The Bone Artists by Madeleine Roux Read Free Book Online Page A

dreams. A tall, dark shape had been watching him in his dreams, looming in the corner of his room, resolving into a human man but just the shadow of one. It watched him, it waited, getting closer to the bed whenever Oliver closed his eyes and opened them again.
    But now he was awake and the only long shadow in the room came from the coat stand in the corner.
    SHOT THROUGH THE HEART
    It was Micah’s ringtone. He scrambled for the phone with clumsy fingers, rubbing at his eyes, not believing them at first when he noticed the LED clock next to his bed read 3:26.
    AND YOU’RE TO BLAME
    He answered with a sigh, reasonably certain this was a butt dial and he’d just hear gross make-out noises on the other end. But no, it was his friend all right, and breathing hard into the receiver, so hard it distorted the sound, painfully loud to Oliver’s half-asleep ear.
    His friend’s voice was frantic on the other end of the line. Oliver had only heard him that upset one other time, when they had climbed a nasty old chain-link fence in Bywater and Micah had sliced his palm open on a jagged link at the top. The cut clearly needed stitches—there had been blood soaking Micah’s clothes, all down the front of his new Saints T-shirt. The blood was on Oliver, too, but somehow he remained calm, got Micah to pedal on his bike back through the neighborhood toward home. Then came Micah’s grandmother and a trip to the hospital, and it was all fixed.
    Oliver wasn’t so sure any phone call or hospital could fix this. He could hear something sizzling and popping in the background, and his friend could barely breathe as he wheezed into the cell phone.
    â€œOllie? Ollie, oh shit, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. . . .”
    â€œSorry? What do you mean? Slow down, man, what happened? Are you okay?”
    Tears. Actual tears. This was the first time Micah had cried, no, not just cried, sobbed . There were sirens in the distance, growing louder over the sound of his friend’s heaving, slobbery sobs into the phone.
    â€œCalm down, okay? Calm down and tell me what happened. Do you need me to do something? Is there . . . Shit, Micah, just tell me how I can help!”
    A long, shuddering breath. Another sob. A longer breath. The sirens were bearing down on him now, Oliver could tell, and that would mean soon Micah would have to go and deal with the police or the ambulance or whatever the hell that was.
    â€œIt’s Diane,” he whispered. “She’s going to be okay, I think . . . I think . . . I hope . . . Oh, God, oh Jesus, please Oliver, please! The other driver—I don’t know. I don’t know if they’re okay. If they’re here. I can’t see anything. The hospital. I need a hospital.”
    The line went dead.
    â€œWhat!?” Oliver shrieked, slapping his own forehead. “No . . . no, no, no! Micah, you shithead. You ass! You can’t just hang up, you can’t do that.”
    He called back. No response. He called again. Nothing. Then he called Sabrina, shaking, knowing he would not like at all whathe heard on the other end. But when she picked up there was a long, shuffling beat, the sound of bedsheets sliding around.
    â€œMmfffgh . . . He-hello?”
    â€œBabe? Babe! Wake up. You have to get up now.” He could hear his voice going high and hoarse. Panicked. What the hell was he supposed to do? “There’s been an accident,” he said, stumbling out of bed and searching the dark for his jeans. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
    In the end, Oliver was too nervous to drive. His father woke up from the commotion, wrenching the keys out of Oliver’s hands and forcing him to wait while he got decent enough to drive to Sabrina’s and then the hospital.
    Oliver huddled in the passenger seat, on the phone with Sabrina until they reached her house, and then he joined her in the back, listening