I’m late, and not even fashionably so.
Hours ago, I was supposed to arrive at Ira’s house to celebrate Bishop’s unbirthday. I only left my house five minutes ago.
I meant to be late, but not this late. But after making love to Morgan—yeah, I’ll call it what it is, I’m not a coward like that—everything in me has been unsettled. Most especially my memories. This party is for Bishop’s unbirthday, and I started remembering all the other unbirthdays I’ve been to in that house.
It was all Raven’s idea, but of course it would be. That’s what Raven does, invents reasons to gather her loved ones together. Not even a party but simply people gathered. The concept of an unbirthday was baffling to me. I’d never even had regular birthdays—still don’t know what my real birth date is and probably never will—and these people were having two. I pretended that I knew all about regular birthdays and that I was amused by the unbirthday.
Okay, maybe I didn’t have to pretend to be amused.
The last unbirthday I went to was for Ira. It was on the smaller side for an unbirthday, just him, the guys, and Morgan and Raven. I mostly only remember that it wasn’t fun exactly, but it was warm. Content. Everyone was laughing, but I can’t remember any of the jokes.
I do remember meeting Morgan’s gaze that night, across the room, as someone was telling a funny story. It was one of those shared looks where we spoke without speaking. I never realized how many of those looks we shared before.
That night it was different though. Instead of sharing a brief moment, we got tangled together somehow. Unable to pull apart for long moments. Morgan had raised one eyebrow, a question without form. Maybe she was asking if I felt it too. I did, but without a name for what it was, I could only answer by staring back the same way she was at me.
Then something fell, the moment dissolved, and a few weeks later I was running for my life.
And now I’m about to confront the man responsible for it all, at another unbirthday party, in the house of the man who did die in the crash. It’s like it’s come full circle but in a twisted way. We’re going around a Möbius strip.
I’m not afraid to confront Oscar—how could he do any worse to me?—but I am afraid for Morgan and Raven. Oscar has to know how much they mean to all of us. If he wants to hit us and hit us hard, they’d be his first target. Unless he still feels some kind of sentimental attachment to them. He watched them grow up after all.
When I walk in, I don’t know what I’m going to unleash with Oscar. If it blows back on Morgan, I’ll never forgive myself.
I’ll just have to control the storm as best I can.
There’re several cars out front when I arrive. The house looks exactly as I remember it, even down to the landscaping. I know Raven is living here now, but it looks like she hasn’t altered anything.
I recognize Oscar’s car parked on the street—I tracked down the make, model, and license number before I came. So he’s still here.
It’s exactly what I hoped for, but something in me catches. This is it. What I thought I wanted all these years—a confrontation with my killer.
As I walk up to the front door, I’m aware of a numb sort of tingle, like a limb waking up but backward. Everything in me is deadening, but I feel it happening.
When I knock, my fist is harder than the door. Just as unfeeling.
There’s no answer from inside, but I hear voices. Not the bright tones of people having fun, but low, almost mournful. It sounds like the unbirthday isn’t going well.
I open the door without waiting to be let in. The interior is a shock after the exterior—it’s been entirely cleared out. Stripped down to the bones.
I wasn’t expecting it to be entirely the same, but it’s still surprising. Or it would be if everything in me wasn’t numb. Raven’s supposed to be living here.
There’s light coming from the rest of the house, illuminating the bare entryway. A figure fills it, still as stone.
Oscar. Right there before me, as if served up and presented by fate.
He’s staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost, which he has. Me.
Although I’m moving, shutting the door behind me, I feel utterly motionless inside. As if even my pulse has stopped.
There are people clustering behind Oscar, but they don’t matter. It’s only him and me after all these years.
His face is gray, sagging, sheened with sweat. He knows exactly why I’m here.
I pull the corners of my lips up in something like a smile. Oscar turns more green than gray.
“Oscar.” God, I sound so pleasant. Dangerously so. “After all these years, so good to see you again.”
His mouth moves, but no sound comes.
“It’s me, Tynan.” I move closer. He does his best to lean away. “Don’t you remember me?” I ask silkily.
He grimaces. “You’re not dead.” He doesn’t sound too surprised.
Behind him, someone gasps. I think it’s Morgan.
Oscar’s not surprised, but he’s also not taking it well. One trembling hand lifts, clutches at his chest. His fist squeezes like he’s trying to pump his heart, shock it back into life.
I wait for him to say that it can’t be. That I shouldn’t be here, that it’s not possible.
He says nothing. His expression sags into something like resignation. Like he knew this would happen someday, and he’s… he’s relieved it has.
Shit. I was supposed to scare the shit out of him, enough to get him to confess. Not to make him feel better about any of it.
“You don’t seem happy to see me,” I say with gentle menace.
His mouth pulls up in a horrible parody of a smile; stretched lips, exposed teeth. If he wants me to recoil, I won’t. I’ve seen much worse things. Some of them thanks to him.
“Anything you want to say to me?” I’m still as cool as ever.
Oscar looks… bad. Very bad. His skin is a color it should never be. His mouth is still stretched out, but it’s somehow sagging at the same time. And his fist is working at his sternum, opening and closing in no discernible rhythm.
And then he laughs. Actually laughs, although there’s pain behind it. Enough to twist the laugh in on itself.
“Oscar?” Raven moves forward, concern creasing her brow.
Bishop follows close behind.
Oscar collapses then, like his strings have been cut. Goes from standing to completely boneless in a moment. He hits the floor with a massive, reverberating noise.
His eyes are rolled back in his head. Spit dribbles from the side of his mouth.
I’d swear he’s dead.