Page 31 of Property of Bones

“Okay, touchy subject,” he says, holding up both hands. “I get it. Sort of. Anyway, since we’re neighbors, I’ll walk with you.”

Shockingly, the one-minute walk to my house doesn’t end with me stabbing my friend.

“Bones. Skip,” Spike calls from behind us. “Got a sec? I need help moving my stove. Damn wire needs replacing again.”

“It’s midnight,” Skip hollers. “Can’t it wait? Bones needs his beauty sleep.”

“I mean, sure,” Spike shrugs. “I’ll just ignore the smoke coming out the back of it. No big deal.”

I smack Skip in the back of the head and veer off toward Spike’s house.

Inside the kitchen, Skip and I each take a side of the heavy-as-hell stove and tilt it forward so Spike can get to the outlet.

“You know this is the third time you’ve had to replace that plug, right?” Skip says. “Ever think about getting a new stove?”

“Hell no,” Spike grunts from underneath. “This sucker’s an antique. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”

“It’s made of solid metal,” Skip mutters, adjusting his grip. “No stove should weigh eight hundred pounds. How the hell did you even get it in here?”

“Tank,” Spike says. “Tilt it a bit more…almost got it.”

A few more grunts, some muttered curses, and the deed’s done.

“Thanks,” Spike says, dusting his hands. “Want a beer before you head out?”

Before I can answer, a loudthumpshakes the ceiling above us.

“What the hell?” Spike says, already sprinting out of the room.

No need to ask…my gut’s already telling me it’s bad. I take off after him.

“Fuck!” Spike shouts from the upstairs bathroom. “Call an ambulance!”

Skip’s already dialing when I hit the doorway and drop to my knees beside Spike. An unconscious Riley lies face down on the floor.

“Is she breathing?” he asks, frantically as I check for a pulse.

“Barely,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “It’ll be faster if we take her ourselves. Skip, have Abby come stay with Asher. Let’s go.”

I scoop Riley up into my arms and bolt out the front door. Skip’s already got the back door of a car open and keys in hand.

“It’s Foster’s,” he says. “He’s staying here with Abby. Ambulance will meet us halfway.”

Spike slides into the backseat, and I hand him Riley before getting behind the wheel. I push the car harder than I should but my gut tells me that Riley doesn’t have much time. When I spot the ambulance coming the opposite way, I flash my brights and slam the brakes in the middle of the road.

Within seconds, Riley is being loaded into the back of the truck and whisked away.

The silence that follows feels deafening.

“What the fuck just happened?” I mutter into the void, hands still clenched on the steering wheel.

***

“I’m sorry,” Spike says, his voice flat and ice-cold. “Repeat that.”

The ER doctor glances up from the chart, visibly squaring her shoulders. “She overdosed.”

“Onwhat?” Spike growls. “She doesn’t take so much as a Tylenol without giving me hell.”

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