After So Long

Peach is such a weird name. Old too. From my great grandma who I still say is kicking it in the bayou, hiding from money grubbing relatives. It's a weird ass name, but it's mine. I sigh as I filter back into the conversation going on beside me, putting the slightly bruised peach that caused my introspection down. My friends Cathy and Asha are arguing over directions again instead of just asking the native herself. Then again I haven't been here for years. Not since the disastrous beginning of freshman year. I unstick my bare thighs from the heated leather, the tank top not doing much for my shoulders either. Gotta say I did not miss the heat.

Over the staticky radio, I hear another amber alert and the possibility of it being connected to the dozens of other missing persons makes me uneasy. I click to a more friendly station and listen as the Oldies fill the dusty air. The girls didn't take my warnings seriously when I told them how dusty and, at the same time, rotting the swamp is. Cathy wrinkles her nose while her girlfriend gags in the back seat. I smile and settle in, a bandanna smelling like sunshine and perfume over my nose as we pass some worse parts where a rotting animal must be. The day was hot, sleepy, and honestly, I couldn't care less about us being lost right now. But if I want to get this over with I should probably do something.

"Hey, Cath, let's pull over here and try to find where on the map we are."

She did, and as we all stretched our legs, the woman finally fixed up her frazzled nerves before shooting me a smirk.

"Wish I had those happy pills you're always on."

I snort at her not so subtle nudge and lean inside to snag the rattling bottle. Making sure Asha was turned away as she examined one of the many trees, I palmed off one of my anxiety meds to the grinning blonde.

"Lifesaver."

She gives me a one-armed hug before striding suavely to her girlfriend, the tiny Indian girl giggling at whatever she whispered in her ear. I don't know why I came on this trip. It was a last second senior road trip they convinced me would involve more people. But here we are, lost in the swamp and I'm still the third wheel.

But that's a filthy lie. I know why. I know what made me come. This place. They wanted a road trip across the country to as many haunted places as they could. I secretly think they have a fucked up kink and get off on the horror, but that's none of my business. I came because they mentioned Baker. How they went missing along with dozens of others. How the bad seed son was most likely to blame for their disappearance and how I had to bite my tongue before I bit their heads off.

Lucas Baker. A name I haven't heard in years. I heard about the disappearance yea, but I never got a chance to check out myself. I wanted to find closure I guess. That's what my therapist called it anyway. Boy wonder genius with a shit-hand given to him. He was one of my first close friends. Can't count my brother cause that would be weird. I think? I watched him in high school when I was a barely teenage freshman, and he was the genius freak pulled back a grade or two for misconduct.

When I moved away, I never thought I'd see or hear from him again and, despite the mean rumors, never like this. I looked up to the weirdo in a kind of sick way. He was obviously crooked in the head like me, and so I tried to befriend him. Didn't anticipate how crooked, but hey can't be too choosy with your friends. As long as he didn't use that wicked switchblade on me, I was happy. I think it worked too. Too well on my end, my childhood crush and the only reason I don't consider myself a romantic.

Or maybe it's just the pills suppressing emotions again? I can never really tell with those bastards. I know I've had crushes before, but those were daily fleetings and purely physical. Lucas and I seemed to connect on an unholy level, getting on like a house on fire. But even now I don't know how much of that was rose-colored glasses and how much was him playing with an attention starved little girl. He was there to tell me goodbye at least, in his impersonal way, shoving a jerry-rigged laptop into my arms. He flinched when I hugged him, and my heart tore. It still does.

Despite the fact Skype was installed he never once contacted me. I remember the sleepless nights I would stare at the icon and pray for his face to pop up in such an unfamiliar place. I tried to look for clues he might have left because that's his style but even my more tech savvy brother couldn't crack any hidden code. So I shored up my defenses, took my happy pills, and started my new life.

I became semi-popular. The kind of popular that knows or is known by about everyone in school and is generally liked by everyone that isn't indifferent. But not the person one would see out of school or really invite to parties. Expendable and forgettable. I was ok with that. A little hurt, but I got over it quickly, just wanting to graduate and be done with it. I dealt with the worried looks of my parents as I stayed inside for long weekends playing my video games and learning to code. The only connection other than the now busted up computer I have to one of the few people I would have genuinely called a friend.

Cathy and I got on fine, and I like Asha despite her being a new installment in our group of friends. We may not be best friends, but I would consider walking over coals for them if that says anything. I don't say that out loud of course. I learned quickly that things like that unsettled people sometimes. Yawning exaggeratedly, I pointed to the car.

"Guys let's get going before dark. It gets creepy around here."

They nodded and we quickly Chinese-fire-drilled, leaving me in the driver's seat. Cursing I buckled in and spent a minute readjusting the system from that of the absurdly tall and skinny woman to my more modest height.

"So, anyone up for 'I spy?'"

The conversation evolved from exasperated groans to, somehow, history lessons of early American killers. I mentally correct Cathy as she tried to scare/turn on her girlfriend from the backseat. Another thing people didn't like was interrupting and correcting things like dates.

We made it to the Baker Manor before the sun was at its zenith; the rusted gate chained shut. Almost immediately I became uneasy looking at the house. Is it because I knew them? Maybe, but that didn't change the pressure of, what seemed like a steadily dropping stomach, to leave. In fact, the closer we got, the more sickly I felt.

"This is wrong."

But they weren't there to listen to my whisper. Instead, they'd moved ahead to find another way into the expansive property of the colonial home. I wonder why such a preserved home wasn't sold immediately after the entire family dropped off the face of the earth. It doesn't make sense; rich white people eat that shit up. Would have raised the price of such a historical home if you went to the right people. Instead, it was left in a state of decay and rust if the guest house was anything to go by. Shrugging off the melancholy I hurried forward to the others.

It didn't last long; the peace that is. We made our way into the property with no way back but to climb the fence. This didn't deter the others who practically skipped to the door. Oooing and awwing at the dark interior, they moved forward before the door slammed shut behind me without pushing it. Frantically spinning, I try to shove it back open only to be met with resistance and groaning wood that sounded eerily like human moans. My arms and neck prickled uncomfortably as I scrambled out into the hallway. I've only been here once, but the state of disuse honestly makes me pause.

Should there be this much decay? With shaking hands, I touch what looked like a patch of water stains but what felt like mold. Immediately taking my jacket against my mouth, I gape. Black mold? I shouldn't be so surprised in such a humid area by how can it cover almost all the surfaces even sparsely.

"Cathy? Asha? Guys we need to go I don't feel so good!"

With no answer I turned slowly to the empty room, voice warbling out and forgetting the fear of inhaling the mold.

"Guys?"

No need to panic. They might just be playing a trick on the scaredy cat of the group.

'And if they're not?'

I ignore that niggling little voice and carry on, albeit with slow, careful steps. A loud 'crack' fills the air along with a scream. Scrambling forward I run best I can to the stairway where Cathy is leaning on a fearful Asha.

"What?!"

She pointed to the ground where apparently Cathy had tripped over a crow, now squished on the floor.

"Don't worry babe. Just a crow. Don't look-hey! What the fuck Peach?!"

I ignore her and, using the bandanna stuffed in my pocket and an uneasy stomach, I flip the bird over to see the, unfortunately, familiar sight.

"It's been dissected. Its organs are gone. I think a voodooist is staying here guys. We need to go now."

They don't understand my urgency, and I don't either. But it's ingrained. Every warning my grandmother's imparted on me, every spell and protection and omen they could give me that my parents tried to burn out with suburban living, it firing. Don't mess with the fucking voodoo. Something else is wrong too. Something. The two are bickering above me and don't notice me when I kneel in front of the bird. Bile rushes up as I realize what's was wrong with the picture.

"Guys. The blood is black."

It's like the world was waiting for that line, the air growing tenser with ever second.

"The door locked from the outside."

With growing horror, I realized what's going on. Why this felt so wrong. No voodoo practicing person I know would use humans, but maybe misinformed teens or a satanic cult may have adopted some practices. Either way, we're trapped and royally fucked if we don't find a way out. Maybe that's why this hasn't been sold. A cult was chasing off buyers until it was blacklisted so they could lure in stupid tourists. I refuse to be one of those tourists. Neither of the girls seems to figure it out, and I swallow my frustration for them. Fuck this entire idea. Marching back down to the infested kitchen, I heft up a chair and swing like a batter against the window. It shattered with one hit.

Cathy was still confused and loud, but Asha looked shaken. Scared. Good. I should never have allowed them this deep south. Not this isolated. Helping them through the window silently, Cathy finally understands the vibes surrounding us, I watch the shadows wearily. When I was assured nothing would pop out at me, I shimmied my way out the glass infested window pane, halfway to freedom when something grabbed my leg. My scream of panic turned to one of pain as the person - what else could wrap their hands around someone's ankles? - dragged me over the jagged edges left of the window. It cut deeply into my stomach before I was dropped back onto my ass. Whimpering and trying to stay as small as possible, I discreetly pick the glass shards from my palms and shredded abdomen.

"Well, I'll be damned."

At the distinctly Cajun accent, NOT a newbie cultist fuck, my head snapped up and reared back at what it saw. Mother fucking Lucas Baker, the fucker himself. Gaping like a fish, I barely notice his father, a grizzled old military man, sidle up to his side.

"Watch this one boy while I get the others."

He nods and doesn't look away from my fallen form. To be fair neither do I. Shock wears off quick enough to see the changes in the two. How Jack looks more zombie than man. Skin a waxy gray color and wisps of hair sticking up from the combover, greasy and filthy. His expression is like a mockery of a human; the skin of his face stretched almost uncomfortably over another. In that second I believed in demon possession and scream as loud as I can.

"RUN! GET OUT OF HERE NOW!"

The frantic calling from beyond the window cut off.

"GO!"

I was rewarded with a filthy boot to the stomach. Probably infecting my dozen or so wounds. Jack grumbles as I gag on the disgusting floor before he marches out of the house, leaving me wounded and winded in front of a man who laughs like a maniac. Sniffling, I peer up through my lashes. While Jack was the most obviously wrong one Lucas didn't look much better, to be honest. He was washed out and pale, dark circles even bigger than mine and all the childish fat in his cheeks gone. The sharp angles and hollows of his face cast demonic shadows across his visage, and my heart skips a beat for all the wrong reasons.

He got closer to the light from the now cleared window pane, narrowing his eyes against the brightness and I finally get a good look at him from under the hood. His hairline has receded some. Way more than most mid 20-year-olds would have. 'Heightened testosterone' I think before moving on. He seemed to have lost even more weight judging by the clothes that hang into his lanky frame. His scruff has grown in, making the hollows a little less scary and a bit more handsome. Not that he is, to be honest. But he has that southern hic look. All sharp facial features and cornflower blue eyes.

He suddenly crouches in front of me, a smirk slowly curving and distorting the face I was so intently studying. In the back of my mind, I detachedly think about how good he'd look with piercings.

"Well hello there."

He purrs around the hello and gets close enough that I can see the tiny popped vessels in his eyes and the maniac gloss of his pretty blues.

"It's just peachy seeing you again."

He giggles like a little girl at the pun while crowding me against the wall. I honestly would rather chew my hand off than allow him to touch my bare skin. But I'm given no choice when he strikes like a cobra slamming me against the wall and ignoring my keen of pain when my head smacks with a wet thunk. The man sits on my lap, trapping my legs and digging a finger into the deepest bloody gash traveling from my navel to my ribs. His contented purrs choke off into another sickly giggle.

"I, you uh, gained a little weight there."

I blush as he pinches the roll of fat before moving on to the rest of my body. My bucking was met with a sucker punch to the face.

"Fucking hold still. Jesus woman you'd think you didn't like it."

I whimper again but don't move. Something is seriously wrong with him. He's never acted this way to me. Not even drunk out of his mind has he ever hit me. Sure, pinched my butt but never assaulted. He hummed a tuneless song before continuing.

"Stopped running, huh? Can't say I miss your body. You were almost like a boy with how skinny you were."

I look away as he brushes against my shapely hips and bust. After years of obsessive exercise and dieting, I seemed to finally grow into the awkward shape my body was forcing itself into. If I look into the mirror, I could admit to seeing a more hourglass figure now, shapely thighs and butt my favorite features. Not with a little casualty as he reminds me by pinching and rubbing my soft stomach and thighs. He snorts when he gets to my shoulders, an ugly sound that sounded like it was caught by a hiccup.

"Still got fucking bull shoulders too, huh?"

I snapped at him before I could hold my tongue.

"Not like you turned out any better, Luc."

He smiled, and I felt colder for it. The door banged open, and he jumped off me like he knew what he was doing was wrong. But he winked in full sight of his father who flops the still bodies of my friends onto the ground. Scrambling on my hands and knees, I check their pulses and breathe in relief. Thank God. Lucas crouches in front of me again, and I watch him wearily. He just spreads his hand in the universal sign of peace before winking again. It burns something in me that wants to set him and this fucking house on fire.

The last thing I remember before seeing black is Lucas's wide glassy eyes and my harsh "sonova bitch!" before Jack's axe handle makes friends with the back of my head. And I sure as fuck didn't see nothing after that. I woke up in a chair, rough rope cutting into my skin, Asha's whimpers loud in my ear like my heartbeat, and the smell of something rotten and sour wafting up my nose. Only one thing missing. My sight. Immediately, I begin to freak out. Of course.

"What? Oh fuck, I can't see! Why the fuck can't I see?!"

Asha began to bawl, and Cathy's soft words attempted to soothe her girlfriend while I felt one of their hands entwine with mine. We're close then, that's a relief. A Cajun accent yelled across what might be a dining room if the scrapes of cutlery say anything.

"Shut up that crying, girl. She ain't dead she'll probably get it back in a day or so."

So they are planning on us being alive that long. A little better than immediate death. Probably. Now that my drowsiness is dropping I can feel the incredible pounding in my skull and feel the sticky sensation of dried blood covering the entire back of my neck and halfway down my back. How hard did that mother fucker hit me?! Biting back a sob I remember being at the Baker's home. It was only a few times, and we mostly spent time in his warehouse making things and watching gory horror movies with junk food. Doesn't help that half the time they were gone to the city for one reason or another leaving us teens on our lonesome. I think they didn't approve of him having such a young friend. Just thinking about the past hurts and I do the thing I haven't done in years. The same thing when he scared me too badly watching Saw, and he described to me in detail how much better he could make the games or when I accidentally stepped on a rusty nail in his workshop the entire length going through and breaking off in my foot. I sobbed his name.

"L-Lu-cas?"

Biting a yelp when a breathless giggle sounded by my ear, I teeter forward in my chair, hand frantically grasping the other.

"I'm already bored. They don't want to be a family, not really. And they're too boring to make them love us. But maybe this one."

I feel the sticky stubs of a child's fingers brush away the curl in my face.

"She likes you, Lucas."

The maniac voice of the child suddenly pitched higher in excitement before clapping needlessly.

"Maybe she can be my big sister and you guys can get married! And start your own family."

The tense air broke before snapping even tighter. The ecstatic screams of a woman didn't leave me guessing who she was. Marguerite Baker. Nicest lady in church and always snuck me some candy when she saw my pouting face. She even gave me freshly baked turnovers when she heard Lucas, and I hit it off, a grateful smile shining brightly. I remember her smelling like flowers and caramelized sugar.

"Oh, Jack! Our baby's getting married, Jack!"

Her chair was thrown back and hers and then another, now recognizable, gruffly amused voice that couldn't belong to anyone but Jack Baker; the handyman of the bayou and all around good fellow. My friends still sobbed as a creaking footstep came closer and closer until it stopped in front of me. He yanked my head back with my blood matted hair and snarled in my ear.

"You really shouldn't have come back."

Oh, baby don't I know it.