Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,27
don’t mind giving you a ride. Trust me… In fact, I’m more than happy to.”
I hold his gaze for a moment, catching onto his hidden meaning, then I glance at the corner of the street where a line of people wait for the bus. “Okay… Thanks.” I walk around the front and hop into the passenger seat. The inside of the car smells like vanilla mixed with a hint of earthy cologne. Cameron waits for me to buckle my seatbelt, then pushes up his sunglasses up, and drives down the road. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hand rests on the shifter and his fingers tap to the music murmuring through the stereo. The compulsion to reach over and entwine my fingers with his nearly devours me.
“So are you always this quiet?” he asks after minutes of silence drones by.
I turn my head away from the window. “I just don’t see the point of talking unless there’s something to say.”
His eyes enlarge. “Okay, sorry for asking.”
I fidget with my leather bracelet. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so bitchy. I’m just having a rough morning.”
He nods and proceeds with caution. “But I’m pretty sure you and I do have something to say, so the question is, do you want to say it or should I?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to put it out there,” I say, shocked. “But okay.”
“The first thing you should know about me is that I hate secrets. They are pointless and request too much energy from an individual, unless the revelation of the secret brings pain to someone.” His lips move like they are a poet’s pen on a sheet of paper.
“Okay, so why were you digging up a grave in the cemetery the other night?” I lay it on the table.
His grin enhances with amusement. “To see if they really do put dead bodies in coffins.”
I’m unsure how to respond. “I’m pretty sure they do.”
“See, that’s why I think you and I can get along,” he remarks cleverly. “Most people would have jumped out of the car with that response.”
I tuck my bangs out of my eyes. “Most people wouldn’t have gotten in the car in the first place.”
“Excellent point.” He flips on the blinker and turns onto the school road. “I was doing my parents’ dirty work. My grandfather—or Old Man Carey as your weird friend calls him—owned a jewel that had a lot of sentimental value to my family. It’s been passed down from generation to generation. But no one can find where my grandfather put it, so they sent me to check in his coffin, just in case he requested to be buried with it and never told anyone except his friend who handled my grandfather’s funeral arrangements.”
For some reason, his story reminds me of a 1980s Tom Hanks movie I watched once—The Burbs. “Did you find it?”
“Again, you’re not fazed.” He grins, pleased and entertained. “No, I didn’t find it.”
“Did you think to ask your grandfather’s friend before you went rummaging around in his coffin?” I question. “It might have been an easier place to start.”
“Hmm…” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I never thought of that.” He laughs and smiles. “Of course I did, but it turns out my grandfather’s friend has already passed away himself, only days after the funeral ended.”
“That’s weird.” I’m torn on whether I believe him. “So who was that man doing the actual digging?”
His smile falters and his face reddens with anger. “You saw him?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah…”
His anger alarms me. “He’s my uncle.”
“You don’t like him?” I ask.
He fiddles with the keychain and sadness hues eyes. “He’s… tolerable.” He turns into the crowded school parking lot and everyone stares. The town has a very low population and an unidentified vehicle is big news. I can almost see the invisible stream of gossip move from car to car. “Wow, it’s like being a movie star,” he comments as he parks in an empty spot.
A smile curls at my lips. “Oh, it’s going to get a lot worse for you. Trust me. The new guy—it will be the headline of the newspaper.” I make a motion with my hand. “Well, maybe it won’t be quite that big. Someone else just moved here today too.”
He takes the keys out of the ignition. “Do you know who it is?”
“Yeah, I met him at a party Saturday night.” I unbuckle the seatbelt. “His name’s Asher Morgan.”