Kill Baxter by Charlie Human Read Free Book Online

the garage. He turns to look at me and I sigh. ‘OK, Lassie. Where are we going this time?’
    My folks are out on a date night, which means an art movie, dinner at the same restaurant they always go to and lots of red wine, so we grab our bikes and head out. In the past I would have mocked Rafe and possibly tried to lock him in a closet. But now I just follow. However much it absolutely grates to admit it, on a certain unknown metaphysical level he’s much smarter than I am.
    I follow his bike light through the winding back roads of our neighbourhood. The night is cool and dark and there’s an eerie mist hanging low over the houses, but I’ve long since stopped worrying about eerie ambience. The real shit that’s out there can kill you just as easily in broad daylight.
    I know where we’re going before we get there; I can feel the tug of the canal way before I see it. I’ve tried to avoid it as much as possible lately. There’s a strange power in it that pulls at the eye in my forehead, the only part of suburbia that does that, and I’d rather not have anything further exacerbating my mental issues. I can teeter unsteadily on the brink of reality quite fine by myself, thank you very much.
    We reach the damp grass surrounding the canal and Rafe throws his bike down. I do the same and follow him into a little hollow of warped and twisted trees. A bed of cardboard boxes has been made up next to a rock and an old rusting chain-link fence.
    ‘You bring me to the nicest places,’ I murmur as Rafe sits down in the dank hollow.
    I grab a seat next to him and wait for a couple of moments in silence.
    ‘I’m really surprised this didn’t make it on to the “Twenty Things You Have to Do in Cape Town”,’ I say as I catch a whiff of urine from somewhere downriver.
    Shut up.
    The voice rings clearly in my head like I’m wearing invisible DJ-level, noise-cancelling headphones. I’m so startled that I sort of half stand up, get my foot caught underneath me and topple over into some reeds.
    Now who’s the retard?
    ‘Rafe?’ I say, pushing myself quickly on to my haunches. ‘Who the fuck was that?’
    He looks at me with a tiny flicker of amusement twitching at his lips.
    Who do you think it was, dum-dum?
    OK. I know crazy stuff is possible, but I’d sorta drawn a line under it. Creatures? Fine. Ritual magic? OK, I can manage that. Far sight? Not cool, but I guess I’m just going to have to find a way to deal with it. But this far and no further. Telepathy? Come on!
    I thought you’d be a little more adult about this.
    ‘Fuck,’ I say, running my hands through my hair and then readjusting my glasses and breathing deeply. ‘OK, OK. You’re telepathic. Please explain this little quirk.’
    It’s just something I’ve learnt to do. You can probably do it too.
    ‘I doubt it.’
    Try.
    He stares at me like he’s asking me to tie my shoelaces.
    ‘OK,’ I say.
    I concentrate really hard on saying something to his mind with mine. Nothing.
    This is a Crow thing, not a Siener thing. So you have to open up that part of yourself. It helps if you use your fingers, too.
    He twines his fingers together in a weird configuration and I copy him. My mind begins to throb and twist. Shapes swirl in front of my eyes. I gape as a tiny glowing bridge unfolds from my third eye. It stretches across the gap between us and locks on to Rafe’s forehead.
    My mind explodes with a rush of foreign memories and sensations. I recognise a lot of them because I have a corresponding set. They’re Rafe’s memories. I watch a rapid-fire tour of what a dick I’ve been to him since we were kids. There’s me blaming him for stealing from my dad’s booze cabinet. There’s me almost drowning him in the pool. Yep, there’s me taking credit for a picture he drew when he was five.
    You really are an asshole.
    ‘Thanks,’ I say.
    He shakes his head.
Try to speak to me with your mind.
    I concentrate really hard. I picture the words marching across