Decompose: A Psychological Thriller by Layne Deemer

Author:Layne Deemer [Deemer, Layne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-09T16:00:00+00:00

Every square inch of the dinner table is practically covered in food. Two huge trays of baked ziti sit on matching hot plates in the center. A large bowl of salad greens is perched directly in front of Frank, and a slightly smaller bowl of homemade applesauce rests in front of me. A covered basket of garlic bread is the first to make the rounds. Frank takes a piece and hands it off to Wyatt, who stalls for what feels like forever. He’s always loved my garlic bread, but he’s very picky about what kind of piece he wants. Not too brown, but not too light. Just enough butter and heavy on the garlic. Once he’s found the perfect piece, he leans across the table and sets the basket in front of Gertie. She huffs dramatically, but he just snickers. Younger brothers are so much fun sometimes.

She makes her selection quickly and passes the basket to Reed, who happens to be sitting next to me. He looks at her and then at me, clearly confused as to why I was skipped over.

I smile at him. “I’m told I make a mean garlic bread, but I’m not a fan of garlic so I never eat it.”

“Huh.” His eyebrows jut down slightly like he thinks my admission is odd. And then he turns his attention back to the bread in front of him. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. I have to say, when Gertie introduced us, his appearance took me by surprise. She hasn’t brought many boys home, but the ones she has invited here have all had a similar look. They’re clean cut with hair gelled in place and they usually wear clothing with an air of wealth, something that isn’t odd around here considering Whispering Woods is a more affluent neighborhood.

Reed doesn’t seem to fit that mold at all. He doesn’t fit any mold, for that matter. He’s not a slight boy. I was wrong to picture him that way, but Gertie mentioned he was shy, and for some reason I always equate timidness with physical size. I imagined him to be small in stature, possibly even shorter than she is. Not only is he not shorter, he towers over her—almost comically. He’s broad chested with a muscular build, one that comes with effort. His hands are large and rough in a way that suggests he’s used to hard labor. His midnight hair is loose and free, falling in front of his face. He runs his hands through it, absentmindedly pushing it out of his eyes. Eyes that are the color of a swimming pool in the sunlight. The first time they looked my way, I was struck by their effervescent quality and the hint of danger I saw lurking in their depths. I can’t get a read on this kid, but something tells me there’s even more to him than what I see before me. He hasn’t been overly rude. Actually, by some standards, he hasn’t been rude at all unless you count silence as rude, which I normally do.

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