Kissing Skulls *Revised*

Chapter 4

            “Anything you can say to me, you could have said in front of Misty,” I said defensively. 

            He just gave me an uncharacteristically grim smirk that made chills go down my spine.

            Whatever he wanted to talk about, it couldn’t be good.

            “This way.”  He strolled off, arrogantly expecting me to follow—but it wasn’t like I could refuse. 

            His polished boots click-clacked across the floor, unexpectedly reminding me of the way my bones had click clacked beneath the ghoul’s fist.

            Not exactly the type of imagery to give me a warm fuzzy feeling as I sulked in Dustyn’s shadow.  In all honesty, the interior of the hideout didn’t help any at relieving the goosebumps that had risen on my skin since last night.

            It was dark, damp, smelled like wet copper and reminded me all too well of the basement where Dave and I had killed the ghoul—but what could you expect from a place that had once been a metal factory?

            I didn’t know what they had made here.  Dustyn probably did, but I would rather eat my own nails than ask.  Whatever it was, it must have been dangerous.

            Faded warning signs, corroded in rust lined the walls as a testament to work that used to go on; flammable. Caution.  Hazard.  Though, nowadays, your only worry was making sure that you didn’t fall through the gaping hole in the room’s center that served as a sudden drop to the lower level.

            Dustyn claimed that it had been a delivery shoot, back in the days when “deliveries” had weighed too much just to be carried down the stairs; machinery and such.  I just made sure that I stayed clear of it—a broken hand was one thing, but a broken body would only serve to further Dustyn’s annoyance and put me out of commission for good. 

            The thing gave me the creeps as we edged past it and headed up the narrow ramp led to the slightly higher level where Dustyn and his fellow cronies kept their “offices.”

            “Watch your step,” he called back to me, just in time to keep me from tripping over the jutting edge of a metal step that seemed to come from nowhere. 

            This place was definitely not the sort of hang-out for someone who wasn’t constantly on alert—always on their toes. 

            All the time. 

            I guessed that was why someone like Dustyn had chosen it for a hideout—he liked the danger of it.  It wasn’t a natural emotion per se, and I couldn’t keep this trembling feeling from taking root in my stomach when I realized that my feet had already been anticipating the danger and had successfully pivoted me out of harm’s way before I noticed.

            “Make sure you don’t…”  Dustyn was saying ahead of me.  

            I glanced up to see him turn around, no doubt expecting me to go sprawling down the ramp.  When he realized that wasn’t the case he nodded to himself once and turned away without a word.

            Maybe I had impressed him, I wondered.  It would have been the first time—ever—but for some reason the thought didn’t make me feel smug or like a badass for surpassing his expectations.

            I just felt sick, and tired and cold.

            “In here,” Dustyn said, turning into a narrow room that had been tucked behind the stairwell.