Kissing Skulls *Revised*

Chapter 3

            Or maybe he was just that much of a workaholic?

            Either way, when he turned to face me head on, I could see how tired he truly was. 

            “What’s this about, Mary?”

            He knelt beside the box and ripped it open in a cloud of dust that teased at my nose.  One by one he pulled out each piece of equipment and checked them off the crumpled list Dustyn insisted we kept updated.  

            A box of silver knives.  Some archaic wooden stakes.  A crossbow.

            “Why ask me?” He spoke as he checked a box of silver bullets off the list with a neat swipe of a pen.  “Don’t you remember?”

            I wished.

            I didn’t even remember locking the door of my apartment or crawling into bed—but somehow I had.  As well as found enough spare time to write myself that creepy little note, to boot.

            But I couldn’t very well tell Dave that, now could I?

            As I had mentioned before, sanity was kind of a high commodity in our world, and it was never a good idea to go broadcasting when you were losing your grip on it.

            So, I shoved the note into my back pocket and clamped my mouth shut. 

            “No reason,” I said, though my voice sounded a little too high.  “I just woke up feeling a little…freaky is all…”

            I gave a little laugh, trying hard to act like my normal happy-go lucky self, even though I could feel sweat begin to prickle beneath my armpits.

            Dave scoffed, and for the first time I noticed the dark, circular bruises beneath his eyes. 

            “At least you got to sleep,” he muttered and I took a step closer, feeling utterly crappy for dozing off while he did my share of the work, and made it to the meeting on time to boot.

            Damn, I was a slacker.

            “I’m sorry Dave,” I said.  “Let me do this crap—you go home.”

            I squatted beside him, and reached for a box at random, before I remembered that my hand was broken.  

            I tried my best to tuck my throbbing hand in the shadows, and reached for a rusty old knife with my good hand, but—like any hunter worth his salt—Dave noticed.

            He reached for me.  Whisper-soft fingers coaxed my arm from where I had it clasped to my side with more gentleness than a sixteen year old boy should have been able to possess.  Carefully, he fanned out my numb fingers, observing them in the dim, artificial light.  

            Even I couldn’t suppress a gasp at the sight.

            My fingers were a vibrant shade of purple—almost as if I had colored them in with a magic marker.  All it took was the sight of my mangled hand bared in the glory of the cheap light bulb for the nausea come back in full force.

            “Ouch.” Dave whistled beneath his breath as he let me go.  “You should really get that checked out.”

            “Will do, captain,” I quipped, tucking my wrist within the overly large sleeve of my jersey.  “But first things first…”