something move, and my heart beats faster. It’s on the other side of the EMPLOYEES ONLY door, and it sounds like something heavy being dragged across the floor, a whisper of plastic and a heavy clunk . I breathe “Hush” into Baker’s ear and freeze, but I can’t pick out any words. Just a low, dangerous chuckle that sends shivers down my spine.
I’m not sure where Isaac went, whether he slipped out through the front door or the back one. Or maybe he used a secret passage, since these old historic buildings are full of them. But if he disappeared, then I’m pretty sure we should too. My imagination goes into overdrive. I’m certain I hear the rasp of a tarp, and then a sick, wet clunk like a cleaver cutting through bone echoes through the closed door. I know that I definitely don’t want to see what’s on the other side.
Half carrying, half pulling, I propel Baker out of the restaurant and into the still night. With a heavy thud the door closes behind me. The lone streetlight is out, and the sign is dark. At least I know where I am now, at the corner of Broughton Street and Bull Street. I’ve got to walk several blocks back to my carcarrying a boy who’s a lot heavier than he used to be. And he’s already been mugged once tonight.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
He giggles. “On purpose?”
“Jesus, son. This is serious.”
He giggles again. I push him up against the streetlight as gently but firmly as possible, my hands on his chest. I get right up in his face, and his breath catches. He stops giggling and goes still, his face tilting toward mine, entranced and hopeful.
In Carly’s sassy voice I say, “Joshua Baker, you best quit acting like a fool. Stand up and walk like a man!”
He gulps and pushes his hair out of his eyes and blinks at me a few times, then takes on his weight and stands. He’s a little wobbly, but now he looks like he’s the one who’s seen a ghost.
“Damn, Dovey,” is all he can say.
I get my keys out and advance down the street with Baker stumbling on my heels. The air is cold and sharp and still, the stars obscured by clouds. The tall, broken buildings seem to lean in over the cracked streets, and I trip over chunks of old bricks and tree roots gone wild. The stores, the restaurants, the offices—they’re empty, as flimsy as the papery gray layers of an abandoned hornets’ nest. And just like with a hornets’ nest, something in me senses a latent, malevolent buzz, like a few half-asleep denizens are waiting deep within. Every now and then I think I hear footsteps following us, but when I stop and listen, they’re gone. Baker is silent behind me, except for the sound of his teeth chattering from the cold.
Finally we pass a streetlamp that’s actually on, and the warm circle of light feels like home. A group of girls walks past us, fluttering their eyelashes at Baker and whispering, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He gives me his old, impish grin and a knowing smirk, like he’s used to this sort of thing. I hadn’t really noticed until this week, but I guess he has gotten cuter. And he’s not acting drunk anymore either.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“I felt fine before.”
“You were acting drunk.”
“I didn’t feel drunk,” he says, stepping next to me instead of skulking behind me. He digs his hands deep into his pockets and purses his lips while he’s thinking. “Relaxed, maybe.”
“So relaxed you fell off a stool and lost your drink?”
He nudges me in the side and says, “Whatever. You were making googly eyes at the bartender. He’s got to be at least twenty.”
“Ooh, are you jealous?” I say in a singsong voice.
“Maybe.” He blushes, and I’ve never been so grateful to see my car. I pop the trunk and rustle around for my backpack, utterly avoiding his eyes and not saying a word. He knows better than to try and open my door for me, but he must feel as uneasy as I do, the way he scans the alley while I hurry into the car.
“Why’d
I’m not sure where Isaac went, whether he slipped out through the front door or the back one. Or maybe he used a secret passage, since these old historic buildings are full of them. But if he disappeared, then I’m pretty sure we should too. My imagination goes into overdrive. I’m certain I hear the rasp of a tarp, and then a sick, wet clunk like a cleaver cutting through bone echoes through the closed door. I know that I definitely don’t want to see what’s on the other side.
Half carrying, half pulling, I propel Baker out of the restaurant and into the still night. With a heavy thud the door closes behind me. The lone streetlight is out, and the sign is dark. At least I know where I am now, at the corner of Broughton Street and Bull Street. I’ve got to walk several blocks back to my carcarrying a boy who’s a lot heavier than he used to be. And he’s already been mugged once tonight.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
He giggles. “On purpose?”
“Jesus, son. This is serious.”
He giggles again. I push him up against the streetlight as gently but firmly as possible, my hands on his chest. I get right up in his face, and his breath catches. He stops giggling and goes still, his face tilting toward mine, entranced and hopeful.
In Carly’s sassy voice I say, “Joshua Baker, you best quit acting like a fool. Stand up and walk like a man!”
He gulps and pushes his hair out of his eyes and blinks at me a few times, then takes on his weight and stands. He’s a little wobbly, but now he looks like he’s the one who’s seen a ghost.
“Damn, Dovey,” is all he can say.
I get my keys out and advance down the street with Baker stumbling on my heels. The air is cold and sharp and still, the stars obscured by clouds. The tall, broken buildings seem to lean in over the cracked streets, and I trip over chunks of old bricks and tree roots gone wild. The stores, the restaurants, the offices—they’re empty, as flimsy as the papery gray layers of an abandoned hornets’ nest. And just like with a hornets’ nest, something in me senses a latent, malevolent buzz, like a few half-asleep denizens are waiting deep within. Every now and then I think I hear footsteps following us, but when I stop and listen, they’re gone. Baker is silent behind me, except for the sound of his teeth chattering from the cold.
Finally we pass a streetlamp that’s actually on, and the warm circle of light feels like home. A group of girls walks past us, fluttering their eyelashes at Baker and whispering, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He gives me his old, impish grin and a knowing smirk, like he’s used to this sort of thing. I hadn’t really noticed until this week, but I guess he has gotten cuter. And he’s not acting drunk anymore either.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
“I felt fine before.”
“You were acting drunk.”
“I didn’t feel drunk,” he says, stepping next to me instead of skulking behind me. He digs his hands deep into his pockets and purses his lips while he’s thinking. “Relaxed, maybe.”
“So relaxed you fell off a stool and lost your drink?”
He nudges me in the side and says, “Whatever. You were making googly eyes at the bartender. He’s got to be at least twenty.”
“Ooh, are you jealous?” I say in a singsong voice.
“Maybe.” He blushes, and I’ve never been so grateful to see my car. I pop the trunk and rustle around for my backpack, utterly avoiding his eyes and not saying a word. He knows better than to try and open my door for me, but he must feel as uneasy as I do, the way he scans the alley while I hurry into the car.
“Why’d
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