Bad Creek, page 15
Aidan gritted his teeth. “Yes.”
“For how long now?”
None of your business. “It’s been a long time.”
“You play basketball?”
“No.”
“A waste, with your height.”
Even though Aidan had heard this one before, he looked at Gum, pleading for a lifeline. But Gum was still zoned out, tracing the same lines on his lap. He would often pull at holes in his jeans or chew on the fraying edges of his shirtsleeves. But this was new.
Aidan didn’t like it.
“So what do you do?” Bill Clavey said.
“Uh . . .” Aidan was seventeen. He didn’t have to do anything. What did these people want from him?
“Do you like movies, like your dad?” Bruce asked, then snickered like it was an inside joke. As if he hadn’t been best friends with the guy twenty years ago.
“Nasty stuff in that movie,” said Brenda. She had her lips pursed, her hands to her neck, ready to clutch her pearls over the sins of kids these days.
“I can’t believe the drive-in still plays that every summer,” said the other lady: a slightly younger version of her sister-in-law. She wasn’t as polished, though; not as seamlessly blonde. Her dark roots were showing. “It’s a family place. But everyone’s promoting Satanism these days . . .”
“It’s not promoting Satanism,” Aidan said.
They obviously hadn’t seen the film. The monster was only summoned after the main character’s boyfriend performed the séance. If anything, the film denounced alliances with the unholy, blaming the college kids for their own horrific deaths. The Claveys should have been eating it up.
“The Hollywood elite are grooming our children with the media,” the other guy said. Bruce’s brother Brian. He looked exactly like him, with a little less jaw and a little more hair.
Bill Clavey turned to Aidan. “Have you seen the gardens?”
Aidan didn’t know what to do with the conversational whiplash.
Bill pulled back his chair, setting his cloth napkin on top of his empty plate. “Daniel, why don’t we show Paul’s boy the gardens outside?”
Gum silently obeyed, and so did Aidan. Bill Clavey was less intimidating without his loyal family of followers, and Aidan would rather be anywhere than in that claustrophobic room with the dry scones and blue-eyed robots staring at him. Bill led them outside the front door, toward a path with trees and flowering bushes.
That was when it hit him. Aidan had never been to Handerson’s for brunch, but he had visited in the gardens. Those were the same flowers, the same stones on the path with names of donors etched onto them.
It had been Glory’s idea. He was partially relieved she’d chosen the time and place for dates, but it had felt oddly salacious to go off by themselves. He sometimes thought being with her this way was too good to be legal. No one had been frequenting the gardens that night, because only Glory Garren would want to see flowers after dark. Had she chosen that venue because she’d wanted it to be private? A secret?
Had she wanted them to be a secret?
“Do your parents know you’re here?” Aidan had asked her as they passed under an arch covered in what he had assumed were roses.
“You mean, do my parents know if I’m here with you?” Glory had replied, reading his mind as always.
She was always one step ahead. He’d liked that. He had felt like she had a plan. She was his current, guiding him. But now he wondered if that had ever been a good thing, or if he was pathetic for falling for everything she said.
“You don’t have to worry about my moms,” Glory had said. “They like you.”
“I know.” Of course they liked him. They liked Paul, so they had to like Aidan. They liked Beth, so they had to like Gum. Bruce had deserted the Disasters a long time ago, so Hudson was never allowed to be liked.
“So, why are you afraid?” Glory had asked.
“I’m always afraid.”
Glory smiled like he’d said something funny. “What are you scared of most?”
“Honestly? You.”
She laughed, and Aidan was unsure what that meant. Was she making fun of him? Had he said something wrong, and she was finally realizing how much of a mistake he was?
“You’re afraid of me? Really? You think I’m gonna bury you in this garden?”
“No. I’m more afraid of . . . being without you,” he admitted.
“Aw.” She knelt by a grouping of wilted blue flowers. “Well, you’re gonna have to wait for me till next summer. What if you want to talk to other girls?”
“You’re the only girl who exists. I’ll wait for you.”
She giggled. “You’re so cute.” She pointed at the shriveled trumpet-shaped flowers by her feet. “That’s me. Morning glory.”
“I think you mean midnight glory,” Aidan said.
“Well, that does sound scarier.” She laughed again and leaned in closer to grab the single pretty flower of the bunch.
“You shouldn’t pick it,” Aidan warned. “That’s the only good one.”
“They’ll bloom in the morning. This one should be dead by now anyway.” She’d pulled the flower away from its siblings and presented her prize to Aidan, pressing it into his hand.
“I should be giving you flowers,” he’d pointed out.
“I don’t believe in gender roles.” She smiled then, and for a moment it knocked the wind out of Aidan.
“Wait. What are you afraid of?” he had asked her after he’d recovered. But she never answered him. And she had never promised to wait for him.
* * *
The morning glories looked different in the daylight, purple and not blue like Aidan remembered. More of them were blooming, with only a few curled up and dead.
Had Glory orchestrated the same bit for Hudson, making him promise allegiance but not offering the same loyalty? It didn’t matter. Aidan couldn’t be mad at her, even if she had been sneaking around with Hudson. That didn’t mean she deserved to die.
But if she hadn’t died, would they still be together?
Bill pulled out a cigar and pointed it at the Second Largest Crucifix in The World looming over the pines. “You know,” he said, “my father commissioned the cross in 1951. He brought God back to this town.”
Well, the Son of God didn’t look very happy to be in Bad Creek. The massive Jesus glared down at them, demanding their reverence. And Bill Clavey was staring unblinking at Aidan. What was this guy’s deal? Was he still trying to decide if Aidan was a no-good Satanist alcoholic like his dad?
“You know this place was near-wilderness before my ancestor, Cyrus Clavey, built his cabin up here?” Bill continued. “He cleared . . . must’ve been a thousand trees. Lived off bear meat. He brought Bad Creek into being.”
“I thought Hudson would be here,” Aidan blurted.
Bill Clavey took a drag of the cigar. His eyes—so bright blue they practically reflected the sun—were like Hannibal Lecter’s, Aidan decided. He was sizing Aidan up, imagining how his flesh would taste. Still, those eyes didn’t stir up any memories. Not like Hudson’s had.
“I didn’t think you were friends,” Bill said, as if he knew all of his grandkids’ friends. He probably didn’t even know Aidan’s name. He was just “Paul’s boy.”
Aidan shrugged. “We hang out sometimes.”
“I don’t think so.” The old man dropped his cigar right on a bed of flowers. “Give my regards to Paul.” He went back inside the restaurant without picking it up.
Aidan should have responded with, Yes sir, or something like that, but he didn’t have any fake politeness left in his system. This guy lived right next to Paul. Why was he so curious about him? Why was he suddenly so curious about Aidan? Like he only just now existed?
According to Iris, the Claveys were victims of the “curse.” Bill had lost his fiancée and his daughter to the lake. Did he also blame it on the supernatural? And since Aidan’s dad was a full-blown Devil worshipper, he had to be at fault. That was the way these people’s brains worked.
Aidan played back the conversation in his head, wondering why he thought he could press that far, wondering what the hell Bill’s beef with his dad was about, wondering if he would ever learn how fucked up that family was and if he even wanted to know. He picked up the cigar and tossed it into the nearest trash can, only a few feet away.
Chapter 21 Iris
Okay, so this was going to be harder than she had thought.
The current by Wahbee’s dock was strong. The second Iris stopped paddling, the lake pushed her back as if to say, Nope, you’re not getting any more clues today. You had your chance. Come back later.
If only Aidan hadn’t woken her up this morning. She’d been so close. Only a few more steps, and she would have known what Glory had drawn at the edge of the Traxlers’ dock.
In the seconds between sleeping and waking, she had felt a pull—the feeling of her heart being lassoed toward a great big truth.
After the boys had left, Iris had freed the oar of cobwebs and dragged Paul’s old kayak down to the water. Ten minutes of struggling, though, and she still hadn’t gone farther than a few yards. And there was another problem: She was awake. So far, Glory had only sent Iris messages while she was sleeping. Even if Iris managed to overpower the current, she wouldn’t even know which direction to go.
This was hopeless.
She almost dropped her oar when she heard a voice. “Whoa, do you know what you’re doing?”
Another kayak was gliding toward her. She scowled when she saw who was in it.
Hudson Clavey was like that zit on your nose that you know you’re supposed to ignore, but you really want to just pop and get it over with. She shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her tear him away from her skin.
“Hold the oars like this,” he said. God, he was going to mansplain to her. “If you want to go left, you push your oar on the right side, and vice versa.”
She started to paddle away from him, pushing as hard as she could.
“See, you got it!” He followed her, catching up easily. “Shit, didn’t know we were racing.”
“We’re not.”
It was exactly like Hudson to make this a competition. That was how he lived his life. Everything was a game, and he was always winning.
He gave her a smirk, letting his kayak coast next to hers. They were farther from shore than Iris had ever swum. Dragonflies zoomed around their oars. Glory had a phase when she was really into insects and would wake Iris up with a new bug fact. When Iris had first learned dragonflies only lived for a few weeks, it had made her unreasonably weepy. She wondered if they knew their lives were short, and that was why they were always in a hurry. People didn’t get that luxury, but maybe dragonflies did. Were they happier, knowing death was coming?
“This is beautiful,” Hudson said, admiring the water lilies. “It looks like a Monet painting.”
Iris rolled her eyes. Was he really trying to impress her with basic art history knowledge?
She didn’t know exactly what her type was yet, but it definitely didn’t include Hudson Clavey. Her crushes were ultra-random and unreachable. The girl in her algebra class, for example. She had helped Iris understand the hard equations, and Iris had given her advice for dealing with her shitty boyfriend. But the two never broke up, so that hadn’t gone anywhere.
There was the boy across the street who walked his family’s Pomeranian after school. He’d let Iris come along sometimes, and she hadn’t realized how much she liked him until he moved away. Then there was the kid with glasses who always challenged their history teacher, bringing in sources to call out inaccuracies. The whole period would turn into a debate, and it was magical to watch them take down Iris’s least favorite teacher. But Iris didn’t know how to even approach someone that smart, that brave.
If she had a type, it wasn’t Hudson Clavey. That was what she needed to keep reminding herself.
Besides, she had a curse to break.
There were a few geese in their path. Iris hadn’t paid them any mind, but as they paddled closer one of them honked and started fluttering its wings, like a helicopter bracing for ascent.
“Fuck off,” Hudson told the goose.
He held up his paddle defensively. Iris didn’t feel like fighting today. The birds had claimed their turf; that was fine. She’d just leave. She tried to whip herself around as fast as she could. Too fast. The kayak flipped.
Cold water seeped into her nostrils. She was only underwater for a second. But that was a second too long. Panic seared through her. Before any claws could drag her down by the neck, she grabbed on to the capsized kayak and lifted her head out of the water.
Iris frantically looked for her oars. Shit. They had floated outside of her reach.
Hudson kept yelling at the goose, but it braced its wings, honking at him menacingly. Iris gave it a massive splash, drenching it. It gave one last honk, as if to say, This isn’t over, before floating toward the others.
Iris tried to hoist herself back into her kayak, with no luck. She felt like every minute she was in the lake she was in more danger.
“Hey, it’s okay. You should be able to touch here,” Hudson said, his voice soothing.
Iris stopped kicking and extended her toes until she reached the rocky bottom.
Before this summer, he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her, and now he was practically stalking her. Could it be a coincidence that Hudson had run into her out here? The thought hit her as suddenly as a static shock. Glory had led Iris to the house, where Hudson’s wallet had been. Then Glory had led her off the dock, where Iris ran into him.
She didn’t know if that made him safe or very, very dangerous.
Iris tried to jump into the kayak again, but it kept flipping. She didn’t have the arm strength to lift herself.
“Hold on,” Hudson said, his voice still so gentle it made Iris want to cry. “There’s a dock up here.”
She was so panicked, she hadn’t even noticed it. Unlike the big one at the Landings’ marina, this was a private dock that they probably weren’t allowed on. She only needed to be there for a second, to get on the kayak, then she would paddle back to Paul’s and never get in this lake again. She climbed the ladder as quickly as she could despite her wobbly hands.
Hudson watched. If he planned to kill her, boy, was he taking his time. She was about to lower herself into the kayak when he suddenly said, “There’s a leech on your leg.”
Only then did she see the crimson dripping down the fleshiest part of her calf. Then she spotted the leech, as thick as her pinkie and half the length. Its black mouth pulsated as it sucked on her skin. The blood still inside of her body all rushed out of her head. She sat before she could faint.
That was when she noticed there were more. Another one on that leg, right above her foot, and a third on her other calf.
They were just leeches; this wasn’t life-threatening. She didn’t need Hudson to save her. But he switched into chivalry mode before she could tell him that. He climbed the ladder and went over to her. “Let me help,” he said.
Iris ignored him and tried to grab the one on her ankle, but the tiny monster was latched tight. More blood steadily oozed around its mouth. And pulling was getting her nowhere.
Hudson guided her hand away. “You can’t just yank them off like that. Let me help.”
“Why are you being nice to me?”
He paused. Still hovering over her. She tried to maintain composure, but it was hard with the blood dripping down her legs and with Hudson sitting that close.
“Because . . . that’s what you deserve,” he finally said.
“You think I deserve sympathy. Well, I don’t want it. Not from you, or anyone.”
He sucked in his lips, but he didn’t give her the Sympathy Face, at least. “You saved me from the goose. It’s only fair I repay the favor. But, hey. Your call.”
At least he had acknowledged that Iris had won that fight. “Fine,” she snorted, but only because she’d pass out if she thought too much about the little squishy thing sucking her dry.
He went for the one on her ankle first. When he pulled the skin and dug his nails under the leech’s head, Iris saw spots at the edge of her vision. Her body could accept the parasite sucking her dry, but not Hudson Clavey touching her. His hands were softer than she expected, and his eyes weren’t nearly as cold as they used to be.
Just like the streamers on Glory’s bike, they had changed color.
Finally, the creature came loose. More blood dripped on the dock.
“Holy shit. I couldn’t even feel it the whole time,” she said, to get rid of the silence.
“Yeah, their saliva numbs their hosts. You only notice after they’ve already got ya.”
Hudson tossed the leech on the dock. It writhed around for only a few seconds before he picked up a rock. Iris looked away when he crushed it. She didn’t want to see the blood and wonder how much of it was her own.
She hoped they weren’t ruining a stranger’s dock. She looked behind her, hoping no one would see them there, trespassing. The house didn’t match the other mansions on the north side. This one was white with tall pillars. Then she saw the targets to her left and put two and two together.
“This is your house,” she said.
Hudson had lured her here. Somehow. Obviously, the geese and the leeches weren’t paid actors, but Hudson must have taken this opportunity to bring her to his lair.
He was working on the next leech; she could feel his fingers on her, the light pressure of his nails between her skin and the creature’s mouth.
“This is my grandpa’s house,” he said.
“Same thing.”
“Not really. I’m only allowed in if I’m invited.”
Like a vampire. He sure handled the blood well.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means, in my family . . . everything has to be earned. It’s all transactional. If you don’t follow the rules, well, there’s no room for mistakes.”
“I think that’s how every family works, though. There have to be some rules . . . some boundaries . . .”
