Chapter #30The Morning After by: Seuzz   Your denial seems to stun Joe, and you steel yourself for another harsh interrogation. But after a long silence, he abruptly declares that he's starving and figures you are too. In actuality, you feel nauseous, but you can't tell if it's from fear and anger, or from a hunger so extreme it has passed through the other side to illness.
But at Joe's direction, you detour through the drive-through at Ben's BBQ.
His chatter for the rest of the drive is light and inane, which leaves you paranoid. He claims that yesterday and the night before were just "an act", but if so it was a pretty convincing act , and not for an instant do you believe by this "friendly" act he is pulling with you now. More than ever, you are convinced he is some kind of sociopath.
But for the moment, the best you can do is keep very still and try not to rile him up.
The driveway at their house is empty, and Joe mutters something about Frank "getting his ass lost again." Inside, after dividing the barbecue among three plates, he gestures you to follow him back to the big table where Sydney's instruments are helping to hold down the corners of an immense map of the city. It is criss-crossed with straight, razor-sharp red lines. Joe points to these and to various other spots while munching his fries.
"So those are the ley lines you and your girlfriend were scoping out," he says. "This is the one"—he points—"that runs through the cemetery and Professor Blackwell's house. This other one"—again, he points—"is anchored by the gazebos at Stewart's Hole and Potsdam Park. You have any idea how old those things are?"
You shake your head. You didn't even know there was more than one ley line in town.
"Something to look into, I guess." Joe points to a spot on the college campus. "Another anchor point, we're pretty sure. Makes a line back down to the professor's. You know, it's pretty lucky we tripped onto you guys the other night. It never even occurred to us that there'd be any ley lines in town." He taps the center of the triangle formed by the three intersecting lines. "Little bastard," he mutters, though who or what he's talking about is unclear.
"So." Joe now gives you a hard squint. "Your girlfriend has it in for her wicked stepfather, and you really didn't know that."
"She's not my girlfriend," you mutter.
"Don't say that. I told you, words have a way of freezing into fact. Say, 'She's not my girlfriend,' and she never will be. Say, 'She is my girlfriend'—" He leans in to wag his eyebrows at you, and you shrink away. "And she will be. That's how I get lucky, so often and with so many," he brags. "But anyway, what do you know about Baphomet?"
"Nothing." It's getting to be an old refrain, one you're heartily sick of.
"Uh huh." Joe shoves a fistful of fries into his face, and gives you an appraising look up and down. "Well—"
The front door opens and Frank comes in. He's carrying three takeout bags from McDonalds. The two boys freeze when they see each other.
"Shit," Frank says, and with a grimace brushes past toward the kitchen.
"Why didn't you tell me you were gonna stop off for food?" Joe hollers after him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Hey! You're the asshole who's supposed to be in charge of this operation!"
"Which is how come you shouldn't'a gone and done something on your own!"
Joe sticks his tongue—gummed over with chewed-up fries—at Frank's retreating back. Then he nudges you into following him into the kitchen, where Frank is unpacking the sacks.
"It'll be fine, Frank," Joe says. "We'll just have leftovers, that's all. I'll pack the ribs away. What'd you get me?"
Frank slaps his hand from a bag. "They're all the same. Quarter-pounders, fries, and Cokes."
"Awesome blossom." Joe leans in and mutters something at Frank, who spears you with a quick, dark glance, and says "Interesting."
"Innit, though?"
Your sense of unease deepens. If you thought you could get away with it—and if they didn't know now where you live—you'd be tempted to bolt for a door.
* * * * *
Sydney texts while you're eating—you've discovered you are ravenous, but you have to fight to get the food down anyway—and Joe makes you reply that you'll see her when you meet up with "Dee." He then sends a text of his own to her, pushing that meeting time back until six.
It's while he's doing that that you get a long text from Sydney telling you that "Dee" is enrolled at Eastman High School under the name "Joe Durras", along with a brother named "Frank." She says that you and her will have to be very careful of "Dee." Now you tell me, you think.
Joe hoots over her message after he's made you show it to him. "Your girlfriend's smart," he says. "Didn't I tell you we'd have to watch out for her, Frank?" he calls as his friend saunters into the living room. "She's no dummy!"
"Yeah," Frank drawls. "So how were you gonna talk your way out of it when she found out we were enrolled at Eastman?"
"We were undercover!" Joe turns to you. "At least your partner's smart. Look at the lunkhead I got paired up with. But anyway," he continues in a careless tone. "Yeah, we're enrolled at Eastman. But we ain't from around here, and we are undercover. Oh, by the way, before you get any wrong ideas, me and Frank are brothers."
"Huh."
"Fuck me but you're full of questions. You break in here to snoop, and now that we're all friends and want to talk, you won't even ask anything!"
Friends? you want to shriek. How much shit are you full of?
Instead, you shrink further into yourself. "Okay," you mumble. "Are you cops?"
Frank and Joe exchange a glance. "Well, of a sort. Not officially, but—"
"We belong to a special society," Frank says. "We can leave it at that for now."
"And we're out here on assignment," Joe says. "That's all wrapped up now, but—" His eyes gleam. "Looks like we've got another situation on our hands!"
You can't help flinching. "You mea about Sydney's stepdad? Does she really want you to—?"
"She doesn't know what she wants done," Joe says. "But it doesn't matter. Something's gotta be done about them anyway. That's the new job!"
"If Dad gives us the assignment," Frank says.
"He will. We're on site."
* * * * *
But they don't tell you any more about Sydney's dad, or Baphomet, or the ley lines, or themselves. Instead, for the rest of the meal they talk about Eastman, and their friends out there, and the girls that Joe has been chasing. When that's done, they clean up, after which Frank declares he's going to take a nap. But then, after changing into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, he goes into the backyard.
Joe pulls you into the living room, and pushes you onto one end of the sofa while he drapes himself over the other end. "So tell me all about yourself, Will," he says. "I know we were pretty rough with you last night, but that's all over. We really do wanna be friends with you."
You snort and roll your eyes, for by now you're so sick of him and the house and everything else that you can't even summon the strength to speak.
But Joe presses you. So haltingly, you bite off pieces of your biography in a surly mumble, mostly just to shut him up. Joe listens, his eyes gleaming behind half-closed lids as a dreamy smile plays around his mouth. He leads you on with some gentle questions, to tell him about your family and where they come from, and prods you into recounting people and events from elementary school and high school. He even gets you to talk a little about Lisa, and the relationship that went sideways with her, and about Caleb and Keith and other people you hang out with at school. You can't disguise—you openly admit to it!—that you don't have much of a social life, and that you scuttle through school trying to keep your head down without being noticed.
"I guess that sounds kind of pathetic," you mutter, for from what he says it's clear that Joe loves to party and pursue girls, and that the bigger the crowd, the louder the music, and the closer to the center of it all he is, the happier he is.
"No, everyone's different, everyone has their thing," he says. "Like, this right here, just you and me, this is nice."
You can hardly stop yourself from face-palming.
Then he throws himself onto his feet and trots down the back hallway. When he returns, he's got a huge sketchpad—like the kind artists use—and a pencil. He balances it in his lap after settling back onto the sofa.
"Almost everything you've said has been very suggestive," he says as he runs the pencil lightly over the paper. (Is he going to make a drawing of you?) "But now I have to be a little more plain. The fact is, I'm still trying to figure out that invisibility trick you played on us last night."
"I told you, I don't know—"
"Shh! And I believe you now, baby, I totally believe you," he coos. "I am convinced. But I still want to figure out how you did that. Because, you know, it was pretty weird."
That's an understatement, you think.
But Joe is still talking. "Weird, but not unprecedented," he says. "You should know by now that there's some pretty funky shit out there. So with your permission, I'm going to try to figure out if there is more to you than meets the eye!" You have the following choice:  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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