The Counter Born (#Wattys2016)

Chapter Seventeen

Time stops momentarily, and the only thing that sounds is my rapid heart beat. "He was found burned on his lawn just now. He's more secluded in the woods back there, but his mailman found him when he made his rounds. I imagine it happened sometime late last night," Tom assumes. Like everything else? It was the exact same. Precise cuts, precise blood splatters . . . I aggressively shake my hands covering my ears.

"Can you just quit talking to me? I'm getting a migraine." Tom snorts on the other line, offended.

"Whatever you say, dude. I thought this was something pretty important that you should know about. I guess I was wrong." And he hangs up. Just like that he hangs up after pronouncing my boss dreadfully dead as a door nail. Of course I'm devastated by the loss. I'm devastated by the fact that all these homicides are happening because of me. I'm devastated because soon I won't be devastated. Soon I won't be alive. My heart is racing faster as I veer Oliver away from the car by his collar. He frowns as his arms fold in front of him. "What? I'm on a little silent treatment." I clutch onto the side of the car door for support. It's starting to drizzle outside now.

"The captain is dead," I say, and I wobble on my feet a bit. The raindrops roar dully. Oliver's face turns a sickly green color and his eyes drift. I can tell by his swaying motion that he finds the world is spinning too fast for him.

"Y-you can't be serious, Landon." The raindrops are plodding now.

"The captain is dead. D-E-A–"

"I heard you! I'm not a child."

"You're right. You're a drunken child, Olly. Get ahold of yourself! Our boss is dead! Dead!" I suppress a sigh.

"How many more times will you have to say it to convince yourself?" Oliver asks slowly. "It's getting annoying. Gosh, figure out your life." I don't respond, staring blankly into space. "Are you going to see the body?"

"No." I gulp. "I've seen too many bodies in too little time."

"Okay then," Oliver says numbly as he pulls out a container of vodka. On the way home we listen to Fast Car by Tracy Chapman. It's no doubt a classic, one of my favorites, and relatable (Of which Oliver would argue is gay). There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I could escape whatever situation I got myself into. I can still repeat the lyrics in my head as I close the door behind us. Only now can I pay attention to every air fluctuation, every creak in the wood flooring, and every buzz of a house fly. Everything is so much more apparent and so much closer because it's all I have left to hold on to. I lean my forehead against the door, feeling it's coolness against my damp skin. "Are you alright?" Oliver asks carefully.

"Fine," I murmur. I whistle then, trying to fill up the silence with small talk. "Where do you think the captain was when he was killed?"

"Probably at his house. Probably burned like the other victims." I clench my teeth till the back molars are sore.

"I'm responsible, aren't I?" Oliver is taken aback.

"How could you accuse yourself of something like that? You're the kindest guy I know. Not to mention my best friend." I hold out an open hand, flinching it ever so slightly.

"Give it." Oliver shrugs and hands me the vodka as I slouch feebly onto the armchair while humming Fast Car. "Why can't the murderer just come and kill me already? Instead of eating me alive with all these grizzly murders." I tip the bottle back and forth. "He likes to see what makes me tick until my sanity just . . ." I let vodka trickle on the wood floor. "Spills." Oliver studies me some more as I gargle liquor in my throat.

"You're already falling apart."

"No I'm not," I slur. Oliver gives me a doubtful expression.

"Take a good look in the mirror for once, will ya? Your beard's growing out again. You need a shave. And a girlfriend."

"There's no one besides Natalie, and she's dead so . . . " Oliver's phone rings in his pocket, and he holds out a finger to me as he talks with one of our officers on the other line. I can tell by the way he scratches his head and responds with 'uh huh' between every pause. He presses end as he sits back beside me. "They want to bring me in for questioning tomorrow. Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll arrest me seeing as you could be right. Congrats." I nod thoughtfully, considerably.

"On what grounds?"

"Oh you know how the story goes. The captain suspends me and I finally go ape shit after so many weeks. Like that hasn't happened before."

"Practically every night you go out to a dive bar," I admit. Oliver taps his fingers on the side table uncomfortably.

"Hey, I've been wondering . . . how did you even become a police officer?"

"I honestly have no clue." Oliver perks his head up. "Hey, why aren't we talking about the captain?"

"We've been wallowing in death for a certain time span. We've probably just grown so accustomed to it that it doesn't bother us anymore," I say. Doesn't bother us . . . I repeat. It sort of sounds like recovery from seeing death, doesn't it? The first step being denial? Good boy, Landon. Ugh! Again? Why can't you just leave me alone? To heal, you need to accept the truth. Accept the truth. Accept the truth. I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge to get a carton of eggs. I hum Fast Car as I break two into a pan and begin to stir. "Maybe we can make a deal. Maybe together we can get somewhere . . . "

"Landon?" Oliver taps my shoulder cautiously.

"Wouldn't want to go to work on an empty stomach. Take your fast car and keep on driving . . . " I clutch my head in agony and drop the pan. Oliver takes calm, shaky breaths.

"Landon, you're scaring me. You should lie down," he says. I'm confused as I sludge to the couch.

"I have a weird feeling about something. A weird feeling about you," I reply.

"Yeah. I get it. I'm a dipstick. You don't have to rub it in my face, buddy."

"No. Something else. Like a warning. You have to get out of here," I say. Oliver has a confused look etched into his features.

"What? Why? I'm not that much of a douchebag."

"Yeah you are, but that's not the point." Oliver rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's what my brain's been telling me. Something bad's gonna happen, but I don't have a better explanation for the things that have been happening," I say. "Wish I did."

"Don't we all?" Oliver looks at me differently as he gets me a glass of ice water from the kitchen and adjusts the pillows under my head. I think he thinks that I'm going nuts.