My bedroom felt like a stranger's. It was mine, an organized mess of paper and clothes, the floor a wastebasket for discarded stories and poems. But instead of being comforting it made me dizzy. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out distantly. The screen glowed. It was Monroe.
What up, Day? What happened to you?
Just a headache. I’m fine.
Hangover huh? Lmao
What?
There’s a rumor you were seen at Everett’s this wkend. When were you going to tell me?
Oh
Day?
Yeah?
You ok?
Yeah, we need to talk
Sure. Now? Need me to call?
No, in person. Meet me at the library?
Sure. In fifteen?
Yeah.
The minute I drove up into the library parking lot, I felt a million times better. There, leaning against the outside of the building with a hot latte and a bottle of Tylenol was Monroe wearing a pair of tight black leggings and a peasant top complete with platform sandals. The sight made me grin. It didn’t matter if she was upset about the rumor she’d heard. It didn’t show, and it wouldn’t. She didn’t work that way. Not without an explanation from me.
“Just so you know, I owe the bro a whole English paper typed and double spaced for dropping me off here,” Monroe complained as I sauntered toward her wearily. She and her middle brother were forced to share a car.
One look at my face and she thrust forward the latte and Tylenol adamantly. I took them.
“You’ll just buy him one off the internet,” I commented wryly. She shrugged.
“Yeah . . . well, it’s the thought that counts. Don’t knock my sacrifice. It’s going to cost me nonetheless."
Her lip poked out. I tried to laugh but found I couldn’t. Monroe led me into the library.
“What’s up, Day?” she asked seriously. “I’m worried about you. It’s not like you to spend the weekend avoiding me, then the way you left school so abruptly, and the rumor . . .what happened this weekend, Day? Did that guy have something to do with it? The one at the school?”
I could tell she’d been giving this a lot of thought, and I hated she’d worried.
“I’m not sure you’d believe me. I don’t think I believe it myself yet,” I said cryptically.
Monroe walked into an empty reading area and hijacked two cushy chairs in the corner. She fell back into one and propped up her feet.
“That bad, huh?” she asked as I plopped down on the floor in front of the chair.
She hummed a moment as she started plaiting my hair and I sighed.
“Isn’t the 'you won’t believe this' crap supposed to be my line? I’m the one convinced Elvis is still alive and living on my street,” Monroe remarked offhandedly, and I cracked open an eye with a snort.
“This is a lot more serious than Elvis and your Marilyn Monroe conspiracy theories."
Monroe’s fingers stilled in my hair.
“What’s wrong, Dayton?”
Her hands moved to my shoulders. It was the compassionate tone of her voice that finally did me in. I started to sob, the tears spilling so fast, my shirt stuck to me slightly. It wasn’t the pretty kind of crying you see in movies either. No, it was the snot dripping, hiccuping, totally mortifying kind of tears you normally reserve for closed bedrooms or bathroom stalls. Monroe sat up abruptly and hugged me.
“Talk to me, Dayton!”
I talked. I told her everything, beginning with the strange day I’d had the day before my birthday to the unbelievable conversation I’d just had with my aunt. By the middle of the story, Monroe had grown rigid.
“What are you saying?” Monroe asked me dazedly, her tone edged with doubt. “That your aunt is the head of some cult who is now working hand in hand with a Demon she’s supposed to kill?”
I hadn’t expected her to believe me, but it still stung. I spun around to face her and grabbed her hands.
“I’m telling you that your vision was real! That you can tell me 'I told you so' if you want to. I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore! All I know is that the day of my birthday, my life suddenly turned into a 24 hour hallucinogenic trip, full of dreams, nightmares, and truths all rolled into one. And I’m scared,” I said desperately.
She looked at me silently a moment, and I pulled hard at her hands.
“I’ve never lied to you, Roe!”
She looked down at her callous-free, manicured hands, and I felt like biting off every single polished nail. Dammit! I’d never lied to her!
“Well, there was this one time in second grade—”
I threw down her hands.
“My God, Monroe!” I huffed, my chest tight until I noticed the small smile playing wryly at the corner of her mouth. It gave me hope.
“You believe me?”
She leaned back against the chair, her eyes rolled toward the ceiling.
“This Marcas? He was the hottie outside school, right?” she asked as her eyes rolled back down to meet mine. I nodded. She shrugged and sat up again.
“Well, yum. I always did like bad guys,” she commented wryly.
I half-laughed, half-sobbed.
“You do believe me then?”
“I’m not sure I get it, but I don’t think you’d lie to me,” Monroe answered.
“I don’t get it either, Roe. But I’m scared, and I think they plan to kill me."
Monroe leaned toward me.
“They wouldn’t!” she breathed. I wasn’t so sure.
“Library is closing in thirty minutes,” a voice said from beside us, and we both jumped a good foot in the air.
The librarian looked at us strangely before turning to walk away. I almost laughed at the absurdity of the moment, but my phone vibrated and I grabbed at it before it could ring. The name on the screen made me cringe. The Abbey.
“Hello?” I said quickly into the receiver, looking over my shoulder to see if the librarian was anywhere near.
“Don’t go home, Dayton!” Amber answered breathlessly, her voice winded and short. I glanced over at Monroe.
“What? Why?”
“Just don’t go home! It’s not safe,” Amber insisted. “I can’t explain it to you right now. Just don’t go home!”
Amber hung up. I stared at the receiver. Her voice had been loud enough I knew Monroe had heard. I looked up and caught her eye.
“You believe me now?” I asked.
“Let’s get out of here!” she said quickly. “You can stay with me.”
I wasn’t going to argue.