After Dark [Closed]

melissaphilia

melissaphilia

Mother of Bees
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The day of Johnny Murphy’s funeral the sky was clear and the sun rose hot. Sam Murphy had never hated Iowa summers more than he did that morning. But he got up early and watched the sun climb higher because he had barely slept anyway and it was easier to stand still in front of his window than to get dressed in the clothes his mother had laid out for him the night before. She had cried while she did, and Sam sat on his bed next to her and let her soak the shoulder of his shirt through to his skin until she was too exhausted to cry anymore. His father hid downstairs and drank a bottle of gin. At eight he showered and finally dressed. The service was due to start at ten. He sat on his bed and decided to just wait. He considered going down and making breakfast, but he was pretty sure he would just throw it back up, and that would upset his mother. As the hour past he heard his parents finally get out of bed, listened to them argue through the walls. “<em>We have to go soon.”</em> <em>“Do not rush me today, Mark.”</em> Downstairs the front screen door screeched as it was opened and shut. Sam got up, stuck his phone, wallet, and Johnny’s pocketknife in his pocket, and left his bedroom. His uncle stood in the kitchen, looking uncomfortable in a tie and slacks. He gave Sam a sad smile and waved him over. “Hey, Sammy.” Sam went over and let his uncle fold him into a hug. “I’m so sorry, kid.” Uncle Nick’s voice was husky with repressed emotion. It killed Sam to hear it, to feel it reflect his own heart, but just having him there helped relieve a little of the darkness he’d been carrying around for the last week. Sam pulled back but kept his gaze chained to the floor. “Can I ride over with you?” He knew it would hurt his parents, but Sam didn’t think he could handle being trapped in the car with the two of them. Not today. “Sure. Yeah, of course. We can talk more about you coming and working with me after the summer. How’s that sound?” Sam nodded, grateful to have something to think about and look forward to. Heavy footfalls came down the stairs, and both Sam and Nick turned to watch Mark Murphy enter the kitchen. He had finally shaved, but it hadn’t helped to improve his façade. There were still bags beneath his sad and sunken eyes, and the muscles in his face were tight. Mark met him at the bottom of the stairs. Sam always seemed to forget just how much they looked alike. Standing side by side the resemblance was obvious, with the exception of Nick’s beard and grown out hair. Sam wondered if, when people looked at him, all they saw was Johnny. “Hey. How’re you holding up?” Nick rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Sam’s father shook his head, but the motion seemed to pain him. “Can we talk? Joh-” Mark squeezed his eyes shut. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sam. Why don’t you go wait in the car? Your mother will be down soon.” “Actually, Mark, I was thinking Sam could drive over with me. I could use the company.” Sam heard the reluctance in his father’s voice as he said, “Fine.” “Go on, Sammy,” said his uncle. “We’ll all be right out.” Sam walked out to the porch, but left the door open so he could listen through the screen. <em>“I thought I told you I didn’t want Sam going to work for you next fall.”</em> <em>“Well, Sam’s a big boy. He can make that decision for himself.”</em> <em>“He needs to go to college, Nick. He should get an education.”</em> <em>“A load of good it’ll do him if he stays in this fucking town.” </em> <em>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</em> <em>“You know exactly what I’m talking about—”</em> Sam stepped down off the porch and went to go wait in his uncle’s truck. He had left the windows down, but the heat was still filling up inside. Tugging at his collar, he retrieved his phone and the knife from his pocket. He texted Dallas: <strong><em>Hey</em></strong> He twirled the pocketknife between his fingers while he waited for a response.


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Dallas wasn't a fan of funerals. His mother had told him every day for a week that he needed to go and support his best friend. He owed the family his presence. And every day for that week, the teenager had refused. The two had gotten into a full fledged fight about it the evening before the service. Dallas had yelled. Monica had cried. Quinn had thrown a beer bottle at the ground to get the two of them to shut up. It was during a baseball game, after all. They should have known better than to yell over the announcer's excitement.


Dallas had called his friend the night before to inform him that he was horribly sorry but there was no fucking way he was stepping into that church and watching John Murphy get buried. It was nothing personal. Dal loved his friend like a brother. He just hated funerals. There was a certain darkness to them that didn't settle well with him. Besides, they reminded him too much of his own father's funeral.


Different circumstances, same emotions.


The morning of the funeral, Dallas went on a hike. Austin had tagged along. Even though his older brother knew the fifteen year old would bitch and moan the whole time, he let him come. He could use the company for one thing. Also, it was Quinn's day off from work. Neither boy had any urge to spend the time with their step father.


Dal's phone buzzed just as they were leaving the end of the forest. His car was a miles walk and any civilization was a ten miles north of their spot. It was a wonder the phones worked at all. He glanced at the phone and sighed. Guilt creeped into his chest and clutched at him just a bit. Should he have gone?


Sorry I couldn't make it.


Couldn't make it/didn't want to go/had other things to do. Whatever the excuse really was, Dallas wasn't sure. He just couldn't convince himself to go to that funeral.


You wanna hang out today? Quinn's not working so A and I are out of the house.


They were pals. Through thick and thin and everything in between. Dallas was more worried about looking out for his friend than anything else.
 
Sweat was dripping down his neck and soaking his lower back. Sam read Dallas's text. Put his phone down. Picked it back up. Glared outside at the world. Part of him wanted to be mad. He knew he had every right to be, and any normal person would. He just wasn't. He could never be mad at Dallas. Not for long anyway. Even when he called last night to say he wasn't coming, Sam wasn't really all that upset. But Dallas's mother would probably be there. And all Sam's relatives... And the entire school. Probably the entire town. Sam almost wished he didn't even have to go. At least one of them didn't. Sam took up his phone and sent back:


It's fine.


Sam would rather Dallas not be there. He didn't want him to pity him, like everyone else was going to. No. They wouldn't pity him, not for Johnny's death. They would feel bad for his parents, for losing the better son. If Sam had died, only a few people from school probably would have shown up to the funeral. Some family members who weren't too busy to make the trip to the service. Mostly people would come over after, to eat all the food. Only Dallas and his uncle would truly mourn him.


Sam huffed and slammed his head against the headrest. Quit moping, you emo shit. Johnny's dead. You did your crying. Time to move on. And he had. Cried, that is. For only the second time in his entire life. He had gone with his parents to the morgue to confirm that it was actually Johnny. His body was an awful shade of blue and his skin looked bloated and stretched thin like a water balloon. His parents had sobbed right there in the room with the mortician. Sam had at least waited until he was alone to grieve. He had the scraped knuckles and bruises to prove it. Because, despite everything else, he really had loved his brother. Johnny never let the small town fame get in the way of his being Sam's big brother. He taught him how to catch and hit a baseball, bought him his first pair of running sneakers, took him to the Ledges with him and his friends. But now he was gone. People went missing or turned up dead pretty often in this town. And it was a small town. The chances of one of the two Murphy brother's joining the list were good. Johnny was just unfortunate enough for it to be him.


Sam's phone buzzed again with another text. He looked down and got angry all over again. He hated Quinn. Dallas didn't talk about him, but Sam had been there for him and Austin enough times to know what was going on. Sam wished he were with them now, searching for shade or just fucking around. Rather than sitting and sweating in a hot suit while his father and uncle argued about his future and his mother lost all reason to live.


Yeah. I'll text you when I regain my freedom.


Finally his mother and father and uncle came out of the house. Nick made his way to the truck. Sam tried not to look at his mother, who was looking at Sam sitting in Nick's car and needed to be ushered into their sedan by his father. He heard her sob as her door was shut. Nick got in the driver's side and started up the truck. He didn't speak as he reversed out of their driveway and drove over to the funeral home. He didn't talk about Sam coming to work for him, like he said he would.


The actual funeral was over quickly. Sam, his father and uncle, and two of Johnny's friends carried the casket. He'd never known something could be so heavy. As he expected, most of the town had come. Emma Carson, Johnny's girlfriend whom he had gone out with the night he disappeared, was there with her family. She and Kate Murphy hugged and cried some more. Emma's younger brother Dylan looked about as happy to be there as Sam. Dylan and Sam were not friends, had never been friends, would probably never be friends. He glared at Sam, and Sam glared back. He hoped he wasn't coming by the house after.


Their family was not overtly religious, but he and Johnny had both been baptized in a Catholic church, and his parents asked for a priest to come and say a prayer. Maybe we should have gone to church more often. Maybe Johnny wouldn't have died if we had. Sam knew it was bullshit, but he thought it anyway. It wouldn't change anything now, so it didn't matter.


People tried to hug Sam, and give their condolences. Sam thanked everyone, to be polite and to not give his parents a reason to be mad at him. The crowd dispersed, people whispering and gossiping about Johnny, about the Murphy family. He watched his brother's wooden coffin get lowered into the earth and covered in dirt. They couldn't afford a tombstone, so all he got was a plaque in the ground with his name and the years he was born and died. It was less than Johnny Murphy deserved.
 
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Monica Coleman was notorious around Boone for being a giver. Your kid was in the hospital? She'd make you a week's worth of meals and help babysit. Your husband cheated on you with that no good secretary? She'd be your shoulder to cry on and she'd fix you up with one of her husband's friends. Your son died? She'd show up at the funeral with a box of tissues and smudged mascara.


She was a caretaker. A natural born mother as people would say. Behind closed doors she wasn't too good at protecting. But out here? Out here she could make just about anyone feel cared about. She planned to do exactly that when she showed up to the funeral—smudged mascara and all


Dallas had pitched a fit about coming. It was his best friend's brother who had died but he couldn't come pay his respects? Monica's heartached for her son's stubbornness. It ached even more to think that Sam wouldn't have his best friend besides him.


The funeral was quiet. Peaceful. She stayed to the back. It appeared as if the rings of people surrounding were ordered from who was the saddest. The sobbers and weepers were close enough to watch the body disappear. The middle was a mix of pain and awkwardness. They had felt obligated to cry for the loss but not to sob. The last ring was just there because of the different rumors they had heard. People love sadness, after all. They wanted to say they had been to The John Murphy's funeral. They had seen his body sink into Mother Earth. They had watched it. Lucky them.


Monica was somewhere in the middle. She teared up for the life that was lost but that was about it. The only connection she had to John was her son and even that wasn't very strong. She continued to lurk in the back until the crowd started to dissipate. Most of the people here could shake off this sadness and wipe it away for ever. The family? Sam? They'd carry it close to their hearts till the day they died. The woman subconsciously felt at the gold locket on her neck. A present from Houston. She understood their pain.


When the family became exposed, the mother started to stride over. She offered a hug to Kate first. Her condolences were soft spoken and kind. "I'm real sorry for your loss," she was from Texas and not Iowa. Her drawl said as much. Next she moved onto Sam's father. Her hand squeezed his shoulder and she gave him a nod.


Her blue eyes moved to Sam. This boy was her son's best friend. This boy could dye his hair blonde and call himself a Coleman and most wouldn't think any different. This boy was empty with a hint of determination. Cloudy with a chance of shine.


Monica didn't hug him. She just reached out her hand and took his in both of hers. "Please call if you need something, honey. I know Dallas wishes he could be here." He didn't. They both knew that. It was a polite lie. "Our houses is always open. Alright?"


There was a pause as she waited for affirmation. Once she got it, she stood up straight and dropped her hands. "I'll drop off some casseroles for the week later today."


And with that, the caregiver was gone. She strode out of the crowd and in the direction of the parking lot. As soon as her Buick door shut, she collapsed. Her French braid began to unravel as she sobbed against the steering wheel. Her hands clenched on to it for dear life. Her small frame shook so hard it might shatter. She wasn't mourning John's death.


She was mourning another life taken...by this town.
 
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Nick Murphy kept an eye on his nephew for the rest of the afternoon. After the funeral, close family and friends--and some not so close--returned to the Murphy residence to drop off casseroles and other comfort foods. They hung around to gossip and talk about how sad it was that the eldest Murphy boy was dead. Nick wanted to punch a few of the women next to him. No one paid him much mind. He'd moved away from Boone so many years ago he was pretty sure no one really recognized him as another Murphy. The lumberjack look was working in his favor.


He stayed on the outskirts of conversation, peeking over from the other side of the room at Sam and always listening. He knew Sam was hurting, and tried to give him his space, only stepping in if the poor kid needing rescuing from one of the neighbors. Sam was a good strong kid. It just sucked because the only person he was fooling was himself. People watched him as he moved past them with piteous gazes. Sam clutched a coke in one hand and kept the other shoved deep down in his pocket, fist clenched as he clutched something. He had ditched the jacket and had undone his tie and top shirt button as soon as they got home. And he seemed to keep moving, never staying in one room or spot for too long. Smart. It made it harder for anyone to pin him down and wrestle him into any small talk. And if anyone did manage that much, joke was on them. Sam was a champ at surviving one-sided conversations. A skill he'd learned quick from his uncle growing up. Nick smiled, and then just as quickly frowned. He wished there was more he could do for his brother's son. He wanted desperately to get Sam out of Boone, but Mark was fighting him. Not that it matter. Just like he said to his brother earlier, Sam was an adult now. He could make his own decisions. He just needed the will to do it.


Nick had left Boone right after his high school graduation too. He moved out to Colorado and worked his way up to manager through a lumber company. He could get Sam a starter position no problem. And he only came back for important occasions like both of the boys' graduations. Or this.


Nick also looked around for the blonde haired kid he had seen hanging out with Sam at his grad party last month. What was his name? Some city in Texas. Dallas? That sounded right. The two had seemed inseparable that day, but Nick hadn't seen him once yet. He hoped they hadn't had a falling out. That was the last thing Sam needed right now, but he didn't want to bring it up and ask, in case the worst had happened. Nick chugged the rest of his beer and went to go get another one. Damn this fucking town, he thought as he popped the tab and took a long drink. This town was cursed. Haunted. The killings would never stop. No one knew what they were, or what they wanted. People in Boone kept their mouths shut, and taught their children one thing, if they ever taught them anything. Do not, no matter what, go out after dark. Dammit, Johnny. What the hell were you thinking?





Sam had snagged a seat on the couch, and was staring with focus at his cell phone. After a moment he got up and made for the stairs. Nick waited and looked around for either of his parents before he followed him up. His bedroom door was only open a crack. Nick opened it, and Sam spun with a guilty look on his face. In his hands was his backpack and a bottle of spray paint, and he'd changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Nick leaned against the door frame.


"Go on. I'll cover for you."


Sam looked down and mumbled, "Thanks." He zipped up his bag and opened his bedroom window. The porch ledge wasn't too far from the ground. It was easy enough for someone to jump down from there, if he wanted to.


"And Sammy."


The boy stopped and looked back at his uncle, expectant of a lecture. Nick only said, "Don't stay out late." Sam nodded, and then disappeared out the window. Nick closed up after him, shut the door on his way out, and went back downstairs to make sure his parents stayed occupied.
 
"I can't believe you didn't go to the funeral," Monica's voice was scratchy as she spoke into the phone. Dallas recognized it almost instantly. She had been crying. It was the same scratchiness that she held after a rough evening alone with Quinn. The blonde half expected her to plead with him to come home and dull the flames a bit. "You should have gone, Dal. I know you hate them...I get it. I really do. You should have gone."


The concern that was written on his face was gone just as quickly as it had come. She was fine, just upset over the funeral. He would never understand why she insisted on going to most of them. Since it was a small town, you knew just about everyone who passed away. Monica Coleman never missed a funeral. She cried during most of them. They reminded her so much of her husband's death and his own depressing service. "Mom," he groaned,"drop it okay. It's over."


There was a pause. Dallas waited for his mother to either tell him off or give up. She went with the former. "You should have gone! It's your best friend's brother for god's sake. I don't understand why you had to be so stubborn about this!"


"And then what, Mom? Gone and left Austin with Quinn?" His words were angry and spiteful as they fired out. Another silence was brought on after his words. "You know that wouldn't have been good." His younger brother—bless his soul—had no idea how to keep his mouth shut. The boy was quick to argue with his stepfather and he was never, ever afraid of throwing the first punch. It was fine when Monica or Dallas were at home. The two were more than capable of breaking up a fight but left to his own devices? Austin would end up in serious trouble.


"You know as well as I do that going to the funeral wouldn't have done anything," Dallas swallowed his anger. His words were indifferent. He had made his choice and he had to live with it. "John is dead any way you look at it."


Monica didn't answer. She had casseroles to make and people to mourn for. She hung up the phone and started up the Buick. Dallas had made his choice and he would have to live with it.


"I wouldn't have started anything with Quinn," Austin spoke up from the passenger seat. Their hike had been hot and humid. Neither boy was really in love with the weather or the scenery. Boone wasn't famous for its lushly rainforests or snow covered mountains. It was just...Iowa.


Dallas's eyes rolled at the boy's words. The air con hummed louder than the radio as the car burst into life. It was a ratty old truck that the eldest loved like a first born child. He absolutely adored the red vehicle and it's lion like engine. "We're going to go pick up Sam," he said as the car merged into the main road. Monica's phone call had told her son that the funeral was over. He knew he'd be receiving a text soon enough.


The two boys had a meeting spot. An old warehouse that Dallas affectionately named Old Bessy. Once upon a time it had belonged to Houston Coleman. It had been an old butchery for the grocery store that had seen its end. It was still technically for sale even years later since not many people were in desperate need of the warehouse. They had moved in a punching bag as well as a bench press—the whole thing just screamed teenage boy.


If Sam texted him, they'd most likely meet there. If not, at least the two of them could get another workout in before going home. The teenager was down with either.
 
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It was right around the fifth person trying to shove casserole down his throat when Sam had finally had enough. He still wasn't hungry, and everything tasted like a thick, salty paste. There were too many people in their house. It felt like every seat and open space of floor was being occupied by someone else ready to squeeze his shoulder or hold his hand or give him a hug. Sam did not want to be touched right now, and every brush of dry, papery skin against him felt like sand scraping his body raw and clean. He texted Dallas to meet him at Old Bessy and pushed past the crowd of neighbors up to his bedroom.


When he heard his door swing open behind him, he expected to see his mother or father standing there, ready to scold him. He was a terrible liar, and he could feel the guilt hot on his face. He almost felt worse that it was Nick instead, ready to cover for him. Sam hated ducking out on his family, but if he stayed in that house for one more minute he would end up doing something else that he would regret even more. It was better if he just left now quietly and begged for forgiveness later.


The landing outside his window was only a short drop to the ground. Everyone was inside eating and whispering to each other. No one looked out the window or noticed him slip between the lot of cars parked up and down his driveway and street. There was no time to even get his bike from the backyard. He'd have to walk.


The metal cans in his backpack clanked against each other as he walked. The sun was at high noon, and mercilessly hot. By the time he was across town and had the old warehouse in his sight, he was drenched with sweat, tired, and maybe finally a little bit hungry. Some of the noise and turmoil in his head quieted down when he saw Dallas's truck parked outside in the dirt. He hurried inside where it was degrees cooler. The building had no AC, but the bare stone and brick walls didn't hold much of the summer heat, and the shade was a blessing.


From the back of the structure Sam could hear music. He and Dallas had been coming here for years. When Sam's mom replaced the couch a couple years back she let them take the old one. Together they had strapped it down in the bed of Dallas's truck and cart it over here. They put in a punching bag, brought weights and mats so they could work out. Doug Hardy's grandfather owns a used car parts dealership a few miles away and they were able to buy an old generator off of him for cheap so that they could install some lighting and a mini fridge. But Sam's favorite part was the mural he had been working on since before either him or Dallas could drive. It was a constant work in progress that covered most of the north facing wall now, and was just a collection of colors and words and images, whatever Sam was thinking or feeling at the time. There were caricatures of him and Dallas, and even one of Austin. Sam had brought Allison Sheppard here one while they were still dating, and he'd done a portrait of her. He and Dallas defaced it when Sam found out about her and Trevor Coleman. It had since been covered up with a galaxy of stars and moons and suns, but sometimes Sam could still make out the echo of her eyes, the curl of her hair. He'd opened up his knuckles that night too, although he'd wished it were Trevor's face. Dallas procured the punching bag the very next day.


Sam kicked at the debris and dirt that littered the warehouse floor. The walls were probably covered in mold and they would all die from asbestos in a few years, but they didn't care. Sam rounded the corner and walked in to find Austin and Dallas waiting for him. He dropped down between them on the couch and threw his head back.


"Man, I'm starving."
 
Old Bessy was and always had been a safe space. It was directly inbetween the Murphy's and the Coleman's. The haven could be traveled to by feet or bicycles with complete ease. Back when the boys could drive or get anywhere too easily without their parent's aid, this was home. It was a place free of worry or stress. It gave Dallas a place to be when he just really, really missed his dad. It was a home for Sam when he just really, really could handle his parents. To the boys, Old Bessy meant safety. To the boys, Old Bessy was their own private getaway.


Austin had been in the warehouse enough times to be acquainted with the space. He took a seat on the ratty old couch while his brother leaned against the arm. The tin roof shook with a noise that could only be attributed to a flock of birds. It was quickly tuned out by the steady beat of an old ACDC cd. The youngest boy mused for a moment on how this entire place wasn't infested with some sort of animals. Aside from the bordered up windows and debris, it was a relatively clean space. After all, the last thing any of them wanted were rats.


Concern moved onto Dallas's face at the sight of his friend. The brunette's locks were slick with sweat; his eyes were exhausted. The hot sun could make the walk from the Murphy's to Old Bessy seem like a marathon. Add that to your brother's death and a shitty funeral and it was a sure fire way to look like shit.


Both boys swallowed exactly what they were thinking. You look like shit. Had it been any other day, Austin would have taunted Sam with it before playing bumping his shoulder. Dallas would have spent way too long making jokes at the expense of his friend's appearance. But it wasn't a normal day. It was a really freaking awful day. Neither boy said anything as the teenager took a seat. His head tilted back and his words were the first to break the silence.


A pause followed Sam's exasperated sentence. Neither knew was the correct protocol was for communicating with someone who had just lost their brother. Did they continue on like nothing had happened? That just didn't seem right. Johnny's body was in the ground but the memories weren't buried. They were still fresh wounds that both boys wanted to avoid pouring salt on. Dallas said nothing as he pushed himself off the couch arm. He padded to the mini fridge and threw it open. After inspecting its contents, he grabbed a water as well as a bag of chips that laid ontop of it.


"I can order pizza if you want," the blonde spoke as he threw the items to his friend. Dalla wouldn't be able to eat the pizza—Papa John's still wasn't vegan—but he would be happy to buy it.


The green eyes were calculating, watching his friend for a sign. He was trying to figure out what to do. He was trying to figure out what to say. He was at a loss for words. Was Sam mad at him? Should he have gone? A hand ran through the short blonde locks. "The beast," his head tilted in the direction of the car,"has a full tank of gas and I've got no desire to go home any time soon. What do you wanna do?"
 
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Sam caught the water and chips. He sucked down the first and dug into the second, but his greasy fingers quickly struck the bottom of the bag and searched in desperation for any worthy crumbs. There were none, and his stomach rumbled for more. His mouth watered at the thought of hot and melty cheese. He had plenty of cash tips in his wallet to throw down for a pie, but it always made him feel weird ordering food from his work when he wasn't on the clock. And besides, Dallas wouldn't eat any of it. He'd accepted that his friend was vegan many years ago, but sometimes it still baffled his mind that he wouldn't break tradition, even for pizza.


He looked at Austin, then at Dallas, and frowned. Neither of them were looking at him. Now that he thought about it, they hadn't really looked at him since he got there. Austin seemed painful focused whatever game he was playing on his phone, and Dallas was all but refusing to look Sam in the eye. They'd been friends for too long though for Sam not to notice the mash up of guilt and awkwardness Dallas was trying very hard and failing to keep from showing on his face. Sam's pent up aggression from the week finally sprung forward. He lurched to his feet and threw the empty bottle, wishing for the satisfying shatter of glass, but it only sailed through the air and landed on the ground with a pathetic poing.


"Come on, man! Don't tiptoe around me. Not you too. Johnny's dead, yeah. It's not like I'm not upset about it, because I am. But he wasn't the first, and he sure as hell isn't going to be the last. And I'm not mad about you not going to the funeral." Sam huffed and collapsed back against the couch and crossed his arms. Both brothers were now very much so looking at him, but now it was his turn to avoid their gazes. He wished he hadn't exploded like that, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a little bit better. His moment of semi-peace was brief. Blink 182's "Anthem Pt. 2" rang loud but muffled through his pants pocket. Sam knew who was calling before even looking at the screen. He retrieved his cell and sure enough 'Dad' and a picture of the eldest Murphy with his sons at a baseball game was displayed on the screen. At that same moment his uncle texted, "Sorry, kid. The jig is up."


Sam swore. Guess they figured out he had bolted. He wouldn't put it past his dad to come looking for him. If he did, this was the first place he would check. Sam pressed the ignore button and looked at Dallas, who was obviously wondering what was going on. Sam smirked and shrugged.


"I left the party early. Dad's pissed. " He stood up. Pizza it is.


"Yeah, let's get out of here."
 
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Sam's emotions burst through like a shaken soda pop. Anger fizzled around him as he sprouted off on a tangent. Austin's eyes pulled off the phone—his game came to a fiery end with no high score met. Dallas watched his friend as he hooted and hollered. The boy didn't say a wonder. He let the soda explode until eventually it became nothing more than a light fizz. His mouth opened to respond but music played over before he could say anything.


It wasn't the first time the teenager had seen something like that from Sam. It wouldn't be the last. Dallas was usually good at diffusing most situations. In this instance he didn't actually think it needed to be disgusted. Sam was dealing with so many emotions. If they didn't come out, there would be a lot bigger explosions soon to come.


A smirk creeped onto his friend's face and in a way it gave Dallas premission to chuckle. "Austin," his hand reached into his pocket and aimed the wallet for his brother,"order two pies will ya? Whatever you and the," his head jerked in Sam's direction,"party pooper want. We'll pick 'em up on the way." The youngest boy pulled out his brother's credit card and used his other hand to dial the pizza number. "And don't you bitch, aight?" Green eyes found Sam. Though there was humor on his face, seriousness had made a home in his irises. "I'm paying."


He ignored whatever complaints were shot his way and his back turned to the others. This humor was better. The lightness in the air was more comfortable than the sheepishness. Dallas much preferred it to walking on broken glass. He led the way out of Old Bessy and slipped into the driver's seat of his ratty of truck. Austin sat in the back of the barely passable back seat while Sam was awarded shot gun. "You need to clean back here, Dal," his murmured to his brother. Sweaty running shorts and trail mix packets laid all around him.


"I'm dropping your ass off as home if you don't shut up," They all knew he was bluffing but the warning shut Austin up quickly. The truck pulled backwards in a loud hurry once the engine had roared into life. Rock metal screamed against the loud speaker but the driver didn't even attempt to turn it down. "Pizza first. Then where to?" He called over the music, his eyes flickering to Sam.
 
The anxiety in his chest eased as Sam followed the two brothers back out into the heat to where Dallas's car-turned-oven was waiting to cook them alive. He wordlessly claimed the front seat next to Dallas, as was tradition when the three of them were out and about together. As Dallas started up The Beast and screamed away from the dirt lot outside Old Bessy, the last of his angst left him. Their jousting was comfortable, familiar. The white elephant that was the death of Johnny Murphy left the room. Over the shoulder of his seat he yelled to Austin to order him a pepperoni--Dallas might be a vegan, but Sam sure as hell wasn't. Then he slumped down in his seat, cranked open the window and let the hot air batter his face.


Sam didn't much care where they went; he would have been happy just driving around, sans destination. But he thought and Dallas let him think. He thought about maybe going down to Honey Creek, but he couldn't bring himself to voice the idea. Johnny's body was found just north of McHose Park. It had rained hard the day after he went missing, and the police figured the current probably dragged him down a ways. Besides his bloody pocketknife though, there was no other evidence to suggest he had been killed by an actual person and dumped, so everything they told him and his parents was just speculation, and like most other deaths that happened in town the case was closed without much further investigation. A part of him wanted to go, to be where Johnny might have been, but eventually he just suggested they go to the stone bridge out at The Ledges. It was only a ten minute drive down Route 28, but far enough out of the way that no one would come looking for them there.


They rode back through town to Papa Johns and pulled into the parking lot. Only a few other cars occupied the lot. They sent Austin in to grab the pizzas. Dallas kept the engine running, and Sam tried to hide himself in the passenger seat. He didn't want to deal with his coworkers or manager, asking him if he was alright and if he was coming back to work soon. Austin was in and out in a flash. He handed Sam the pies through the window and clambered back into the back. The cockpit was fast filled with the fragrance of roasted tomatoes and spicy pepperoni and a blend of mozzarella and provolone cheeses. Sam handed back Austin's box and barely waited until Dallas had left the parking lot before he flipped the top and dissected a slice from the whole. Strings of cheese stretched and bowed, trying to stay connected. The hot grease and oil burned the tips of Sam's fingers, but it didn't stop him from shoving more than half of the slice into his mouth at once. His stomach gurgled, an empty pit waiting to be filled. His immediate hunger was probably working to improve the taste, but Sam didn't care. It was the best damn thing he had eaten all day. He quickly polished off the crust and went for another, again shoving as much into his mouth as he could. Melted cheese coated the roof of his mouth, making it impossible for him to speak, but he turned to his friend with his cheeks puffed out and grinned, chunks of pepperoni and tomato and dough bread stuck between his teeth. With his mouth still full he garbled,


"Ood, yuh dun ow wha or messin'." They both laughed and Sam forced himself to swallow before he choked. He put the crust down in the box and brushed the cornmeal off his slick hands. Twisting in his seat he turned to Austin.


"Hand me some napkins," he said. Austin's mouth stopped mid-chew and his eyes went wide, alerting Sam that he had forgotten to grab napkins. Sam stretched out his grease-covered fingers, trying to snag Austin's shirt.


"Come 'ere, you dunce. I'll just have to use you." The sound of wailing and yelling and laughing drowned out the loud music of Breaking Benjamin. The buildings of Boone gave way to the farmland of Madrid. It was only the next town over, but something about it felt different. The edge of the park could be seen from out the cab windshield, and a cloud passed over the sun, offering a moment of reprise from the heat. Sam finished the crust from his last piece and told himself everything would be okay.
 
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"I know exactly what I'm missing," Dallas's eyes rolled as his friend made a mess out of himself. "I'm missing slaughtered pigs, abused cows, and crowded chickens. No, thank you," The decision to be a vegan had come after a late night binge of food documentaries. The next morning he was ordering Go Vegan! shirts and spouting off PETA propaganda. Six months later his mother remarried to an angry man with a passion for hunting. It was his absolute worse nightmare. He had complained to his mother about it for weeks and weeks and weeks. He still complained to Sam about it. "Just eat your pizza and enjoy the suffering of animals." At the beginning of his veganism, he said those words with malcontent. Now humor filled him as he spoke. His choice to stop eating animals was just as okay as Sam's choice to eat them.


Austin informed them that they did not have any napkins. Another laugh left the eldest' slips,"You better not make a mess of my car!"


"Oh like we could possibly make it any messier," the younger boy hammered his fists against the driver's seat. Laughter filled the air and seeped into the pain all three of them had. It was hard to be upset when you've got pizza in your mouth and a smile on your lips. Their laughter was loud and sporadic and not coming to an end any time soon.


Dallas knew Boone and the surrounded towns like the back of his hand. The Beast moved down Route 28 with only a grumble of a complaint as he turned off onto an access road. His fingers turned up the volume and the music was amplified throughout the truck. All things were normal, all things were good.


He pulled into the parking lot and threw open his door. The car came to sudden silence and he locked the door behind the three of them. "Y'all ate that pizza faster than a race horse on its day off," Dallas kept a serious face once he made the analogy. He waited a few moments before bursting into laughter. Monica, God Bless her, was always making strange analogies like that. She blamed it on her Texas roots. The boys were quick to tease her over it. He reached over to grab swat the back of Austin's head. "That's for not bringing napkins, dummie," he chuckled.


Austin rolled his eyes and grabbed the empty pizza box from Sam. He jogged away to throw them in the lone trash can. "Lead the way, Princess. What do you wanna do here?" Dallas asked Sam.
 
The shade of the trees beckoned them. Sam and Dallas walked side by side while Austin went along ahead of them, kicking rocks. Sam adjusted his pack on his shoulders, and the spray cans jangled at the bottom of the bag. He had almost forgotten he had brought them, but now that he was out here he didn't much feel like using them. He was quick to tag around Boone, but the Ledges always felt too pure to defile them. His phone was also in his bag. He hadn't heard it go off again since his father called, and although he hadn't checked he was positive there was an angry voice message waiting to be heard. They can bitch at me all they want later, Sam thought. Right now he needed this.


"I'm fried," he said as they found a well-worn path and followed it into the park. Under the boughs of leaves it was degrees cooler, but his skin still felt sticky and crusted with salt. "Maybe we can find a good spot to swim?" They passed an older couple walking their dog, and a biker rode past them, but the park was mostly empty. Sam fell quiet too, his mind straying to thoughts and memories of Johnny. His brother loved the Ledges. He had promised Sam they would go running together one of these days. That would never happen now. Sam clenched the straps of his backpack and had to forcibly keep the anger from showing on his face. He probably just looked constipated. The night Johnny died he had told Sam he and Kate were just going out to see a movie. When Emma was questioned by the police, she requested her statement be kept confidential, much to the Murphys' dismay. Sam's mother had forgiven her, but his father hadn't. And Sam hadn't either. He wanted to know what happened to his brother, and the only person who had some idea refused to tell anyone else. At the funeral that morning she had stared at Sam from the other side of Johnny's casket. Her eyes were glassy with tears, but she had looked wretched, and she'd mouthed I'm sorry to him. Sam hadn't responded. They both knew what he was thinking: he wished it had been her instead of him.


Sam looked up from the ground. He checked to make sure Austin was out of earshot, and then he said,


"Dallas. What's out there? What do you think it is?"




Mark Murphy was tired. He needed to sit down--no, he wanted to go upstairs to his bedroom and lay down and sleep. Maybe he would wake up tomorrow and this would all just be a terrible nightmare. He had been thinking this same thing for a week now. It was a nightmare, but one he would never wake up from. He would wake up ever day for the rest of his life and be destroyed with the knowledge that his first born son was gone. Dead. Buried. It was unimaginable, and yet here they were, hosting half the town and not a place for him to rest his bones. And now Sam had left too, just gone without a word. Mark wanted to be angry with him, but he didn't have the energy for it. He'd gone to the bathroom to beg his son to come home, but the call had quickly gone to voicemail. Mark had splashed cold water on his face and gone back out to let his wife know, and then he went to hunt down his brother, because if anyone knew where Sam had gone, Nick did.


"He's alright," was all Nick said. "Give him some space. He'll come home."


That was Mark's fear, though. That he wouldn't come home. Johnny had left and never came back. They couldn't lose another child. Kate had quickly excused herself from the room, and Mark left to make another phone call, this time to Monica Coleman. He asked her if Sam was at her place, which he wasn't, or if she knew where he was, which she didn't. Then she apologized for Dallas's absence from the funeral.


"He and Austin left the house early this morning. I'm sure Sam is with them now."


Mark thanked her and hung up the phone. He went back out to join the gathering. Kate hadn't returned. Mark poured himself another drink.
 
When Houston Coleman had died, it had shaken the entire family. Monica had cried for hours and hours and hours, begging God to bring back the only man she had ever loved. Austin was too younger to comprehend what was going on but he knew he was suppose to be sad. Dallas didn't eat for days and when he did, it was barely enough. He ran out his anguish and screamed at everyone who tried to talk to him. After a while, most people started to scream back. Sam never did. He was there for the young boy when he needed someone to scream with. He was there through it all. He had pulled Dallas from the darkness.


The runner wanted to do the same for his friend. He could see Sam's pain so clearly on his face. More importantly, he could see how hard he was trying to hide it. He wanted to help. He really did. But they were ignoring the white elephant and talking about watering holes and natural beauty. It seemed too mundane to be their topic of decision. "I'm sure we can find one," he promised his friend. "The water would feel so fucking good right about now."


Austin was far behind, occupying himself with everything but the older boys. He was just tagging along to stay out of trouble. He didn't actually need to be included in the activities. Sam's voice went dark and he asked something that made the teen's eyes fill with determination. "Something fucked up," he decided after s few moments of silence. That was the only plausible explanation. He had to be something horrible that was destroying Boone and lessening the population. It was the good people who were dying. The people who should have been having great lives. Who was next? Monica? Father Bax? The sweet homeless woman who always smiled at the boys? Why couldn't it be people like Quinn. People who had done the world no real good by existing. His fists balled up. "I'll tell you this, though, we're gonna fucking find out what."
 
Sam looked at Dallas and the anger and determination he saw there was contagious. Dallas was always the level headed one between the two, and the only other time Sam had seem his friend lose it was when his father died. In a fucked up way, losing Johnny made them even. They both understood now. Anyone could be taken. Growing up, the adults never said what they were afraid of, only to be afraid. Dark and dangerous things came out of the shadows at night, and unless you were snug in your bed or safe inside your home, you were at risk. And no one ever asked questions, no one ever doubted. But Sam had questions. Sam had doubts. He was done sitting back and just letting the killings go on. Johnny was dead, and someone was next.


Dallas was right. They needed to find out what was going on in Boone.


The boys fell quiet after that and followed Peas Creek until they found a spot that was deep enough for them to kick off their socks and shoes and roll up their jeans and wade in the brown water. It was shallow from the hot weather, and therefore also pretty warm, but it still felt like sweet relief compared to the hot constant sun. There were no more clouds in the sky. If you walked the creek far enough you would come to where it emptied into the Des Moines River. Sam made that hike with Johnny and his friends once, and many times with Dallas since then. It was less than a mile, but at twelve years old it had felt like a journey. He looked from Dallas to Austin and something awful clenched in his stomach. They had already lost their father. If one of them were taken, Sam didn't think their small family would survive. He knew what his parents would say, if they could hear his thoughts. Stay inside after dark, and you'll be alright. But hiding felt cowardly. Sam didn't want to be a coward, and after hearing Dallas's oath he knew his friend was all done hiding too. No one else was going to find out what it was. Not the police, not their parents. It had to be them.
 
Dallas's mind was a battle field of darkness as the silence fell. It was bouncing from all places on the spectrum. They had to find out the reason for the fear. No, they had to find Johnny's killer. No, they had to find his father's killer. But what if they were the same thing? But what if it had all been accidental? The doubt stayed around for the shortest of the emotions. It couldn't have been accidental. None of this could be. There had to be a reason. There just had to be.


"Hey!" The word was angry as it left someone's mouth. Dallas's head snapped to the side and his body tensed at the sight. A man stood by the shore with a look of irriation. His stomach hung out in a hefty beer belly that made him appear pregnant and not over weight. His face was riddled with frown lines and his black eyes were moving with fire as he watched boys. The man was dressed in a Hawaiian flower bottom down with a pair of ratty old jeans. He looked like the kind of person who should have been on the couch drinking a six pack. It was a rarity to see him out of the house for anything but work.


Austin stood beside Quinn with a look that said he was resisting the urge to swing. His stepfather's hand was wond tightly around his shirt sleeve and promised nothing good if he tried to dart. "Play time's over, girls," Quinn growled at the other two. He was very irriated on being sent out here. Monica had texted both her son's to know their location. When Dallas didn't respond, Austin did. He wouldn't have if he knew it would get them into this position. "Your mom wants you home now. Bitch turned off the game right in the middle and made me come out here." Austin pulled against his stepfather's grasp, sudden anger in his face as he heard Quinn insult his mother.


The man ignored it. "Time to get home. It's getting dark. Hurry your asses, c'mon I ain't got all day."
 
If given a bit more time, Sam could have managed to force himself to enjoy his time out at the Ledges with Dallas and Austin. But he was still brooding over Johnny and his parents and whatever darkness lurked in the shadows of Boone when Quinn appeared at the edge of the creek, Austin in hand. His anger flared at the sight, noticing the tight grip the man had on the young boy. 


There weren't many things Sam could safely say he hated. Off the top of his head he could count three. One: he hated being compared to his brother. That was that. Two: he hated being told what to do. Sam enjoyed a good crime novel every now and again, but as soon as teachers started handing out summer reading assignments, Sam refused to pick up a book. And he was more than capable of doing his own laundry, but the second his mother started badgering him to clean his room, he became a couch potato. Sam had every intention of being home before sundown, but looking at Quinn and hearing him demand they all 'hurry their asses,' Sam wanted nothing more than to sit down in the middle of the creek and spend the night out in the park. There was still another couple hours of daylight left, but he would be safe outside of Boone anyway. He didn't sit down though. He stepped up next to Dallas, who had grown very still and very rigid.


"Let him go," Sam said, watching Austin try to twist out of Quinn's grasp. The creek was not wide, but Sam's voice carried loud and clear across to the other side. Next to him Dallas flinched a little, and Sam clenched his jaw in regret. He could feel the fury simmering just beneath Dallas's skin, but also his hesitation. Sam was feeling it too, but he always had a harder time keeping a lid on his emotions than Dallas. Which brought him to number three: Sam hated Quinn. Hated him just as much as Dallas and Austin did. And Quinn never had any warm and fuzzy feelings for Sam, either. He was a grade A dickhead, who seemed to go out of his way to treat his wife's sons like shit, and it always baffled Sam that she let him do it. Sam never understood why she married him in the first place, but it was very far from his place to ask that question. But that didn't mean Sam had to pretend to be cool with the guy. So when Quinn made his demands, Sam's first instinct was to tell him to screw. And he would have. If he didn't have Austin caught by the shirt. Quinn was just as quick to throw a punch as Sam was to bite off a snarky comment. But he didn't want to risk Austin getting hit for his big mouth. He glanced at Dallas, trying to decode his friend's train of thought. But Dallas wasn't a fighter like Sam. He needed to be even more careful with his words than Sam did. 
 
Monica Coleman had met Quinn McLane two days after her husband's funeral. He had been one of Houston's butchers and despite all the complaints Dallas's father had had about the man, she fell for him anyway. The two were engaged in a couple of months as part of her desperate plan to fill the whole that had been left in her heart. The problem was, Quinn wasn't the right size for the hole. 


He was mean spirited and aggressive. He believed in making his liver pay for his sins and referring to women by a variety of degrading names. He enjoyed the marriage because of the fortune Monica had been left with as well as her 'white knight syndrome'. The less satisfying parts of the marriage were the two brats that had come along with the words 'I do'. 


Dallas's eyes narrowed as they locked onto his brother. Quinn's face promised vengeance for any sort of disobedience. Austin's face promised to throw a punch if his stepfather didn't get his sweaty mitts off his new shirt. Neither spoke. The balls had all been rolled into the older teenagers' court. It was their decisions how this all played out. Sam urged the boy to move but he felt his legs glued to the ground. "Let go of him. We're coming."


"You gonna make me?" Quinn dared. His eyebrows wiggled when he realized he was pissing the boy off. "Get to the car. It ain't safe in the dark. Wouldn't want you ending up like your daddy." His words were ice that fully intended to penetrate through Dallas. The boy's inhaled sharply and buried to urge to say anything rude. He glanced back at Sam and gave a nod to the boy's words. They needed to get out of there, after all. 


Quinn seemed satisfied as the two teenagers started to move behind him. He released Austin as they neared the parking lot. The teenager was absolutely fuming. "Fuck you!" He hissed. One hand went to his reddening arm and he lightly caressed it. "You can't say shit like that about my mom," his eyes were dark. He wanted a fight and a fight he was going to get.  Now that he was free, there was absolutely nothing stopping him.


 Dallas's eyes flickered and he moved to intercept his brother. His shoulder caught Austin back and he gave their stepfather a serious look. "He didn't mean it, Quinn. He's just tired. It's hot out," Dallas wasn't a fighter. He never would


be. It was his job to difuse the situation and keep someone from getting the life kicked out of them. 


But Quinn was off. "How dare you!" He snarled as he took two steps to close the space between him and the boys. Dallas winced at the man's breath and fury but he didn't back down. "I work my ass off and take care of your mom and this! This is how you repay me?" His hands went out and pushed against the boy's chest. The teenager steadied himself to


kesp from moving back as the shove came. 


His stepfather took a sudden step backwards. "You're lucky there's people around. Get your asses to the car. I'll deal with you when we get home."
 
At Dallas's behest, the boys gathered their shoes up and grudgingly followed Quinn out of the park. Quinn's grip remained firmly clasped onto Austin's arm, and Sam's gaze hardly veered from the sight. He wished he had superpowers, like Cyclops or The Scarlet Witch. He wanted nothing more than to blast a hole in the back of Quinn's head. He wished the heat of his glare was enough to do the trick, but Quinn only released his hold once they reached the parking lot. Sam felt a short-lived moment of relief and took a step towards the car. He heard the fighting words leave Austin's lips and saw him pull back for the punch, watched Dallas save his brother from himself. Quinn managed to put put his hand on Dallas's chest before Sam stepped forward into the fray, reading to throw--or take--a punch if he needed to. He wasn't afraid of Quinn. Their eyes met briefly, a mutual silent 'fuck you' passing between them. Do it, Sam wanted to dare him. But they had now drawn the attention of a young couple with a toddler a few cars away, and when Quinn backed away, Sam nudged Dallas's shoulder and helped him push Austin over to the truck. 


"Idiot," he said under his breath, but Sam was proud of the kid for standing up to his stepfather. Immediately after he thought this his eyes cut to Dallas, who's shoulders were hunched and his face stony. No one said anything else though as Dallas unlocked the car and the three boys braved the swell of heat that poured from inside The Beast. There was no time to loiter; Quinn was watching them from the seat of his own car, making sure they left before him no doubt. As Dallas started up the truck and drove out of the lot, Sam thought about Quinn's last threat.


"Do you guys want to stay over my place tonight?" The thought of Dallas and Austin going back home and probably getting a beating made Sam's blood boil. They were always more than welcome to spend the night, and now that Sam was faced with the prospect of having to return home himself, he realized he didn't want to do that alone either. Plus it would probably force his mom to make them dinner or use up some of the casseroles and it would be good for her to have something to do other than be sad about Johnny. He wasn't sure what he would find when he got there. Would the neighbors still be crowding up the living room? Or did his parents send everyone home? They hadn't called or texted again, which made Sam worry more than he wanted to. He did hope his uncle was still there, hoped he didn't get in too much trouble for covering Sam's ass, because no doubt his dad figured that part out. Either way, Sam realized with a start that he didn't want to be alone tonight. He rolled the window down to allow some air movement and enjoyed the feel of the wind combing through his hair. He could see Quinn's car close behind them in his side view mirror. 


"We could go for a run in the morning." 
 
Austin's face held fury as he was led away to the car like a fucking child. He wasn't a fucking child. But Dallas and Sam didn't see that. They saw a hot headed teenager who was jumping at the bit to get his point across. They saw someone who needed to be guided and protected from trouble. They saw the little boy who use to follow them around like a lost puppy. The thought alone left his blood boiling against his skin. 


"I'm not a child," he muttered but it fell on deaf ears. Dallas rolled his eyes and seemed to wave away any complaint that Austin had to offer. "I'm serious. I'm not," he hissed when he realized how little the two were listening. 


Dallas unlocked The Beast and climbed into the front seat. It roared to life and a heavy sigh left his chest. He knew what was coming for them when they got home. His stomach clenched at the idea of angry voices and bitter words. Maybe Quinn would just get wasted and berate the two until he passed out. Or maybe, Dallas would end up with bruises to match the scars on his heart. 


Bright eyes glanced at Sam as he pulled out of the parking lot. His face grew very thoughtful as he mulled it over. He couldn't leave Monica to bare with an angry Quinn alone.  The man would be furious if the whole reason he had been forced of the couch was pointless. He had gone out to get the teenagers and he'd be damned if he didn't get the teenagers. Dallas wasn't naive enough to think his mother was safe alone with her husband. Quinn rarely ever struck her but some how his words were much more violent. They were angry and coated in venom. And they were intended to burn away at Monica's happiness. Dallas wouldn't have that. He was suppose to take care of his mother. It was his job. 


"Austin can," he decided, speaking the teenager's name as if he wasn't there to object. "I can't leave Ma alone. Not when he's in a mood." His hands gripped the steering wheel and anger flashed through his eyes. He could never and would never understand why she had married that man. He was a dead beat, alcoholic. But he needed saving. And Monica loved to save people. 


Well, everyone except for her children. 


Austin shifted in his seat. "Fuck no!" He snapped. "No offense, Sam but I don't need no babysitter."


Dallas shot a look of anger through the rear view mirror. His eyes were dark and furious. Anger was such a strange expression for the younger boy to see on his brother's face. He fell silent immediately, swallowing the objections that burned his throat. "Quit, Austin," Dallas warned. His eyes flickered to the mirror again. Quinn's truck was trailing behind them. 


He took a deep breath as he pulled off to the main road. "Sam," he decided, breaking the silence that had slipped into the car,"you can come over if your parents are okay with it." He wasn't sure if they would be. What he was sure about was that Monica would love it. It would keep Quinn from completely losing his shit. It would give her someone to baby. It would give the rocky atmosphere of the house some stable ground. "Or don't. I just...I gotta be at home tonight. Yeah know?"


"Could give you a break from your parents," Austin suggested. "Plus, I just got this new game in the X-Box. So fucking great," he muttered with a shake of his head. He had already decided that he wasn't leaving Dallas alone. Which meant the two of them went somewhere or neither of them went there. 
 
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Sam stared out the window as Boone slid into place, the familiar corn mazes and fast food joints and side streets all right where they belonged. The Ledges were so close, and yet so far removed and different from Boone. Sometimes to Sam if felt like stepping into an alternate dimension where there was no unspoken curfew and people's brothers and fathers and family members didn't turn up dead under mysterious circumstances. As often as he wondered why Monica married Quinn, Sam wondered why his parents stayed here. Both of his father's parents were from Boone. They had both died before Sam was old enough to remember them, and Sam's grandparents on his mother's side had moved down to Florida a few years back. Why Boone, when there was San Francisco and New York City and Boston. Sam had never been to any of those places. They'd flown down to Florida for the holidays in the past. He hadn't even been out to Colorado to visit his uncle yet. And thinking about all that, while they drove past the cemetery and the general store and Goeppinger Field, Sam felt small and unimportant and doomed. 


You're being emo again, he thought and wished it wasn't such a common state of mind for him these days. But more than ever he wanted to leave Boone. Johnny hadn't, not really. His heart and mind had always stayed close to home. Johnny had been content, happy even, not the wanderer Sam had grown up to be. But he could feel his parents trying to keep him close now that his brother was gone, afraid to lose another son, afraid to let him stray too far from sight. It was smothering, and he hated it. But he understood. And he understood Dallas's reason for wanting, no, needing to go home. To protect his mother and brother from Quinn, because that was all he could do. Sam wanted to go with them. He didn't want to go home and face his parents and sit with them in their grief. But he also knew he couldn't handle the guilt he would no doubt suffer if he kept avoiding them. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. His hand came away dripping with sweat. 


"Guess we both got family shit to deal with tonight." Sam's heart sank as Dallas took the turn that would bring them down his street. The dashboard clock read 3:47. He could already see that the driveway was empty of all cars save for his, his parents', and his uncle's. A small bubble of relief welled up in his throat, but it was gone as soon as Dallas stopped in front of his house. Sam unbuckled his seat belt but he didn't get out right away. He could see a flutter of movement in the front window, no doubt either his mother or father hearing the sound of vehicles and seeing he was home. Quinn was stopped behind them, his face taut with irritation and impatience. Sam was happy to make him wait, but he knew the longer they kept him the worse things would get. Sam turned in his seat and held out his fist for Austin to bump. He caught the boy's eyes and didn't look away.


"I know you're not a kid anymore. But Quinn's not someone you want to mess with. You stay the fuck out of trouble. And stop fucking swearing." He saw the humor rise up in Austin's face, but Sam didn't look away until he felt confident the boy knew he was being serious, at least about the Quinn thing. Then he turned to Dallas and said in a low voice, "Don't let him touch you." Sam snapped up his backpack at his feet and jumped out of The Beast. "Run tomorrow?" he said through the open window. I'll text you." He watched Dallas drive away, and Quinn sped after him. Sam tried to catch Quinn's eye as he past, as if he could communicate with a single look that if he hurt Dallas or Austin or Monica, he would regret it, but Quinn kept his eyes ahead of him and Sam went inside. 
 
Silence had fallen over the car once Sam vacated it. It was the deep type of silence that seemed to speak louder than any words either boy could say. What laid ahead for them? Austin's look of frustration had disappeared. His features had been molded into a stony look of disinterest. Dallas's expression, though rigid, held worry in his green eyes. His lips were twisted into a shape that should have left him with permanent worry wrinkles for the rest of his existence. He was too young to be worrying like this. He should have been spending his summer evenings at parties if with girls. Instead, he was headed into a place of uncertainty, knowing damn well what could come out of it. 


It all tied back Boone. Had their father never died, Monica never would have remarried. Had she never remarried, this silence wouldn't have fallen on the two and left them with worried minds. Boone had take the good in their life and sucked it dry. Boone had killed Houston and Johnny and all of the others. Boone. Not a wild animal or a sociopath. The city and its silence over the strange events and mysterious deaths. 


That silence wasn't too different from the one that had fallen in The Beast. It wasn't until they were turning off the main road to their house that Austin dared to break it. "You think she'll ever leave him?" His eyes were on his hands as he rotated them in his lap. His mind was calculating what the future held for him. Dallas would be gone by the end of the summer. His white knight, his safety, his older brother was leaving in a matter of weeks. And there was absolutely nothing that could stop him. Not Boone's grasp, not Quinn's anger, not Monica's weakness. 


Nothing. 


The thought twisted Austin's stomach. His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and he caught onto his brother's green eyes. Austin didn't remember much of his father. But he remembered the vibrant green that use to fill with joy. He envied the fact that Dallas had been gifted those bright eyes. 


"I don't," Dallas didn't answer the question until he had pulled into the driveway of their house. 1515 West Chance Street was massive to Boone standards. To most places in America, it was a modest two story equipped with a basement and large lawn. It looked like the love child of suburbia and country. And the white picket fence that wrapped around it was not helping that particular image. Quinn's truck roared past them and pulled into empty spot in the now open garage. Dallas's head tilted in his brother's direction as The Beast died. "Go clean your room or something," his words were strained and his message was clear. Get out of sight. 


A sigh of defeat escaped from Austin's lips. He looked ready to argue before his mind returned back to what Sam had said. Stay out of trouble. He gave a slow nod and slipped out of the car. Quinn's large body was rested against the back of the truck. He watched with snake-like eyes as the boys tried to file into the house unnoticed. He trailed after Dallas and slammed the door behind the two. The eldest's boy's body tensed as he nudged his brother forward. He did not want a fight. He did not want a fight. God! He did not want a fight. 


"Boys!" Monica was forcing sweetness into her voice. She was forcing the worry out of her being. She rounded the corner of the kitchen with an uncooked casserole in hand. "How is Sam?"


"You need to teach your boys some manners, Monica. They don't know how to respect adults," Venom dripped from his words. Dallas kept his head down and guided his brother towards the stairs. "Where do you think you're going?" Austin had made it up two stairs when his step father's voice dared him to continue. He stepped back and spun around. Brown eyes were on fire as they locked with the man's.


Just like that, Monica was gone. She turned around, casserole and all, and disappeared into the safety of her kitchen. She was a damn good chef but had no ability to take care of her boys. And Quinn knew that. He wasn't going to get an argument out of her. 


Dallas was a whole different story. His body was once again in front of his younger brother's. Green eyes flickered with a mix of worry and darkness. God. He really didn't want a fucking fight. 


Quinn had a different agenda. He closed the gap between his body and his oldest step son. He reeked of beer and agitation. "Whoa, Big Boy Dal is trying to protect his little brother," Sarcasm radiated off of him. "This is the real word," he hissed. "Austin's gotta take his punishment like a fucking man. But I get that you two don't know nothin' about being a man, seeing who your daddy was."


Dallas threw the first punch and that was exactly what Quinn had wanted. He knew the boy wouldn't have been able to resist once those insults had left his lips. He also knew that Dallas wasn't a fighter. The man had sixty pounds on his strapping stepson and the first strike barely caused him to falter. His head snapped to the side but he was quick to recover. And before anyone really knew what was going on, Quinn was beating up on someone who just wanted to protect his family. 


"Mom!" Austin was shouting as he moved towards the scene. Quinn shrugged off the hands as the roughly tried to pull him back. The force of his step father's anger had Dallas pinned against the wall now. His side screamed as a jab connected against his skin. Then another. Then another. "Aren't you going to fucking do something? Mom! Fuck! Get off him! Mom!"


Monica could hear each word that left her youngest. She could hear the panic in his tone and the grunts of pain that left Dallas. She could hear it. She could understand it. But she could not fix it. She forced her casserole into the oven, closed her eyes, and begged God to forgive her for her sins. 


Dallas crumpled to the ground around the same time that Austin was pulling his stepfather's arms back. It wasn't the pain that had left him as a broken heap; it was the knowledge that Quinn would eventually get border. And he did. The man shook off the fifteen year old, stepped away, and strode back into his living room. "Get the fuck outta my sight," he warned. You didn't have to tell either boy twice. They were both on their feet and out of the room as quickly as their bodies would take them. 


Austin was raging. Dallas was limping. He collapsed on his back in his bed and studied the ceiling as if it were the most interesting thing on earth. "Fuck." His heart slammed against his chest. His eyes longed for rest. He was pathetic and he knew as much. He had gotten in one punch. Maybe, just maybe, it would bruise. Quinn had gotten in half a dozen. Dallas could feel the discoloration already coming on. The man was smart enough to know not to hit his face. A couple of Advils and a long shirt and he'd be good as new. Or at least, he'd look good as new. 


"Do you need an ice pack? Or Advil? Or a bandage. Or?" Austin's words trailed off. He was pacing across his brother's room. His hands were shaking. He wanted to make Quinn pay. He wanted to help his brother. This was all his fault. 


Dallas took a deep breath and willed his heart to relax. He was out of danger. He was safe. And more importantly than that, Austin and his mother were safe too. He forced himself into the sitting position and his side hollered in protest. "Just go to your room," he murmured. "I'm fine."


Austin knew his brother was certainly not fine. He also knew that the teenager was using the excuse to keep from having to talk about how not fine he was. The boy gave a nod and disappeared out of the room all together. Dallas didn't move from the bed until he was sure he heard the door lock. It was very unlikely that it would unlock until morning. No one wanted to go downstairs and test their stepfather. Quinn would be wasted in a few hours anyway. Monica was smart, she'd stay out of his way. He just needed to be left alone. 


Dallas pushed himself out of the bed and moved into the bathroom. He pulled his shirt over his head and pain erupted like a wild fire down his side. His green eyes inspected the bruising that was already starting to come. Blackening skin tied itself tightly around his skinny frame. He'd be marked with his stepfather's anger by the morning. And a part of him, a part he never wanted to admit existed, believed that he deserved this. It was his fault for not hitting back. It was his fault for not being stronger. It was his fault for not being his dad. 


He landed back on his bed after cautiously changing. No one was going to be eating dinner tonight. His stomach growled. His side screaming. His mind was alive with rampant thoughts. His whole body was awake. But he knew he needed to sleep. 


His green eyes clenched tight and they stayed clenched. It wasn't until he had drifted into a fantasy thought that he actually was able to get some sleep. He dreamt of a world with his father and with Johnny. He dreamt of a world where Quinn didn't get a happy ending and where his mother did. He dreamt of anything that wasn't his currently world. And more so than that, he dreamt of getting the hell out of Boone. 
 
Sam went inside and found his parents and uncle sitting at the round wooden table in the kitchen. There were four chairs, and one was unoccupied. Sam realized with a start that it would remain unoccupied. He wondered if his parents would get rid of it, or put it in storage and only take it out when they had a guest, and the thought put another small tear in Sam's heart. Would they box up all of Johnny's stuff? Clear out his room, give his clothes to the Salvation Army? Kate, Mark and Nick all looked up at Sam as he entered the kitchen. Mostly they all looked tired, but they tried to look surprised, as if they hadn't been sitting there waiting for him to come home, to please just come home. He paused in the entryway, one hand shoved deep into his pocket and clenched in a fist so tight his fingernails were cutting into the soft flesh of his palm. The other was grasped firmly around the strap of his backpack. He looked at them without meeting any of their gazes, letting his eyes rove over his mother's elbow resting on the table, his uncles shoes crossed at the ankle, his father's hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. They had all coffee. His mother's looked untouched, although the pale toffee color of it told Sam she'd added cream and sugar. The late afternoon sun was streaming in through the window over the sink, illuminating the quiet room and the dust motes swirling through the air. It reminded Sam of that old Disney movie, the one with all the classical music. He remembered him and Johnny pretending the floor was lava whenever the part about the dinosaurs came on. Sam's throat closed on him at the memory, and maybe something showed on his face because his mother broke the stillness and rose from her chair to go to him and pull him to her. Sam let her, his body melting and his hands came up automatically to wrap about her thin frame. 


"I love you," she whispered quietly in his ear. "You know that, right?" Kate Murphy pulled back and looked at her son's face, lay her hand on his cheek. Sam gave a tense nod, but he still couldn't quiet look her in the eye. "Are you hungry? There's lots of food in the fridge." Sam shook his head. He was still full from the entire pizza he ate in the car earlier. It felt like ages ago instead of just a few hours. The train of thought stoked his low burning anger, the coals still red but there was no more wood to fuel the flames, only hot ash that could still scorch flesh. He knew what Dallas and Austin were going home too. Sam wondered if he could have prevented it if he had gone with them. Maybe it would have only prolonged the inevitable. 


Sam stepped back. His backpack had slipped down his shoulder when he hugged his mom. He hitched it back up and shoved his hand back in his pocket. "I'm gonna go upstairs." He turned and retreated before anyone could say anything else. He was home now, and that was good enough for them. He passed Johnny's room without a glance inside, and shut the door do his room behind him. His room was small and cluttered. Dirty clothes covered the floor. A basket of clean, folded laundry sat by the dresser, waiting to be put away. His bed was pushed against the wall in the far left corner, the sheets rumpled from sleeping on top of them the night before. There was no central AC in their house, so the top floor was stifling and humid. Sweat had already again begun to form at the nape of his neck and drip down his shirt. Sam went over to his desk, overflowing with sketchbooks and colored pencils and pens and loose sheets of paper and drawings. He dropped his backpack into the chair and stepped out of his shoes, throwing his socks and shirt into the abyss on the floor near the closet. There was a knock on his door and Sam paused before going over and opening it. His uncle stood in the hall. He had his leather jacket on, and his eyes were dark with regret. 


"You're going," Sam said. It wasn't a question. Nick nodded.


"I want to head out while there's still daylight." Sam didn't say anything to that. He thought about Dallas and what he had said earlier at the Ledges. We're going to find out. Had Dallas meant that? Had Sam? He couldn't imagine that they were the first ones to ever consider the idea. The Killings had been going on in Boone for so long. No one knew for sure when exactly they started happening, who was the first. 


"I'm sorry, Sammy. I wish you could come with me." Nick interrupted Sam's thoughts, and Sam pulled his gaze back up to his uncle's. Sam nodded. He wished he could go too, but not yet, he realized. He couldn't leave Dallas. He knew Dallas had plans to leave for college at the end of the summer, but that was still weeks away. He had sounded so fierce before, so determined to find out the truth about Boone. Sam wanted the truth too. 


"Has anyone ever tried to find out what's behind all the deaths? The police or someone?" Nick gave his nephew a long hard look. Sam could see him debating, could see the war in his uncle's eyes. He knew something. 


"Once," Nick finally said with reluctance. "Your father and I were kids. A little younger than you. I remember hearing my dad talking on the phone to someone, I don't know who. Whoever it was was planning on going out there that night, to wait for it and kill it, whatever it was. My dad was angry, trying to convince them not to do it, told them they were crazy and that they were going to get themselves killed."


"What happened?"


"No one ever heard from them again. They went out that night and never came back. Your grandfather drank himself into a stupor, feeling so guilty like it was his fault for not stopping it." Sam swallowed and looked away. His grandfather had always seemed like a gruff and heartless man. He understood now that wasn't entirely true. Nick reached out and grabbed Sam's shoulder. His hands were rough with callouses. 


"I know you're hurting over Johnny more than you're letting your parents know. Whatever it is though, you can't fight it. We all grew up with the same curfew, the same rules. Don't go out after dark. Johnny knew that, and he did it anyway, and look what happened. I know it doesn't seem fair but you gotta promise me, promise them, not to do anything stupid, Sammy. Look me in the eye and promise me." Sam looked his uncle in the eye and said, "I promise." His voice was rough and the words felt hollow to him, but a flicker of relief seemed to pass over Nick's face before he let his nephew go, only to pull him in for a hug. 


"I'll talk to you soon," he said at last. Nick released him and went back downstairs. Sam stood in his doorway for a moment, hearing him say one last goodbye to his parents and then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Sam went to his window and watched Nick get in his truck and back out of the driveway and disappear down the street, the sun glinting off his window. The sky was filling with the shadow of clouds the color of healing bruises, yellow with pockets of gray green. He turned away from the window and went over to his backpack, reaching inside for his phone. There was no message from Dallas yet, and a pinprick of worry lodged inside in Sam's chest. He threw his phone on his bed and stripped out of his jeans, grabbing his towel off the closet door and heading for the bathroom. He took a cold shower, washing the dried sweat from his overheated body. He got out and shook the water from his hair, wrapped the towel around his waist. He returned to his room; still no text. 


Everything cool?


Sam pressed send and then changed into a clean pair of boxers. He left his phone plugged in to charge and collapsed onto his bed. If Dallas answered him, Sam was asleep before he heard it.
 
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Dallas awoke to the sun peaking through and his phone blinking with four texts. Two were from his mother. The first asked him if he was hungry; the second reminded him that she loved her eldest. The first text had been sent around ten o'clock. He was long alseep by then and, more than likely, Quinn had probably passed out around that time. 


The teenager ignored the texts and moved onto the other two. Austin wanted him to know he was sorry. What for? Dallas's brows furrowed as he sat up in his bed. His side screeched in pain and green eyes went dark with agiation. Oh yeah. For that. 


Despite the guilt Austin clearly had, Dallad wasn't angry. He knew the boy was loud mouthed and opinionated. He also knew that that was a dangerous thing to be when it came to Quinn. Actually, being anything but silent and submissive was a dangerous thing.   


The fourth text that blinked across his phone was from his best friend. He breathed out of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He could ignore Austin and Monica. But Sam? He owed the boy some sort of text. Even if it was just promising that he was still alive. 


Text me when you want to run. I'll pick you up. 


He sent it before forcing his body up and out of the bed. His side ached and his head throbbed. It was barely six o'clock.  Would the teenager be awake? He wasn't sure. Why was Dallas even awake? Fourteen hours of sleep had left exhaustion riddling his eyes. He was so, so, so tired but he couldn't fathom getting any more sleep. So, despite his bruised side and pounding migraine, he forced himself back into his bathroom. Garish purple splotches stared back at him as he stripped off his shirt. Black and blue and all the colors in between lined his ribs. It could have been worse. It had been worse. He just had to remind himself that it could be so much worse. 


But it if it could be worse, it could also be better. Right? Dallas couldn't remember it every being better. At least not when Quinn was in the picture. It had only ever been worse. It could only get worse from there. 


He moved like molasses through the room. Once he had pulled running shorts and a tank top on—he couldn't go shirtless, he sat down to tie his shoes on. This run was going to hurt. But staying in the house, seeing his mother's pain, feeling Austin's guilt, was going to hurt so much more. 


Time passed and eventually Dallas found himself in the kitchen. Quinn's reclining chair was empty and the house was silent. In two hours Austin would be awake. In three, Quinn would be stumbling to work. Who knew if Monica would even get out of bed. When things got really rough, she spent the next day locked up in her room while she tried to forgive herself. Dallas knew he'd never get an apology out of her. He knew his mother would never beg for forgiveness for marrying Quinn. He didn't hold on to contempt the same way Austin did. He buried his emotions so deep under humor and friendliness, that they almost never saw the light of day. 


While he was munching on a bag of granola, his phone buzzed against his pocket. He compared Sam's response to the clock before deciding it was time to go. The teenager swallowed three Advils and prayed to whatever God there way, that he would get thought the run with minimal pain. It was unlikely but he had no desire to share the previous events with Sam. His best friend was already dealing with so much. He refused to add anymore to the load. 


The Beast left the garage and Dallas was suddenly driving down the road. Rap blasted from his stereo. The air con screeched against the beat. He was trying to drown out the pain that left him. Maybe a run was a bad idea. But not running would have been worse. The older boy never missed an oppurtunity to exercise. Sam would have known in a heart beat that something was off. 


Dallas's car pulled up to the driveway and his eyes flickered to the clock. He was punctually on time. 


Here. 
 
Sam tossed and turned in his sleep, dreaming that he was walking through the streets of Boone at night. Voices hissed and whispered things to him from the depths of the corn fields. He thought he could hear Johnny somewhere out there, calling for him. Sam delved into the darkness, lost and afraid. He woke up in a feverish sweat to a dark room and the orchestra of crickets outside his window. His pillow and sheets were soaked. Down the hall his father was snoring. He swiped the sweat out of his eyes and reached for his phone. 12:22. Dallas never responded to his text, but Sam set his alarm for 6 a.m. and flipped his pillow over to the cooler, dryer side. His eyes kept glancing over at the night sky and the orange glow of the streetlights, his thoughts to the empty room across from his. Was it out there, right now? Was it claiming another victim? Would someone else be dead or missing in the morning? He was tempted to crawl over to the window and stare out and search the shadows. His skin was buzzing with the leftover adrenaline from the dream. Instead he forced himself to roll onto his stomach and tried to fall back asleep. It came eventually all at once, so fast he didn't even feel the tug of it, and the next time he woke up his phone was blaring next to his ear. He cranked his eyelids back and killed the alarm, read the text Dallas had finally sent him only thirty minutes ago. Sam closed his eyes with a breath of relief. If he could run, he must be alright. He just hoped the same went for Austin. 


Just woke up. See you in twenty. 


He lurched out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt and gym shorts and his sneakers, put on some deodorant and brushed the sour taste out of his mouth. The remnants of his dream clung to the edges of his memory, a dark stain on his mood. Downstairs in the kitchen he peeled a banana and devoured half in one bite, washing it down with a swig of a half empty carton of orange juice. His empty stomach howled for more, but he didn't want to risk a cramp. He stretched out his sleep-stiffened muscles while he waited. At 6:20 exactly the roar of The Beast could be heard pulling into the driveway, and a moment later his phone beeped at him, alerting him to Dallas's arrival. The fridge was covered in magnet letters and numbers that they all used to write messages, grocery lists, or reminders. Sam arranged them to spell out OUT 4 RUN - S. It was early, and he would probably be back before either of his parents woke up, but just in case. He checked to make sure his cell and headphones were in his pocket before he left the house, leaving the door unlocked for when he got back. 


He looked at Dallas through the windshield, searching his friend's face for any telltale sign of how last night ended, but Dallas's expression was stoic. He climbed into the passenger side with a "Hey." He didn't push or pry, though he wanted to. Dallas would tell him when he was ready. 


Boone was only barely nine square miles. Dallas drove them down to the school, the lot empty in the heat of summer. The track team's after school route started in the parking lot and looped around most of town. The sun had already begun to burn off the dew on the lawns, promising another hot day.   
 
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