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)
His eyes meet the police chief’s—those stern, unblinking eyes. Next to him, an anxious Cade, still clutching her balled-up tissues full of tears, and a wide-eyed Leland, who doesn’t seem able to close his mouth.
Even now, it isn’t too late. Kyle can still change his mind. Before he says another word, he can take the imaginary shovel Chief Rojas is offering with his stony stare and bury the truth with the cold, heavy dirt of lies.
But then Kyle thinks of Tristan. What he might be. What he might not be. Elias and all the words he said before he went and disappeared. About truth. Embracing what he is.
What’s right?
What’s wrong?
Why is everything less clear than it’s ever been?
Kyle still isn’t sure whether it’s the right thing to do when he faces the room at last, clears his throat, and, with little to no confidence, states: “The rumors are true. What you saw is real. The whole video, every second, and likely most of the bizarre things you’re probably thinking about me right now.” He puts on his best smile. It’s strained and hopeless. “Any questions?”
18.
The Secret.
—∙—
Someone sneezes near the bar, squeaks, “Excuse me,” eyes wide as they remain on Kyle, waiting for more. Someone else at a table leans forward, their chair squeaking. No one else speaks.
“All I want to do is live a normal life,” explains Kyle. “Well, as normal as I can manage, considering what I am. I may not be at your afternoon barbecues, both because I can’t be out in the sun and don’t really eat much. But I’m still me. The same me I was before. Chief Rojas, he means the best for you, for all of you, and he wants to protect you. That’s why he preferred I not tell you the truth. I don’t believe he’s wrong in wanting that.” Kyle glances at the chief, whose stony eyes reflect little, then back to the crowd. “You all saw the video. The way I behaved in it … that was a moment of weakness. And you should know that I’ve sworn off blood.” Kyle swallows, fighting back sudden thoughts of Elias, as if he’s in this room right now, listening, scowling, frustrated. “I won’t drink another drop of it.”
Someone nearby wrinkles up her face. Someone else lets out a breath that sounds like a shudder. The silence persists.
“Other than that, I’m … I’m really just like any of you, just getting by, day to day. I just have a few peculiarities. Such as my allergy to the sun. And a strange diet. Which I’m suppressing,” he quickly reiterates. “And …. if you’ll be gracious enough to continue having me as a resident here … I only ask one thing: that we keep this a secret. Just us, here in Nowhere. I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks. But you guys … you deserve to know me, the real me, and see that I’m not someone to fear.”
The silence continues to swell in the room.
Daunting. Enduring. Painstaking.
He realizes, perhaps belatedly, that this was a great, terrible mistake. He should have listened to the police chief.
Is it too late to backpedal and say he’s kidding?
“What’s it taste like? The blood?” asks a woman at the bar, quietly, wincing, sickened yet curious.
The lady sitting next to her rolls her eyes and elbows her. “Haven’t you ever bitten your own tongue? The hell do you think it tastes like? Blood tastes like blood.”
“I know!” she spits back. “But what if, to him, it tastes—”
“So your name’s Kyle now?” asks the local barber, cutting off the women and tossing a fry into his mouth, squinting.
Kyle nods. “Yes. Kyle.”
“So there’s no Henry?” asks someone else.
“Nope.”
“And we’re supposed to believe you won’t bite none of us?” asks one of the curly-haired sisters from the bakery. “Not to be rude or anything, but hasn’t it crossed your mind ever? Do you want to bite any of us?”
“I do not,” states Kyle.
“I’m more curious about the sunlight allergy thing you just said,” the other sister adds. “Are you for real? You really can’t go out into the daylight without—”
“But you almost ate the burglar!” shouts a man, rising from his chair so suddenly, he knocks a basket of fries off the table by accident, much to the chagrin of his wife, who sighs at the fries now on the floor, mourning them. “I know he wasn’t a good man, but what if you get hungry someday and eat one of us?”
“He isn’t eating anyone, you moron,” mumbles a woman nearby, a teacher from the school. “Use the right words. He bit him, then licked up the blood.” She reconsiders. “That doesn’t sound much better, actually.”
“Have you been eyeing us around town?” asks someone.
“Are there more of you out there?” asks someone else.