FRIDAY, OCTOBER 4TH
6:36 AM
THE RIVERA'S FRONT PORCH
I tug on my backpack and answer the door, still attempting to prepare myself for going back to Vanterbest after what happened. After we decided to essentially play Ghostbusters, the four of us went home, agreeing we all needed to calm down a little bit before diving into research.
So, forgive my knee-jerk reaction to seeing Watts when he finally shows up at my house. I don't mean to be rude, but there's no denying the obvious: he looks pretty terrible.
His eyes are red and puffy behind his glasses, and his hair is even messier than usual. He looks like he's still half-asleep, and his plain grey sweatshirt is a stark contrast to his typical brightly-patterned button-downs. To be honest, it's a lot like how I look this morning.
"You okay?" I ask, shutting the door behind me and heading for my bike. The chill of October has finally settled in, and the morning air feels sharp as I breathe it in. A breeze rustles the thick oak trees that line Bradford's streets, sending a few of the copper leaves to the sidewalk. I brush away the sudden memories of raking the yard with Miguel, a chore we always tackled as a team.
Watts nods, but sighs heavily. "Yeah. I just... I guess because of what happened yesterday, I hardly slept. I had a nightmare like you wouldn't believe."
I laugh shortly as we hop onto our seats. "Join the club."
He turns to me with wide eyes as the two of us begin our usual route through the foggy neighborhood. "You too?"
"Well, I don't know if I can really call it a nightmare. More like..." I know how the truth is going to sound, but I also know Watts is more likely to believe it than anyone else. And with everything going on, what's the point of beating around the crazy bush? "More like my dead brother Miguel showed up in my room last night and left a bloodstain on my floor."
Watts presses his break so hard that his tires squeal against the road. "Holy shit."
"I know," I say, backing up to where he stopped.
"No—I mean—Your brother. He..."
I raise my eyebrows, urging him to get it out. I expected it to shock him, but not this much.
Watts's eyes flicker between me and the pavement. He takes a deep breath. "Miguel... he died from the glass through his head?"
I'm surprised my heart doesn't stop in my chest. How would he know that?
My expression must confirm it to Watts, who chokes out a laugh and shakes his head. "Oh my God. Oh, man! I can't believe this. Diego, he came to me, too. I saw him."
I'm frozen in place, trying to make sense of it, trying to wrap my head around the idea that any of this is real, that it's not all some month-long dream.
"And look—" Watts shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and unzips it, pulling out one of the library books with shaking hands.
He opens the hardcover to the copyright page, which is stained with dry, browned blood around the edge. And in the middle, the blood's been used to draw a symbol: a figure eight with a vertical line down the center that tapers off at the top end. Two shorter, horizontal lines intersect the top half of the eight.
"I watched him pick up the book and draw this. Then I blinked, he was gone, and it was morning. I didn't think any of you'd believe me about it, I was going crazy trying to think of how to explain it. But this must be the symbol—it has to be." Watts returns the book to his bag as I slowly come out of my daze.
"I don't understand it," I admit as the two of us continue our bike ride at a much slower pace than usual, too engrossed in conversation to pay much attention to the road. "He's dead. How could he... appear like that? And how would he know about the symbol?"
"I don't know, man. But after what we saw yesterday, it doesn't seem so impossible. I'd be willing to believe just about anything paranormal at this point." Watts and I stop at the crosswalk to let a car pass, and he turns to me. "I can't explain the technicalities, as much as I wish I could. But it seems like your brother tried to communicate with us. Like he's trying to help us figure this thing out."
"Did he... say anything to you?" I question as we start pedaling again.
Watts shakes his head. "Not that I heard. Did he...?"
I nod. "He looked right into my eyes and said, wasn't you. Then just like you said, I blinked, it was a minute before my alarm, and my room was empty."
"You have any idea what he meant?"
"I've been trying to make sense of it, but I have no idea."
"Wasn't you..." Watts repeats, mulling it over for a good ten seconds. "We'll figure it out."
Vanterbest comes into view as we turn a corner, looking as dreary as ever against the grey sky. Today it looks ominous, too, like it's looming over us and threatening to swallow us whole if we get close enough.
Will Kayla be there today, looking as normal as always, still hiding that monster behind her pretty face? What about Paul? What happened to him after they left the locker room? Did she really only use him for rejuvenation like Watts said, or will he end up like Greg and Pamela, too?
Not to mention Layne. I want to believe we can save her, and that Renny and Ambrose didn't see their friend for the last time. But there's an unrelenting pessimism inside that keeps biting away at that hope, insisting that most likely, her body is lying lifeless and mutilated somewhere in the woods, just waiting to be found.
As my thoughts merge, I realize something. "If all this really does have to do with what happened yesterday, do you think Renny saw Miguel last night?"
Watts lights up. "You're right! He probably went to her too."
We speed up, shortening what's left of our ride and hurrying to lock our bikes up before rushing inside. Watts leads the way, apparently knowing where her locker is—I'm not about to start asking how or why.
Ambrose is there too, raising an eyebrow at our approach and looking the slightest bit amused by how disheveled we are. "Christ, did any of you sleep last night?"
His words and Renny's appearance make our hypothesis seem even more likely. The skin under her eyes is dark and sunken, and she looks exhausted just from moving a few textbooks to her backpack.
Watts ignores Ambrose, honing in on Renny. "You had a nightmare too?"
She rolls her eyes, slamming her locker closed. "What am I, five? I just had a shitty night's sleep."
I cross my arms and stand in front of her as she turns to start walking away. On any other day, I'd be intimidated by her glare, but I'm not moving until I'm convinced she isn't lying. If she saw Miguel too, I want to know about it.
"Let me guess," I say, holding her steely gaze, "You woke up to the sound of wheezing and the smell of burning flesh."
Her eyes turn from defensive to scared in an instant, and I know I have my answer.
"Yeah. Thought so. And I'm guessing you'll be relieved when I tell you we'll believe you when you say it wasn't a dream."
She looks between me and Watts, silently demanding an explanation. I check my watch—still fifteen minutes before the first bell. More than enough time for the abridged version of how I screwed up my life, as well as all three of us explaining what happened to us last night.
"Six months ago I had a sudden blackout behind the wheel of my brother Miguel's car," I explain. The words are easier to say than they should be, since I've repeated them so many times to numerous doctors, therapists, and counselors.
It's not explaining that makes me nauseated. It's when I feel like I'm dragged back into that moment, whether by a sudden wave of emotion similar to what I felt that day, the sound of paramedics talking, the smell of burnt rubber or the sight of smoke and fire. Sometimes I can handle things like that with no problem. Other times... well, you've seen what happens when I can't.
"He was killed from part of the windshield that lodged into his skull. Half of his body was burnt before the firefighters managed to get him out of the car. And for some reason, last night he came to all three of us."
Watts explains what he saw and shows them both the book, and I tell them about the words Miguel managed to get out, the way both of us blinked ourselves to daytime, and the bloodstain Miguel left behind that let me know it wasn't a dream.
Renny rolls her eyes, huffing. "Believe me, you don't have to convince me. You really want to believe all this is real, how's this for evidence?"
She pulls down the tight collar of her thermal shirt, revealing an oval-shaped red splotch just underneath the center of her collarbones.
"A... hickey?" Watts questions as his cheeks turn red. I try not to laugh at the note of disappointment underneath his confusion.
"No!" She lets go of her collar, letting out a frustrated curse through gritted teeth. "He came over to me and pressed his thumb against my chest right there. When I went to shower this morning, that was there. It's like a bruise, like it's under my skin. It wouldn't come off."
I share a look of confusion with Watts. What the hell could that mean? And I thought his message to me was confusing.
"It has to mean something," Watts reasons, adjusting his glasses. "We just have to spend some time trying to figure it out, like what he said to D."
"Maybe you just bruised yourself in your sleep," Ambrose suggests, then turns to Watts. "And maybe you slept-walked and marked up that book yourself. And maybe you just didn't notice the mark on your floor before."
"And how do you explain the fact that they both dreamt about my dead brother?" I counter. The harshness of my voice surprises even me, and draws a few looks from passing students. Ambrose crosses his arms as he stares down at me.
But I stand my ground— partly because I know I'm right, and partly because I know Renny's got my back, so I don't have to worry about him kicking my ass. "Watts didn't know the specifics of how he died, and Renny didn't even know he existed."
"Brains are weird," he says simply, a lot less hostile than I was expecting. "You explained what happened to your brother before Renny even got the chance to say what she dreamt last night. Maybe the three of you are tricking yourselves into believing all this to continue the delusion of yesterday—"
Renny reels on him. "God, cut it out with that medical BS, Ambrose! You sound like your Dad. I don't care if every doctor in the world tells me I'm making this up, I'll still believe it. And when you see it, you will too."
On one hand, I hope she's right. Having Ambrose on our side against whatever that thing was would honestly make me feel a lot better.
On the other hand, I wouldn't wish what we saw on anybody. And the idea that it's still out there, able to present itself at any moment, is enough to make me wonder if I have what it takes to do this.
what do you think of Miguel's messages? 🤔