Synesthesia - Chapter Twelve
Oct. 25th, 2011 07:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: I promise, I'll get to writing the flash fiction tomorrow. I'm finishing up the last of my edits today (though my computer is acting wonky -_- )
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
[Back to the Beginning] [Previous Chapter]
Ethan drove ten miles away to an abandoned gas station that bore one of Valda's few remaining pay phones. Digging the necessary change out of his car, Ethan made the call, disguising his voice and speaking as clearly as possible. He hung up the phone the moment the operator asked for his name.
Melanie was the one who reminded him to wipe down the pay phone for prints. By the time Ethan got back into the Honda, he was shaking. He couldn't seem to focus and he didn't bother protesting when Jaiden replaced him in the driver's seat.
“It's just shock,” Melanie murmured, but she didn't try to touch him again. A wise move on her part. Ethan felt like a time bomb ready to explode.
Jaiden was a passable driver and he got them back to Ethan's apartment with no difficulty. Ethan let the two kinetics follow him inside; he didn't have the energy to argue or throw them out. They could fight over the couch for all he cared.
He took a shower first, and remained under the hot spray until the water turned cold. He dressed mechanically, ignored Mel's offer of some kind of charred meal, and collapsed on his bed. The gleaming numbers on his alarm clock reminded him how late it was. He had a class first thing in the morning.
Ethan was bone tired, but he couldn't sleep. Every muscle was tense and his heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.
He curled on his side, staring through the dim black at an unfamiliar wall.
Dray was dead.
Nothing was going to change that. Ethan couldn't fix it, couldn't bring him back. He couldn't do much of anything at all.
o0o0o
Ethan's alarm went off at six AM and he peeled his eyes open, forcing himself to get out of bed. Lethargy attacked every limb; he barely spoke to Jaiden and Melanie. Either they'd follow him or they wouldn't. At this point, Ethan didn't care either way. His world had been fine until they showed up in it.
They remained, however, through Ethan's morning routine and followed him to his car, exchanging glances behind his back as though they were each other's new best friend. Odd behavior for two Kinetics who'd been at one another's throats less than forty-eight hours before.
Jaiden lingered outside, trying to be inconspicuous while Mel tailed Ethan into the classroom.
No one noticed the dark-haired, gum-chewing shadow Ethan had suddenly acquired. It was like she didn't exist to them at all.
The University was abuzz with whispers, the atmosphere a hum of tense speculation. Fear buzzed strongly on Ethan's senses, and the rest he saw through a fog. His classes seemed less important right now. What did it matter?
Dray was dead and a serial killer had her eyes on Ethan. Calculus wouldn't do him a lick of good if he ended up six feet under.
It wasn't until he sat in Dr. McKenzie's class, staring at a wash of red marks and an even firmer D at the top of his paper that he cam out of his daze.
“What the hell?” Ethan demanded, gaping at the awful grade. He'd never gotten lower than a B before.
Silence swept the classroom.
Dr. McKenzie swerved back toward Ethan, staring at him over the rim of his glasses. “Is there a problem, Mr. McCormick?”
“No,” Ethan said shortly. He wouldn't argue, not here.
“I see. Then in the future, you might want to keep your comments to yourself.” Dr. McKenzie gave him a level look, chastising and sharp.
Ethan nodded, annoyed that he'd been called out.
Dr. McKenzie accepted his nod and turned back to the class, hand out the rest of the papers. Judging from the chorus of disappointment and anger vibrating on the edge of Ethan's senses, no one was happy. Apparently, none of them had impressed their professor.
“I was very disappointed by everyone's performance on this assignment,” Dr. McKenzie declared as he returned to the front of the classroom. “I expect an improvement next time, folks. Class dismissed.”
Low chatter filled the room the very moment McKenzie dismissed them, Ethan sighed, gathered up his books, and fought his way to the door, nearly bowling over Sheila. She didn't look too happy either.
“A C!” Sheila declared out in the hallway, rattling her paper with evident fury. It danced in Ethan's ears like Drowning Pool. “Is he serious?”
Ethan grimaced, tucking her book under his arm. “Better than me. I got a D.”
Sheila stared. “You're a better writer than I am.”
“Not according to McKenzie.”
“What a load of bullshit.” Sheila snorted, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “He's just a bitter old man who enjoys screwing with us.”
Ethan's lips twitched. “So it would seem.”
Sheila harrumphed. “He'll get what's coming to him though. Karma's a bitch. You watch. His car will break down or something.” She crumpled up her paper and shoved it into her pack.
“We can only hope,” Ethan said, and he was only half-kidding.
Cheery sunlight, incongruous, washed over them as they stepped out of Clastine Hall. Sheila winced, shielding her eyes.
“You have to work today?”
Ethan sighed. “Unfortunately.”
“Then I'll see you there. Bye, Ethan.”
She waved over her shoulder, still looking quite perturbed, which on any other day might have amused Ethan.
“I don't like her,” Mel said, suddenly appearing just behind him.
“Why?” Ethan asked as he started down the path, back toward the massive student parking lot.
Mel noisily popped her gum. “I don't know. She's too structured, too solid, too fake.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Everyone's got a rhythm, even if it's disordered, to their thoughts. That blonde? She's a filing cabinet, but it's shallow. Like there's nothing deeper,” Mel pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “She's boring.”
Ethan snorted. “That's no reason to hate her.”
“Hate is a strong word. Besides, I'm probably not explaining myself well. Another telepath would understand.”
“Or an aerokinetic,” Jaiden added, rising from a nearby bench as they passed. “She's shifty, Ethan. A maelstorm of activity and nothing settles.”
Great. Now his Kinetic stalkers were talking in riddles. Could this day get any better?
Ethan paused, keys in hand, as his Honda came into view. He'd been wrong. His day was about to get much worse.
“Mr. McCormick,” Detective Stanton greeted from where he casually leaned on Ethan's hood. “I see you made it to class today.”
“I somehow managed,” Ethan replied, regarding the detective warily. His heart started hammering in his chest, Stanton's suspicion a stream of jangled Tchaikovsky pressing insistent at his brain. “Is there a reason you're perched on my car?”
Stanton's eyes flicked past him to Jaiden and Mel. “I don't recognize your friends.”
“You didn't answer my question,” Ethan said, starting to wonder if he needed to demand a lawyer. He should have seen this coming.
They would have found Dray last night, and after his family, Ethan was the closest one to Dray. Questioning close friends and family was always the first step in any investigation, even if they weren't already suspicious for other reasons.
Stanton straightened, hands in his pockets, casual as you please. “Do you know Adrayan Foster?”
“Of course I do,” Ethan replied, gut churning, hands sweating. “We're best friends.”
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Ethan didn't want to be caught in a lie, but the absolute truth would land him in jail. “Last night. He was... busy.”
“How?”
“Do you need me to spell it out, detective?” Ethan forced embarrassment onto his face and shrugged. He didn't know if the detective would buy a college student being embarrassed or not. But it was worth a shot.
“Hmm.” Stanton's suspicion grew louder, an annoying buzz in Ethan's ears. “Do you know who with?”
Ethan swallowed thickly. “No. Why?”
Stanton's brown eyes were hard and cold. “Because Adrayan Foster was found murdered this morning and as of right now, you're the last person who had contact with him while he was alive.”
Hearing what he already knew didn't dilute the impact of the knowledge. It struck again, like Ethan had pretended he'd imagined what happened the night before, as though it were all some terrible nightmare. The truth hit him again, more real this time, like a bullet to the chest and Ethan didn't have to fake his reaction. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his stomach churned. His fingers tightened around his keys, metal digging into his palm.
“What?” he said, and he didn't have to fake the breathlessness either. “You're lying.” Ethan wasn't even sure who he was talking to anymore: himself or the detective. He wanted it to be a lie so damn badly that it was tearing him apart.
“Do I look like someone who gets his kicks telling lies?”
Ethan shook his head. “That's not... what the hell happened?” The confusion wasn't fake either. Ethan needed answers, too.
“I'm thinking you're going to tell me,” Stanton said and he looked at Jaiden and Mel again, eyes narrowing. “You're the last call he made.”
Ice gathered in Ethan's chest. “I wish I had the answers but I don't. Dray... everyone likes Dray,” Ethan said, wishing why he knew the serial killer would choose Dray. “Do... does Thomas know?”
“Mr. Foster has been informed.” Stanton drew closer, shoulders hunched forward, as though attempting to intimidate. Ethan had to admit, he was succeeding. “I'm finding it an interesting coincidence that my investigations keep bringing me back to you, Mr. McCormick.”
Ethan stilled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just an observation.” This close, Stanton's emotions drowned out everything else. “I've nothing but speculation. Give me a reason to take it further.”
Ethan didn't have a chance to retort or proclaim his innocence. Stanton had already whirled on a heel and walked away, as though his warning had been enough. Sooner or later, they would realize Ethan had made the call. They'd realize that Ethan had called multiple times looking for Dray. He'd better have answers by then.
“What now?” Mel asked, smacking noisily on her chewing gum, unperturbed by Stanton's unwelcome visit.
“Now you leave,” Ethan said, puling out his keys. He needed to call his mother and let her know about Dray. He needed to call Thomas, express his condolences. He still had to go to work, but maybe they'd understand if he called in.
Everyone knew that Ethan and Dray were best friends.
“What do you mean leave?”
“Ethan, I'm not so sure that's a good idea.”
He didn't have the patience or the energy to deal with them. “Do whatever you want then,” Ethan said. “But I have to go lie to my best friend's dad while his grief tears at my brain. It's up to you whether you follow me or not.”
He closed the door and started the Honda, not caring that neither Kinetic had entered the car. Ethan was sure they'd be back. They always came back. So until then, he had business to take care of. Personal business.
o0o0o
Whispering Oak Cemetery was five miles outside Valda and it was massive. The grounds were lovely and well-kept, but when it came down to it, it was only a graveyard. Someone resting here could be at peace, but that was little comfort to the living.
There were few things that disturbed Ethan's empathy more than a funeral. He could still remember the agony of his father's funeral, an agony compounded by the weight of his own grief. Ethan hadn't been able to hear the eulogy over the angel's chorus of sorrow. He hadn't been able to think through the flood of sobbing despair. His mother's depression had dragged him down with her, and if not for Dray, Ethan might have succumbed to the suicidal urges that weren't his own.
This rite was no exception.
The collection of mourners surrounded the the chosen place of rest in Whispering Oak Cemetery. Above them, the sky was clear and bright blue, the sort of day that Dray would have loved. Ethan didn't know many of the faces, but recognized a few as their fellow students and co-workers. Even Sheila had come.
Beside him, his mother wept openly, Dray like a second son to her. She hadn't taken the news well and the funeral wasn't making things any better. Dressed in all black, Jeanine was the perfect picture of a mourner. Darryl, there more for emotional support since he hadn't known Dray very well, looked appropriately somber. His emotions were nice and steady and Ethan clung to them, trying to focus on Darryl above all else.
The pastor was talking but Ethan couldn't hear him under the onslaught of grief; Thomas' was an avalanche of pain, Tiffany's a deep river of grief, muted by a haze of narcotics. Dray had been her stepson, but Tiffany had been his mother in more ways than Rosalyn had managed in the few short years she had been married to Thomas.
Dray's birth mother hadn't bothered to show.
Chrissie was too young to really understand but she kept quiet as the pastor read the eulogy. Ethan clutched a flower, like many of the other mourners. He stared dully at Dray's coffin – closed casket, as Thomas had requested. But of them all, only Ethan knew that it was better that way.
Dray was dead.
His best friend since childhood, the only one who knew his secret, was gone. Ethan couldn't bring him back, would never talk to him again. He was alone save for a couple of Kinetics with their own agenda.
Thump.
Ethan blinked as the first handful of dirt dropped onto the coffin.
He stood watching as, one by one, flowers and dirt were tossed into the grave: into Adrayan's grave. A grave he shouldn't have needed for decades yet, a grave Ethan had failed to divert.
Ethan waited longer than anyone else, until he could speak his piece without prying ears.
Even then, the words wouldn't come. They stayed lodged in his throat. Dray deserved more than a paltry apology.
He tossed the flower, a white gardenia, and finally turned away. His shoulders felt heavy, his eyes hot and stinging, but he did not cry.
His family was waiting for him at the cemetery gates, his mother's eyes bloodshot from crying.
“Ethan?” she asked as he approached, her lower lip wobbling, leaning against Darryl for support.
“I'm fine,” Ethan lied, and a part of him felt guilty for it. He should be able to break down and mourn like he wanted. He should be able to crawl into his bed for a week and let the shame destroy him.
His mother looked at him, concern radiating from every pore. “Don't stay alone tonight, Ethan. Come back to the house with us.”
Ethan wouldn't be alone, not with Mel and Jaiden serving as his self-appointed bodyguards. They'd shown up at his apartment last night, and Ethan hadn't bothered to turn them away. He'd been pathetically glad to see them, though he hadn't shown it.
He shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets, clenching them into fists where she couldn't see. “I'll be fine. I've an exam to study for tonight.”
His mother opened her mouth to protest, worry abrading Ethan's already overtaxed senses, scraping across his brain like sandpaper. Darryl stepped in, a quieting hand on her elbow.
“We understand,” he said, giving Ethan a warm look. “At least join us for dinner?”
There was a lump in Ethan's throat like a lodged ball of stone. “Sure.” He wouldn't turn down dinner. If anything, it might actually help.
His mother smiled at his concession and drew him in for a hug. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and murmured in his ear:
“I'm sorry, Ethan. We're here when you need us.”
The lump was getting bigger. “I know. Thanks.”
His mom patted him on the shoulder and drew back, leaving room for Chrissie to throw herself forward and hug him. She might not understand the circumstances, but she could tell that her brother was hurting. Her childlike sympathy warmed Ethan.
“Love you, too, Sprout,” he said, ruffling her bouncy curls. “See you later.”
Ethan waved goodbye, watching as his family got into Darryl's Chevy and headed back toward town.
Ethan turned to the smaller parking lot, where he'd left his Honda. Not to mention Mel and Jaiden whose presence he had no interest in explaining. Jaiden was perched on his trunk, elbows balanced on his knees. Mel crouched on a parking bar, more solemn than usual. Both Kinetics saw Ethan approach.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Melanie murmured as Ethan pulled out his keys, head throbbing. She must have been telepathically eavesdropping.
“It shouldn't have been necessary,” Ethan groused. “Dray had no part in this but he's the one who's dead. How's that fair?”
“No one said it was,” Jaiden replied, dropping down from the trunk. “Despite our abilities, we're only human, Ethan. We can't predict or prevent everything.”
“What? No precogs?” Ethan sneered.
Melanie shook her head. “No. They generally don't survive long. And the lucky few that do are rarely coherent enough to be of any use.”
Figured.
The Honda rumbled to life and Ethan steered out of the cemetery and back toward town. He was tired, hungry, and grieving. He wanted to curl up in his bed and not think for once. He wanted to be left alone, as impossible as that sounded.
Brakes squealed as Ethan slowed to a stop at a four-way intersection. He looked both ways, saw no traffic, and turned the Honda to the right.
“What the-- Ethan! Look out!”
He had only seconds to glance in his rearview mirror and see the SUV looming behind him, approaching fast with no signs of stopping. Mel's shriek rang in his ears and Ethan was less than composed as he slammed his foot on the gas, his old car lurching forward and groaning pitifully.
Now was not the time for his car to act up!
Ethan gritted his teeth, jerked the wheel, and Mel's scream rattled his ear drums. There was a noise, like an explosion, and his world tilted on its axis. Heat and wind slammed at him from all directions and Ethan uselessly shoved his foot on the gas.
Glass scrunched. Someone was screaming. Someone else cursed. A woman laughed and pain like stabbing knives stabbed Ethan's skull. The airbag deployed, slapping Ethan's head back against the headrest. Metal crunched, the window a blur of grass, sky, concrete and then, it was black.
*****
a/n: This chapter jumps from sorrow to OH SHIT real quickly doesn't it? Whoops, cliffhanger.
At least, though, I have this little ficlets, and fanfictions that I can post now, as they all referenced Dray's death and I had to wait until I posted this chapter.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
[Next Chapter]
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
[Back to the Beginning] [Previous Chapter]
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Chapter Twelve
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Chapter Twelve
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Ethan drove ten miles away to an abandoned gas station that bore one of Valda's few remaining pay phones. Digging the necessary change out of his car, Ethan made the call, disguising his voice and speaking as clearly as possible. He hung up the phone the moment the operator asked for his name.
Melanie was the one who reminded him to wipe down the pay phone for prints. By the time Ethan got back into the Honda, he was shaking. He couldn't seem to focus and he didn't bother protesting when Jaiden replaced him in the driver's seat.
“It's just shock,” Melanie murmured, but she didn't try to touch him again. A wise move on her part. Ethan felt like a time bomb ready to explode.
Jaiden was a passable driver and he got them back to Ethan's apartment with no difficulty. Ethan let the two kinetics follow him inside; he didn't have the energy to argue or throw them out. They could fight over the couch for all he cared.
He took a shower first, and remained under the hot spray until the water turned cold. He dressed mechanically, ignored Mel's offer of some kind of charred meal, and collapsed on his bed. The gleaming numbers on his alarm clock reminded him how late it was. He had a class first thing in the morning.
Ethan was bone tired, but he couldn't sleep. Every muscle was tense and his heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.
He curled on his side, staring through the dim black at an unfamiliar wall.
Dray was dead.
Nothing was going to change that. Ethan couldn't fix it, couldn't bring him back. He couldn't do much of anything at all.
Ethan's alarm went off at six AM and he peeled his eyes open, forcing himself to get out of bed. Lethargy attacked every limb; he barely spoke to Jaiden and Melanie. Either they'd follow him or they wouldn't. At this point, Ethan didn't care either way. His world had been fine until they showed up in it.
They remained, however, through Ethan's morning routine and followed him to his car, exchanging glances behind his back as though they were each other's new best friend. Odd behavior for two Kinetics who'd been at one another's throats less than forty-eight hours before.
Jaiden lingered outside, trying to be inconspicuous while Mel tailed Ethan into the classroom.
No one noticed the dark-haired, gum-chewing shadow Ethan had suddenly acquired. It was like she didn't exist to them at all.
The University was abuzz with whispers, the atmosphere a hum of tense speculation. Fear buzzed strongly on Ethan's senses, and the rest he saw through a fog. His classes seemed less important right now. What did it matter?
Dray was dead and a serial killer had her eyes on Ethan. Calculus wouldn't do him a lick of good if he ended up six feet under.
It wasn't until he sat in Dr. McKenzie's class, staring at a wash of red marks and an even firmer D at the top of his paper that he cam out of his daze.
“What the hell?” Ethan demanded, gaping at the awful grade. He'd never gotten lower than a B before.
Silence swept the classroom.
Dr. McKenzie swerved back toward Ethan, staring at him over the rim of his glasses. “Is there a problem, Mr. McCormick?”
“No,” Ethan said shortly. He wouldn't argue, not here.
“I see. Then in the future, you might want to keep your comments to yourself.” Dr. McKenzie gave him a level look, chastising and sharp.
Ethan nodded, annoyed that he'd been called out.
Dr. McKenzie accepted his nod and turned back to the class, hand out the rest of the papers. Judging from the chorus of disappointment and anger vibrating on the edge of Ethan's senses, no one was happy. Apparently, none of them had impressed their professor.
“I was very disappointed by everyone's performance on this assignment,” Dr. McKenzie declared as he returned to the front of the classroom. “I expect an improvement next time, folks. Class dismissed.”
Low chatter filled the room the very moment McKenzie dismissed them, Ethan sighed, gathered up his books, and fought his way to the door, nearly bowling over Sheila. She didn't look too happy either.
“A C!” Sheila declared out in the hallway, rattling her paper with evident fury. It danced in Ethan's ears like Drowning Pool. “Is he serious?”
Ethan grimaced, tucking her book under his arm. “Better than me. I got a D.”
Sheila stared. “You're a better writer than I am.”
“Not according to McKenzie.”
“What a load of bullshit.” Sheila snorted, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “He's just a bitter old man who enjoys screwing with us.”
Ethan's lips twitched. “So it would seem.”
Sheila harrumphed. “He'll get what's coming to him though. Karma's a bitch. You watch. His car will break down or something.” She crumpled up her paper and shoved it into her pack.
“We can only hope,” Ethan said, and he was only half-kidding.
Cheery sunlight, incongruous, washed over them as they stepped out of Clastine Hall. Sheila winced, shielding her eyes.
“You have to work today?”
Ethan sighed. “Unfortunately.”
“Then I'll see you there. Bye, Ethan.”
She waved over her shoulder, still looking quite perturbed, which on any other day might have amused Ethan.
“I don't like her,” Mel said, suddenly appearing just behind him.
“Why?” Ethan asked as he started down the path, back toward the massive student parking lot.
Mel noisily popped her gum. “I don't know. She's too structured, too solid, too fake.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Everyone's got a rhythm, even if it's disordered, to their thoughts. That blonde? She's a filing cabinet, but it's shallow. Like there's nothing deeper,” Mel pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “She's boring.”
Ethan snorted. “That's no reason to hate her.”
“Hate is a strong word. Besides, I'm probably not explaining myself well. Another telepath would understand.”
“Or an aerokinetic,” Jaiden added, rising from a nearby bench as they passed. “She's shifty, Ethan. A maelstorm of activity and nothing settles.”
Great. Now his Kinetic stalkers were talking in riddles. Could this day get any better?
Ethan paused, keys in hand, as his Honda came into view. He'd been wrong. His day was about to get much worse.
“Mr. McCormick,” Detective Stanton greeted from where he casually leaned on Ethan's hood. “I see you made it to class today.”
“I somehow managed,” Ethan replied, regarding the detective warily. His heart started hammering in his chest, Stanton's suspicion a stream of jangled Tchaikovsky pressing insistent at his brain. “Is there a reason you're perched on my car?”
Stanton's eyes flicked past him to Jaiden and Mel. “I don't recognize your friends.”
“You didn't answer my question,” Ethan said, starting to wonder if he needed to demand a lawyer. He should have seen this coming.
They would have found Dray last night, and after his family, Ethan was the closest one to Dray. Questioning close friends and family was always the first step in any investigation, even if they weren't already suspicious for other reasons.
Stanton straightened, hands in his pockets, casual as you please. “Do you know Adrayan Foster?”
“Of course I do,” Ethan replied, gut churning, hands sweating. “We're best friends.”
“When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Ethan didn't want to be caught in a lie, but the absolute truth would land him in jail. “Last night. He was... busy.”
“How?”
“Do you need me to spell it out, detective?” Ethan forced embarrassment onto his face and shrugged. He didn't know if the detective would buy a college student being embarrassed or not. But it was worth a shot.
“Hmm.” Stanton's suspicion grew louder, an annoying buzz in Ethan's ears. “Do you know who with?”
Ethan swallowed thickly. “No. Why?”
Stanton's brown eyes were hard and cold. “Because Adrayan Foster was found murdered this morning and as of right now, you're the last person who had contact with him while he was alive.”
Hearing what he already knew didn't dilute the impact of the knowledge. It struck again, like Ethan had pretended he'd imagined what happened the night before, as though it were all some terrible nightmare. The truth hit him again, more real this time, like a bullet to the chest and Ethan didn't have to fake his reaction. He felt the blood drain from his face, and his stomach churned. His fingers tightened around his keys, metal digging into his palm.
“What?” he said, and he didn't have to fake the breathlessness either. “You're lying.” Ethan wasn't even sure who he was talking to anymore: himself or the detective. He wanted it to be a lie so damn badly that it was tearing him apart.
“Do I look like someone who gets his kicks telling lies?”
Ethan shook his head. “That's not... what the hell happened?” The confusion wasn't fake either. Ethan needed answers, too.
“I'm thinking you're going to tell me,” Stanton said and he looked at Jaiden and Mel again, eyes narrowing. “You're the last call he made.”
Ice gathered in Ethan's chest. “I wish I had the answers but I don't. Dray... everyone likes Dray,” Ethan said, wishing why he knew the serial killer would choose Dray. “Do... does Thomas know?”
“Mr. Foster has been informed.” Stanton drew closer, shoulders hunched forward, as though attempting to intimidate. Ethan had to admit, he was succeeding. “I'm finding it an interesting coincidence that my investigations keep bringing me back to you, Mr. McCormick.”
Ethan stilled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just an observation.” This close, Stanton's emotions drowned out everything else. “I've nothing but speculation. Give me a reason to take it further.”
Ethan didn't have a chance to retort or proclaim his innocence. Stanton had already whirled on a heel and walked away, as though his warning had been enough. Sooner or later, they would realize Ethan had made the call. They'd realize that Ethan had called multiple times looking for Dray. He'd better have answers by then.
“What now?” Mel asked, smacking noisily on her chewing gum, unperturbed by Stanton's unwelcome visit.
“Now you leave,” Ethan said, puling out his keys. He needed to call his mother and let her know about Dray. He needed to call Thomas, express his condolences. He still had to go to work, but maybe they'd understand if he called in.
Everyone knew that Ethan and Dray were best friends.
“What do you mean leave?”
“Ethan, I'm not so sure that's a good idea.”
He didn't have the patience or the energy to deal with them. “Do whatever you want then,” Ethan said. “But I have to go lie to my best friend's dad while his grief tears at my brain. It's up to you whether you follow me or not.”
He closed the door and started the Honda, not caring that neither Kinetic had entered the car. Ethan was sure they'd be back. They always came back. So until then, he had business to take care of. Personal business.
Whispering Oak Cemetery was five miles outside Valda and it was massive. The grounds were lovely and well-kept, but when it came down to it, it was only a graveyard. Someone resting here could be at peace, but that was little comfort to the living.
There were few things that disturbed Ethan's empathy more than a funeral. He could still remember the agony of his father's funeral, an agony compounded by the weight of his own grief. Ethan hadn't been able to hear the eulogy over the angel's chorus of sorrow. He hadn't been able to think through the flood of sobbing despair. His mother's depression had dragged him down with her, and if not for Dray, Ethan might have succumbed to the suicidal urges that weren't his own.
This rite was no exception.
The collection of mourners surrounded the the chosen place of rest in Whispering Oak Cemetery. Above them, the sky was clear and bright blue, the sort of day that Dray would have loved. Ethan didn't know many of the faces, but recognized a few as their fellow students and co-workers. Even Sheila had come.
Beside him, his mother wept openly, Dray like a second son to her. She hadn't taken the news well and the funeral wasn't making things any better. Dressed in all black, Jeanine was the perfect picture of a mourner. Darryl, there more for emotional support since he hadn't known Dray very well, looked appropriately somber. His emotions were nice and steady and Ethan clung to them, trying to focus on Darryl above all else.
The pastor was talking but Ethan couldn't hear him under the onslaught of grief; Thomas' was an avalanche of pain, Tiffany's a deep river of grief, muted by a haze of narcotics. Dray had been her stepson, but Tiffany had been his mother in more ways than Rosalyn had managed in the few short years she had been married to Thomas.
Dray's birth mother hadn't bothered to show.
Chrissie was too young to really understand but she kept quiet as the pastor read the eulogy. Ethan clutched a flower, like many of the other mourners. He stared dully at Dray's coffin – closed casket, as Thomas had requested. But of them all, only Ethan knew that it was better that way.
Dray was dead.
His best friend since childhood, the only one who knew his secret, was gone. Ethan couldn't bring him back, would never talk to him again. He was alone save for a couple of Kinetics with their own agenda.
Thump.
Ethan blinked as the first handful of dirt dropped onto the coffin.
He stood watching as, one by one, flowers and dirt were tossed into the grave: into Adrayan's grave. A grave he shouldn't have needed for decades yet, a grave Ethan had failed to divert.
Ethan waited longer than anyone else, until he could speak his piece without prying ears.
Even then, the words wouldn't come. They stayed lodged in his throat. Dray deserved more than a paltry apology.
He tossed the flower, a white gardenia, and finally turned away. His shoulders felt heavy, his eyes hot and stinging, but he did not cry.
His family was waiting for him at the cemetery gates, his mother's eyes bloodshot from crying.
“Ethan?” she asked as he approached, her lower lip wobbling, leaning against Darryl for support.
“I'm fine,” Ethan lied, and a part of him felt guilty for it. He should be able to break down and mourn like he wanted. He should be able to crawl into his bed for a week and let the shame destroy him.
His mother looked at him, concern radiating from every pore. “Don't stay alone tonight, Ethan. Come back to the house with us.”
Ethan wouldn't be alone, not with Mel and Jaiden serving as his self-appointed bodyguards. They'd shown up at his apartment last night, and Ethan hadn't bothered to turn them away. He'd been pathetically glad to see them, though he hadn't shown it.
He shook his head, burying his hands in his pockets, clenching them into fists where she couldn't see. “I'll be fine. I've an exam to study for tonight.”
His mother opened her mouth to protest, worry abrading Ethan's already overtaxed senses, scraping across his brain like sandpaper. Darryl stepped in, a quieting hand on her elbow.
“We understand,” he said, giving Ethan a warm look. “At least join us for dinner?”
There was a lump in Ethan's throat like a lodged ball of stone. “Sure.” He wouldn't turn down dinner. If anything, it might actually help.
His mother smiled at his concession and drew him in for a hug. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and murmured in his ear:
“I'm sorry, Ethan. We're here when you need us.”
The lump was getting bigger. “I know. Thanks.”
His mom patted him on the shoulder and drew back, leaving room for Chrissie to throw herself forward and hug him. She might not understand the circumstances, but she could tell that her brother was hurting. Her childlike sympathy warmed Ethan.
“Love you, too, Sprout,” he said, ruffling her bouncy curls. “See you later.”
Ethan waved goodbye, watching as his family got into Darryl's Chevy and headed back toward town.
Ethan turned to the smaller parking lot, where he'd left his Honda. Not to mention Mel and Jaiden whose presence he had no interest in explaining. Jaiden was perched on his trunk, elbows balanced on his knees. Mel crouched on a parking bar, more solemn than usual. Both Kinetics saw Ethan approach.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Melanie murmured as Ethan pulled out his keys, head throbbing. She must have been telepathically eavesdropping.
“It shouldn't have been necessary,” Ethan groused. “Dray had no part in this but he's the one who's dead. How's that fair?”
“No one said it was,” Jaiden replied, dropping down from the trunk. “Despite our abilities, we're only human, Ethan. We can't predict or prevent everything.”
“What? No precogs?” Ethan sneered.
Melanie shook her head. “No. They generally don't survive long. And the lucky few that do are rarely coherent enough to be of any use.”
Figured.
The Honda rumbled to life and Ethan steered out of the cemetery and back toward town. He was tired, hungry, and grieving. He wanted to curl up in his bed and not think for once. He wanted to be left alone, as impossible as that sounded.
Brakes squealed as Ethan slowed to a stop at a four-way intersection. He looked both ways, saw no traffic, and turned the Honda to the right.
“What the-- Ethan! Look out!”
He had only seconds to glance in his rearview mirror and see the SUV looming behind him, approaching fast with no signs of stopping. Mel's shriek rang in his ears and Ethan was less than composed as he slammed his foot on the gas, his old car lurching forward and groaning pitifully.
Now was not the time for his car to act up!
Ethan gritted his teeth, jerked the wheel, and Mel's scream rattled his ear drums. There was a noise, like an explosion, and his world tilted on its axis. Heat and wind slammed at him from all directions and Ethan uselessly shoved his foot on the gas.
Glass scrunched. Someone was screaming. Someone else cursed. A woman laughed and pain like stabbing knives stabbed Ethan's skull. The airbag deployed, slapping Ethan's head back against the headrest. Metal crunched, the window a blur of grass, sky, concrete and then, it was black.
a/n: This chapter jumps from sorrow to OH SHIT real quickly doesn't it? Whoops, cliffhanger.
At least, though, I have this little ficlets, and fanfictions that I can post now, as they all referenced Dray's death and I had to wait until I posted this chapter.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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