Chapter Text
“God, it’s fucking hot.” Larry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, again. “Did we really have to go hiking in June?”
Larry and Travis got in late Friday night, and there had been no time to debrief on the goings-on at Addison Apartments, or Knockfell in general. Henry had kept them fed and entertained, but he’d also kept them a little crowded, dragging them to the beach and the boardwalk and even an evening show at the Igneous Horse. Since Sunday mornings were his sleep-in days, Sal had been quick to dash out a note and drag them all out the door to talk alone.
“Would you rather explain all this to my dad?” Sal asked, a little out of breath. “He’s nosy since he quit drinking. And he can actually remember things for more than a few seconds. Tell him about the crime scene photos of my mom’s death, that’ll go over great.”
It hadn’t taken Todd long to locate, by dubiously legal means, the unredacted police files on the Fisher shooting. He’d told Larry in confidence that he’d only seen one picture, a medical photo of Sal’s empty little eye socket, and had to step away to vomit while Neil speed-scrolled past the images and on to the documents they needed. Larry didn’t think Sal needed to know all that though.
“I don’t think it’s the worst idea to tell your dad what was left out of the files,” Travis said. He alone seemed unfazed by the heat. “It seems like a pretty big oversight to me. He should file a FOIA request and have a look, if the redactions don’t cover it all up.”
“What did they leave out?” Sal asked curiously, as Larry glared daggers at Travis over his head. Leave it to Travis to be incapable of delicacy. “The shooter? I know I said it was a dog attack, but it obviously wasn’t. You’ve seen the scars.”
“No, there was definitely a shooter. But a second victim? Not so much. Stop staring at me, Larry, I’m not going to coddle him. If you want to tell him, do it.” Travis glared at him.
“Wait, my mom isn’t in the case file?” Sal asked.
“It’s not just the case file, dude,” Larry said. “She’s nowhere. Todd tried finding her birth announcement, a death certificate, pretty much anything to prove your mom existed, and there’s nothing. Zilch. She’s not in the case file either. According to official documents, you were alone.”
“So according to the cops, she just…”
“Never existed? Yeah, that’s about right.” Larry’s eyes were hard.
“Obviously, your local news begs to differ,” Travis said. “You guys have papers announcing her death, not to mention her name in your birth announcement and her letter to the editor on the expansion of a local park. She’s so well documented here.”
“What’s really funny, though, is what Todd found. There’s a birth certificate for a Diane Grey, right birthday and hometown, but her paper trail drops off about ten years before you were born. No jobs, no taxes, no address, no phone number. Just totally blank.”
“That’s not her maiden name though,” Sal said, perplexed. “It’s Hatherson.”
“Diane Hatherson?” Travis asked. “Really?” He looked between them. “Diane Hath Her Son? I promise, I’m not trying to sully your mother’s memory here Sal, but that doesn’t sound like a real name. Especially with all this ‘child of the abomination’ stuff wrapped into it.”
“Dude, chill out,” Larry said.
“No, he’s right,” Sal said, confused. “It doesn’t sound like a real name. I can’t think… I don’t think that’s my Aunt Claire’s last name, either.” He frowned. “It’s like… a plant, maybe? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“I’ll let Todd know. He might be able to find out more.” Larry had an idea of who Sal’s Aunt Claire might be, but it was only a hunch. And if she was Clare Nettles, that only complicated things further.
“Yeah,” Sal said quietly. He watched his feet as they walked. He could have been moving cautiously, avoiding the tree roots that snaked across the path, but Larry had a feeling there was more to it than that.
“What’s your dad going to day if we come home empty-handed from our hunting expedition?” he asked, trying to break the tension. Sal looked up, startled from his reverie.
“Huh?”
“Your cryptid friend?” he asked teasingly.
“I don’t want to hear a word about made up friends from two vampires,” Sal said witheringly. “You sound more made up than a boyfriend that goes to another school.”
Travis snorted. “Nothing sounds more made up than a boyfriend from another school.”
They hiked on for a few quiet hours, Larry doing his best to keep his snipes at Travis to a minimum. The guy’s whole family was completely insane, he was allowed to be a little insufferable. As they walked, Sal explained the whole Jersey Devil legend, wryly reviewing all the sightings from his high-school peers while making sure to clarify that the Jersey Devil, if it existed at all, originated at least an hour from here and was definitely not going to jump out at them from between the trees.
“What a relief,” Travis said dryly, and Larry cracked up.
They hiked until lunchtime, making a neat loop back to the parking lot and piling into Larry’s truck.
“You boys find the Jersey Devil?” Henry asked jovially as they reentered the tiny apartment, shining with sweat. Sal shook his head.
“No sign of him,” he said, throwing himself down on the couch.
“You’ll get him next time,” Henry replied sympathetically. “You two sticking around for the week? I’m going grocery shopping in a few, I can add some snacks to the list.”
“Not me, Mr Fisher,” Larry said. “Ma needs me to help her replace Mrs Packerton’s air conditioner before the old lady fries. Got to earn my keep. You can hang onto Travis for a while though.”
Travis made a sour face, but Henry laughed. “Sounds good to me! And please, it’s Henry.”
“If you insist,” Larry said, picturing the look on his mother’s face if he called someone’s dad by their first name. “I’m going to take Sal out for an early dinner before I head home, if that’s alright with you.”
“Sounds good,” Henry said. “Travis and I will hold down the fort.”
Travis blanched, and Larry bit back a grin. Maybe Travis would benefit from a dose of paternal care from someone who doesn’t run a cult in his spare time.
“It’s weird that no one seems to care, you know,” Larry said.
“About what?” Sal asked, confused.
“Sal.” Larry squeezed the hand he was holding. “Do you do this in public all the time? It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but no one is even looking at us.” They were sitting on a stone bench eating ice cream cones just off the boardwalk as clusters of people wandered by, basking in the purple twilight. Larry had noticed it before, in the restaurant, too. Sal sat beside him in the booth (unheard of!) and the waiter didn’t even bat an eye.
“Oh!” Sal laughed. “Yeah, Ashberry Arc is basically a gay beach town. It was kind of a shithole until really recently, kind of derelict and empty. The local gay scene started bringing in money, the money brought in more gay businesses, and suddenly the whole place isn’t a rundown dump anymore. Dad always says he wishes the gays would take over our town next.”
“I mean, he does have Travis sleeping on his couch,” Larry said, and Sal cracked up.
“And us in my room,” he added.
“I guess we really are taking over,” Larry replied. “The horror!”
“It’s a nice change,” Sal said, squeezing Larry’s hand. “We don’t get to go out like this that often.”
“We don’t get out much, period.” He leaned over, casually dropping a kiss on the top of Sal’s head. “I’m going to miss you this week, you know.”
“Swoon,” Sal said dryly, and Larry laughed.
“Oh, you’re breaking my heart.” He clutched his chest with his free hand.
“More like staking your heart,” Sal replied.
“Ouch! Cruel.”
They sat like that for what felt like hours, watching the world walk by. Sal leaned his head on Larry’s shoulder, pointing out posters for local bands plastered on poles and buskers doing magic tricks. Larry, in turn showed Sal when people who walked by wore tee shirts for bands he liked, or hated, and took every opportunity to rub his thumb across the back of Sal’s hand and press gentle kisses to his hair.
“We should probably get going,” Sal said eventually, sitting up and stretching his neck. “My dad is going to think you stole me away.”
“He wouldn’t mind,” Larry said, and he was right, really.
“No, he loves you,” Sal agreed.
“Everyone loves me,” Larry said smugly.
“I mean, I love you,” Sal said.
“Oh?” Larry was taken aback.
“What, you didn’t know?” Sal asked, a smirk in his voice. “I can take it back, if it bothers you.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Larry grinned, pulling Sal back against his side. “No take backs, no way. And I love you too, for the record.”
“Yeah,” Sal said happily. “You do.”
When the phone rang in the kitchen the following morning, Sal knew something wasn’t right. Dawn had barely cracked, bloody light just starting to seep across the dew-damp grass outside. He hurried to take the call before his father or Travis woke up, but it was too late. Travis was stretching groggily on the couch.
Larry’s voice crackled through the receiver. “When they opened up this morning, I could smell the blood from the Sunoco on the corner. Ma went down to offer help about as soon as we could get away with. She said she’s never seen anything like it, and she’s seen some fucked up shit.”
“Jesus,” Sal breathed. Not five minutes since he’d gotten out of bed that morning and the tinny ring of the kitchen phone had him standing here, bare feet on the cold tiles, listening to the third-hand recounting of a blood bath.”
“You’re going to have to talk to him,” Larry warned.
“I know,” Sal sighed. “I will.” When he hung up the phone, he turned to Travis, who was sipping cold black coffee from a paper cup and watching him warily. “Want to go get bagels?”
“I know I said we had to go for a walk, but I think you should sit down,” Sal said, fighting to keep his tone neutral.
“You and Larry are the ones who can’t handle a hike. I’m fine.” Travis stared straight ahead, a strange look on his face.
“Yeah, but… it’s bad news.”
“I’m aware, Sally Face. For someone who wears a literal fucking mask, you have a shit poker face.” Travis laughed bitterly. “Just spit it out, ok?”
“Before church this morning, one of the worship leaders came into the back of the church to grab a binder and found…” Sal paused for a moment, trying to come up with a gentle way of saying “a smear of gore that used to be your dad” to a guy with a complicated relationship with his dad. “They found a body. It’s been identified as your father.”
“How many blocks?” Travis said flatly.
“What?” Sal asked, nonplussed.
“To the bagel shop. How far?”
“I wouldn’t measure it in blocks. On the other side of main street, where the tourists still show up. Maybe a ten minute walk. Why? Do you need to sit down? There’s a bench, just over -”
“God, no.” Travis sped up his pace. “I really want a fucking bagel.”
They walked on in an awkward silence, Travis striding along and Sal nearly jogging to keep up. The only sounds for a long while were the soft crunches of litter and grit under their feet and the occasional out-of-breath sound of Sal’s lungs trying to pretend he was in shape.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Travis began.
“I probably won’t.”
Travis gave him a withering look. “Shut up. I just kind of thought that the town you came from would be less like Nockfell.”
“How so?” Sal asked, kicking a rock out of the road. He was fighting back a grin, embarrassingly enough.
“You know.” Travis motioned to the house across the street. It was an old, three-story monstrosity, the wood siding worn bare from wind and sandy soil, the windows clouded with dust. Moth-eaten curtains blew in the windows of the upper floor – their panes were shattered out. “Just – like that!” He kicked a rock that was in his path off the sidewalk, and Ms Ralidak’s crusty little Lhasa Apso came hurtling out of her too-tall grass at them, barking all the way. Travis jumped, but Sal laughed.
“He’s tied off to that rusted-out boat motor,” he said. “Is the word you were looking for ‘white trash’??”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Travis said stiffly.
“Shithole?” Sal teased.
“Maybe,” Travis allowed. “But seriously, you don’t seem like you come from the same stock as the rest of us. Why did you move from one poor, run-down nowhere town to another one that’s further away from civilization?”
Sal shrugged. “I got into a school?”
“Yeah, the acceptance rates are laughably high at Nockfell,” Travis agreed. “New Jersey has to have its own sad, overpopulated universities though. Why Pennsylvania? Why Nockfell?”
“Why anything? Because I needed it. I needed to get away from the town where I had a dead mom and an alcoholic dad, no future, no hobbies, and no friends. Nockfell took late applications and it’s far enough away that I wouldn’t feel like I had to leave on weekends, but close enough that I could always come home. Can I tell you something?”
Travis sighed. “You’ve been telling me things. Sure, whatever.” He kicked a dusty Boylan bottle with a hollow thunk.
“I knew there was something wrong with my mom.” Travis’s steps faltered, but Sal kept going like he was talking about the weather. “I’ve known for a really long time. Almost the beginning. No family but my aunt, who’s incredibly weird. But the funeral was overflowing, standing room only at the church and whatever. Our neighbors were there, my friends and their parents, the guy who used to own the diner where I work. My parents met there, you know.” Sal gave a little laugh. “But everyone else? Strangers. Dad was too drunk to notice, but I saw them. Weird, solemn people who were stiff and awkward and stared for a bit too long – well, that’s to be expected, I’d had my fucking face blown off – but not just at me, you know? In general.” He shuddered. “Anyway, when we were in the receiving line, every single stranger said basically the same thing to my dad. Something about how my mother’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, and her failure would bring success. I couldn’t take it, after the tenth person said the same shit I told my dad I needed air and headed out front.” Sal adjusted his prosthetic casually, and Travis got a rare glimpse of the puckered skin along his jawline.
“There was this woman leaned up against the front steps of the church, smoking a cigarette. Big blonde hair, the messiest eye makeup I’d ever seen. She was wearing this black dress that was like a tee shirt, and her tights were ripped. I remember she had one foot cocked up against the building behind her, and she was wearing the highest heels I’d ever seen. Butts all around her feet like she’d been there all day. And she’s weeping, right? But not making a single sound. When she saw me, she kind of laughed. She goes, ‘there you are. Not even the child of the abomination, just a child of a dead mom. All that grief for nothing.’ And she patted me on the head and just… walked off. Right down the sidewalk, like she’d never even been there. Anyway, that was what kicked it off. I knew a funeral full of strangers saying weird, insincere shit was kind of normal, but the saddest person at the service staying outside? She was completely tragic. I asked Dad about her later, and he kind of vaguely said that mom had a lot of friends at her church. But he wouldn’t talk about the church. Or the shooting. Or mom. And when I was old enough to look into it, there was nothing to find. Todd may have found that she didn’t exist legally, but I already knew she didn’t exist anywhere else. God, do you have a cigarette?”
“No,” Travis said, annoyed. “We don’t all make a hobby of polluting our bodies.”
Sal snorted. “Yeah, yeah, your body is a temple and only the blood of the covenant may enter or whatever. Anyway, I brought this shit up for a reason. You already knew that I get what it’s like to have a parent who died in a fucked up way. Now you know that I know what it’s like to have a fucked up relationship with a dead parent that I don’t feel like I can trust.”
Travis didn’t say anything for a long time, just kicked whatever trash and gravel he saw along his path. When he did speak, it was abrupt.
“I knew he was dead.”
Sal looked up from the crunched up Faygo can skittering along the sidewalk. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Travis took a deep breath. “I knew he was dead the moment I left that church. You know Luke? And Cassandra? They were both killed over this ‘child of the abomination’ stuff. Similar ways, but it escalated. The Sandersons had a positive pregnancy test in their bathroom, and Herman hasn’t been seen since. The Holmes’ went missing and Megan was killed, then her father. They’re following some kind of ritual, and obviously Reid thought I was the next viable option.”
“You don’t sound like you agree,” Sal said.
“No, I don’t. Because my dad told me one thing before I left that I kept to myself. He told me, no begged me, to bring you to the church. Whatever instructions they’re following, they obviously don’t have a clear understanding of them, but obviously my father had figured something out that he hadn’t told the others yet.”
A chill ran up Sal’s spine despite the oppressive August heat. “It’s me.”
As the summer breeze swirled trash and sandy soil down the sidewalk and whistled through the leaves of the elm tree, the two boys stood in silence. There was nothing to say to that.
In Sal’s dreams, he was always running. It was never really clear if he was running toward something or trying to escape. Tonight it was a cemetery, endless headstones and willow trees extending away from him in all directions. His periphery was clouded with smoke, the heavy incense of a funeral mass that burned his eyes and throat and kept him from looking from side to side. No matter how fast he went, no matter how long he ran forward, the cemetery never ended.