Good As Dead

Chapter Five

I give Mrs. Kent her extra money and an apology. She takes it well enough that Fuel still chirps at me when they leave. Gran mostly sleeps, refusing to eat anything when she does wake up. After finishing all the chores and checking on her a final time, I slip into the bathroom. It's the only room with a locking door, and even though I know it's a silly action because no one's around to intrude, I still feel that Melanie's words should have this much privacy. Sitting on the edge of the sink, I pull out the pages and start reading.

Laci's excited the pieces are falling together. Of course she is; it's not her neck he's after, and it's not her arm he's already chewed on. Maybe she's not even right. If he bit me, shouldn't I be a vampire by now, too? The smell of meat makes me as sick as always.

Every day I list off the reasons he could be one, and the reasons he could be as normal as anyone else in this fucked-up place. Never goes out in the day, but a man with photophobia wouldn't. Doesn't show up in photos, but that could be a lingering effect from Fivefield, if he experienced the blast directly. Mom coughed sparks for two hours yesterday, after the air conditioning broke. Her mouth was blistered by the end. What makes not showing up through a camera lens any weirder? No one's catalogued all the rogue spells Fivefield unleashed. There must be a normal explanation for what he is.

The next page has my name and address with the word IMPORTANT underlined three times. A shock jolts through me. Laci must have checked up on me even though she never had the guts to make contact, and then passed it on to Melanie.

The last page has the worst handwriting, scribbled and panicky.

He knows. He knows I'm starting to remember the night of the crash. I didn't run into the rocks, I got a flat and he pulled over while I was fixing it. He's talked with my father, who's so stupid with grief at this point he'd reveal anything and everything without realizing it. Christ knows what he's learned about me. Enough to make my death look like a successful suicide? He's already gotten my father to invite him into the house. Now he can reach me wherever I am. Laci, if you're reading this, I love you. I love you, Laci. I didn't leave you.

A crash jerks me to my feet, heart thumping in my throat. The pages shake in my hands as I try to break free of Melanie's words. There's another crash, like glass shattering, and this time I recognize it. It's the sound of objects falling against the hard tile of the kitchen floor. I make it there in time to save a jar of peppers that slips from Gran's hands. The jug of milk, a carton of orange juice, and a jar of pickles aren't so lucky.

"Gran?" I hear a crinkle and realize Melanie's pages are being strangled in my hand. Quickly, I drop them onto the kitchen table before moving back to Gran.

"Bad. All bad," she mutters, still trying to pull things from the shelves. When she tries to lift a large casserole dish, thin wrists shaking with the effort, I reach over and rest my palms on the back of her hands. She's so frail that the weight of my hands is enough make her own fall still.

Her words sound garbled, but I finally understand that she thinks the milk is spoiled. Whether it is or isn't doesn't matter much, since it's all on the floor, now.

"It's still there." Her fingers flutter at the fridge door.

"No Gran, we haven't kept it in the door for years. We keep it in the back, but you already got it out."

"There!" Her soaked slippers squelch as she turns to point at the empty door.

#6: Patient may experience hallucinations and become agitated. I shove the words out of my head and take a breath before forcing a smile onto my face. "Okay, I'll get it out, and then I'll go to the store to buy fresh stuff. But we got to change into dry clothes, first."