My brain was crammed full of new information as I placed the books on the return rack of the library, my mission of distracting myself accomplished. Mentally refreshed, I headed home for the evening, excited to open my limited edition set for Heirs.
Feeling energized, I took the stairs, not paying attention to my surroundings. I pulled the door open at the landing and walked out with a borrowed book, nearly stepping into my neighbor. The gray-haired woman sidestepped me, bumping into the young man who towered beside her. He gripped her shoulders to steady her.
“I’m sorry!”
The woman burst out into a cackle and waved off the hands of the man next to her. “I’m good, I’m good.”
“Mom, okay?” The tall man asked, his voice booming.
She reached a wrinkled hand out to brush his arm. “I’m okay, Earl.”
I skirted around them, aiming for my apartment. The old woman stopped me with a lift of her hand. “Wait, young man. Get over here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I scurried back over.
The old woman placed her hands on her hips and frowned at me, the man beside her mimicking her. “Name’s Marge. My son right here is Earl. You’re Hayden, right?”
“Yes,” I answered, curious how she knew who I was.
“Be a gentleman and let your sister know the next time you go gallivanting around.” She tsked. “Poor thing was worried out of her mind.”
The pieces clicked together. “So, you are the one who told her when I arrived yesterday.”
Marge stood taller, angling her chin up at me. “Yes, I did.” Her eyes caught the cut poking out from beneath the sleeves I’d rolled up during the stair climb. I tugged them down, but it was too late.
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Sympathy crossed her face. “You aren’t involved in something dangerous, are you, young man?”
I shook my head and gave her the same story I’d given Ember.
Marge lifted her finger to point accusingly at me. “Is that the lie you told your sister?”
“It’s not a lie,” I insisted.
She glared, rounding on me as her son, Earl, stood back nervously. “Don’t give me that, young man. I know a lie when I hear one.”
My eye twitched. First Ember, now this woman. What was with these people shoving their noses where they didn’t belong? “It’s none of your business,” I said cooly. I spun on my heel, determined to leave his conversation behind.
Marge called out after me, “If you ever need help, knock on my door; you hear me! Don’t do something stupid and make that sweet sister of yours worry!”
I walked faster.
She dropped her voice, mumbling. “Young people these days don’t know how to let an old person like me worry about them.”
My apartment door shut behind me, cutting me off from their exchange. I set my borrowed book carefully on the couch, mindful of my rising anger. To clear my mind, I set about making a chicken cordon blu casserole, letting the precise instructions and quiet hanging over my apartment soothe me. While my food was in the oven, I headed into my study room.
My drawings were scattered across the surface of my desk from when Ember and Mark had searched it. I sighed, stacking them in timeline order and placing them back in their drawer. Ember already knew I enjoyed it, but for now, there was nowhere else to put it.
Eager for something else to put my mind to, I spend the time the casserole cooked sketching, drawing out people and scenes from my time in What Lies Ahead. The figures formed beneath my hands as the pencil scratched across the paper.
The timer dinged, and I set the papers aside for later, rushing to pull the casserole out of the oven. My alcohol stash, wines for every occasion, stood proudly on my counter, beckoning me. Drawing from my internal knowledge of wine, I pulled out a bottle of California Pinot Noir and poured myself a glass for my meal.
The thick and dark red liquid splashed over the edge of my glass, spilling over my hand and the counter. I set the bottle down, grabbing a towel. For a second, the red of the wine overlapped with the red blood that had fallen on my hands in the cave, and I shuddered. My breath came out of my mouth in short bursts. The moment passed, and I cleaned the counters and my hands of the rich wine, scrubbing the red off my hands so hard they turned pink.
I turned back to the glass and dumped it down the sink before sticking the bottle back into place.
I shouldn’t be drinking wine anyway, I told myself as I sat down to eat.
The food tasted like ash against my tongue and caught in my throat as I swallowed. I tipped water down my throat, clearing the way for more food. Hesitantly, I glanced down at the steaming food beneath my fork and choked down another bite. I hadn’t felt this sensation since middle school. Disgusted, I forced down as much as I could, about half the plate, and dumped the rest in the trash.
After supper, I spend hours on the herculean task of restoring my old phone to my new one. Some items I had to reenter from scratch, like contacts, while I could drag and drop photos, saving me some time.
I sank into the couch, fiddling with my newly restored phone. Remembering my promise to matte, I went ahead and ordered a copy of What Lies Ahead and turned off my phone to return to my studies.
The next morning, the day of our report to Jacob, I woke feeling as tired as when I’d gone to sleep. My dreams had been filled with cracked faces and blood.