Page 39 of The Rebel of Raleigh High
17
SILVER
“I’m not a monster,though I do sometimes work for monsters.”
I cram popcorn into my mouth, eyes glued on the T.V. screen. I can quote this movie word for word, but I still like to watch it with the subtitles on. Simon’s big reveal that he does, in fact, have a soul, does nothing to endear him to me, as I sip on a diet coke, digging my toes beneath the cushion at the end of the sofa.
I blink and see Alex, sitting on the edge of a lounger, staring at Kacey and Zen as they rub their naked, wet bodies up against one another. Apparently, it isnotsafe to close my eyes just yet, not even for a microsecond. I try to lose myself in the explosive action taking place on the screen. It’s not easy, but after a while, I’m suitably numb and warmed by the fire, and I begin to drift off.
Much later, I come to with a start, knowing that something woke me. The living room’s filled with the sound of static, and the T.V. screen is all snow, the DVD having switched itself off at the end of the film. All is silent. The patter of the rain on the sloped roof is even absent, and my ears seem to ring with the tense quiet.
Something isn’t right. Something…
There’s a loud slam outside, the sound of a car door being closed.
I leap up from the couch, my heart rate skyrocketing through the roof. Someone's here. Someone's fuckinghere. My pulse pounds at my temples as I run to the kitchen, not knowing what exactly I plan on doing when I get there. Shit, shit, shit. Dad would have told me if he was coming to the lake. Mom never comes here, period. She's too damn busy to take a break and make the drive. It's unlikely anyone would make the trek down the two-mile-long, narrow driveway, the trees pressing in on either side of the pot-holed dirt track if they were lost and looking for one of the Airbnb cabins located along the other side of the lakefront.
No, to find yourself at this particular cabin, you have to know it’s here, and you have to be looking for it specifically.
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Hurrying back to the living room, I snatch up my phone from the couch, trembling as I open up the screen and—fuck! No fucking reception. What am I going to do? WhatamIgoingtodowhatamIgoingtodowhatamIgoingtodo?
Calm the fuck down, Silver. Just calm the fuck down right now. This is how people always die in horror movies. They panic. They lose their shit, and they wind up making stupid decisions, and then they wind up fucking dead. Donotpanic.
Easier said than done, though. My thoughts are scrambled as I rush back into the kitchen again and look for something to arm myself with. Meat tenderizer? No. Pasta strainer? Fuck, no. Kebab skewer? Errrr no. Knife! Yes, a knife. I yank open the cutlery drawer, frantically trying to find a blade that isn't dull and pitoned with rust, but it's been a decade since we had a BBQ here. You wouldn't be able to pop a fucking balloon with any of the—
BANG!
BANG, BANG, BANG.
Fuck.
My ears are ringing. It occurs to me, after years of coming to the cabin and being entirely unafraid of the place, that coming here alone was a remarkably stupid move on my part.
Mom and Dad are used to not hearing from me when I’m here. They’re not expecting me back until Monday night. Two days away. How badly can a body decompose in forty-eight hours? Are they going to find me mangled and in pieces when they finally drive up here to find out what’s happened to me?
A huge weight is pressing down on me, crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe. I grab a knife, any knife, and tiptoe toward the front door, realizing, horror sending a shock wave of adrenaline through my body, that I didn’t lock the goddamn door.
Fucking idiot, Silver! FUCKING IDIOT!
I'm two feet away from the door when the floorboard beneath my feet creaks.
“Silver.”
The voice on the other side of the door isn’t posing a question, asking if I’m there. It’s a statement. A declaration. It belongs to Alex Moretti.
I sag against the wood, my heart giving a hard, painful spasm below my ribs. Recognizing who it is hasn’t helped, it seems; I can’t decide if the knowledge is even a good or a bad thing. I’m out of breath, panting, when I speak, even though I’ve barely moved. “What the…hellare you doing here?”
“Open the door.”
“No!”
“Open the door, Silver. It’s two o’clock in the morning. I’m freezing.”
My mouth falls open. Sure enough, when I look down at Mickey, his disproportionate arms confirms that it’s nearly ten past two. “What the fuck are you doing, showing up here at two in the morning, Alex? Are you fuckinginsane?”
“Probably. Open the door.”
