Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
A cry of freedom.
He clung to Tristan so tightly, his fingers could break.
Even then, even that quickly, Kyle felt his heart thrumming strangely, not normal, writhing around like a bug in a cocoon, fighting to be free.
Thrashing uncontrollably, violently, then worse.
My miserable little life …
The bedroom door opened. Light from the hallway spilled in softly, like milk, an accident. In that light, the smallish shape of a boy appeared. It was Kaleb, hand still on the doorknob, and his voice was faraway and curious when he murmured: “Kyle?”
7.
To the End of Things.
—∙—
Kyle runs.
He runs because Tristan runs.
From the bloodbath that became of his kitchen, his family.
In a new set of clothes, courtesy of a rundown Macy’s off Creaky Bridge Lane, cattycorner to a Starbucks.
“My mom … my dad … K-Kaleb …”
Would you like to stop for ice cream? Tristan asks. I find that ice cream always curbs the incorrigible taste of blood. Doesn’t matter the flavor, you pick, toppings too. It’s on the company, I’ll put it on Death’s business card, another job perk. Hey, should we call you an intern? … Is this metaphor still working for you?
Kyle doesn’t even know how they get it. One moment, they are running across an abandoned parking lot. The next, they’re at an old, creaky picnic table in the middle of a vacant park, one flickering light far above their heads with bugs buzzing noisily around it.
Why aren’t you eating? It’ll melt, warns Tristan.
“What have I done?”
There is a man I know the next city over, in an alleyway next to a car dealership, a man who’ll set you up with a name and legitimate ID, no questions asked. Sometimes you even get to pick the name. Usually not. Really, your ice cream is going to melt.
“Tristan, I can’t do this.”
You think you can’t right now. You’ll be amazed what you can do in time. I hardly can be bothered to think of how I felt my first day. I might’ve sang a song for all I know. Or drank hot cocoa.
“Did you kill your whole family?”
You didn’t kill them, sweetheart.
“Now you’re lying?” Kyle turns to him. “To spare me the guilt? You want me to lie to myself and pretend like I’m not a monster? Like I didn’t just fucking murder my family?”
You didn’t. It was all a dream, your life with them.
“Seriously, Tristan, did I bite them? Drink their … their blood? How far did I go? It’s driving me crazy, that I was in such a frenzy, I don’t remember. I feel like I blacked out.”
Can we move on to our ice cream? Should have gotten sprinkles.
“Goddamn it, Tristan, stop being so fucking flippant about all of this, stop with all the fucking jokes, just stop!”
A second of insolence darkens Tristan’s eyes.
He closes his eyes, takes a moment, then gazes down at his ice cream, appearing pensive. I may seem flippant. I know. I have been this way a long time. Hopelessly indifferent to everything. I have seen so much, Kyle.
“This is my life. My fucking life.”
And my emotions died a long time ago. Well, the ones that get in the way, at least. I’m so exhausted of sorrow. It bores me. I’m so tired of the tedium of pain and suffering. After you’ve lived long enough, you learn how to turn it off. You learn to evade it, like a gnat in your face. I’m not meaning to be flippant about your life you just sacrificed. Tristan takes a lick of his ice cream, thoughtful, then faces Kyle again. Let’s do a little exercise, alright? Call this an exercise. Imagine it was all staged, that scene with your family. Like theatre. They can still be alive, if you want to believe it. They’ll wake up tomorrow and go about their day as if you were never born. Or, if it’s easier, pretend it was you who died and not them. Kyle Amos, he is no more, poor soul. Survived by his family. Tell yourself whatever it is you must tell yourself, it does not matter, it’s merely an excuse for Kyle Amos to disappear. In the end, regardless of the truth, the result is the same. Your old life is gone. Kyle, too. Whether your mom is alive or dead, or your dad or brother … it will have no effect on you, forever. You start a new life now. And you define what that is. Tristan brushes hair off of Kyle’s forehead. Your new life with me.
“Tristan …”
I was thirteen. Your brother’s age.
Kyle looks at him.
My mother had left. My father worked to provide for me and my two sisters. I was lonely and unsupervised. One day after school, I did not go home. I found myself lured to a park by a man in a bowler hat and tweed suit. Don’t even remember the bait I took, nor the reason he used to lure me there, I just remember he had kind eyes. I never saw my family again, for the man took me with him on an adventure to the big city, yes, that is what he called it, an adventure. I was met by a lady named—well, it doesn’t matter. They wanted a son to share their affliction with … and got one. After a chat around their dining table for four, as if discussing what wallpaper to put up in the den, without my input, they made a decision and changed me that night.