Cogent

EIGHTEEN

Noah entered the house with mud on his shoes. Fat brown prints led to his room. It looked trashed as ever, probably worse after Kaleb had dug through everything to find the duffel bag. Noah kicked at an empty soda can and dropped his jacket in the corner along with the rest of his wet clothes. It had been raining all day and his hair was dripping wet, soaking the neck and shoulders of his leather jacket. It was ruined. In fact, all of his clothes were torn or bloodied or spackled with paint. Not an inch was clean. He had to dig through the piles of dirty clothes to find a dry shirt. Everything smelled like cigarette smoke and armpit. His mom had fallen asleep on his bed again. It wasn't unusual for her to do that after a big fight, whether it was Noah or Derek she'd been fighting with. It didn't seem to matter—she still ended up weeping drunkenly on his mattress. I just miss your father so much, she'd say. You smell like him...

The cushions from the sofa were all over the living room, the house a complete wreck. Noah picked up the trash and stray pillows, tidying up the house wearing nothing but a band shirt and boxers. Nobody was home, not even the dogs. The silence and solitude was nice. Different. But nice. His mom must have taken the dogs with her when she left, because the usual onslaught of barks and snarls had been absent from his arrival.

Relief flooded Noah and he took a shaky breath, only just realizing how scared he was to come home and face Derek and Jen. Finding them gone was a weight off his shoulders, but the relief was only temporary. He knew a talk was inevitable, and the sooner it happened the better. Noah needed to be on speaking terms with his mom before Derek came back or there would be another confrontation.

A low rumble emanated from Noah's stomach. He knew he should eat. Maybe he could grab something small and quick before he went and talked to his mom. He'd have a clearer head that way.

Scuffing his feet on the carpet, Noah limped through the doorway into the kitchen. It was a mess—worse than usual. Someone had broken some plates on the counter and there was food strewn everywhere. He froze, gaze pinned to a dark shape in the corner. Noah stared at the body of one of the dogs. It could have been sleeping if it weren't for the open eyes and the bloodied tongue. Flies buzzed among the scattered food ripped from the cupboards.

Noah swallowed hard, shaking. Dread filled his insides and he couldn't move one step in any direction. Derek hadn't done this. He loved the dogs and though he wasn't always nice to them, he'd never hurt them badly. Someone else must've done it...

Feels familiar, doesn't it?

Noah flinched. He hadn't heard the voice for almost an entire day. Sensing its return made him cringe.

Doesn't it?

"What?" he whispered, answering it like he knew he shouldn't. That only made it louder.

The smell of death.

Noah heard a piercing scream.

He whirled toward it, forgetting his injuries until the pain pulled him to the ground. He fell hard amongst the discarded cushions and cigarettes but pulled himself to his feet in a matter of seconds. Ignoring the shattering pain in his bones, Noah half-ran, half-limped to the back bedroom where Jen and Derek slept—if they were sober enough to make it to bed. The door was slightly ajar, a bloody handprint smeared just above the knob. He hadn't noticed it earlier, too focused on getting out of his wet clothes. Two voices clattered through the walls from the other side of the door, one a low rumble, the other his mother's stifled cries. Without thinking, Noah shoved the it open and stumbled inside.

Jen was huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Leon was crouched over her, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of her head.

"Get away from her!" Noah shouted, taking a step toward them.