CHAPTER FIVE

 

I watched the moonlit scenery fly by as the bus carried us home. For three days now, I’d managed to block out Trinity’s wicked digs and nasty comments. Luckily, though they’d abandoned me and chosen to take Trinity’s side, the others were a little less demonstrative in their shunning of me. Apart from the snickers behind my back, they more or less just ignored me.

Despite the fact that I’d known for a long time that I was surrounded by sharks, it still hurt to see them turn their backs on me so quickly, so easily. And it was all for the sake of popularity no less. It was a sickness, really, and they were fatally infected. I guess I should’ve been feeling sorry for them, but it was very hard to feel pity for them when they were all piled up in the back of the bus, laughing and making fun of me.

The fact that I was there at all was a monumental surprise to me. Not only was I still a member of the squad, I was also still its leader, at least for the time being anyway. Fortunately, my cheerleading fate had ceased to bother me anymore. It would be great to keep the status quo and get my scholarship to Stanford, but if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. My feelings for Bo had put that, along with many other things, in perspective.

In the last few days, my focus had shifted. My usually Stanford-focused tunnel vision was now a wide angle lens that captured all things Bo. When I wasn’t with him, I thought of him. When I wasn’t awake, I dreamed of him. When he was near, I could feel it, and when he wasn’t, I ached for him to come back. It was like he’d invaded my entire being, right down to my red blood cells, which seemed to swell with a longing for him that I couldn’t describe.

The closer we got to school, the more I could sense him. He’d be waiting for me when the bus pulled in. I was certain of it.

With a loud groan, the bus rolled to a stop in front of the school at the bottom of the parking lot. Being seated at the front (essentially exile in bus seat pecking order), I was the first one out the folding doors.

I wasted no time getting to my car at the top of the lot. I wanted to run, but somehow refrained from doing so. My pulse leapt when I saw Bo leaning up against the passenger side door of my car. It’s where I’d found him the last two nights after practice, too.

“Hey,” I said unimaginatively, wishing that my brain worked better when he was around. It went on hiatus and left my senses in control, which meant my vocabulary was roughly that of a toddler.

“How was the game?” He straightened and took my duffel from my shoulder.

“We won,” I replied, having no interest in talking about the game.

“It was the cheering,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “I’m sure that’s exactly what it was.”

“Do you have to go straight home?”

“No. Why?”

“Just curious,” he said, enigmatically. “Can I drive?”

“Sure.” I handed the keys to him and he unlocked the passenger side and held the door open for me.

Once I was inside, he closed the door and rounded in front of the hood. My eyes followed him as he walked. I loved to watch him move. It was like watching water ballet or space acrobatics. It seemed as though gravity didn’t affect him like it did most people, like he was as light as the air through which he moved.

After pitching my duffel behind the seat, Bo climbed in and started the car, speeding away in the direction of his house.

Several minutes later, as I suspected, he pulled into his driveway and cut the engine. When he helped me out, he kept my hand tightly wrapped in his. Rather than leading me to the back door of the house, he surprised me by walking around the side to a set of concrete steps. He descended first, me following close behind.

At the bottom of the steps was an old red door with a small window at the top. I could only assume that it was the exterior entrance to a basement or cellar.

There was a padlock on the door that Bo unlocked using a small key on his keychain. When he pushed the door open, I expected to smell a gust of that musty odor that all basements seem to have, but I didn’t. It just got a whiff of Bo’s tangy scent.

It was pitch black inside the room. Bo reached back to take my hand and pull me inside, but before I’d taken even one step, Bo stopped me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Shh,” he whispered.

I listened, but didn’t hear anything alarming. I don’t know what kinds of ambient noises he was used to hearing around his house, but nothing sounded out of the ordinary to me.

With a note of seriousness in his tone that made chills race down my arms, Bo said, “Stay here. Don’t say a word and don’t make a sound.”

He shifted back past me and through the door, taking the steps two at a time. Still, I listened. Still, I heard nothing.

Bo disappeared from view. Contrary to what he might’ve thought, I was not going to stay in a dark, unfamiliar hole under his house when he was nowhere to be found.

I crept to the top of the steps and poked my head up to look around. In the moonlight, I saw Bo standing a few feet away, facing a man. They were just staring at each other, neither making a sound, neither moving a muscle.

Finally, the other man shifted, taking one slow step toward Bo.

“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“Don’t know where you heard that. I don’t even know you.”

“But you knew John Gibbs,” the man said.

Gibbs? Gibbs? Where had I heard that name?

The thought was interrupted when I heard a low growling. At first, I thought maybe Bo had a dog I didn’t know about. I whipped my head around, half expecting a vicious Doberman to be right beside me. But there wasn’t. As it grew louder, I realized that it was coming from Bo.

“That’s what I thought,” the man sneered. “I’m just here to tell you: you come after my friends, you come after me. And if you come after me,” he said, taking another step toward Bo. “Well, let’s just say you already lost your biggest advantage, because now I know who you are. Now, I’ll be coming after you.”

A light breeze chose that very moment to blow through the back yard, ruffling my hair. I caught myself before I reached up to push my bangs out of my eyes. I didn’t want to move and risk exposure.

It didn’t matter, though. Both Bo and the other man turned toward me and I quickly ducked out of sight. I don’t know how they’d known I was there. I hadn’t made a sound or moved an inch.

“See, it just takes one visit to learn all about somebody’s weaknesses. You’d be wise not to forget that I know where to find you,” the man said warningly. “And your friends.”

“You shouldn’t make threats you have no hope of living to carry out,” Bo said evenly.

“Be careful, boy. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“I don’t care who you are,” Bo growled. “And I’m only gonna tell you this one time. Don’t ever come near here again.”

“I won’t have to. Everyone leaves eventually.”

I felt the whip of a gust of wind just before a loud crack split the night air. It sounded like a clap of thunder. I started to peek up and look around again, but just before Bo came into sight, I felt a sharp blow to the top of my head and the world went blissfully black.

********

Once again, I awoke to the scent of Bo in my nostrils. The tangy element—whatever delectable spice he smelled of—seemed stronger than usual and, despite the strange circumstances, it still made my insides melt.

I inhaled deeply, relishing the aroma. I tried to open my eyelids, but they were stubbornly ignoring my commands.

“Bo,” I called hoarsely.

My tongue felt sticky with something sweetly salty. I licked my tingling lips. Even the delicious residue made my mouth water.

“I’m here,” he said.

The sound of his voice was like a purr, rasping along my nerve ends like the brush of velvet against my skin.

“Be still.” The “s” made an odd hissing sound and I thought Bo’s voice sounded scratchy, like his throat was dry.

I remembered that I’d been looking for Bo when something had hit me in the head. As if on cue, my skull throbbed painfully. I reached up to touch my scalp, not sure what to expect, but a hand grabbed mine to still it before it got very far.

“Don’t try to move,” Bo advised in a low voice.

“Bo,” I groaned, a sound born both of pain and of need.

I ached, but not from a truly physical pain. It was with a strange yearning that I couldn’t describe, like I wanted to take Bo into my body, drink him in like a fine wine. It seemed that my blood was on fire, crying out for him and him alone.

I felt his hand sweep my forehead and I thought I detected a slight tremor in his touch. I wondered vaguely if he felt it too, that desperate need.

His movement caused the air to stir around my face. I felt an unusual wetness all over my skin, on my ears and my neck. I tried to open my eyes again and this time I succeeded, but I still couldn’t see anything. We were in the dark. I couldn’t even see where Bo was in relation to me; I could only feel that he was near.

“Where are we?”

“In the basement,” Bo ground out, it seemed through gritted teeth.

“What happened?”

“A tree fell across the yard, across the steps and hit you.”

“Am I alright?” A silly question, I know, since I was alive and talking, but somehow, I thought the answer might not be that simple.

“You’ll be fine,” he answered gruffly.

“Why are we in the dark?”

“The, uh, the tree knocked out the lights down here.”

“So, who was that guy?”

“I don’t know. I think he had me confused with someone else.” Bo’s tone was withdrawn and abrupt.

“Oh,” I said, feeling absurdly suspicious, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, I wouldn’t press. “Maybe we should go upstairs. I feel wet. I think I might be bleeding.”

Other than an aching head, I didn’t feel like I’d been wounded, fatally or otherwise. Surely if I was hurt badly, I’d know it. I probably needed to check anyway. That was the smart thing to do.

“Here,” he said, sliding an arm beneath my shoulders. “You shouldn’t walk. I’ll have to carry you.”

The fact that he didn’t seem too pleased about that hurt my feelings, which then irritated me. Both feelings were eclipsed, however, by the heavenly feel of his chest pressed against my side when he picked me up.

When I was firmly in his arms, he gasped. It hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment that he might be hurt, too.

“Are you alright? You don’t have to carry me,” I said earnestly, all the while my body was rebelling at the idea of being out of his arms—ever.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured me, though I could tell that his teeth were still gritted.

He carried me remarkably easily up the concrete steps and around to the back door. Once inside the dark house, Bo walked through to the bathroom and deposited me gently on the toilet. He didn’t turn on the light.

“I’ll let you get cleaned up. The sight of your blood…” he trailed off in a very telling manner.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re one of those people that can’t stand the sight of blood?” I hadn’t even thought of that, but it would explain his behavior and his sharpness.

“Something like that,” he said uncomfortably. “Holler if you need anything. There are wash cloths under the sink.” With that, he closed the door and I was alone in the dark.

Luckily, it seemed like a tiny bathroom, which made sense in such a small house. When I reached out, I could feel the sink to my left and walls to my right and in front of me.

I stood and walked my hand around beside the door jamb until I felt a light switch. I flipped it and turned around to face the mirrored medicine cabinet that hung over the sink.

As soon as I saw my reflection, my heart tripped into a faster cadence. I looked like Carrie in the scene from that movie where they dump the bucket of pig’s blood on her. My hair and clothes were saturated with blood, and my face and neck were streaked with thick rivulets of it.

Reaching up, I felt through my hair for some kind of wound. One spot on my scalp felt a little sore, bruised almost, but I felt no gashes or punctures. I’d always heard that the scalp bled a lot; maybe I’d been scraped by the tree and it had broken the skin enough to bleed, but not do any real damage.

I closed my eyes and leaned on the sink, encouraging myself to calm down. It’s incredibly alarming, the sight of your reflection covered in blood. Even if the injury isn’t serious, it’s still a scary thing to behold.

Reaching beneath the sink, I took out a rag. I hated to ruin one of Bo’s wash cloths, but I had to get myself cleaned up so I could get past Bo and get home. My parents would freak if they saw me like this. Mom would probably even be home and sober since Dad’s flight got in before lunch.

I wet the cloth and wiped at my face and neck then rinsed and repeated dozens of times until I’d gotten most of the blood off and had disguised it as much as possible on my uniform top. Luckily our school colors were black, white and maroon and most of the blood had gotten on my shoulders where the colors were darkest.

When I was once again presentable, I made my way through the house toward the only other light I saw shining. It was the kitchen light and Bo was standing at the sink. I would’ve been able to find him anyway, just following my nose. I could smell his scent like a heavenly musk trail through the house.

Bo was facing the hallway. He must’ve heard me coming.

“Are you alright?” As he asked, he walked over to where I’d stopped just inside the doorway. The closer he got, the harder my pulse drummed in my ears.

Coming to a stop in front of me, he rubbed my arms comfortingly.

“I’m fine. I can’t really figure out where all that blood came from.”

“Scalp wounds bleed a lot,” he confirmed matter-of-factly.

I couldn’t help but grin. “That’s what I’ve always heard, too.”

Bo had a smudge of blood across his cheek. I reached up to wipe it away.

“What is it?”

“You must’ve gotten some blood on you when you carried me up the stairs.” I looked at his clothes. There was not a single drop of blood on them.

“I changed,” he offered, as if reading my mind.

I nodded, just then noticing the clock that hung on the wall behind Bo’s head.

“Ohmigod! Is that clock right?”

Bo turned to look at the clock, too. “Yep.”

It read 2:40.

“I’ve got to go. My parents are gonna freak!” Once again, I’d been unconscious longer than I’d thought. No wonder there was so much blood on me.

“I’ll drive you,’ Bo said, walking with me to the door.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine. Really,” I promised. Not that I didn’t want to spend a few more minutes with Bo, but I’d feel terrible that he’d have to walk all the way back home, especially at 3:00 in the morning.

Bo stopped just outside the door, turning to look back at me. “I’m sure you are, but I’m not willing to take the chance.”

My stomach fluttered and I had to work to suppress the grin that was pulling at my lips. Bo took my hand and tugged.

“Come on.”

At my car, Bo let go of my hand long enough to get me inside and shut the door. Once he was seated behind the wheel and had pulled out into the street, however, he casually reached over and wrapped his fingers around mine again.

Surprisingly, instead of the coolness I’d come to expect from him, his skin was really, really warm where he held my hand over the gear shift, just like the last time I’d awakened at his house.

My house came into view all too soon. Even though I’d spent most of the night unconscious—again—I still didn’t want my time with Bo to end.

Both my parents’ vehicles were in the driveway and Bo wasted no time with a lengthy goodbye.

“I’ll get out of here so you can get inside. I hope you’re not in too much trouble,” he said genuinely.

“It’ll be fine.”

The way he was staring into my eyes, I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead, Bo brought my fingers to his lips and kissed them.

He asked softly, “Call you tomorrow?”

I nodded and then he was gone, getting quietly out of the car and disappearing into the night.

I sat in the passenger side for a few minutes, thinking of Bo, basking in the lingering scent of him. If Target had a Bo-scented car freshener, I’d buy one. Or ten.

The thought was so silly I had to laugh as I got out of the car to go inside.

I stood at the front door, listening for sounds from inside. Even through the thick wood of the door, I could hear some light snoring. Dad.

The door was unlocked so I cracked it just enough to squeeze through and then shut it silently behind me. The house smelled of barbecue sauce and old wine.

I crept to the door of the living room and peeked inside. Mom was crashed with her feet in Dad’s lap and he was sound asleep with his head leaned back against the couch cushions. His mouth was hanging open and he was snoring, just as I’d suspected.

As I crept to my room, I was surprised I could hear Dad’s snoring outside; it didn’t seem that loud at all.

The first thing I did in my room was to go and raise my window, though I left the screen down this time. I could hear the frogs and crickets outside, as well as the breeze ruffling the leaves and bending the tree branches. I inhaled deeply. The cool night air teased my nostrils, carrying the scent of rain. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the patter of a light drizzle.

I was turning away to change into my pajamas when a familiar thrill skittered down my spine, racing through my blood. A faint hint of citrus tinged the air for just a moment before it was gone.

I looked out the window, past the grainy grid of the screen, peering into the night. Other than the gentle shift of foliage, there was no movement, no evidence that someone was out there, that I wasn’t alone in the night.

Shrugging it off as my overactive imagination, I grabbed my pajamas and headed for the bathroom to clean up and wash my hair.

********

The next morning I woke early. The birds outside my window were cheeping more vivaciously than ever and I could hear Mom banging around in the kitchen like there were no walls between us.

I lay there, feeling the blood pulse beneath my skin, enjoying the remaining scent of Bo in my hair where it was spread across my pillow.

Mom said something to Dad about waking me up for breakfast, so I went ahead and rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

When I stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, Mom was scooting pancakes off the griddle and onto three plates.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she chirped cheerfully.

I eyed her skeptically. At times, I don’t think I gave her enough credit; she was quite the actress. Behind her overly bright smile and strategic makeup, I could see the tremble of rising discomfort in her bloodshot eyes. Her need for a drink was almost a tangible thing. Dad seemed not to notice, but even if he did, he would do his best to pretend otherwise, which is probably exactly what he was doing.

With a sigh, I fell in to the recently-established grand tradition of the Heller household and pasted on a fake smile of my own, jumping head first into the façade.

“Smells good,” I said, taking a seat at the perfectly set table. I took a big gulp of orange juice and thought surely it was the best I’d ever had, the sweetly tart liquid coating my tongue and sliding down my throat like fruity silk.

Mom served me and Dad then took her seat at the table. Dad said the blessing and we dug in. The only thing that ruined the Cleaver-like meal was the depressing squawk of the reporter that was dishing out news from the television on the counter.

I was surprised that I hadn’t already heard the report. I’d fallen asleep again last night without the aid of the television. Maybe I was cured.

“…indication that the violence raging through Southmoore has made its way south to Harker.

In the early hours, Harker police discovered the body of Southmoore resident Trent Edward Long just inside the city limits on East Highway 5. Long had been a long-time associate of the recently deceased John Gibbs and had, at one time, been included in a suspect pool for the Southmoore Slayings. More information…”

I looked up to see the face of the victim about whom they were speaking and my throat seized around the lump of pancakes I was trying to swallow.

Though it was taken several years ago at a party somewhere, I had no trouble recognizing his face. I’d seen him last night. Even in the low light of the moon, I had been able to make out the features of the guy who’d basically threatened Bo. Now, I was looking at his smiling face on the television. He was dead, and I’d probably been one of the last people to see him alive. Me and Bo.

My appetite disappeared as I thought back to where I’d heard the Gibbs name. Not only had the guy, Trent Long, mentioned him last night, but his name had been referenced on the news as last year’s Southmoore Slayer suspect. He’d also been accused of killing a man named Travis Bowman. Bowman.

Something unsettling occurred to me and my stomach clenched tightly. My entire being rebelled against the very idea that Bo might be involved with those men and their nefarious, nocturnal dealings. But…

Silently, I prayed. Please God, please don’t let him be involved, I chanted over and over and over in my head.

“Aren’t you going to finish your breakfast, Ridley? Pancakes are your favorite,” Mom said.

Pancakes had never been my favorite and probably never would be. They’d been Izzy’s favorite breakfast food. If Mom had ever bothered to commit my favorites to memory, I had no doubt that the knowledge had been steadily drowned out by gallons of vodka. Now, all that remained were random memories of Izzy and little else.

“I-I’m just not very hungry,” I said, trying to sound casual when I felt anything but.

“Did the bus stop on the way back from the game to get you something to eat last night? I noticed you didn’t get home until late,” Dad observed.

“No, but I went out with some friends afterward.”

He nodded. He had no idea exactly when I’d gotten home; they’d been fast asleep on the couch. But even if he had, I should’ve known neither he nor Mom would’ve caused a stink over it. That would be too emotionally real and draining for a family of pretenders.

“I think I’m going to go take a shower. Mom, can you just save the rest of my pancakes?” I asked more to be polite than anything. I’d choke them down later if need be, but not because I liked them.

“Sure, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly.

A shower had me feeling a little better. My skin felt more alive than ever, like I was wearing it differently, my shampoo smelled more floral than usual and the water hit the shower walls like a violent waterfall of sound.

Afterward, I lounged in my room most of the day, checking my phone every few minutes to make sure it was turned on and still charged, which it was. It never rang, though. I couldn’t remember the last time it had gone so long in absolute silence, especially on a Saturday. It was just another indication of how much had changed in recent days.

A Matrix marathon started at 2:00. I made it through the first two alright, but about a quarter of the way through the third one, my attention started to drift back to other matters. I wasn’t sure if it was because it was by far the weakest of the three movies or because I’d just reached my threshold of time having passed without obsessing over Bo. Either way, by 9:00, I’d already dialed Bo twice, and both times I ended up listening to his voice mail. At 9:20, after giving my parents the vague excuse of needing to run to a friend’s house for just a minute, I was in my car heading toward his house.

As I pulled into his driveway, I looked up at the dark windows and wondered if I was making a mistake. What if his mom was sleeping? What if he was with someone else? What if he was some kind of homicidal monster and I was walking into a trap?

The end of the driveway showed me that the car wasn’t there. Either Bo was out in it or his mom was gone.

Turning off the engine, I sat in the car considering whether or not to start it back up and leave rather than going to the door. Something in me wouldn’t let me leave, though. It seemed that I had to see Bo, not only for peace of mind, but to silence the constant clamor of him in my head, in my heart, in every single cell of my body. It was as if something inside me searched relentlessly for him in the air around me, seeking. Always seeking.

When I finally felt courageous enough to approach the door, I knocked lightly, hesitant to disturb his mother if she was in there, but I got no answer. The house was silent and still.

I had opened the car door and was about to slide in behind the wheel when a muffled sound reached my ears. I remembered the basement, the room Bo had taken me to. I imagined that it was likely some kind of hangout for him, one worth checking out if I had any intention of finding him.

Quietly, I walked around to the steps. I peered down the dark well. At the bottom was the old red door. I could see pale streaks of light shining out from around the curtain that covered the small window towards the top.

Though I felt compelled to find Bo, for a minute, I reconsidered. Approaching the door felt wrong somehow, like I was stalking him or spying on him, overstepping bounds that we hadn’t yet had a chance to set.

A voice in my head reminded me that if Bo had wanted to talk to me, he would’ve either called or answered his phone when I’d called. But he hadn’t.

Then, as if helping me to make up my mind, Bo’s tangy, soapy citrus scent wafted up the steps, creeping out from beneath the door to lure me in. I felt the invisible strings of it tugging at me, tugging at my guts.

Another muffled thump had me descending the steps. I raised my hand to knock on the door when movement caught my eye.

The curtain that covered the little window had been pushed to the side a tiny bit, leaving a small triangular opening through which I could see.

Inside, Bo was on his knees in the center of the concrete floor, kneeling on a black towel. He was shirtless and covered in blood spatter. Under the slimy red sheen, I could see a sickly greenish black color seeping across his chest, radiating from the left side outward. It was darkest over his heart and it pulsed as if gangrenous death was being pumped throughout his body with every slow squeeze of the muscle. That, however, was not the most alarming part. The thing that caught and held my attention was his face.

The blackness hadn’t reached that high yet and his face wasn’t covered in blood like the rest of him. I could see his skin perfectly. It was almost entirely translucent. I could make out the intricate webbing of his blood vessels as clearly as if they were drawn on the surface with an ink pen. But apart from the roadmap of his veins, there were other lines, deep cracks in the skin itself, like the damaged plaster of an ancient sculpture.

In the center of his face, I saw that his normally hypnotic eyes had been affected as well. Gone was that rich almost-black color, washed away by a milky pale green that nearly matched the whites of his eyes. Something in them looked completely wild, feral even, and they started a shudder in me that rippled throughout my entire body. Though I was afraid, I continued to watch Bo, unable to tear my eyes away from the window.

Bo moved, arching his back and letting his head fall back on his shoulders. He let out an agonizing howl that had the tendons in his neck straining beneath his bizarre skin. With a moan that bordered on a cry, he raised his right hand to his mouth. Bearing four elongated teeth, two on the top and two on the bottom, Bo sank his teeth into what looked like a bag of blood he’d been holding.

I watched in nauseous horror as he made sucking, chewing motions and devoured the contents of the bag, blood dripping off his chin and falling onto the towel. He closed his eyes. Pleasure was written all over his face, belied only by the trace frown that pinched his brows together, as if he was resented the euphoria, wanted to resist it.

My breath was coming in shallow pants and I felt a fearful sweat break out on my forehead. My heartbeat throbbed in my ears and pounded behind my eyes. I wanted to look away, but it was like watching a train wreck—I couldn’t not watch. I was frozen, rooted to the spot where I peeped through the curtains.

Just when I thought for sure I was going to throw up, Bo quieted and his eyes snapped open. He turned his head a few degrees and looked right at me. I’m certain the surprise in his eyes mirrored the shock in my own, right before sheer panic set in.

Frozen no more, I turned and bolted up the steps. Behind me, I heard the sounds of the basement door opening and Bo bounding up the stairs behind me, but I didn’t look back. I ran for all I was worth.

It seemed like it took me ten minutes to get to my car, though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. My mad dash wasn’t fast enough, though. When I opened the car door, Bo was standing in front of the hood, chest heaving, staring at me.

“Ridley, let me explain.”

His voice was gravelly, like his throat was dry. I thought of the previous night and I shivered.

“Stay away from me,” I shouted, slamming the door shut and starting the car.

When I flipped on my headlights, it only further illuminated the slick fluid covering Bo’s body. With trembling hands, I jammed the shifter into reverse and sped backward down his driveway and out into the street.

On the way home, my mind raced incoherently. By the time I arrived at my house, instead of being less freaked out, I’d worked myself up into a bigger tizzy. I was convinced that Bo was some kind of evil, blood-sucking mass murderer that was on a killing spree and would now be coming after me.

The strange thing is that, all the while I was concocting terrible back stories for Bo, my heart yearned for him, my body ached for him. I didn’t understand how my emotions and my body could be so disastrously disconnected from my head, from logic and rational thought.

Shouting a quick “I’m back” to Mom and Dad, I bypassed the living room and went straight to the bathroom. The mirror showed me that I’d cried on the way home. I hadn’t been aware of any tears falling, but my swollen eyes and red face promised me they had.

I splashed cold water over my eyes and cheeks, wishing it was cold enough to numb the growing devastation I felt.

When I walked into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, the first thing I noticed was that it smelled of Bo. I was instantaneously filled with trepidation. I reached back for the knob, starting to twist it and run. My body was wired and readied for escape when a voice broke the stillness. Despite my inner turmoil, it flowed over my frazzled nerves like raw silk.

“Ridley, please let me explain.”

Even in the darkness, I could plainly see him standing outside my open bedroom window, looking nothing like the person, the thing, I’d seen only minutes prior. Though he made no move toward me, I was still afraid of him. The screen was in place, but I knew it would provide very little protection if he decided to come in after me.

“If you don’t leave this very second, I swear I’ll go screaming out that door and call the police,” I said warningly. The slight waver of my voice gave me away, however, a blatant indication that my bravado was superficial at best.

“Just give me—”

“I mean it, Bo,” I declared, my voice rising as I pushed the words through my tight lips.

“Don’t you—”

“I’m going,” I said, turning to open the door.

“Wait, Ridley.”

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

His next words caused my hand to still on the knob and my heart to constrict painfully inside my chest.

“I’m dying, Ridley.”