Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A
fter an unnerving cab
ride full of bad techno music, awkward glances, and no words—except, of course, for a question involving what kind of tip the driver could expect—they arrived in Somerville. Arson, Joel, and Kyro got out of the car first, and Redd handled payment. Kyro said he heard her threaten the driver upon handing him the cash, but Arson couldn’t make up his mind as to whether the claim was true or simply Kyro’s bias talking, and he wasn’t ready to trap himself in the middle of their war.

The safe place she had led them to allegedly belonged to a guy named Trent. It was a third-floor apartment, nested within a rundown duplex. That, coupled with the fact that it was located in the shadiest neighborhood in town, didn’t really scream security. “It’s safe enough for us to stay for a few hours,” Redd assured them, but it was obvious even she didn’t have faith in her words. Was anywhere really safe? Just as he was processing her insubstantial statement, a painful drilling sensation spread at the back of Arson’s mouth. Like a loose tooth on steroids. Every so often it came, and he couldn’t locate the cause, but whenever he plunged two searching fingers toward his molars, the pain subsided. It was the most bizarre thing. As far back as he could remember, he hadn’t ever suffered any toothaches or even a cavity.

They waited outside the door while Redd fished inside her small bag (it couldn’t really be called a purse) for the key. According to the on-edge investigator, the first-floor tenant was an elderly recluse addicted to bad soap operas and gossip tabloids. From what they could see of the foyer—webs stretched across poorly painted ceiling corners, a pair of decade-old slippers, and mud stains leading into the bathroom—it was obvious the battle between cleanliness and entertainment had already crowned a victor. A stack of unread newspapers lay outside the door, warped and still a little wet. Arson picked up a copy, examined the front page. The ink bled, concealing its delivery date. He mentally penciled in the date of Grandpa’s death, and consequently, thought of Grandma Kay—a recluse in her own right, fit to be desensitized by trivial news stories while the world moved on.

“Don’t mind her,” Redd had told them, at last locating the tiny piece of metal. Through the grey, cigarette-stained curtain to his right, Arson caught splashes of color bouncing off the cotton material. The TV blared so loud that the speakers crackled. He could even hear the awful music as it played, probably inserted into the script as a method of conveying a pivotal plot point in the episode. Poised with curiosity, Kyro smacked his forehead against the window, hoping to steal a look from the
old broad
, but Redd kicked him in the shins with her heel and told him it was impolite to spy.

After she managed to get the door open, using a combination of her shoulder, the badly copied key, and some much-needed force, Redd led them up a flight of stairs. They wandered past the second-floor apartment, which she claimed her friend Trent preferred to keep vacant so he could continue using it as his
weekend
sweet spot
. Arson didn’t bother asking what she meant, but he had ideas. Kyro just kept chuckling to himself because of her repetitive use of
Trent
and the strange word
friend
in the same sentence.

The dark wood floors had plenty of neglected scratches, and a ladder had been left in the center of the thin hallway.

“Trent’s been meaning to fix that flickering light,” she mumbled under her breath.

Arson exchanged perplexed glances with Kyro.

“So this Trent guy’s okay with us crashing here?” Joel asked.

She nodded, not looking him in the eye. “Don’t think he’ll mind.”

“This dude really exist, Lil’ Redd, or is this the part where we discover you really some kind of psycho-inbreedin’-nympho from West Virginia?”

Kyro had said what Arson had been thinking…sort of.

“Yes,” she bit back, “about the first part. Trent really exists. Just be grateful you’re still breathing.”

Kyro did this
I’m-shakin’-in-my-draws
kind of expression that Arson found particularly amusing and flipped her off the second Redd called back her needle stare.

A big orange door constructed off-center lay ahead of their steps on the third floor. She fed her key into the first slot and turned it, which produced an eerie, horror-flick screech. The second slot received the key as well and, with a bit of rattling, also created a sound, only this one was more like a high-pitched whine. The only other time Arson recalled metal creaking that way was when Grandma had locked him inside his room as punishment. He hated her that day.

Redd and Joel walked into the apartment first, and Arson followed, but Kyro stayed outside a minute.

“You coming?” Arson asked.

“Yeah,” the kid said. He scowled, crossed himself, and entered.

Redd switched on the lights. “There’s just one bed, and the couch in the living room can become a pullout. Why don’t you take the bed, Joel?” Redd offered. “Today’s been hell. You could use a good night’s rest.”

“Thanks, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. It’s better if you have it.”

“No, I insist.”

“Shoot,” Kyro interrupted, “you two old heads can nap out here on this grubby-lookin’ rug for all I care, and I’ll chill in the bed.”

“Nice try,” Joel said with a smirk.

“I just want a shower,” Arson said.

Redd sauntered to a nearby closet and found a towel. She tossed it at him, along with a bottle of body wash. “First door on the left.”

“You seem to know your way around this joint, Lil’ Redd. This dude must like your company.” Kyro scanned the pictures in the open room as he made his not-so-subtle accusatory statement, no doubt looking for some incriminating data, but the only thing he could find was a framed snapshot of two little kids, probably no older than five or six. “Who are they?”

Redd swung her head around, as if startled. “Not sure.”

“Whatever,” he replied. “This place got any grub?”

“Go check for yourself. I’m not your maid.”

He appeared wounded as he strolled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, but there was nothing but a stick of butter, some old milk, two slices of packaged cheese, and some baking soda.

“Ya boy Trent definitely takes the phrase
live within ya means
a tad too seriously.” Kyro went on to list a series of complaints, but Arson started to tune him out once he turned on the shower head.

Less than a minute later, he heard a knock on the bathroom door. “Yo, Arson, we got hot water?”

“Uh…yeah, why?”

“Hallelujah. Just checkin’. Carry on.”

Arson breathed in the warm steam as the water dabbed his skin. It was rhythmic, soothing. He remembered numerous summer mornings spent floating beneath the surface of the lake behind the cabin for minutes at a time, just drifting, searching himself for what it meant to be human. Most kids couldn’t last forty seconds underwater, but he wasn’t most kids.

“Not normal,” he exhaled, the hot droplets of water cleansing his pores. He wiped his long hair back and opened his eyes. For the first time, he could see Emery, the way he’d seen her in his dream, or coma, whatever it had been. She was here, with him, her small arms cradled against her breasts. He put his hands around her back and hugged her.

He hoped to God for more time, time enough to speak his mind, ask her where she was, tell her everything he’d been through. But he couldn’t.

This is the real world, Arson. You don’t get to have her just because you want her. Didn’t you learn anything from that slut Mandy? It doesn’t work like that!

For a second, he could’ve sworn that was Danny reprimanding him, telling him to get a hold of his thoughts.

No, not Danny. Danny hadn’t helped him escape his realm of nightmares. It was Adam.

Then where did that thought originate? He knew he hadn’t come up with it on his own. Was he losing his mind?

“No, you’re not,” he heard someone whisper, but who? Who said that?

Arson rinsed the body wash off his skin and twisted the faucet until the water stopped. He used the towel to dry off and noticed that the mirror above the sink was also a storage cabinet. A roll of floss and a bottle of mouthwash lay inside. He hated flossing, but he assumed it’d been months since his teeth had been properly cleaned. Once finished, he unscrewed the Listerine top and gargled a mouthful of the jade liquid. Arson couldn’t help but catch his reflection in the mirror. How desperately his hair needed a trim. If he didn’t constantly flip his head to the left or to the right, his hair draped over his eyes like a thick, brown mop, the ends slowly pulling away from each other and turning to frizz. Grandma would’ve said he looked like a liberal hippie, not at all like the models in her youth, not at all.

But then he noticed something else, something far more significant. The colors of his eyes reflected two conflicting shades, one an icy ocean blue, and the other a deep, fiery shade. Arson spat the mouthwash into the sink bowl, watched the liquid suds splash against the rusted metal lip of the drain before dissolving into its center.

When he looked up again, Emery was there, only this time she wasn’t wearing a mask. Her face had no scars. The pieces of her forehead that had once been mutilated now looked flawless, and a cascade of hair swooped down to her tucked-back shoulders. Effortless.

“Emery?”

She smiled.

He turned around to see her standing still, with her mask in her hand. It was in pieces. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“How?” Arson reached out to touch her, and she vanished. Nothing but steam from the shower was there to toy with him. “Emery?” He grabbed the knob and flung open the bathroom door. Kyro was walking into the living room holding a jar and using his index finger to scoop out what looked like peanut butter. Emery was gone.

When he realized that what he’d seen was just a projection of what he
wanted
to see, he wiped his eyes. The steam from the bathroom began to cloud the hallway. A set of clean clothes had been left outside the bathroom door.

He snatched them up, moseyed toward the bedroom. Then he flipped the light on and started to get dressed.

“Nice place. Where are we?” came a voice from behind him seconds later. There was a kid who looked to be about his age sitting on the mattress with a raised brow.

“Whoa. Who are…” Arson looked into his eyes as the kid tilted his head, as if to say
you already know the answer
.

“Adam?”

“In the flesh. Well, not technically, but you get the idea.”

“How long have you been sitting there?” Arson asked as he quickly threw on the jeans. Ever since he’d been little, he was the kid who’d always showered with his boxers on after gym class.

“No
hello
? No
how are you
? Man, chivalry really is dead.”

“You made it,” Arson said, still getting used to seeing the real kid, and not just a projection of his childhood friend. Very monk-like indeed. “When we crossed over, I wasn’t sure if…”

“Neither was I, but yes, Grasshoppa,” Adam replied with a coy grin, “I survived. Not without a few side effects, but you win some, you lose some.”

Arson surveyed the room. It didn’t look like it had the same deteriorating walls or harsh colors of his nightmare. This didn’t add up. “Wait, am I—?”

“No, you’re not dreaming. You’re very much awake. I, on the other hand, am dreaming. Which is kinda cool. I’ve never done it like this before.”

“You’re sliding?”

“How else would I be here?”

Arson flared his nostrils and slipped inside the t-shirt with an oversized print of the Kool-Aid jug. The cartoon character had that classic “Oh-yeah!” expression, and Adam chuckled a little before speaking again.

“When I was in your head…the first time,” he clarified, “I felt your powers, experienced the codes along with you. We shared a very unique connection.” Adam stood and paced the room. “Don’t worry, we don’t have to hug or anything. But I think that that connection still exists, which is how I found you a second time. I’ve never wandered into the same mind more than once.”

“Where are you?”

“Some city outside Boston. Dorchester, I think. We’ve been running for miles.”

Arson’s eyes grew wide. “You’re in Massachusetts too?”

“Why? Where are you? Or…um…nevermind.”

“Some grungy duplex in—”

“Somerville,” Adam said, and for a split second, Arson felt as though something from his mind’s closet had been stolen.

“Okay, you’re gonna be my compass, then.”

“You’ll be able to find me?”

“If we can keep this connection going, and I believe we can, then it shouldn’t be too hard. Just keep thinking good thoughts, savvy?”

Arson smirked as Adam walked to the window.

“Wait, you said
we
? You’re not alone?”

“No,” Adam said, with his back turned.

Arson concentrated like crazy, trying to scan Adam’s thoughts the way monkboy had done in reverse, but it wasn’t working. “Who’s with you?” he asked, frustrated.

Then the answer came slowly. “Emery.”

Arson thought his heart literally dropped into his stomach. Had he heard right? Was Adam really with Emery, and were they just hours from seeing each other?

“Those projections you thought you saw of her… They were real. I put them in your mind.”

“But her face…”

“I healed her.”

“But you said you hadn’t seen her?”

“I know. At the time, it was the truth. Look, I have to wake up. It isn’t safe to linger anywhere for too long. I’ll find you soon.”

“Tell her Jo—”

“Her father’s alive?” Adam said, retrieving that shred of data from Arson’s mind. “Some good news for a change. That’ll make her smile. See ya soon, brother.”

Adam leapt off the windowsill and soared into the dark. When Arson ran to see if a body had hit the ground, the boy had already vanished.

Arson rubbed his temple, still reeling from seeing his nightmare savior a second time, and now as a scrawny, bald teenager. How he had managed to slide, while one of them was awake, was nothing short of…