a/n: it is imperative you listen to the music whilst reading this. very important to the mood & #ambience
***
DAVID DOESN'T SPEAK to him. Hadley keeps checking his rear mirror, on the lookout for whatever was back there in the cemetery, but there's nothing. Only the empty road, traffic lights glowing onto the snow.
Whatever that thing in the graveyard was, Hadley can't wrap his mind around it. He tries to think of it, but something about it is elusive, like a thought he can't catch. He's seen it before, he's sure of it. But where? When?
David presses his temple against the window.
"Are you okay?" Hadley asks.
"Stop the car."
"What?"
"Is that the only thing that comes out of your mouth?" David snaps, his jaw tense. "Stop the goddamn car."
Hadley stops the car. David opens the door, stumbles out onto the street. Hadley watches him make his way towards a trash can, bend over it, and vomit into the thing. He stops. Retches some more.
When he comes back to the car, his eyes are bloodshot. He wipes the back of his mouth. He says nothing. He turns on the radio, onto some jazz station playing Billie Holiday.
"I know this song," Hadley says, because the silence in the car is awkward in a way that is bordering unbearable.
David turns up the volume.
"Hey," Hadley says, and reaches out to put his hand on David's shoulder. He thinks better of it. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," David says. He screws his eyes shut, tips his head back. He takes in a long breath. "Everything's wrong. Shit's getting real."
Hadley starts driving again.
"When I was like, eleven," David says, his eyes still closed, "my brother used to make things vanish and reappear. He'd take a cookie or something and he'd hold it and it would just show up again. Thing is, they didn't vanish, or disappear. He hid them, somewhere."
"Illusion?"
"No, not like that. He hid it away. You wouldn't be able to find it, not here." There's an unusual emphasis on the word 'here', as if David's 'here' and Hadley's 'here' aren't the same. Probably isn't.
"And then when he wanted them to show up again," David continues, "he'd just pluck them out of wherever they were being kept."
"That's what you did," Hadley says. "Teleportation. When we were running. You made us disappear."
"Except we're not cookies. And I didn't make you reappear in the palm of my hand."
"How much did that take out of you?"
"A lot."
I'm happy to do, whatever I do, for you, Billie Holiday croons, gently, to the both of them.
David rolls down the window. A gust of cold, sharp air blows in. "I know this song, too." He sounds extremely distant.
Hadley glances over at David, and he sees something different. He catches a glimpse of the boy underneath, the weariness, the strength. How much of David is a façade? How much of him is real?
Don't trust anyone, said James, to himself. How many times had he said that? Don't trust anyone, don't trust anyone.
It's hard not to, not when they saved your life.
What are you? Hadley wants to ask. What aren't you telling me?
Instead he says, "God, I'm hungry."
"Do you think McDonald's is serving breakfast?" David says. His face is in darkness—Hadley can't make out David's expression.
"They don't start serving breakfast till 4 AM," Hadley says. "And shit, I don't want you throwing up in my car."
"Yeah," David says. He closes the window. When his face is under the orange glow of a streetlight, Hadley sees his eyes are still closed. The light makes him look unbearably gentle, serene. "I want to sleep."
How vulnerable he looks.
This is dangerous, Hadley thinks, his throat dry. Tread carefully.
"Sleep," Hadley says. His head feels strangely foggy. "I'll wake you up when we get home."
"Thanks," David murmurs, and stays quiet, presumably falling asleep.
Hadley takes the long way home.
