Mutilate My Heart

Chapter 7

The drive to my house feels like a death march. I warn Sketch that my mom will probably ask him a million questions, and he'd wish he hadn't come, but he just laughs and says he thinks he can handle it. I hope so. I didn't have a chance to tell Mom not to mention a certain dead rock star, so I send a silent prayer up that she'll act like a normal, average, everyday mom. Please, let her act normal.

He looks around my yard and up at the structure of my house with an almost longing gaze. I guess it's been a while since he's been home. Touring has to be awesome, but I bet it does make you homesick. I know I would be.

Mom opens the door before we're even on the front porch. She smiles at us like she's auditioning for a toothpaste commercial, and we're the judges.

"Hi!" she says.

Sketch smiles back at her and nods. She ushers the two of us inside and gestures to the couch.

"My name is Dawn Richards. Becca tells me that your friends call you Sketch?" she asks.

Sketch nods. He hasn't spoken a word since we stepped out of my car. I wonder if 'not talking to parents' is one of the rules in Nightmare's Mutilated Arteries Handbook.

"Do you have a real name I can call you by?" Mom asks.

I look over at him and wait for the answer. He's never hinted at his real name, never volunteered it. He's always just been Sketch, and I've been too afraid to ask him for the fact that this will all be too real. But Mom has no problem at all asking. He shifts on the couch beside me, his body growing tense.

"Zane," he replies shortly.

Zane? I expected something more like Cody or Jake.

It's Mom's turn to nod. "How old are you, Zane?"

"Eighteen."

"Wow, you're still really young. Only a year older than Becca. I'd be worried sick if she left and went on tour for months at a time. Especially with how crazy people are these days. All these shootings, stolen bodies, and bomb threats are insane," Mom says, shaking her head. "How do your parents feel about you leaving home and touring?"

She's not being rude, and I hope Sketch knows that. She's really just curious. To her, eighteen is still a baby. But, I mean, eighteen's not that young. The guys of the world-famous boyband, Spaceships Around Saturn, are twenty and younger, and she doesn't contemplate them touring all over the globe. Then again, they've never been on her couch.

"They're...they're okay with it," he answers, shrugging his shoulders. "They want me to chase my dreams and all that stuff. So they're pretty supportive."

The conversation only lasts another five minutes, and I guess that silent prayer worked because Brian Hawkins's name hasn't come up once. Thank you, Mom!

She tells us to be careful and to have fun from the porch as we climb into my car. I can finally breathe freely again, and Sketch looks more relaxed than he did on the way over. Maybe Mom didn't scare him too badly.

We head straight to Bear Creek's river where Carli and the others are supposed to meet up with us, but they're not here yet.

The clotted sand under the bridge is littered with beer bottles, cans, and God only knows what else. The water is brown and murky. Attempts at graffiti cover the bridge. It obviously wasn't the Graffiti Kings who decided to paint this bridge. They would have made this place beautiful, and they would have done something other than write Kris M. Was Here.

"I feel like I'm breathing in STDs," Sketch says, looking around.

My laugh echoes around the deserted river. That has to be one of the greatest things I've heard in a while, and it more than sums up how this place makes me feel. Carli's pool makes a much better place to swim than the river. There's probably some kind of river monster hiding beneath all the muck waiting to capture innocent kids and hold them captive at the deepest part of the river's bottom.