Red Rain

Chapter 4 - Diane Young

Luca and I say nothing before going back to bed. Neither of us can sleep, though. Even Luca, an infamously heavy sleeper who managed to not wake up during a late-night fireworks display on the last night of school last year, keeps tossing and turning for hours, the same way I do.

I can't help but think that somehow, I should have recognized that that was really Steve's head Marco found this morning. Maybe I'd suspected it all along in the back of my mind somewhere, and I'd consciously rejected it because, while it was possible (especially since it was so freakishly realistic), the chances of that being the case were pretty remote.

I guessed earlier that I wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight, and I turn out to be right. Just not for the reason I thought.

The only real consolation is that after I do finally go to sleep - maybe around two in the morning - I don't leave the room, and I wake up with the alarm clock at seven, still in my bed.

Luca and I then get dressed - in our street clothes; as soon as we turn our phones on, we see that we've both received the same text message from the school. All classes are cancelled for the rest of the week, and the school is on lockdown during that time as well, for security reasons.

Heading down the hall, we see a couple of cops - CSI types in black vests marked "Nicks County Sheriff's Department" - emerging from Marco and Steve's room. We stop and watch for a moment as they carry out a metal box with steam issuing from it.

"You think they've got Steve's head in there?" I whisper to Luca.

"Maybe," he says. "Frozen so they can transport it safely? It's a bit of a long drive down to Bearville."

I shake my head. "Poor guy. God..."

The cops are both gone now, so Luca and I go down the hall and into the lounge. Some seniors are still gathered around the TV - not as many of them as there were last night when the news first broke, but those that are there all look as if they've been up all night. They're pale, their clothes are wrinkled, and some of them - for instance, Marco - have their wings unfurled and emerging from their shirts, draped limply over the furniture.

Luca comes around the side of the couch and lifts Marco's left wing so he can take a seat. Marco jerks in surprise, then quickly pulls in his wings. "Hey, guys," he says with a loud yawn.

"'Morning," Luca mumbles.

"'Morning," I say. I turn my attention to the TV for a moment. The reporter - a different woman from last night's reporter - is droning on about an imminent press conference with our headmaster, Dr. Saltz.

"They searched your room or something?" Luca asks.

"They wanted to eliminate it as a crime scene," Marco says with a heavy sigh. He wipes his eyes - not to get rid of tears, but probably to wake himself up some.

"Jesus, you look like shit," Luca says. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

Marco gives Luca a serious stink-eye for a split second, then he slumps in his seat. "Dunno. An hour? All in here, too," he adds, gesturing to the couch. "They wouldn't let me back into my room. Until now, that is."

"What, you told them about the head?" I ask.

"I kinda had to," Marco says. "Don't worry, I didn't tell 'em about showing it to you guys."

"Were we supposed to be worried about that?" Luca asks.

"They didn't ask, and I didn't..." Marco stops and yawns again. "I didn't tell. This is my problem more than it is you guys' problem."

"Hey, we were his friends too-" I begin.

"Not as much as I was!" Marco hisses, his fists clenching. Then he remembers himself, swallows, and relaxes again. "Shit. I'm sorry."