Harlen clears his throat and when I turn to look at him he’s looking at his father with his arms wide open. Rusty laughs into his glass of juice.
“You're not gonna give me any credit?” Harlen furrows his brow, but it’s accompanied with that lopsided grin I’ve come to know well over the years.
I turn to Rusty when he shifts his gaze away from his son to me, his deep blue eyes widening in contrast when he says, “Harlen cracked the eggs.”
“Thank you!” Harlen says with exasperation, slapping his palm down on the glass table.
I can’t help but laugh, then laugh some more when Harlen leans over and taps his shoulder to mine, his impish grin widening.
I swallow a sip of juice, then eat half an egg before grabbing a piece of bacon with my hands and resting my elbows on the glass tabletop. I’m picking at it when I turn to Harlen and ask, “Where doeshego?”
He knew who I was talking about because he reached for his glass of juice, downing the entire contents.
“Is it some kind of secret?” I add, flicking my eyes to Rusty who busies himself with the newspaper, choosing to stay out of it.
“No secret, Laik. I’ll take you to him if you want,” Harlen states, and I nod even though I actually meant to shake my head in protest.
I flick my gaze in Rusty’s direction when I hear the ringer on his phone and a sharp screech of a chair as he stands to take the call, my eyes catching on the headline of the newspaper he leaves behind.
“Young woman found slain at town's trailer park, leaving Devil’s Peak on an all too familiar razor-sharp edge.”
A report about the girl from yesterday.
The same onehe’ddressed in our ribbon.
The same one that said without saying at all…our time is coming, Laiken.
I turn to Harlen, forgetting about Chase for a minute, and ask, “Are they any closer to finding out whoheis?”
Rusty clears his throat. I look over my shoulder, watch him return his phone to the front of his jeans. “Not yet, sweetheart.”
I take my eyes over Rusty’s shoulder, feeling them fill with tears.
Fear sits in the back of my throat.
I’m going to throw up.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Harlen cut the engine to Rusty’s truck ten minutes ago.
We are parked next to Chase’s truck at Hollow Grounds Graveyard, sitting in tense silence.
And I don’t realize I am clenching my teeth until a sharp bolt of pain shoots through my jaw. I reach toward my face, attempting to rub the ache away.
I knew where this path led, however, I’d never ventured down here. I didn’t want to see orfeel the added weight of what my grandfather had started.
The stereo is turned down low, though I lean forward, adjusting the volume until I can no longer hear anything but my own blood trickling in my ears. Rubbing at my knuckles, I crack the middle one, then ask Harlen, “Does he come down here often?”
I’m staring toward the back, my eyes gingerly tracing the old fence that is shedding its emerald paint, exposing the corroded metal beneath.
Harlen shifts in his seat, and I turn to look at him.
“Every day,” he gives.
I rub my arms, covered in goosebumps. “Jesus,” I manage.
Harlen shrugs, dragging a palm back through his hair, not looking at me.
