The drive home is luckily quick, my mind too occupied to enjoy the scenery. I drop off Dustin's stolen library books, exchanging many apologies to Ms. Waldon, before heading back to the truck. When I pull into the driveway, I frown, noticing that Dustin's bike is not propped up against the house like I expected it to be.
I step inside the house, the eerie silence greeting me. I can't shake the feeling that something is off, but I push the thought aside and remind myself that Dustin is right – I am just being paranoid. The more I read about the tadpoles, the more I can see Dustin's point, maybe this is a new species. Hawkins, Indiana's own terrestrial pollywog. I close the door behind me, locking out my unsettling thoughts along with the cool autumn air.
But, I'm going to kill Dustin, I think to myself, wondering why he is not home when I asked him to be.
I toss my keys onto the kitchen counter, opening the pantry for some kind of snack, my mind drifting to my date with Billy and what he has planned for the evening. The phone rings shrilly, breaking the silence, and I jump slightly at the sound, my heart skipping a beat. I grab the receiver, half-expecting it to be Dustin with whatever loaded excuse he can think of, but instead, I'm met with a voice that instantly sends a different kind of unease through me.
"Lace, it's your dad."
I grip the receiver tighter, my knuckles turning white as I try to mask the surprise – and awkwardness – that floods through me. I try to remember the last time I talked to him, usually avoiding his evening phone calls as best as I can, and realize that it's been a few weeks since I've heard his voice live, not on a voicemail.
"Hi dad," I say, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. "What's up?"
There's a pause on the other end, just long enough to make the silence uncomfortable before he finally speaks. "I just wanted you to know I'll be coming down this weekend. I need to get some of my things out of the basement."
"Oh," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral, but the awkwardness is thick between us. Mom and I had packed everything he left into boxes and placed them in the basement. Anything that reminded him of us sat collecting dust in there and I didn't really feel bad about it, but now I wondered what he would think when he saw it. It's been a long time since he left, but somehow, the idea of him coming back to collect his things feels like another goodbye. He should be coming back for us, not his old trophies. "Okay, um… sure."
He hesitates again, as if he's trying to think of something else to say, but he struggles to find the words. I sigh, knowing that when all else fails, we always have sports.
"I think the tennis team is going to the finals again," I tell him, my voice sounding forced even to me.
"That's great, honey," he says and I know he means it, but there's a wide distance in our conversation, a crack that I don't think we can mend. There's so many things I want to say to him, but don't even know how to begin.
The front door opens and Dustin comes rushing in, throwing his backpack down, running past me. "Sorry, sorry!" he whispers frantically, pressing his hands in a pleading position as he slides past me.
I kick at him, pressing the receiver to my shoulder so dad can't hear us. "What part of 'come straight home' didn't make sense?" I hiss, listening to dad's muffled voice still talking about tennis.
"I'll explain," he says, swatting at my kicks, "but let me go check Dart first."
I lift the receiver back to my ear, our dad utterly clueless to what we are up to. I try to imagine what this situation might look like if he never left. If Dustin would have been able to hide Dart at all if he had two parents present instead of just my mom and me. The thought almost brings me comfort, imagining us as a family of four again, and momentarily – I miss him.
But his voice brings me back to the reality of my quiet, broken home, where it feels like Dustin and I are the only two who exist here and the anger I feel towards him rushes back. "Alright, well. I'll see you this weekend," Dad finally says, his tone indicating that the conversation is over.
"We'll be here," I respond, quickly hanging up the phone, and releasing a breath I didn't realize I was holding, the awkwardness lingering in the air even after the call ends. Will we always be strangers or will I find a way to believe in my dad again?
I move through the kitchen, pulling out Mews' bowl and cat food, cracking the can and waiting for the familiar patter of his soft feet across the floor. When he doesn't appear, I set the bowl down on the floor and call for him, "Mews! Here kitty!"
But I'm greeted by silence, the uneasy feeling returning. I call out for Mews again, hoping for a familiar meow, but it's just deafening silence that answers me.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoes down the hallway, causing my heart to leap into my throat. "Lacy!" Dustin's frantic shout follows and I'm running down the hallway, my earlier unease turning into full-blown panic.
The first thing I notice is blood. Fresh and sticky on the floor, on the chair in the corner of Dustin's room, splattered up the wall. My hands reach out for my brother, yanking him towards me to see where he's hurt, but Dustin is fine, his eyes wide with shock and guilt. Dustin is suddenly grabbing me, angling me so I'm facing the tank. It takes my mind a moment to realize that the glass is broken, realize that Dart is loose in Dustin's room.
"Where?" I ask, my voice a little hoarse, but I'm reaching behind me, holding onto Dustin's arm.
"Behind the chair," he says. We move together as one, slowly, gripping each other like the other might disappear before our eyes.
Dart is there, the size of a small dog, low guttural sounds coming from him. I can't quite make-out what he's devouring until I recognize the tuft of orange fur and my heart sinks – it's Mews. Dart, sensing us, turns and I am unprepared for what happens next. Dart is crouching like a loaded spring, defensive, but when he – it – opens his mouth I feel my knees buckle. Dart's mouth opens like petals of a flower, rows and rows of teeth filling the space around a large gaping hole. I feel my jaw drop, the inhale of my breath, but Dustin's hand is over my mouth, covering the scream and pulling me back out the bedroom door and into the hallway.
Dustin slams the door shut and I cover my own mouth to contain the hysteria, not trusting myself to speak. Dustin slides down the wall, sitting on the floor with a thoughtful expression, ignoring me completely. I study him, wondering when my brother became brave in the face of danger, calm in tense situations, and I take a deep breath to settle my nerves.
"Mom's going to kill us," I finally manage to say, wiping my eyes with the back of my wrist, not realizing that I had started crying, "how are we going to get the blood out of the carpet?"
Dustin snaps a look at me, a bemused expression on his face. "There's a mutant in my bedroom and you're worried about the blood in the carpet?"
I nod my head, feeling my own smile begin to form. Dustin and I laugh, leaning against each other, for just a moment of calm. "We have to get Dart into the closet," Dustin finally says, nodding his head like he's talking to himself.
"Accordion doors," I point out, pretending like I'm opening them, "we won't be able to lock it."
"Jump rope?" he asks, and I picture how we can tie the jump rope between the handles. It could work, but I worry about the slack if Dart presses against the doors.
"And then we push the dresser against the doors." I say, meeting Dustin's eyes as he nods.
"It'll work for the night," he agrees, "and then tomorrow we do what?"
"I don't know," I admit, shaking my head, because I really don't know "but we'll figure something out."
"How are we going to get Dart into the closet?" Dustin asks, and I press my lips together, feeling my brain run through a million scenarios at once.
"Do you think he's still hungry?"
Dustin and I stand in front of his door ready to face Dart together. I have a bowl full of raw ground beef mom defrosted for dinner this weekend in one hand and my tennis racket in the other. Dustin is holding onto the jump rope, glancing questionably at the tennis racket.
"What are you going to do with that?" he asks, the hint of a smile on his face.
"What if he doesn't take the bait?" I shrug, my racket feeling heavier in my hand than I'm used to.
"So, what?" Dustin continues, "You're going to dropshot him into the closet?"
"You got any better ideas?" I ask and Dustin shakes his head, tightening his grip on the tennis racket. "Then let's get this over with."
Dustin pushes the door open cautiously, and we both slip inside, moving as one unit. The room is dim, lit only by the fading light filtering through the curtains. My eyes dart to the corner where Dart is hunched over, his back facing us. He's still gnawing on what's left of Mews, the sight causing a wave of nausea to rise in my throat.
"Stick to the plan," I whisper, my voice barely audible. My grip tightens on the tennis racket as I inch sideways toward the closet, my movements slow and deliberate. Dustin gives a small nod, his face pale but determined, and starts crinkling the candy bar wrapper, the sound startlingly loud in the silence.
"Hey, buddy," Dustin calls out softly, his voice trembling slightly. Dart pauses, his head jerking up at the noise. For a moment, he stays perfectly still, as if assessing the situation. My heart hammers in my chest as I gently open the closet doors, keeping my movements slow to avoid drawing Dart's attention.
Dart's body shifts, and I freeze, holding my breath. He sniffs the air, his low growl reverberating through the room. He takes a tentative step toward Dustin, his eyes locked on the candy bar. I can see the tension in Dustin's posture, his muscles coiled as if ready to spring into action at any moment.
I edge closer to the closet, each step deliberate and silent. As I open the doors, I keep my movements slow and controlled, careful not to draw Dart's attention. The bowl of ground beef scrapes against the floor, a sound that seems to echo in the stillness. Dart's head whips toward me, and for a split second, I'm frozen. But then his attention snaps back to Dustin, and I breathe again.
But then Dart turns back to Dustin, seemingly more interested in the candy. Dustin's voice trembles slightly as he tosses the candy bar into the closet. I catch a glimpse of his hands – they're shaking, just like mine. But there's a determination in his eyes that I've never seen before. Something that tells me he's ready to do whatever it takes.
"Come on, come on," I silently urge, gripping the racket so tightly my knuckles turn white. Dart's muscles ripple as he crouches low, his eyes fixed on the candy bar. He's just a few feet from the closet now, his movements slow and deliberate as if he senses the trap.
Suddenly, Dart's head snaps back to Dustin, his jaws parting in that horrifying, flower-like bloom of teeth. With a guttural snarl, he leaps, his body a blur of motion.
"Now!" Dustin shouts.
My body moves on instinct, the tennis racket whipping through the air with a force that surprises even me. The racket connects with Dart mid-leap, the impact sending him tumbling into the closet. He hits the back wall with a thud, momentarily stunned.
"Get the doors!" Dustin yells, already moving. He's off the bed in a flash, slamming the accordion doors shut before Dart can recover. My hands shake as I scramble for the jump rope, my fingers fumbling, the rough fabric scraping against my palms as I desperately try to tie it tight enough, The sound
"Hurry, Lacy!" Dustin's voice is urgent, his eyes wide with panic as he leans his weight against the doors, trying to keep them shut.
"I'm trying!" I gasp, finally managing to secure the rope tight enough that the doors barely budge when Dart rams against them. We both push the dresser in front of the doors, the effort exhausting but necessary. The sound of the dresser's feet dragging across the floor sends a jolt through me, every scrape amplified in the silence. Dart's claws scratch frantically against the doors, before slamming his whole body against the barricade, but the doors hold, keeping Dart contained.
We collapse onto the floor, our breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, we just sit there, the reality of what we've just done sinking in. Dart is contained, at least for now. I meet Dustin's eyes, and in that instant, we share the same thought – we did it.
"Lacy," Dustin breathes, his voice shaky but filled with something close to awe.
"Yeah?" I manage, still trying to catch my breath.
"You're kind of a badass," he says, a small, shaky smile on his face.
I let out a breathless laugh, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "You too."
"We have to clean this up, though," Dustin comments, gesturing toward the blood and Mews' poor corpse.
We work in silence, the gravity of the situation pressing down on us. The scent of bleach and raw meat mingles in the air, a nauseating combination that only adds to the chaos. Dart's claws scrape against the floor, a sharp, grating sound that sets my nerves on edge. Every noise, every moment feels amplifies, as if the entire room has shrunk to the size of Dustin's room.
I drop to my knees and scrub the floor, the bloodstains stubbornly refusing to disappear. Each smear of red feels like a stain in my memory, a mark of the chaos that has taken over our lives. I blink back tears, my vision burning as I fight to hold it together. It's not just the mess or Mews – it's everything.
Dustin's quiet voice pulls me from my thoughts, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. "Lacy, I'm sorry," he whispers. I stare at my brother, his guilt evident in the way his shoulders slump, the way his hands tremble as picks up the box with what's left of Mews.
I freeze, my hands stilling on the towel. For a moment, I can't speak, only being able to nod, but for a brief second, our roles feel reversed—like I'm the one who needs reassurance that everything will be okay and I'm not sure I can live with that.
"It's not your fault," I finally manage, my voice cracking, "but most little brothers would bring home a stray dog."
Dustin nods, smiling slightly. There's still a haunted, guilty look in his eyes, that tells me that my words haven't fully reached him. We finish cleaning up in a tense silence, the only sounds are the soft rustling of paper towels and the rhythmic sounds of brush against the floor.
When we're done, we collapse in the living room, our breathing heavy. The house is quiet again, but it's a different kind of quiet now – one that brings me some comfort rather than fear. Dustin flips on the tv, the blue light filling the room as he flips through the channels looking for a movie.
"Should we order a pizza?" I ask, watching the channels mindlessly.
"Pepperoni, please." he says with a grateful nod.
I roll off the couch, but in the distinct rumble of an engine at the end of the driveway, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound. For a moment, I freeze, the thought of who it can be sending a rush of panic through me.
"Oh shit," I gasp, rushing towards the kitchen window. Dustin is on his feet following me, his face draining of color when he recognizes my panic. "Oh shit," I repeat, ducking under the window sill when Billy steps out of his car.
I grab Dustin, yanking him down to the ground with me. "I forgot about my date," I whisper, a sense of dread washing over me. I look over my brother, noticing the blood on his clothes, the messy hair, the overwhelming smell of bleach radiating off of him.
"Do I look like that?" I ask, running my hands through my hair and pulling at the collar of my sweatshirt.
"You look like shit," Dustin nods, his honestly cutting through my rising hysteria. Suddenly the weight of everything – Dart, Mews, the mess, the date – feels like it's about to crush me..
Billy's knock raps across the front door and I shake my head, gripping Dustin a little tighter. "Do not answer that door," I snap, feeling the edge of panic in my voice.
"Lacy," Dustin whispers, "you have to go on your date."
"What?" I ask, flinching when Billy knocks again, harder this time. "What about Dart? What about you?"
"If Dart hasn't broken out by now, he's not getting out. Besides, mom'll be home in a few hours. I'll make her order me a pizza." He stands up, forcing me to my feet with surprising strength. "Answer the door or I will."
I nod, but my movements feel sluggish, like I'm wading through quicksand. My hands are trembling, and I force myself to take a deep breath before opening the door, trying to compose myself.
Billy is leaning against the porch, his cocky smirk disappearing almost instantly as he takes in my disheveled appearance. His eyes widen, a flash of concern crossing his features before he quickly masks it with his usual smirk. For a split second, I think I see something softer in his gaze, something almost like worry, But then it's gone, replaced by that confident glint I'm so used to.
"Is that blood?" Billy asks, his voice a mix of confusion and concern.
My mind races for an excuse, but Dustin comes to my rescue, stepping beside me with the most innocent expression he can muster. "Ketchup volcanoes," he says with a nod, "messy business."
"I'm not a great lab partner," I agree, forcing a smile onto my face.
Billy's eyes narrow, clearly skeptical, but Dustin's earnestness seems to throw him off. He glances between the two of us, then back at the house, before exhaling. "Do you still want to go out?" he asks awkwardly, like he isn't sure how to progress from here.
I can tell by the look on his face that I have to be the first girl that has ever forgotten about a date with him, but he doesn't seem upset or angry – in fact his eyes are studying me like I'm the most interesting thing he's ever seen.
"I can be ready in ten," I say, the tension slowly easing from my shoulders.
"Take your time," Billy replies, leaning back against the porch railing, but then he tilts his head, the smirk returning confidently. "But give me your keys first."
"Why?" I ask, lifting my brows in suspicion.
"You think I'm going to drive off with that piece of shit?" he jokes, but there's a mischievous glint to his eyes. When I don't hand over the keys right away, Billy chuckles, shaking his head. "Let me pop the hood, so I can see the damage before I get behind the wheel of this thing."
I roll my eyes, but his teasing helps dispel the lingering anxiety in my chest. With a resigned sigh, I toss him the keys, and he catches them with ease, his smirk widening.
"Be kind," I warn, crossing my arms as I watch him step off the porch. Now that he's walking away, I feel the exhaustion settle into my bones. My muscles ache, my head throbs, and all I want to do is collapse.
Billy tosses a grin over his shoulder towards me, "No promises, Henderson." The lightness in his tone lifting me for the first time in hours, reassuring the idea that maybe things will eventually be okay.