Things That Should Stay Buried - Casey L. Bond Page 0,7

back yard.

“What’s up?” I asked, giving him my attention.

He stared out my window.

A strange look was plastered on Kes’s face, one I hadn’t seen very often, but recognized and remembered. It reminded me of when I saw him standing in the light of the fridge, the threatening blade of a knife indenting his skin. Kes was afraid.

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up straighter, looking from him to the darkened yard outside my window. The book slid off my lap and hit the floor with a thump.

Still, he didn’t answer.

“Kes?” He stared at the sky unflinchingly, unaware that I’d spoken. “Kes, what’s going on? Why are you staring at the sky like that?”

“Did you see the harbinger?” he asked, his eyes darting to me for a split second before staring back outside.

My brows kissed. What is he talking about? “Harbinger?”

“To you it would look like a bright comet, but it’s not one. It just streaked across the sky.”

I hadn’t seen anything. “Are you sure it wasn’t a falling star?” I asked, just in case he saw something less foreboding.

“I’m positive. It was a message, and so much more than a simple meteor.” He turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” I asked before he could reach the door.

“To check on something,” he answered vaguely. “Come lock the dead bolt behind me. And don’t open it until I get back, no matter what.”

I followed him down the steps to the door and watched as he grabbed his keys and rushed to his Mustang.

He waited behind the wheel, its low beams illuminating the driveway and front door until I closed it and locked the deadbolt. The light from his headlights shone through the transom and slid over the walls as he backed up, winking out completely as he drove away.

Yes, things were peaceful in our house, but there were certain things Kes kept to himself.

At times like these, I tried not to pry. His omissions were protective; there were things I just shouldn’t know.

Things no one should.

3

The following morning, my cell phone’s alarm blared in my ear until I found the will to open one eye and the strength to click the button to turn it off. A notification popped up. Less than ten percent battery remained. Fabulous. I forgot to plug it in last night. I put it in battery saver mode and threw it back onto the mattress.

Kestrel had come home at some point. The hall shower was on and I could hear his tragic taste in grunge rock blaring from inside the bathroom. Couldn’t he listen to Taylor Swift like the rest of humanity? Or Five SOS? Come on.

I groaned and flung the covers off, heading toward the closet. If I wanted to catch a ride with Kes, I needed to hurry. I raked hangers across the metal bar, trying to find something clean, cute, and relatively comfortable.

Just then, dread coiled in my stomach, settling into an uncomfortable knot, and the hair on my arms stood on end. I rubbed my hands down them to squash the feeling.

Downstairs, Dad and Mom moved around the kitchen, the coffee machine whirring and hissing. Dad, talking loudly over the noise, promised to fix it this weekend. Mom confirmed that her plans for the day included updating her resume and scouring the internet for a new job. I could tell she was still upset, and judging by her tone was probably on her third cup of coffee, and Dad was getting ready to leave for work. He was telling her how amazing she was (he was right), and that people would be fools not to hire someone with her wealth of experience and personality. She was getting all swoony.

The water in the bathroom shut off.

I paused, feeling indescribably strange.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. Something in the atmosphere felt… off, almost electric. Like static on a sweater. I wondered if an ensuing shock would come as I proceeded to spray copious amounts of dry shampoo into my roots and combed my hair into a messy bun, tugging on my favorite ripped jeans and dragging a loose hoodie over my head.

I threw my Chucks on just in time to catch Kes as he left the bathroom, jogged down the stairs, and grabbed his keys. I followed him outside, throwing my backpack and gym bag into the back, and climbed into the passenger seat.

Dark circles hung heavily under Kes’s eyes and he sat hunched over the wheel, visibly tense.