Something Of A Kind (17 page)

He laughed. “Aly, I don’t need to think about it. I know what he
does.”

“And I trust you,” she murmured, eyeing her leg. “My
conclusion is that there must be a particular population of whatever
we saw today.”

“I…” he faltered, rubbing his neck. Forcing his eyes to stay on
the road, he continued, “I don’t know what I saw.”

 

From his peripheral, he saw her lips part in shock. Blinking, she
pleaded, “Yes, you do.”

 

“I wasn’t exactly jumping to the same conclusions the first night.
We’ve heard stuff like that for years.”

“It’s hard for me to believe, too. You must know that. I’ve
always said, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ about almost everything,
and guess what? We have. What more do you want?”

Whatever it was, they both knew it was real and Aly was ready
to drag it into the spotlight. He didn’t blame her.

 

If she only knew how bad this could be.

He sighed
, scratching his head. “Aly, you need to understand.
This has always been a joke for us. Nothing like this has ever
happened.”

“Me neither,” she whispered, slumping in her seat. She
swallowed, staring out the window.

 

“Aly,” he offered, helpless.
“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he promised. Chewing his cheek,
he offered, “It’s a little office uptown, a ways off the main road. I’d
be happy to take you.”

Hesitantly, she asked, “Do you think it was the wood beast?”

 

Voice soft, he confessed, “Yeah, I do.”

 

“But you don’t want to report it.”

He glanced at her. Hair falling across her face, she had a leg
tucked beneath her. Fingers wrought, wide-eyed, she waited for an
explanation. If he wasn’t driving, he might have kissed her.

This is important to her.

“No, I want to,” he decided. “You have pics, right? You should
probably help out with whatever they’re doing.” As he pressed a
button on the stereo, it switched to the clock screen. He grimaced. “I
really have to get home, though. You can go tonight, and I’ll head
over tomorrow. Or you can meet me after work and we’ll go
together.”

“I can go,” she confirmed, tentative. “You’re sure my dad works
there?”

 

Noah rested a hand on her knee. “Trust me?”
Sounding confused and amazed, she laughed. “I guess I do.”

 

He grinned.
Not wrong at all.
~

Pushing through the doors of Yazzie’s, Noah stopped in his
tracks, frowning. Luke and Owen looked up, simultaneous and
guilty. Their hands clasped in front of them, sitting at opposite sides
of a single’s table usually taken by elderly couples.

Considering they bicker like one.

It had been that way since they were kids, the two hilarious and
passive-aggressive with blood brother loyalty. Noah had always
been the referee, or sometimes a front-row spectator or occasional
antagonist– the mellow one, the sanest. It had never troubled him
before.

It’s never hurt anyone before.

“I hope you girls are reconciled,” Noah smirked. Dropping his
hoodie on the table, he crossed his arms. “Otherwise, I’m afraid for
any more innocentbystanders.”

“We had no control over that. How would he know it would
come out? We weren’t even sure it was there. You said it wasn’t.
Isn’t that right, Young?” Owen defended, face reddened.
Luke’s eyes grew wide. “You think it’s my fault she got hurt?”

“Nah, it’s not like you threw it. I don’t know if you could lift it,”
Noah sighed, pulling a chair over. “So what the hell was all that
about?”

“Obviously bigfoot,” Luke snickered. “Hunt nearly pissed
himself.”

 

“And Young nearly got your girlfriend killed.”

 

“It was just a stone!”

 

“That could’ve hit her head,” Owen insisted.

 

“I’m starting to think it hit yours,” Noah interrupted, running his
hands through his hair. “It’s starting to get annoying.”

 

“So Aly isyour girlfriend,” Luke frowned, lost in thought as he
rocked his chair.

 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then she isn’t?” Owen’s head rested on the table. Arms
crossed, his hands disappeared in the crevices of his elbow. Noah
resisted the urge to kick him, their feet nearly bumping.

“I didn’t say that either.”

 

“So which is it?” Luke continued.
“Why do you even care?” Noah groaned, rubbing his eyes with
the heels of his palms. The guys exchanged a knowing look.

“Dude, you spend every single day scrubbing your dad’s broken
floors and scraping gum off of tables that belong in a nursing home.
I’ve never met a guy so obsessed with coasters, and-” Luke ranted,
arms waving wildly.

“You realize you’re eighteen, right? That's sick. Like, old lady
behavior. Not good.” Owen looked up as he chastised, fingers
smacking is palm with each syllable to reiterate.

“Just go for it. What do you have to lose? Your life sucks
anyway.”

“I've seen you twice this week. Twice. Not in school, but
actually breathing oxygen or whatever. Twice because of Aly. You're
not sleeping”

“Brooding really,” Luke interrupted.

 

“-when she's around, you pay attention,” Owen continued.

 

“And she's hot.” Luke added.

 

“And nice.”

 

“And not from Alaska's favorite armpit-”

 

“-Assland,” Owen finished.
“It’s all good with her! That girl is a vanilla hurricane. And
you’re an Arabian night, my friend.”

 

“Alaskan nights.” Owen joked, layering thick sarcasm.

 

“You and Alyson Glass, like white on rice-” Luke stood, planting
his hands on his hips as they made a jerky circle.

“Are you seriously gyrating right now?”
Noah raised his
eyebrows, only half mock concern. It was a silent agreement to let it
go, releasing his irritability. “Well, that’s terrifying.”

“Awkward andconfusing,” Owen added.

 

“Compliments to the chef!” Luke shouted, kissing pinched
fingers and flicking them towards the water-damaged ceiling.

 

“Will you shut up?” Noah laughed. “It’s not like that.”

 

“Of course it's not.”

“Young, what are you even saying? I don’t know what you’re
even saying right now. Locklear, what the hell is he talking about?”
Owen intervened, looking back and forth between them.

“No idea.”

“You don’t know? Bro, I don’t even know. That’s why it’s
beautiful,” Luke snorted, drawing out each syllable as though they
were separate words. “So, is she?”

Noah glanced at his wrist. It was growing irritated, his fingers
tracing the ink raw. He had offered his necklace and let the artist
work it up. When he saw the design on paper, he knew he wanted it.
Nothing else mattered – not the fresh paycheck in his pocket, not
Tony’s cautious warnings to consider it fully, not what anyone
would think. It suited him, spoke to him– rebirth, second chances –
clichés he would have killed for. It came easily, saying yes, putting
everything he had on the table. He had been prepared to sit through
the cost of marking his skin – pain, time, lectures. He knew full and
well that it would graze the bone.

“You sure, man?” The guy had asked. “It’s pretty big for your
first. Thick lines, black ink, and the wrists… it’s gonna hurt and it’s
gonna take a while. You prepared for this?”

Aly was a different desire– different, obscure, complicated, but
maybe just as wrong.

 

He
looked at his friends. They
exchanged
a
glance, grins
spreading.

 

“I hope so.” Noah shrugged, swallowing. “Is that wrong?”

 

Luke shook his head. Owen shrugged

 

Both said, “Not wrong at all.”
CHAPTER 13 | ALYSON

 

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked. Noah had pulled over,
bringing it up again at the town’s only stoplight, paused outside of
the parking lot, and offered to leave again while idling inside it.

Though Aly knew he had somewhere to be, Noah didn’t seem
rushed or anxious. Instead, they both sat buckled, sneaking sidelong
glances. Her hands were folded around the phone in her lap. Noah
kept one loosely folded eleven o’clock on the wheel, the other on
her knee. He hadn’t started the ignition to leave, and she hadn’t
worked up the courage to step out.

Stalemate.

Unable to answer just yet, she bit her lip. Nodding towards the
flashy silver in a reserved space, she observed, “I think that’s Greg’s
SUV. I guess he’s home early.”

“I thought it was at the diner.”

 

She swallowed, nerves twisting in her stomach. “Me, too.”

“Jerky,” he commented, having jumped to the same conclusion
as her. Greg got impatient and controlling and dug for the extra
keys.

Did he lie about the trip?

“I’ll take you in the morning. You can figure out what you’re
going to say,” he added, squeezing her knee. “I’ll take you home
right now, if that’s what you want. Or you can come back with me.
You don’t have to go alone.”

Aly shook her head, hair falling across her cheeks. She wasn’t
sure if she wanted to push it back in the tight French braid her
mother adored, or spend the night hiding behind it.

Noah’s hesitation had keyed doubts in her
testimony, forcing her
to consider the motives she couldn’t identify. It seemed strange his
support now was the only thing keeping her brave enough to go
through with it.

He tucked the strayed curls behind her ear and twisted in his seat
to face her. She sighed, raising a hand to cover his as it rested on her
cheek. Closing her eyes, she focused on his warmth, like fire after
sundown. When they fluttered open, Noah leaned close. He kissed
her forehead, pulling her into an encompassing embrace. Pressed
against his chest, his touch sent heat through her skin. Her hands
rested against his muscular back, sliding to fold across his spine as
her arms crossed. Breathing in his scent, Aly shivered.

“Whatever you decide, it’s going to be okay,” he promised.

 

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

As she unbuckled and gathered her things, Noah kissed her.
Trying to hold onto the courage she felt when he made her tremble,
she waved after shutting the door. He didn’t start the engine until
Aly stopped looking back.

The office was pushed back in the trees down the road from
Yazzie’s, almost curling onto a side-street, the building’s back to the
marina. At least two stories high with reflective glass paneling,
double-door entrances, and a lit-up marble walkway, the building
was fantastical compared to the town’s standard structures. A sign
illuminated with lawn lighting read: North American Ape Research
Corporation: Ashland, Alaska Satellite Office, labeling the pristine
building.

Shouldn’t it say ‘organization’?

It was too pretty for Ashland from the outside in. The floors
were covered in tan tiling, swirling gray patterned carpets picking up
in the various hallways. Couches surrounded one of three lobby flatscreens. An artsy coffee table covered in brochures displayed like a
game of solitaire was placed in the center. Freestanding chairs were
lined and stacked along the outer walls, broken up by miniature
trash cans or bedside-sized tables stacked with magazines, tissues,
and lamps. The high ceilings looked as though they were falling
apart, but the place was otherwise immaculate. The curved front
desk looked more like the check-in to a hotel than an office lobby to
an unknown researcher facility. Despite warm cream walls, it felt
like the waiting room to a teaching hospital.

As Aly passed the televisions, the same documentary played in
sync, photographs shifted with basic affects, a woman’s voice
droning on about Alaska fading in and out.

“
-nearly twothousand and six hundred square miles… home to
nine-hundred-ninety miles of shoreline with inestimable palisades,
rocky cliffs, promontories, and beaches to explore… One hundred
and five miles of it are girding paved roads, making it…”

With a baby face and shaggy blonde hair tucked beneath a
beanie, the guy behind the desk didn’t appear much older than Aly.
Hunched over a tablet in his lap with a dazed stare, he popped
gummy bears into each cheek from a torn bag by a laptop blinking
with a bouncing bubbles screen saver. Resisting the urge to clear her
throat, Aly rocked on her heels. In spite of her nerves, she was intent
on feigning patience.

Upon glancing
up, his brow knitted. As he
blanched with
recognition, she glanced at his name tag reading ‘Franklin Clancy’
before he could stumble over himself to stand. Franklin fished for a
clipboard and pulled a wire basket from a bottom drawer, lifting a
blank report to clip beneath a pen.

“You’re making a report?” he clarified. As he spoke, an enlarged
Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck.

“I am,” Aly agreed, half
-smiling to mask a shudder. Her voice
felt too pleasant, offering illusions of calmness. As her words met
her lips, it sounded almost lyrical.

He offered it wordlessly, glancing through his hair. She felt his
stare, feeling vulnerable to its invasive nature, as she backed away.

Taking the nearest seat, Aly blinked at the neon clipboard in her
lap. The front page requested a name, contact numbers, and other
personal information. The second was filled with paragraphs of
empty lines accompanied by a basic questionnaire.

Attempting to squeeze in every scathing detail, she fit the
experience
around
available
space,
dropping
fragments
and
estimated numbers in a loopy scrawl. It seemed too politically
correct – If direct contact was made, what would you define the
animal you encountered as (using common names)? Explain. Which
classification of encounter do you feel you have according to an A
(being
sighted upon interaction with evidence
recovered), B
(interacted, not seen, evidence may be recovered), and C (assumed
interaction, no evidence recovered) scale? Explain.