mouth wide with what Les figured
was its last scream of agony. He was about to scream himself when a hand rested
on his shoulder. He slowly turned and saw a dark figure behind him. Les could
barely make out the features because he was blocking the light from the fridge,
but he could tell the figure had a finger to its lips.
“Don’t
scream, Les,” said the figure. “We don’t want to wake up Grandma.” Les
recognized the voice immediately. It was Michael. Les nodded in compliance.
Michael removed his hand.
Les was no
longer paralyzed with fear. He slowly turned back to the fridge. Marco Garcia’s
eyes continued to stare upward as if they were trying to look at the contents
on the shelf above.
“What did
you do?” Les asked, turning back to Michael.
“I gave him
a choice, and in the end, it came to a fight.”
Les looked
at the head again. “Looks like you won.”
He walked
very quickly to his room a moment later, his heart beating painfully. Michael
was right behind him. Les wanted more than anything to just slam the door
behind him and lock the bastard out, but he was sure if Michael could rip the
head off of someone, he could probably break down a door, and Les didn’t want
to give him any reason to be angry. He waited for Michael to enter the room,
and then closed the door behind him.
Michael
looked around the room in awe. There were the life-sized replicas of Aslain and Norrack in the far
corner of the room in front of Les’s closet. They
were facing each other as if they were battling to the death. Aslain was wielding what looked like a real sword and Norrack had a battle-axe held high over his head, ready to
strike.
“This is
really nice,” Michael said.
“Thank you,”
Les said nervously. He didn’t know where this was going. What he wanted more
than anything was for Michael to just leave and never come back. He wanted to
call the cops and let them deal with it. But what about the head in his fridge?
And where was Marco’s body? He was certain the cops would have a few questions
about the head. Les would tell them it was Michael, of course, but it wouldn’t
end there. They wouldn’t believe for a second there wasn’t more to it. Les
wouldn’t have blamed them, either.
Michael sat
down at Les’s desk and spun around in the chair,
giggling like a kid. Les slowly sat on his bed.
“How did you
know I lived with my grandma?” he asked, remembering what Michael had said in
the kitchen.
“I know
everything.”
Les remained
silent for a moment, terrified by that notion.
“I saw all
the pictures in the living room,” Michael finally added with a smile.
“Why did you
come here?” Les asked, trying not to sound frustrated.
“I’m looking
for someone,” Michael answered, still spinning.
“Who?”
Michael
stopped spinning. “I don’t know yet.”
“How can you
look for someone if you don’t know who it is?”
Michael
thought about this for a moment. “I can’t. That’s why I need your help.”
“My help?”
Les was astonished. No one ever needed him for anything. Well, that wasn’t
quite true: Grandma once needed him to give their dog, Skittles, a suppository.
That had been an unpleasant experience. “Is it a guy or a girl?” he asked.
“I don’t
know.”
“Are they in
this state?”
“Yes. In
this very city. That I do know.”
“In San
Sebastian?” he asked Michael, who nodded in reply. Les was getting caught up in
his questioning. He felt it was time to ask the big one: “Who are you?”
“The answer
to that question would drive you insane.”
Les didn’t
like the sound of that at all.
“Earlier
today, I asked if your dad was the devil. You didn’t say anything…” Les
continued delicately. “Is he?”
“He is if
you want him to be” was all Michael would say.
There was a
knock on the door. Les jumped to his feet and came face to face with his
grandmother. She stood in his doorway, much shorter than him. Her hair was
silver and very thin;
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley