Black Chuck Read online

  The small plot was covered with a strip of fresh sod, like a fuzzy green blanket tucked over him. She peeled the edge back and dug her fingers into the soft, wet earth below, squeezing it between her fingers.

  She remembered all of them, last Halloween, climbing the fire escape at the Grains. Shaun boosting her till she’d caught hold of the rough, rusty bars that had flaked under her grip as she dangled and kicked. She’d followed the ladder up into the dark sky, the abandoned building’s eerie black windows spurring her upward.

  Halloween in Cold Water meant a dance and a bonfire in the park by the river, a DJ in the band shell and fireworks that lit the night sky. From the top of the Grains, you could just see their colors glow. Brilliant, bright sparks and smoke rising, faintly screaming and fading away.

  Sunny, Ré and Alex had lined the roof already, feet dangling over the side, all looking west toward the fireworks. Far below them, Evie saw long, parallel lines of moonlight on train tracks curving off in both directions. The drop had made her shiver.

  She’d lowered herself onto the ledge next to Ré. His backpack was full of beer, and as he handed her one, his fingers had brushed hers. It was the first time she could remember actually touching him. His skin was warm, and his eyes had flicked up to hers, surprised but unreadable. They’d both looked away quick.

  Then Shaun had thrown himself down on her other side, charging her shoulder, teasing her balance. He’d pulled the beer from her and pressed her hand to his thigh. It had become habit by then, the feel of him under her fingers. His crash at her side. That fear of falling. On the roof of the Grains, on top of the world, he’d said low to her, “I’ll never ever let you go.”

  Remembering those words, and the feel of his living body, she squeezed the dirt in her hands till it crushed between her fingers. Is it still true? she wondered. Are you still here? Up on that roof or in my bed still? Or are you just here, in this dirt, and gone?

  She hadn’t meant to get drunk that night, but the cold air and the fireworks, that rusty old rooftop, Shaun and Alex cracking dirty jokes. The surprise in Ré’s eyes. It had made her drunk already. Drunk on them—Sunny and the boys.

  After the fireworks, they’d all thrown pebbles into the sky, trying to hit the rail containers. Ré had won. Bang.

  “What would you do?” she asked Shaun now, lying back and looking up through the trees over his grave. Puffy, white clouds floated through a jagged patch of sky. Her hand was wet and filthy, black half moons under her nails. She rested it on her belly, trying to feel whatever it was Ré had felt two nights ago, right before he ran out of her room, scrambling to get away.

  “What would happen,” she asked again, “if I chose Réal now?”

  She thought of Shaun’s mother, choosing herself over her son, weakness over blood. Would she be doing the same thing—abandoning Shaun?

  That night on the roof, she’d been spilling with love for all of them. She’d gotten drunk on them, climbing that rusty fire escape to the highest point of their whole lives. Opening herself to the endless, exploding sky.

  “Don’t get much better than this,” Alex had said, holding Sunny’s hand.

  And maybe he was right.

  Because getting back down had been a lot harder than getting up. Getting down had been climbing over the edge and seeing just how far there really was to fall. Trusting that the bolts would hold. That you’d make it back to earth in one piece.

  And even when you’d safely reached the end of the escape, you still had to jump the last ten feet into glass and garbage and cracked concrete.

  Shaun had been the first to go over. And when he got to the end and the ladder ran out, he’d just let go, trusting. Maybe, she thought, instead of climbing down, they should have all just jumped that night, right off the roof into the black.

  12

  R

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Ré snapped. All his feelings bubbled over as soon as he slammed the car door. If he couldn’t get mad at Evie, Alex would take the brunt.

  “Aw, come on, Ré,” Alex sighed, shaking his head. “Nobody twisted her arm.”

  “Yeah—but that super-loud hydro shit you smoke? That would knock a fucking elephant on its ass!” Ré knew Alex was right, but he couldn’t let it go. He was almost shouting, foot heavy on the gas like the car would do all the fighting he felt like doing right now.

  Alex smirked out the window. “Dude,” he said quietly, “did you just call Evie an elephant? That’s harsh.”

  Réal hissed a string of sacres, but as he turned his face away, he couldn’t help but grin.

  “Seriously, Ré,” Alex continued. “Why are you so pissed off? She knew what it was. So she got hella stoned. It’s not the end of the world.”

  Ré sucked his tongue against his teeth and said nothing. What could he say—that he was worried about the baby? Worried about the choices she was making? Half the time, he felt like Evie was screaming out to be taken care of, and the other half, she was screaming at him for actually doing it. He didn’t have a clue what she really wanted.

  He squeezed the wheel in his fists, trying to keep her words from turning the car around and pulling him right back to her driveway. All of a sudden you’re in my life, in my head. Making me feel crazy…I can’t stop thinking about you…

  He felt the same: crazy. He should be thinking about a thousand other things, a hundred thousand, but all he could think about was her.

  That moment right after she’d said those words. Staring at each other, half scared. Heart beating sticks around his ribs. He’d wanted to just step forward, slide his fingers into her hair, pull her mouth to his, taste her tongue against his own.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  He thought, Am I cursed to only fall for my best friends’ girls?

  He ran a hand over his face, pulling these thoughts away.

  “Hey, Alex,” he said, glancing sideways.

  Alex shifted to look at Ré, cheekbone propped on his fist, elbow resting on the door. “What’s up, man?”

  Réal swallowed hard. “I, uh, gotta tell you something.” He squeezed the wheel again, biting his lip. His eyes darted over the road, looking for a way to not say what he was about to say and not finding one.

  When he spoke again, his voice was thin.

  “I was with Shaun the night he died.”

  The silence that hung between them transformed. It became full and heavy and curious. Alex said nothing, but his mouth opened a little, his eyes narrowed.

  “I beat the living crap out of him,” Ré continued. “And he near busted my nose.” He glanced at Alex again to see if the image would register—those Irish sunglasses, his nose all scabbed and bloody. It did.

  “Why?” Alex’s voice was just a breath.

  “That’s a long story I can’t tell you,” he said wearily. “But the thing is, he was alive when I left him at Nan’s. Beat up, but no worse than I was.”

  “So what happened?”

  Réal’s chest crushed. Alex’s face was as hurt and confused as a dog’s smacked by its master. Réal swallowed and shook his head, choking the words out. “I don’t remember. I left him, I drove around, and then—”

  He gripped the wheel tighter to keep his hands from shaking. All the nightmares. The creatures. The lump of flesh in his throat…His mouth filled with spit, like he might puke, but he swallowed it back. “And then nothing,” he said.

  Alex slowly pushed his long legs straight, spine pressing back into the vinyl seat. As Ré’s words took hold, Alex’s hands curled into fists. His voice, when it came, was reedy and desperate. “Are you fucking telling me you killed Shaun?”

  “No, man!” Ré said, though it wasn’t very convincing. “I’m telling you I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember anything past midnight.”

  “JesusFuckingChristRéal!” Alex cried. “When were you going to share all this?”

  “I’m doing it now, aren’t I?” Ré snapped.

  Alex breathe
d out hard, looking away. Silence. And then, “That is messed, bro. That is—”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Ré shouted. “You think I haven’t been killing myself the last couple weeks? Like I’m not sitting here just waiting for red lights in my mirrors?”

  He glanced again at Alex, his voice almost pleading now. “I really, really wish I could, man, but I can’t remember a goddamn thing.”

  Alex shook his head, letting a long breath out between tight, thin lips. His skinny body, normally so loose and relaxed, was suddenly a sharp shape, digging in everywhere it touched the car. In an instant, his puppyness had gone. Next to Ré now was a knife.

  Réal’s mind spun with images of sharpened hooves. Of deer skulls moving through trees, empty eyes spilling sightless white light.

  The chunk of chewed flesh in his hand.

  The Windigo.

  Réal stomped on the brakes and yanked the car to the side of the road.

  He threw open the door and leaned out, puking his guts into the dust. He heaved and clenched, all his muscles convulsing, trying to force up every single thing he’d ever eaten in his life, trying to get it all out, trying to cleanse.

  Alex slammed his door behind him and walked away from the car, fists clenched in his coppery hair.

  Ré breathed hard, ragged breaths, eyes bulging at the dirt. Tears streaked his cheeks, and silver threads of snot hung from his nose. He leaned his forehead to his arm on the car door and wept.

  He hadn’t meant to lose it in front of Alex like this. Of all of them, Ré had it the most together—he was never the bombed-out mess or the reckless idiot his two best friends were. He was always in control. Or, at least, he used to be. Now he wasn’t sure what he was. Just some blubbering, vomit-covered loser whose life was totally falling apart…

  For a moment, he just sat there, trying to get hold of himself.

  Then he ran his sleeve over his face, wiping the tears and snot away. His breath still shook, but it had slowed. He sat back, leaning his head against the headrest, and stared out the windshield. Alex stood a few feet in front of the car, his long fingers clasped together behind his head. Wobbly, hand-painted letters stretched between the shoulders of his dirty denim vest. Buried Alive, it said. Fuck.

  Ré banged his fist on the horn once, then signaled for Alex to get back in the car.

  “Come on, man,” he said, voice thick and weary. “There’s something I gotta do.”

  Cold Water wasn’t that big. Two main streets that met in a T, with the Ohneganohs River cut right through the middle, dividing east from west. Shops and some apartments lined those streets, feathering out into tall Victorian-era houses and pre-fab sprawl the farther it all got from the river.

  There was a ridge along the western edge, with a private woodland and a fancy boys’ school. Stretching off to the east were mostly farms and factories. There just wasn’t a lot of ground to cover, not that many places to hide.

  How hard can it be to find one little kid?

  There were some pretty fancy houses on the west side of town—people there had money—but a friend of Ivan’s likely wasn’t one of them, so Ré stuck to the east end. The tracks, the park behind the Olympia. All the places he and Shaun used to hide before they’d scrounged up the money for cars and the world had opened wide.

  Not much had been said between him and Alex after he’d barfed all over the road. Ré had dropped him at Sunny’s house and didn’t wait for her to open the front door.

  Finally, just as the sun dipped to the western ridge, throwing gold and black all over the patched pavement, Ré spotted him. That kid Ivan had pointed out. Mark. He was skating the parking lot at the boarded-up Dairy Lakes under the bridge with six or seven other kids Ivan’s age.

  Ré swung the car around and pulled into the lot, suspension bouncing like a show pony, kids leaping out of the way like bowling pins.

  Even though some of them had known Ivan for years—and by association, his older brother, Réal—they still looked a little scared when he leaned out the driver’s window.

  “You,” he said, pointing to the kid he was after.

  Mark looked up through his thick, black waves of hair. “What’s up, Ré?”

  “Get in the car. I gotta talk to you.”

  He glanced at his friends. “Why?”

  Ré said, “Come on. I won’t bite.”

  Mark threw another look at his friends, who shrugged or stared, eyes round. He kicked up his skateboard, grasping it by the trucks. In a pinch, Ré knew, it was a pretty solid weapon, but Mark wouldn’t need it. It wasn’t going to be that kind of conversation with Ré Dufresne.

  Ré backed out of the lot the second the passenger door slammed, wheeling around onto the street again and back down toward the docks.

  “What’s up, man?” Mark repeated, flicking the hair out of his eyes. He gripped the “oh shit” handle in one hand, the other wrapped around the nose of his skateboard. As always, Ré drove a little too fast.

  “I got a problem,” Ré said. “And I think you can help. But I need to know if I can trust you.”

  “Okay.” Mark sounded surprised, nervous. “You can trust me,” he said.

  They swerved to avoid a pothole, jostling Mark in his seat. Ré saw him squeeze everything a little tighter. “I mean it, man,” he warned. “What I’m going to tell you, it cannot get out.”

  “I swear, Ré.” Mark’s voice was soft. “I swear on my life.”

  Réal just shook his head. Kid doesn’t even know what that means yet. He looked back at the road and sighed, shoulders sagging a little.

  Then he spoke. “Ivan told me your mom is a healer, a Midewikwe. Is that true?”

  Mark just shrugged.

  “And your sister, Holly?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Mark said. “Why?”

  They’d reached the end of Mill Street, and Ré nosed the Buick through the rusty gates and out onto the dockyards, going slower now, dust kicking up all around them, stones pinging off the belly of the car. He squeezed the wheel in both hands. “So what about you?” he asked. “Are you a healer too?”

  Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He blinked at the road ahead.

  “’Cause I got a problem,” Ré went on. “I need a Midewikwe, but I can’t talk to your mom. And I can’t tell your sister. And you can’t either.” The ropy muscle standing out on Ré’s bare arms suggested what might happen if Mark told anybody at all.

  Mark was silent for a minute, and then he shook the hair from his face again, half glancing at Ré. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Yeah, man. I can do it. What do you need?”

  The road ran out beneath them and Ré slowed to a stop, throwing the car into Park and turning it off in one well-worn action. He got out and walked around to the front of the car, leaning back against the hood. After a second, Mark mirrored him, leaving the skateboard on the seat.

  Réal glanced at the younger boy, folding his arms across his chest. He still didn’t feel ready to say it out loud. To make it real.

  “If I tell you this,” he said very quietly, “and you tell a single soul, I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you, man. I’m not even joking.” Mark stiffened at the words, and Ré continued. “And I will know it’s you, ’cause you will be the only person on this good earth who knows what I’m about to say.”

  Mark held up his right hand. “I swear, Ré. Not a word.”

  Réal took a deep breath. He looked out over the black river toward the empty pier on the other side, sunlight sliding away into evening. The boy’s oath didn’t feel nearly rock-solid enough. But then again, he wasn’t sure anyone’s would, and he was clean out of options. He couldn’t just keep waiting for the clock to run out. For the police to puzzle it all together. For the thing inside his soul he knew was coming for him.

  “Okay,” he said at last, voice dropping, eyes falling to his blood-dirty shoes. “Tell me what you know about killing demons.”

  13

  E

 
; Early summer heat pressed heavy in Evie’s attic room. The smell of dry wood pricked her lungs like a sauna. It was way too hot to study. At least, that was her excuse. Exams were just days away, but she pushed her books across the desk and leaned back in her chair, sweat sticking the whole room to her skin.

  She stared at her phone. It hadn’t buzzed in days.

  She hadn’t seen anyone at school. Well, she’d seen them, of course, but they had seemed somehow to dot a faraway horizon, disappearing as soon as she approached. Their absence stuck in her mind like grit in a shoe, small but impossible to ignore.

  She picked up the phone and clicked open her contact list. Ré’s number, of course, was at the top. Dufresne. She stared at it miserably. If she called him now, would he even answer? They hadn’t spoken since she’d yelled at him in her living room, days ago. He’d made himself just as invisible as the rest.

  And that was what she’d asked him for, wasn’t it?

  She scrolled through the numbers, Henry-Deacon, Janes and finally Seong. She hit Call. Sunny answered on the second ring.

  “Whoa,” she said. “Actual phone call. Must be serious.”

  Evie laughed. “No, not serious. Just bored. What are you doing tonight?”

  “I have a thing until eight,” Sunny said, sounding disinterested. Evie pictured her examining her perfectly painted-black fingernails as she spoke. “But I could come get you after, if you want.”

  Evie glanced at the clock beside the bed. That still gave her two hours to kill, but it was better than cooking in the attic all night with nothing but homework to do. “Perfect,” she said. “See you then.”

  Evie hung up, but she kept staring at the phone. Her heart turned slowly, a dark feeling seeping out around the edges. She thumbed through the numbers again, back up to the top. She swallowed at the lump in her throat, then dialed.

  This time there was no ring at all, just a voice. Rough and sweet and familiar. Her heart skipped at the sound.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Shaun. Leave a message.”