Under a Silent Moon

14

Chapter Fourteen: Speaking of Flames

ZACK

I don't need an innocent victim involved in my bullshit storyline. That's why I let Lana walk away. I could tell it hurt her, but sometimes you have to hurt people in order to protect them. I pull my phone out and consider texting her, but I don't even know where I would begin with an apology. It's better if she stays away, regardless.

I sit tensely on the bench, hunched forward. Before I reunite with my family, I have to make sure I'm as serene and non-dangerous as possible. If I ever hurt Julia on accident, I would promptly set myself aflame.

Speaking of flames, I retrieve my lighter from my jeans along with a cigarette. The mall is at least ten miles from my house, but I see it as more time to think of what I'm going to say to my dad. I drag deeply on my cancer stick, and by the time I make it to my block, half the pack is ash on the ground.

Jesus, I think. Is this a side effect of stress or death?

The house is dark aside from a soft light emanating from the living room. As I ascend the front steps, I'm taken back to the first time I ever came home drunk after being out with my friends all night. I tried to hype myself up that my dad wouldn't notice, that I'd be able to hide my drunkenness easily. But even if Dad hadn't smelled the booze on me, my unfocused eyes and slurred speech was a dead giveaway.

Would Dad be able to smell the death on me? Would he look into my soulless eyes and know that this isn't his son, but instead, a monster? Would Julia flee in terror at the mere sight of me?

I wasn't afforded any more time than that to dwell on my family's reactions. The door swings open, bathing me in light. I squint as my dad quietly takes in his thought-to-be-dead son standing on his porch, wreaking of cigarettes and nighttime.

He takes a step back to let me in and I slide past him in the foyer. He's still staring at me, analyzing me, and I wish he would say something, for fuck's sake.

"Hey, Dad."

He puts a strong hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I see something in his eyes. Pain? He pulls me into a hard embrace that lasts only a moment before he steps away again, eyeing me head to toe.

"Was it drugs?" he asks, searching for truth in my face.

I shake my head. "No, nothing like that."

"Then what was it?"

I notice the front door is still open so I gently close it shut and kick my shoes off.

"I already told you. Just the pressure of everything building up . . . I had to get away."

"And you couldn't have sent a text?"

That would have read what? Hey Dad, I was just savagely murdered. Be back before sunrise.

"I lost my phone and it took a while to replace." I've never strung together such a mass of lies before, I hope I can remember to keep my story straight. "When I did, I knew you'd be angry for not reaching out and it made me kind of nervous."

"Son, you could have reached out to me. You should have." There's the commanding tone. Right on schedule.

"I'm sorry. This whole thing was a mistake."

He rubs an irritable hand over his face, tracing the stubble on his chin. It's been a long while since I've seen my dad anything other than clean shaven.

"Hopefully this mistake doesn't cost you your scholarship, or anything else for that matter." He heads toward the kitchen. "I have to make a few calls and get this sorted out. We'll talk more in the morning." He's already out of sight when he says that last part, but then pokes his head back out of the kitchen and adds, "And don't wake your sister."

So, I guess that's that.

I climb the stairs, careful not to tread on the loose boards and navigate through the dim hallway to my bedroom. The scent of my family has never been more potent, and I can't help but wonder if it's because I've been gone for so long or that my senses have seemingly heightened since the attack.

Despite my attempt at stealthiness, I hear the faintest creek and see Julia's small, rounded face appear in her doorway.

"Zack?" she asks sleepily, eyes widening to enhance her night vision.

"Hi, Jules," I bend over as she races clumsily to me. I scoop her up and twirl her around. "I missed you."

"I missed you so much! Why did you leave?" Her voice is soft and pleading.

I kneel down onto one knee and let her go so that our faces are level.

"I'm sorry, I had some stuff to do. But I'm back now. I'm home."

I find it difficult to meet her eyes. I've never seen such disappointment and longing in a six-year-old's face before and it evokes a painful wave of guilt within me. She pulls me close again, and I can feel her little frame shake with silent sobs into my chest.

"Hey, hey, come on. Everything's going to be great now. Why don't you go back to bed, and in the morning you can tell me about all the cool stuff I missed."

This ignites a flame of excitement in her and her tears are immediately stifled. "Okay, okay," she swivels to return to her room, but before doing so, jabs a tiny finger at me and demands, "But you better still be here in the morning. Promise."

"Promise."

I smile but it doesn't meet my eyes.

Even after Julia closes the door behind her, I lean back against the wall and slide to the floor. What the fuck have I done to my family, and more importantly, how am I going to fix it?

I tug my now-dying phone from my pocket and am almost crestfallen that Lana's name hasn't popped up yet. I'm the one that let her walk away, I grudgingly remind myself. Lana doesn't even know my homelife. Hell, she barely knows me. But then, why do I feel like she's the answer to my problems? Why does it seem like she holds a key that's going to somehow unlock a trove of clarity for me? I'm not sure how I feel about the whole destiny or fate idea, but I can't ignore this intuition that I need Lana in my life, in one way or another.

I choose her contact from my list of messages and type I think we should talk, but at the risk of sounding like a twelve-year-old breaking up with their first real girlfriend, I delete the text and resolve to speak to her in person the next time I see her.