box of brochures to go through for the project Maxine wanted her to work on, but she really didn't feel like going through them, so she decided to do some research on the internet instead. After wasting as much time as she could on settling in to work (drinking her coffee, checking her e-mail, saying good morning), she finally sat down in front of her computer and pulled up a Google search page. She typed "Elston history" into the search line and hit enter. She scrolled idly through the results that popped up. There were other Elstons in the world. Most of the results pertained to those towns. She hit her back button. Inserted "WV" into the search line and hit enter again. There. She clicked on one of the results and began to skim the article it brought up.
Elston was named after Matthew Elston, who'd been the governor appointed to the town by the British government, back when it was still Virginia. That was boring. She read more. Nothing much had happened in Elston during the Civil War. She found the date the college had been founded jotted it down. The site was a bust. Or maybe Elston was a bust.
As far as historic towns went, it had the most boring history ever. The best thing it had going for it was that it was twenty minutes away from Harper's Ferry, and John Brown had freed a bunch of slaves there or something. Ramona could never remember the story. There was a wax museum in Harper's Ferry, though. She'd been there once. The wax figures were automated, and their mouths moved along with a recorded soundtrack, so it looked like they were talking. Harper's Ferry was a cool historic town. Elston was just fucking weird.
Now she had a song stuck in her head. It was to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," but instead of all that "trampling out the vintage" nonsense, the verse just went, "John's Brown's body is a rottin' in the grave, John Brown's body is a rottin' in the grave, John Brown's body is a rottin' in the grave, his truth is marching on." Ramona started to hum to herself. Where had she heard that song anyway? Maybe at the wax museum? Or girl scouts? It didn't matter.
She clicked back and was back at the results page. She skimmed through the links. All of them looked like they were just copies of the article she'd just read.
Why hadn't Garrett left her a note? It was rude that he hadn't. Fucking rude. She could understand why he hadn't stayed. Maybe he'd woken up and hadn't wanted to be stuck in her house. After all, she didn't have any rooms, so he couldn't have hung out and watched TV or something. But he should have left her a note or something. Because she couldn't stop thinking about him. If she didn't intentionally occupy her brain with something else, she would flash onto the way it felt to be beneath him, split open, filled up, pleasure racking her body in waves--
This sucked. On a whim, Ramona highlighted the text in the search line and typed, "Dawn Trimbley," over it. She clicked search.
A list of results popped up. Some were congratulating a Dawn Trimbley on promotions. Some listed her as a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher. One link was a missing Dawn Trimbley. Ramona hovered her mouse over it.
She was going to look at the link. It wasn't because she still suspected Dawn of being a clone or a demon or of stealing the brochure. Because she didn't think any of those things. Garrett was nuts, no matter how good he was in bed. She was going to look at the link because she was bored and Elston had no interesting history. She'd only typed Dawn's name in because she was curious. It didn't have anything to do with Garrett's crazy theories or with what he'd said to her last night. She didn't believe him. She didn't care.
She pressed down on the button on her mouse. The page loaded, along with a large full color picture. Ramona looked at it for a couple seconds, swallowing nervously. Then she clicked her back button two times, back to the Elston search, and sat back in her chair. She should never have opened that link.
God. Garrett had filled her head with all that nonsense again. Then he'd fucked her, in more than one meaning of the word. And then he hadn't left a fucking goddamned note. And now she was looking at links, which had pictures of girls who looked exactly like Dawn and the girl in the brochure. This was just too weird.
She leaned back up to the computer and clicked the forward button twice. The picture of Dawn filled the screen. "Missing since 10/23/89," read the caption. Jesus Christ. It couldn't be the same Dawn. She looked exactly the same in the picture as she did now. Just like the picture in the brochure. This was weird. This was fucked up. Ramona saved the web site to her favorites. She'd give Heather the address. Then maybe Heather would see that she wasn't losing her mind. And if she ever spoke to Garrett again, she'd have to tell him about it, because he'd want to know. Even if he didn't ever want to have sex with her again, he'd want to know about this.
"Hi Garrett," said Blair in that sugary-sweet voice of hers. She had draped herself over the library counter top like last time.
Garrett stared into her cleavage, feeling his heart leap into his throat. Where had she come from? How had she snuck up on him like that? He'd been checking in some books, glancing away from the entrance for what he swore could only have been a second, and then here she was. Larger-than-life and creepier than ever. Garrett's throat was dry. He swallowed, but it didn't help much, so his voice came out sort of hoarse. "What do you want, Blair?"
"I want you to leave town," she said. "Or didn't I make myself clear two years ago?"
He looked away from her. "What happened that night, anyway?" he asked. "You and I both know I didn't rape you."
Blair didn't say anything, so he looked back at her. She raised her eyebrows. "Got a pretty clear memory of 'that night,' do you?"
Garrett nodded.
Blair didn't look pleased. A chill scampered up Garrett's spine. Hair on the back of his neck stood up. He shook himself, but the feeling stayed. He looked away again. "I don't have anywhere to go," he muttered. "I can't leave."
Blair touched his shoulder, and he flinched. Blair laughed. "Did I scare you?" she asked.
"Always," said Garrett dryly.
Blair snickered. "Good." Languidly, she rose up off the counter and rolled her head on her shoulders. She let out her breath audibly, like she was turned on. Garrett thought he might be sick. Then again, it might have nothing to do with Blair. It might just be because he was really fucking hung over, even in the late afternoon. "Listen Garrett," said Blair. "You absolutely did rape me that night. The fact you've blocked it from your memory only proves you're a crazy, fucked-up piece of shit."
"I did not rape you," said Garrett. "I tried to help you. You were scared, you were running from--"
"Bullshit," said Blair, and the force of her interruption caused Garrett to stumble. Then her sweet voice was back. "Lie to yourself all you want," she said. "I know what really happened, and no one believes you anyway."
"What did really happen?" asked Garrett. "I thought you were dead."
"Get out of Elston," said Blair. "And get away from Ramona Brinks. Just leave her alone."
He knew it. Blair didn't like it that he and Ramona had been talking. He wondered if Blair knew that he and Ramona had done more than just talked. This was actually a good thing. She was coming here and bothering him, because she felt threatened. He had a bargaining chip. He didn't know what he was bargaining over or what the stakes were or why it was important that he struggle for the upper hand, but he knew that he needed to. "I happen to like Ramona," he said. "A helluvalot." This wasn't a lie, either. He did like Ramona.
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea what I could do to you?" she asked him.
Garrett shrugged. "Then why don't you do it?" Truthfully, the thought of Blair doing something to him terrified him. She was like a cobra ready to pounce on him and inject him with poison.
Blair shrugged.
Garrett shrugged back. He was going to have the last shrug if it killed him. He knew now that he had to stand up to Blair. He had a little bit of leverage with his relationship with Ramona, and he had to use it.
"I might," said Blair. "I might go to the police. I might tell them what happened. I might get you sent to jail."
Garrett was confused. He'd thought that when Blair had said what she'd said she was threatening him with...with what? What had he thought? Had he really thought she was a clone or a ghost or a monster? Maybe Blair was right. Maybe he was crazy, and he'd blocked out the events of that night. He'd replaced them with something strange and otherworldly when all that had really happened was that he'd-- No. He hadn't raped Blair. He could never do anything like that. He wasn't that kind of guy.
Carrie's face flashed in front of him, her eyes full of terror. She was in the corner in their apartment in Austin. He was screaming at her. His hands were clenched in fists and...
He could never do anything like that. Could he?
"Fuck you," Garrett whispered. "Why are you screwing with me like this?"
Blair just laughed. It sounded like wind chimes. "Just leave town, Garrett. Leave town, and I'll leave you alone."
"Why?" he said. "What do you care? I leave you alone. I leave all of you alone."
"The sight of you makes me ill," she said, but she smiled when she said it.
If he actually had raped her, wouldn't she be frightened of him? And how could it have happened? How would he have done it? Why would he have...? He shook his head furiously. "I didn't rape you," he said.
"Sure of that?" teased Blair.
He wasn’t. Sickeningly enough, he wasn't entirely sure of anything anymore. He used to think of himself as an okay guy. A nice guy. A solid guy. Someone that people could depend on. Sure, he wasn't the smartest guy in the world, and he wasn't the most talented, but he wasn't an asshole. But after his relationship with Carrie, he didn't feel like such a great guy anymore. He felt like a lit fuse or a time bomb. He was always half-waiting for himself to just explode and go crazy.
That was why, even though he liked Ramona, he hadn't allowed himself to wake up next to her. He liked Ramona. He liked her a lot. And she deserved a better guy than he was. He knew what would happen if they got involved. He wouldn't mean it to happen, but it would. He'd just want to...keep her from getting away. Want to keep her safe. Want to be with her. But he'd get...fixated on it. And he'd intend...but soon it wouldn't entirely be about safety or caring about her or anything like that. It would just be about...controlling her. Because it would be too scary if something so important to his life as his relationship would be out of control. He wasn't good for Ramona. He needed to stay away from her.
And hell, maybe he could have raped Blair. Maybe if he'd gotten drunk. He'd been so angry that night about that stupid job. He'd felt like punching in a wall or bashing his boss' skull in. The anger had been like a fog. It had been hard to see through it. Maybe he wasn't sure of what he'd done. Maybe he'd made up all this stuff about monsters because he couldn’t deal with his guilty conscience. Maybe there was nothing here. No conspiracy theories, no dead girls, no ghosts.
"You aren't sure aren't you?" said Blair. "You don't remember doing it, but you think you could have. Maybe you don't remember other things, Garrett."
He shook his head dully. Everything in the library seemed to be getting dimmer and Blair's voice seemed to be getting brighter. It echoed in his head. It tore a path between his eyes and into his brain. It lodged there and reverberated throughout his bones.
"Like Angelica. You remember you met Angelica right before she died? Do you remember that?"
Garrett nodded. Angelica. Pretty hippie chick. Scared off by Owen. Then found in a shallow grave a few nights later. He remembered.
"Do you remember when you killed her?"
Garrett furrowed his brow. That wasn't right. He didn't kill her. He'd never killed anybody. "I didn't--" he started.
"Are you sure?" Blair interrupted.
"I..."
"Leave town, Garrett," said Blair. "Leave town or I will destroy you."
She turned slowly, giving him a slow view of her swaying hips, and sauntered out the library door. Garrett watched her go, feeling lightheaded and strange. He blinked hard and rubbed his forehead. His head was starting to hurt. He needed a cigarette.
Ramona hadn't been able to stop thinking about the missing Dawn Trimbley in Texas. She also hadn't been able to stop thinking about Garrett. After an afternoon of obsession, she was able to convince herself that the discovery of Dawn's missing twin was a good enough excuse to bother Garrett at work. She told herself that she wouldn't even mention what had happened the night before, since she wasn't entirely sure if it even meant anything. Ramona was no stranger to one-night stands. They happened. And usually, she was pretty good at being friends with the people she had them with afterwards. She wasn't always good at being friend with her ex-boyfriends. She hadn't talked to Ben in years, for instance. But guys she'd just fucked, those guys she could keep in touch with no problem.
Ramona was in such a rush to get to the library to see Garrett that she tripped over one of the roots of the oak tree growing in front of the building and went sprawling on the sidewalk. After lying there for a few seconds, contemplating how ridiculous she must look, she got to her feet and began to brush herself off. She'd scraped her knee. Great. The blood was coming through her cream trousers, which were dirty, but miraculously not torn. The blood would ruin them. There was no doubt. Ramona stared at her knee--red blossoming through her pants. She swore under her breath and debated just going home for a band-aid. Maybe it was a sign. She shouldn't talk to Garrett. Maybe he'd think she was smothering him. Maybe he'd be rude.
"Ramona, are you okay?" said a voice.
Ramona looked up, and Blair was coming out of the front door of the library. Ramona immediately thought of Garrett's story about Blair the night before. Was Blair a ghost? A clone? A monster? "Jesus, you saw that?" Ramona asked. "I'm so embarrassed."
"You're bleeding," said Blair. Her voice softened in concern.
"It's nothing," said Ramona. "I'll be fine, even if my pants aren't."
"Are you sure?" said Blair. "It looks like it's bleeding pretty good."
"Yeah," said Ramona. "I guess I should just limp on home now."
"Were you going into the library?"
Ramona nodded. Wasn't that obvious? She hadn't come over here just to trip over the oak tree root. Blair wasn't an idiot, was she?
Blair turned around and peered inside the window into the library. "Doesn't look like anybody's in there," she said. "Let's go in, though. Maybe we can find a first aid kit somewhere."
"Isn't Garrett in there?" asked Ramona. "I came to see him."
Blair shrugged. "He was when I was in there a minute ago, but I don't see him now. Don't worry, though. I'm sure we can find some band aids."
It wasn't a terrible idea. She just didn't know if she wanted Garrett to see her talking to Blair. Maybe he'd feel betrayed or something.
That was stupid.
She wasn't sure why she was hesitating. It just seemed like a bad idea. The oak tree root thing was a sign against it, wasn't it?
"Okay," said Ramona.
Blair opened the door to the library, and Ramona felt the cool rush of the air conditioning wrap itself around her legs and arms, pulling her inside. She followed Blair into the building. The room was still. No one was behind the counter.
"No one's here," said Ramona.
"I think Garrett's here somewhere," said Blair. "I think he went into the basement."
"Should we get him?"
Blair shook her head. "I don't think he'll mind." She made her way back to the room where the steps were. There was a little break room with a table and a sink and microwave. Ramona had always thought it was a little awkwardly placed, because library patrons had to walk right through it to get to the steps upstairs. But the library was an old building, like most buildings in Elston. Old buildings often had character. That's what the break room was. Character. Ramona followed Blair. Blair began opening cabinets and riffling through their contents. Canned spaghettios, paper towels, plastic silverware.
"Sit down," said Blair, gesturing to a seat at the table. Ramona did. "I'm going to go look in the bathroom. Wait here. I'll be right back."
Ramona looked at the stain on her knee. It had grown. It clung to her leg. These pants were definitely done for. She'd never get the blood out. Blood didn't come out of fabric easily. It took cold water and soap and scrubbing. Easier just to throw them away. They were ruined.
Blair returned, carrying bandages and antibiotic ointment. "Jackpot," she said. "Lift up your pants leg." She started to kneel in front of Ramona.
"Oh, don't be silly," said Ramona. "I can do it."
Blair settled on her knees. "Are you going to lift it up, or am I going to have to do it?"
Ramona rolled up the leg of her pants, wincing a little. The scrape wasn't bad, but it was bleeding a lot. It hurt. Blair mopped at the blood with a wad of toilet paper. She wasn't gentle about it. Ramona bit her lip. "Really," she said. "I can do it."
"I've got it," said Blair, scrubbing away at Ramona's knee. "It's not deep or anything. I think you'll be fine."
"I know," said Ramona.
Blair smeared antibiotic ointment on the wound. "I just didn't want you going all night without getting this bandaged."
Huh? Ramona wrinkled her nose in confusion. "I was going to put a band-aid on it as soon as I got home," she said.
"Oh," said Blair, as if realizing she'd said something she hadn't meant to say. "Of course you were. But now you won't need to." She opened a large band-aid and laid it over Ramona's scrape, pushing down on the sticky parts. "There," she said. "Good as new."
"Thanks," said Ramona.
Blair got to her feet, crumpling the bandage wrapper in her hand and looking around for a trashcan. "You're welcome," she said. Finally, she spied one in the corner, crossed to it, and tossed the wrapper inside. "So you came here because you were looking for Garrett?"
"Yeah," said Ramona.
"I've seen you two hanging around a lot," said Blair. "I don't get it. That guy is bad news."
"He's okay," Ramona muttered.
"He's a jerk," said Blair. "I wish you'd just stay away from him."
"Well, I just wanted to talk to him for a second," said Ramona.
Blair shrugged. "If you must. He's down in the basement." She gestured.
The door to basement looked like a huge, black mouth to Ramona. Ready to swallow her up, like the big, bad wolf or the whale in the story of Jonah. She didn't want to go down there. "I'll just talk to him another time," said Ramona.
"He's been down there for a while," said Blair. "You should probably check on him."
Ramona inched toward the door. At the doorway, she stopped. The door to the basement was an old one, like the ones in farmhouses. It didn't have a knob, it had one of those wooden latches that slid into a matching groove on the doorframe. "Garrett," she called into the darkness.
No answer. She turned to Blair. "Are you sure he's down there?"
Blair nodded. "I saw him go in."
Ramona put one foot on the first step, feeling along the wall for a light switch. It was so damned dark down there. She shivered. She couldn't find a switch. Maybe it was at the bottom of the steps. Sometimes the light switch was at the bottom. She took a few more steps, clutching the railing since every step she took down took her farther from the light. She didn't like the way the basement smelled. It smelled like mold and age and decay. As she reached the bottom, she could hardly see. She collided with several spider webs, and she thrust them away from her skin, shivering.
She felt for a light switch again, but couldn't feel anything. "Garrett," she called. She turned back to Blair. "I don't think he's--"
And she broke off, because the door at the top of the stairs was closing. She heard the latch click closed, locking her in. And she realized that if Garrett were actually down here, he would have turned on the light himself....
Copyright (c) 2010 Valerie Chambers