Heartless

last year

HE DIED PAINFULLY, in white-hot agony only truly expressed in poetry.

Shock prevented the worst of it from reaching his brain, but his soul was another matter. His wife died first, and he watched. He had no choice; his attacker gripped his head in a vice, and his sheer disbelief forced and kept his eyes open while two other creatures tore her apart. Her limbs made sounds like unripe fruit being twisted between monstrous hands as her arms were sundered from her torso. Her jaw dangled open, but if she screamed, he could not hear her. His own voice gave out from shrieking by the time they cast her aside, motionless in the dirt not far from the highway. The engine of their black Jeep Liberty idled, but someone had turned off the lights.

He was still alive and conscious when they began to eat her.

His attacker held him aloft by the hair in one hand, as if he were the weight of a grocery sack. His pale Olukai shoes barely scraped the desert floor as he wriggled uselessly against the monster’s strength.

The thing held up a school photo of his daughter so he could see it. It was from last year. He kept it in his wallet, which must have fallen out during his brief and futile struggle against them.

"Who’s this?" the thing asked.

Spittle flew and dripped from his lips as he unleashed nonsensical curses and impotent threats at the creature’s words.

The other two pranced toward them, each holding one of his wife’s arms, which they ate like meat from a perverse picnic. He thought maybe her wedding ring winked at him under the moonlight, and he loved her so, so much in that moment. He hoped she really was dead, gone into that non-world of quiet and sleep where the pain and fear could not reach.

I think, said the thing holding him up by the hair, turning the photo in its free hand, we should go to the beach and say hello to her.

The implication further infuriated and terrified him, but by then his voice was completely gone.

The thing turned him in the air so they were face to face. Don’t worry, it said, with absurd sincerity in its eyes. I will take care of her. I mean it. She’ll live forever.

He writhed, simultaneously grabbing and clawing at the thing’s thick forearm. It was like scratching a steel beam.

Leave her alone! he managed in a dry, cracked whisper.

The thing shook its head.

No.

Then opened its mouth.

one

BAYLEE ROSS LISTENED to her older brother Elijah celebrating his eighteenth birthday by slaying a white dragon. He did it on one lucky roll of a natural 20 on his dragon dice. Baylee, banished to the kitchen so as not to disturb the all-important game, grinned as the nerds in Lij’s bedroom all screamed "Twenty!" at the top of their lungs and cheered like geeky Norsemen.

Baylee tapped and swiped casually on her phone, making secret plans for later as she waited for Krista Hope to arrive. She then texted Krista to remind her to bring water. Despite the sun having gone done thirty minutes ago, outdoors the temperature still broke 100. Baylee hated Phoenix for a wide assortment of reasons; this weather ranked first among them.

Maybe second. Living with near-strangers for almost a year took top prize.

On my way! Krista messaged. Forgot my water tho! :)

Baylee sent her a thumbs-up. She had Krista; that was something. Lij had his gamer geeks, and that was something, too. It helped.

Krista arrived and tossed open the front door, letting herself in like a neighbor in a sitcom. I’m here, Bails! You’re saved.

Baylee clicked her phone screen blank as Krista swaggered into the kitchen, holding her Hoopla skateboard by the trucks in her right hand and a white plastic sack in her left. Her black T-shirt read, in white block letters, Your girls play like gentlemen, and behave like ladies. ~ attrib. Jane Frances Dove.

Baylee embraced Krista. What’s in the bag?

Found it at the store, Krista said, handing Baylee the sack. He’ll like it, yeah?

Baylee withdrew a black short-sleeved button-up, em-

broidered with Harley Quinn red and black diamonds over the breast pocket.

Jesus, yes, Baylee said. You bought this for Lij?

Krista leaned her board against a cabinet door and put her hands on the hips of her brown cargo shorts. It’s his birthday, so.

Yeah, but you didn’t have to do this.

"Eh. He’s cool. And it was on clearance. And I got my discount. And I might have ‘damaged’ it a little since damaged items are discounted yet again . . ."

Baylee laughed. Krista only kept her Hot Topic gig to keep herself in ceramic wheel bearings and pro wheels for the Hoopla. With her nearly dreadlocked blonde hair and the athletic build she’d earned from years of skating, she stuck out amidst the pale vampires and tattooed sad boys who normally ran the store at Thomas Mall. They feared her.

Another burst of cheering came from down the hall. Krista tilted her head back to glance down its length. The gang’s all here?

Oh yeah. Baylee handed her the shirt. You want to go give it to him?

Is Fletcher here?

Of course.

Then yes.

Krista slipped an arm through Baylee’s and took the lead down the white-tiled hallway. They passed framed black and white photographs of Lij and Baylee’s adoptive parents, Ari and John Wagner. Krista suddenly stopped in front of one of the photos, her forehead creasing. Pictures of Baylee, Lij, or their parents hadn’t been added to the display. Baylee didn’t fault the Wagners for that. Lij would graduate next year; she, the year after that. Thus would end their time here with Ari and John, and that was fine by Baylee.

What? she asked as Krista frowned at a shot of Ari and John splashing in some fountain, quite possibly in Italy. Baylee had never asked.

Are you guys doing something else for Lij’s birthday? Krista asked.

"What, with them?"

Krista’s frown flipped to friendly grin. That was subtle. You still hate ’em?

"I don’t hate them."

What do you call it?

Baylee leaned against her friend’s shoulder, glaring at the photo. I don’t know.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to dull your shine, Snoop Dogg.

Baylee smiled, unable as always to resist Krista’s charms. No worries.

They continued down the hall, Baylee’s clog Birks clunking and Krista’s low-top Vans thwacking against the tile and echoing between the beige walls.

Lij’s door was shut. Baylee opened it to an argument worthy of the Supreme Court or the late, great Gary Gygax himself. Standing side by side in the doorway, the two girls went unnoticed by the four gamers within.

"That is totally line of sight!" cried Chris Fletcher, jabbing a finger against a colorful map laid out on Lij’s bed and covered with a thin sheet of plexiglass. Several plastic miniatures leapt from the impact. Fletcher swiped a Mountain Dew can into his hand and spit tobacco juice into it with a distinct two-syllable splat.

Baylee wrinkled her nose at the familiar sight and sound. Krista merely smirked; she didn’t rattle as easily.

Ralph Silverberg, Dungeon Master extraordinaire, pushed past Fletcher with a plastic ruler in hand, which he held at an angle over the board. Look! Right here! You’re blocked by the wall, you cannot hit the troll with your Eldritch Blast.

They’re so precious, Krista said.

Right? Baylee agreed.

Lij caught sight of them from his desk chair. His pale eyes widened. Sorry. Too loud?

Baylee waved him off. It’s your birthday. Go nuts.

She thought she saw his expression cramp up when she said it. Lij turned so quickly back to the argument that she couldn’t be sure.

Ralph looked up as if startled, and yipped Baylee’s name. Hey! Didn’t see you.

I try to blend into my surroundings.

Ralph laughed entirely too loudly for the joke, suddenly and irrevocably reminding the room of his year-long crush on her. Baylee made sure to not quite make eye contact with him. Ralph was okay; curly-haired and with somehow wide hips that gave him an odd shuffling gait, Baylee had never seen him wear anything besides khakis and polo shirts, like a cashier in search of a Radio Shack.

Fletcher diverted his friend’s embarrassment by greeting Krista in his usual fashion: Hey, rancid grell!

What’s up, you unathletic little pansy? Krista shot back with unrestrained joy.

Fletcher adjusted his jungle pattern boony hat to have a better line of sight on her. He never left home without it. Foul she-goblin.

Smelly-ass dork.

Fletcher spit into his can. Weak! You jibbering scrap of kobold excrement.

Okay, I only caught a tenth of that. Ginormous nerd. Krista tossed the shirt to Lij. Here you go, birthday boy. Hope you like it.

Lij, expectedly, fumbled the catch badly. While tall enough for basketball, the limits of Lij’s athletic ability extended only as far as rolling polyhedral dice and performing rapid-fire mental arithmetic. His T-shirt displayed drawings of the dice and read This is how I roll in gothic script. When he got himself untangled and held up Krista’s gift, his eyebrows raised. Seriously? Thank you!

If it doesn’t fit, you’re shit out of luck, Krista said, grinning.

No, it’s great, thanks!

Fletcher and Ralph made jealous sounds as Lij turned the shirt left and right. Only one person in the room seemed unfazed by the gift, and she wasn’t hiding it.

Baylee let her eyes drift to the group’s token nerdgirl, Suze Preston. She sat in her usual place on Lij’s floor, her back against one wall with her long legs, clad in frayed black jeans, stretched out before her. Everything about Suze was long: legs, arms, fingers, hair, face.

Suze’s expression darkened as she stared at the Harley Quinn shirt. She coughed a bit and returned to looking at an iPad resting on her lap, open to a grainy photo of what looked to Baylee like Bigfoot. Suze’s Dungeons & Dragons character sheet lay dismissed beside her hip while the boys carried on.

Baylee hunkered in the doorway, her unintentionally tanned legs jutting from short cutoffs. Krista and Fletcher resumed their insulting banter as Lij carefully folded the shirt and Ralph pretended to look at a rulebook in such a way that his gaze fell more toward Baylee than the pages.

Is that for your book? Baylee asked Suze, pointing to the blurry photo.

Suze glanced at her, half-hidden behind her colorless hair. She attempted a smile. Yes.

Baylee barely heard her. Suze’s default setting was a whisper. Cool. Are you almost finished?

Almost, Suze said while Baylee tried to read her lips. I need to finish chapters on the Mogollon Monster and the big birds of Texas.

"Big Bird? Like, from Sesame Street?"

Suze shook her head, and did not try to keep her hair off her face. No. Literally big birds. Some people think they are Pteranodons, maybe. Living in the desert after millions of years. There’s a lot of room out there. It’s possible.

Baylee nodded with faux understanding; and, she knew, faux interest. Suze had been writing this book on cryptids for as long as Baylee had known her. Ralph claimed it went back years before that. Anything to do with the Loch Ness Monster, the yeti, wild men of Russia, or real-life dragons, Suze had a chapter on it. Baylee admired her work ethic; the final tome would reach upward of 300 pages. Not bad for a high school junior.

At a loss for other conversation with Suze—a typical conclusion for them—Baylee stood and turned to Krista. Ready?

Yeah, let’s mosey. Krista sent a flirtatious sneer toward Fletcher. It smells like geek in here.

You have a troubling odor yourself, sporto, Fletcher said, resuming his seat on a folding chair brought in for the occasion.

Yeah, well you . . . ! Shut up.

Oh, how you wound me with your rapier wit. Fletcher clutched his chest, bunching up his Slayer T-shirt in his fist.

Krista flipped him off by pantomiming a Jack-in-the-Box crank. Next time, nerd.

Baylee grabbed Krista’s T-shirt by the collar and tugged. Let’s go, lovebird.

The six of them traded various goodbyes. Everyone patiently ignored how long Ralph’s eyes lingered on Baylee, and in so doing did not notice the covert scowl Suze shot up at Krista. Baylee shut the door and marched Krista toward the kitchen, noticing that Krista again kept her eyes on the framed fountain photo as they passed it.

Whatever held her sudden interest in Ari and John’s romantic early life, Krista didn’t bring it up, shifting instead to Elijah and his friends: So, tell me something, she said, picking up her board. The level of geekiness in there. Is it genetic, or is it a learned behavior?

Baylee slung a faded red knitted satchel over one shoulder, patting it for reassurance that all her necessaries were accounted for. She pulled a stainless steel bottle from the fridge and tossed another to Krista. Krista caught it with one hand.

It’s both, Baylee said. Where the hell is your water?

Bah, whatever. It’s okay if you’re born here, you don’t need it.

False, Baylee said as they went to the front door. Anyone can get heatstroke and die. Even at night. I looked it up.

Krista followed her outside. As if to substantiate Baylee’s point, an invisible wall of heat and dampness bashed into them. July’s monsoon season was unforgiving, far from the alleged dry heat Baylee and Lij had been promised before they moved here.

You’re right. Krista winced and swigged from the bottle. I just got heatstroke. Right this second. God, this town sucks.

Baylee agreed. San Diego beaches to Phoenix heat waves wasn’t an awesome transition.

The girls followed the sidewalk north out of the neighborhood, sweating instantly beneath the punishing temperature rising up to meet them from the pavement. The city trapped heat and radiated it back throughout the night. The low temperature this evening might reach 80, with luck.

Kyro, yeah? Krista said, running the cold steel bottle across her forehead.

Definitely. Kyro Café, about a mile from the Wagner’s house, had become a de facto hang out spot for them, as well as for Lij and the gamers. They frequently crossed paths on accident at the funky coffee shop.

Can I tell you something? Krista said as they crossed an empty intersection.

I hope so, Baylee replied casually, but a stab of adrenalin poked her belly. People who said things like I need to tell you something or We regret to inform you or I’m afraid we have terrible news . . . always had terrible news.

It’s not a question, Krista went on as Baylee grit her teeth, anticipating she knew not what. "It’s not like something you have to answer. Okay?"

Okay . . .

It’s just that, I’ve known you for like a year now, and you never said how.

Baylee stopped and wrinkled her eyes. Across the street, the long-abandoned North Community Church squatted dark and unholy in a dirt and broken blacktop lot. Krista stopped walking as well, and from Baylee’s perspective, the front of the church framed Krista from behind.

How, what? Baylee said.

Your parents. How they died.

Baylee released a sharp sigh between pursed lips as her adrenalin calmed and began the slow process of reabsorbing into her body.

Oh, she said, not wanting to sound relieved that Krista’s inquiry wasn’t something worse—like I don’t want to be friends with you anymore, a statement she worried about hearing far more often than she had any reason to.

I mean, I know it was bad, Krista went on, rather quickly. Or I assumed it was bad, otherwise you would have said what happened to ’em. Yeah?

Baylee’s fear siphoned itself off, replaced now by a dull, queasy dread. Krista was right, of course; she hadn’t told anyone what had happened. To the best of Baylee’s knowledge, the only people in Phoenix who knew the details—or what passed for details—of how Janey and Ken Ross died, lived together in the Wagner’s house.

Yeah, Baylee said, much slower than Krista had spoken, trying to buy time. It was bad.

That was stupid, a mere repetition of what Krista had just said. She wanted to be irritated with her friend, but couldn’t muster it up. After all, good as her word, Krista wasn’t asking how, not directly. She knew she could bow out right now and Krista would let it go; for a year, maybe, or even longer. Forever, if Baylee asked her to.

But then why shouldn’t she tell the truth? Maybe it would help.

Maybe the dreams would abate. Or even stop.

Baylee took a long drink from her water bottle, aware of it being half empty now. She screwed the top back on while Krista stood quietly waiting. That was odd; Krista, standing still, quietly—three items never said in succession.

You want to know? Baylee looked more at the shadows around the church than at Krista. She knew from experience that the sanctuary stood alone on the lot, with a wide expanse of what had once been grass between it and an L-shaped building that appeared to have been classrooms when the church was still operational.

You could hide behind that church building. Hell, you could park a car behind it, any time, day or night, and be utterly invisible from the streets surrounding it.

Yes, she knew that well, and it was easier to think about that than it was to look at Krista right now.

Krista snorted a gentle laugh. I can’t lie to you, Bails, yes. I do, I totally want to know. I am so goddamn curious. Yeah. But! I don’t need to. You’ve kept it quiet and I assume there’s a reason, so . . . I don’t want to be all triggery. You know? If it messes you up, forget I said anything.

Baylee hesitated, waiting to see if tears would come. They didn’t. Which did not surprise her, and that was sort of sad in its own way.

She banged the bottle against her thigh a few times, then blew out a breath and moved to sit on the sidewalk, knees up, the pavement quickly warming her rear end even though the sun had been down for more than an hour by then. She stared at North Community Church, and let herself wonder, briefly, how soon she might return to its secret place in the back.

Krista sat beside her, crossing her legs at first, then swearing as the trapped heat bit into her bare calves and she had to rearrange herself.

I know I don’t have to say this, but can you promise not to tell anyone? Baylee said when they’d found moderately comfortable positions on the concrete. This wasn’t something she thought she could talk about in the garish lights and bright green painted walls of Kyro Café. No, the dark was better. It concealed.

Dude, Krista said. It was all she needed to say.

I know. Baylee resisted another drink, then gave in and took one anyway. Christ, she’d need to refill the thing as soon as they got to Kyro.

They were killed.

And there the words hung as if suspended in the hot atmosphere around them. Baylee couldn’t