Whispers

1. From my sweat my blood runs weak

        I could tell something was wrong the moment I pulled in front of Liv’s house. Her big, beautifully-strange, multi-colored house on wheels. It was as much home to me as my own brick-and-mortar one.

        Gus crunched loudly over the gravel that stood as her and her mother’s front yard. Gus was my ’69 Chevy pickup truck that, yeah, was old. But yeah, I still loved him. He worked and had character. Plus, my dad and I had worked on him myself, so hell. I was proud of him. Good ol’ Gus.

        Liv was waiting for me, looking pensive with her arms crossed over one of her many lace dresses that were always more Victorian than flower-child as she shivered in its thin sleeves. She never dressed right for the cold.

        Her dark brown hair was falling across her face and curtaining her thin bird-like shoulders, giving her the appearance of an antique porcelain doll.  But the kind that stared into souls from their perches on the shelf. Liv could soul-stare like no other, that I could attest to. Her blue-green cat-eyes always seemed to burn with a knowledge and sense not of this world. Spooky.

        She did not look happy. At all.

        “Those who will ride in this seat, must answer me these questions three,” I slapped my hand down onto the passenger seat before she could get in.

        But of course, she was reluctant. If Liv wanted to, she could be more stubborn than one of those feral cats my mom was always trying to shoo out of our yard. And my mom once had hit them square on the head with a broom and they still hadn’t moved. This town’s just full of crazy, I swear.

        “As much as I appreciate a well-placed Monty Python reference, this is not the time, Hunt. Now let me in. Let’s get this bullshit over with.”

        But I still didn’t budge.

        She had that look on her face that I knew would be trouble if she didn’t let out what was bothering her. And no way was I going to let her go to school like that when her “Darkness” could strike again at any moment.

        It hadn’t gone well any of the other times.

        And we both knew that.

        She huffed, low and irritated, but the fact that she gave up the fight that easy let me know that even she knew it was better off this way.

        “Fine. What is it, Hunter?”

        “First: explain the long face. Second: did you take your meds this morning? And I mean that in the best possible way. I truly do. Third: why in God’s name are you out here in 30-degree weather without even a sweater? Do you want to get hypothermia and die?”

        “…maybe…” she muttered under her breath, but then she let out another long, forlorn sigh that I knew she was just hamming up.

        “Fiiiiine…” she huffed a sigh out her nose before starting, “First: I just getting ready this morning, like you do, la-di-da-di-da. Except I have one more thing than just brushing my teeth and tying my shoes. I have to light seven white candles for my dad’s ashes, perfectly spaced, all at the same time. Every. Single. Morning. Or else he starts rattling that stupid hunk of metal we call a home because spirits do stuff like that and I started thinking how messed up is that?”

        I opened my mouth to protest, but she just put her hand up and shot me one of her don’t-you-dare looks that only the incredibly stupid or the ones with a death wish wouldn’t follow.