The Cemetery Boys (3 page)

I resisted the urge to ask her how much she knew about goat sacrifices.

“It's basically your wake-up call. You're hooked into something and may not even realize it. It could be the mindset of being a victim, or something like that. Your thought processes and actions are currently holding you back. The Devil card here says that a terrible connection in your life right now is chaining you down from being who you truly are.”

Who I truly am. Not a gamer. Not a book nerd. Not a history geek. Did this mean the devil was going to help me find out who I was? Looking at the cards and their weird cartoonish drawings, I doubted it.

“What's that? People are . . .” I pointed to the last card. It featured a building on fire. People were diving from the windows in a mad panic, screaming on their way down. Was that my future? I looked at Cara, hoping she'd shrug it off and tell me it was nothing. After all, she'd just said that things aren't always as they seem. “They don't look happy.”

Neither did Cara. She bit her bottom lip and worry
creased her forehead. “This card is the Tower. The Tower card represents sudden change. To be honest, it's not the best card in the world to have in the future position. Having it here means that the decimation of some structure in your world will take place. It's also a pretty immediate thing. Whatever destruction is headed your way is headed your way now. Not in a year or two.”

I stared at the card a moment longer before sighing. “Thanks. That's just great. I feel better about my life already.”

“No problem.” She ran her fingers lightly over the cards, keeping her eyes off me the entire time. I wondered why, but didn't want to ask. Mostly because she just might answer me.

Suddenly, someone behind me spoke. His voice was practically dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me that the Lovers didn't come up.”

The look on Cara's face went from concerned to surprised to annoyed in about two heartbeats. She waved a hand at whoever was standing behind me and said, “Stephen, this is my twin brother, Devon.”

As I turned to look at Cara's twin, I said a simple “Hey.”

But the word fell flat. My heart beat solidly inside my chest. Because the boy I was looking at was the guy who'd been staring at my house less than an hour before.

Devon's sheared-short hair was so blond that it appeared white, in total contrast to his twin sister's. Like Cara, his eyes were dark, but that's where the similarities ended. His jawline was angular and smooth. It was amazing to me that these two could be twins—they were so different. But then, they were the first set of twins I'd ever met in person. Maybe twins being different from each other was more common than I realized.

Devon was dressed in black jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a thin, dark-gray hoodie with adornments that gave it a military look. That was fitting, because something about the way
he stood, the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke made him seem commanding. I had a feeling Devon was used to being listened to.

My jaw tightened at the sight of him and I got to my feet. “You were staring at my window.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” We looked at each other for a good, long moment before Devon nodded to something, or maybe nothing at all, in the distance. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

I hated not getting answers, but I tilted my head toward him anyway, curious. Listening, despite the vague understanding that I was
expected
to listen, which triggered my rebellious side. I hated expectations. “Show me what?”

Cara began picking up her Tarot cards with her right hand, shoving them angrily into a pile in her left. Her nail polish was chipped in several places, making her actions seem more frantic and violent than they really were. Without looking up at her brother, she said, “Do you have to do this every time? We were talking.”

Devon slid his thumbs in his front pockets, staring at Cara until she finally looked up and met his eyes. Devon had willed her to. Such a small thing, but it seemed weird to me. Maybe it was because they were twins, and my closest
encounter with twins until now had been Stanley Kubrick's creepy little girls in matching blue dresses, standing in the hallway of the Overlook Hotel.
“Come play with us, Stephen. Forever and ever . . .”

Twins were weird. Or maybe I was just looking for weirdness. You know what they say: if you look hard enough for something, you're bound to find it.

After a moment of silence in which I tried to assure my wild imagination that they weren't using telepathy to communicate, Devon spoke. His voice was hushed, but just as commanding. “Every time. What's ‘every time'? You don't even know him.”

“I meant”—she glanced briefly at me before lowering her voice to something that sounded less angry—“that any time I'm talking to a guy, you get like this.”

“Like what? How am I?” He barely gave her a second to answer, and when she responded by picking up the last of her cards in silence and standing, he grabbed her arm before she could walk away. “Seriously, how am I?”

With a glare, she shook him off. “Impossible. That's how you are.”

“I kind of like the finality of that.” The corners of his mouth were touched with the hint of a smile—one that didn't come through in his eyes. “Impossible.”

A heaviness hung in the air between them—one I felt
obligated to ignore. This conversation was none of my business. Devon looked at me pointedly. “You coming or what?” I could tell by his tone that his patience was wearing thin.

Cara sighed. “Stephen, you don't have to go with him.”

“But you can if you want. And I promise it'll be worth your while.” He didn't look at his sister. His eyes were on me.

She groaned and rolled her eyes at her brother. “You are so annoying. What time will you be home?”

“Later.” Devon shrugged casually with one shoulder. Cara bit her bottom lip, glancing between her brother and me. “Dev—”

“Later.”
His tone was more insistent, one not to be argued with.

Cara's eyes narrowed in a glare. She turned on her heel and walked through the front door, slamming it behind her.

I swallowed hard and became Mr. Obvious. “She's mad.”

Devon's eyes followed her inside. He didn't look as concerned as I felt. “She'll get over it. Besides, what do you care? You just met.”

He stepped down off the porch and I joined him, shaking my head. “I don't want to cause any trouble or make any enemies.”

“What about friends?” He paused midstep and met my gaze. Then he cracked a smile and gave my sleeve a tug
before continuing down the sidewalk. “Come on. I've got some people I want to introduce you to.”

My eyes lingered on the door that Cara had just slammed, and I paused, contemplating my next move. If I left now, would Cara be mad at me later? Or was I too late to make a difference? Finally, I let my curiosity win out. I'd make it up to Cara the next time I saw her.

Devon and I walked along the grossly uneven sidewalk and passed the mansion I had seen from the car. Bright lights were flashing across the street from the gas station, and as we approached, I could see a car that had smashed into a telephone pole. The pole had given way and fallen on top of the car, denting its roof with the attached transformer. The windshield was smashed open completely. Two cops were on the scene. One was on his radio and the other was just kind of moseying around the car, looking important. The driver was still in the driver's seat, but the body was mostly covered up with a tarp. There was no ambulance in sight. I wondered if one was on the way from the city, or if the police hadn't even called one because it was too late.

“Holy shit. I think the driver is dead.”

Devon just shrugged. “Spencer's going through a bad time right now.”

My steps slowed momentarily. What an odd thing to say.

Devon grabbed my arm and pulled me away before the
cops noticed us. I couldn't believe how calm he was about the whole thing.

In silence, we made our way to the far end of town. It wasn't like Spencer was difficult to navigate—several of the streets were numbered, First through Fifth, and the streets that weren't numbered mostly fell in between—so I wasn't worried about getting lost. Once we hit Central Street, Devon steered us left, and when the street came to an end, he led me through some brush to a view of the reservoir—the one I'd seen online. The water was inky black under the night sky. I could see a few house lights peeking through a band of trees on the other side. A small peninsula jutted out from the land there. Old train tracks ran over a tall bridge and connected the peninsula to the land that made up Spencer. It was quite a scene. I bet my mom would have loved it.

It hurt to think pleasant things about my mom. Mostly because I was still kind of mad at her. If only she hadn't gotten sick. If only she could have gotten better sooner. Maybe we wouldn't be where we were now.

“It's nice, right? They call it the Holiday Reservoir. It's been here forever.” The serene glass of the water shattered as Devon tossed a stone in, causing our reflections to ripple. He pointed to the area right below us. “But this section . . . this part right here . . . it's important. It has a dark history to people in Spencer.”

I couldn't help thinking that this was how locals started telling urban legends to newcomers, but I was willing to play along for now. Just until the man with a hook for a hand became part of the storyline or that kid who hawked Life Cereal died by eating Pop Rocks and then drinking Diet Coke. Then I was definitely speaking up. “Oh yeah? Why's that?”

A breeze blew in across the water, ruffling our shirts. Devon's hair was cut so short that it didn't move. Neither did Devon. He was standing there, staring into the water below, looking like his mind was anywhere but with me in the present. “Years ago, there was a train wreck on the bridge over there. A few of the cars left the tracks and fell into the water. They were never recovered. Too heavy to lift, too expensive to afford. Spencer isn't exactly home to many rich people.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “What about the mansion?”

“That was William Spencer's—the guy that built this town. He was probably the only guy with real money who ever lived here. Most people in Spencer are broke or on their way to broke. Which is why, over the years, so many people have disposed of old appliances in this reservoir. It's like a weird kitchen graveyard down there.” His eyes remained on the water, and I had to admit that I was more than a little curious as to where this story was going.

I peered down into the water, wondering if he saw something down there that I didn't.

“About six years ago, a boy named Bobby was swimming with a couple of friends. None of their parents knew, and all of them agreed that they'd change into dry clothes right after and keep it a secret. Their parents would have grounded them for a month for swimming out here without any adults around. It was a good plan. And they were having fun, y'know?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, but it didn't last. “Then Bobby got the idea to dive down deep and explore the underwater graveyard. His friends begged him not to, but he promised it would be cool. So he went down. And he never came back up.”

My stomach shriveled inside of me. Suddenly, the formerly serene water looked menacing. A boy had died here. Goose bumps rose on my arms, and I knew it wasn't because of the breeze.

Devon spoke again, but this time his voice was much softer. His eyes shimmered, mimicking the water below. “I dove in after a minute or so, worried he'd gotten snagged on a branch. I could hear Bobby pounding on something, but it took me a while to locate him. Sound is different underwater, y'know?”

I didn't know. I couldn't swim. But I nodded anyway, horrified that Devon had experienced this, and surprised
that he was sharing it with me now. A person he didn't even know. It couldn't be easy.

“Once I found him, I realized he was trapped inside an old refrigerator. I tried, but I couldn't open the door. The water pressure was too much. I resurfaced and told Cara to go for help. I dove down again and pulled on the door as hard as I could, but I couldn't open it. I just couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. I tried again and again, but my lungs were burning and each time I dove down, I could only stay for a little while. I couldn't give up, though. He was my best friend.” That last sentence came out in a strangled whisper.

I tried to think of something to say, some comforting words that might make him feel better or at least pull him out of the past, where his thoughts were clearly being held hostage. But nothing came to mind. Everything I could think of resembled a sappy Hallmark card. So I stood in silence, crossing my arms in front of me, waiting for Devon to get to the point. There had to be a reason he was telling a stranger such a deeply personal story.

“They pulled the refrigerator out with a crane. My dad wouldn't let me see them open it. But Bobby was dead. I knew that much.” His tone became matter-of-fact. “My dad died last year, and my mom kind of went nuts because of it. So Cara's pretty much all I've got in this world. If you hurt her, I'll cut your balls off. Just so we're clear.”

He met my eyes with his threat, and even in the darkness, I could see a sharp gleam there as he raised an eyebrow at me. “Are we, Stephen? Clear?”

So that's what this was about. He'd seen me and his sister hanging out and every protective nerve in his body had been set on high alert. Who could blame him? Especially with all he'd been through.

“Crystal, man. Crystal.” And it was crystal clear. Hurt Cara and he'd hurt me. Not something I intended to do anyway, but I respected that he wanted me to know where we stood.

We watched the water for a bit, neither one of us speaking, until finally, I had to break the silence. “What time is it?”

“One thirty.”

That explained the yawn I'd been fighting. “Does everyone in this town hang out so late?”

“Not everybody. Just everybody cool.”

I couldn't escape the feeling that he was waiting for something, but I had no clue what that might be. If he was waiting for me to demonstrate my coolness, he was going to grow old in the process. “So who did you want me to meet?” I said.

“A group of guys I hang with.” As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and texted whoever
it was, his face flashing ghostly white from the glow of the screen. I didn't have a cell phone. Somewhere around the hundredth hospital bill, my dad had told me he couldn't afford one for me anymore.

Devon hit send and looked up, noticing me staring. I said, “Nice phone.”

He shrugged, slipping it back in his pocket. “Just one of the perks of a healthy life insurance policy.”

What's a guy supposed to say to that? Before I could think of anything, he started walking back up Central to Water Street, toward the end of town where we both lived. As we approached First, Devon glanced at me with a smile. “Do you like old horror movies?”

Now he was speaking my language. I'd been a connoisseur of horror since my toddler years, thanks to my dad. Slasher flicks, suspense—I loved it all, from Hitchcock to Craven. “Almost exclusively. Why? You want to catch a flick?”

“That's exactly what I had in mind.” He crossed the street to a brick building that had seen better days. Over the glass double doors hung an unlit marquee that read
Double Feature: Carrie and Night of the Living Dead
. Standing in front of the door, messing with the lock, was another boy our age. His hair was shaggy and black as pitch. Devon slapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the way his unexpected action made the boy jump. “Markus. This is Stephen.”

Markus turned his attention to me briefly as I joined them under the marquee. “'Sup?”

I nodded my hello and tried to look cool, but really I wondered what the hell we were doing here. The theater was either out of business or closed for the night. And if Markus was doing what I thought he was doing to that lock, I wanted no part of it. Getting caught breaking and entering wasn't exactly going to keep my dad off my back for the rest of the summer.