“Why do you want to wreck it? It’s a sweet ride.” Sean sighs and pulls a lump of cash out of his pocket.
“No questions. Take this and buy a station wagon or something. It's win-win--your friends will follow you around because you have the wheels, you won’t have to smoke that shit, and they won’t care.” He holds out a wad of hundred dollar bills that could easily be three grand. The girl isn’t stupid though. She looks over at me, and I wonder if this is a good idea.
“What if they get caught?” He looks at me like I have bricks in my brain.
“Then Jon says he lent it to them. Since he can’t remember where he put the damn thing, he won’t say it was stolen.” He turns back to the chick. “But it’s better if you don’t get caught.”
“So why trash it then?” I ask even though I shouldn’t.
“So Jon can’t get into more trouble when he finds it.” Sean looks back at the girl. “Do we have a deal?”
She takes the money and smiles, before bending down to pick up the fallen keys. The guys she’s with pump their fists and holler, “Shotgun!”
They slip inside, and she starts the engine. As she revs the engine, they roll the windows down, and I can hear them yelling as she speeds away, “To the Batcave!”
“I don’t want them to get in trouble,” I say, looking over at Sean.
“As long as they don’t knock over a liquor store, I think they’ll be fine. No one is looking for the car, except Jon, and honestly it’s possible that he’s forgotten. It’s been a while since I took it.” I smile and fall into step with him.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“I can’t believe Jon never goes in the shed.”
We both smile a little and start walking toward the water. We need to walk down a few dunes to get to the boat. It’s better to do it in a spot where there are other people. Most of the male runners around us shuck their shirts, so Sean blends in a bit more if we’re walking among them. As we pass a trashcan, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it in. I’ve got my bare-chested man back.
As the sun creeps higher in the sky, the morning light paints the clouds orange and pink. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the sea spray and the wind in my hair as I walk hand in hand with Sean. I wish I could freeze time and keep things like this, locked in this moment when it’s just him and me, neither of us consumed by grief or heartache.
That thought solidifies something, a nagging sensation that didn’t materialize until now. It’s clear--there’s only one path that leads to Sean’s happiness, and this isn’t it.
CHAPTER 7
When we arrive at Marty’s house, it’s empty. Sean and I both stuff our faces with leftovers from the refrigerator and then head for the couch. Sean sits down and pats the seat next to him. I stare at his hand, at the way he touches the seat, and think about his mother’s lifeless arm, her body blown to pieces. It could have been Sean. The only reason he’s still alive right now is because of Marty. Sean wouldn’t have been in the mansion if it weren’t for me. I’m going to get him killed. Sean glances up at me with those beautiful blue eyes.
“Stop thinking so much.” Smirking, I sit down and tuck my leg under my butt, before leaning into him.
“Easy to say, not so easy to do.”
We sit there in silence, and before I know what happens, I’m in the black room again. The smoke forms little black clouds that engulf me whole. I can’t see. I’m stuck, and then I hear his voice. It sounds like he’s far away, but I see his hand--I see that ring flashing in front of my eyes. I reach out and take it.
Gripping Sean’s arm, I try to pull him to safety, but there is nowhere safe. I’m holding a severed hand, still dripping with blood. A scream rips through me, and I’m awake.
Sitting up, I gasp and look around. Sean isn’t next to me anymore.
“Oh, God.”
I throw my legs on the floor and rub my face. I stay like that for a moment, willing my heart to slow, when I hear the creak of wood floorboards. It could be a floorboard on the back porch. My spine goes straight, and my eyes widen. I get up and rush over to the wall, careful not to make a sound.
I don’t see Sean, just Marty’s granny furniture. I slide along the wall until I’m in a tiny kitchen. The back door is open, swinging gently in the wind, its window curtain flapping. The sound comes a second time. It’s closer, louder.
I can’t see anyone. It has to be Sean, but the way my body reacts makes me think it isn’t. As I inch closer to the window that overlooks the porch, I hold my breath. As I inch up to peer out the window, a voice booms behind me.