The Jackals by Adam Shaw

Author:Adam Shaw [Shaw, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Adam Shaw

SIXTEEN

I’ve just finished packing my bags when Beth and Kenny get home.

“Jack? Brian? You guys all right?”

Brian, who’s been washing paint off his face for the better part of half an hour, yells back at them. “S.A.M.,” he says. Apparently, we’re at the point now where that’s all that’s needed.

Rob asked me if I can come in first thing tomorrow to discuss the Director of Strategic Initiatives gig. He reminded me that we “haven’t stayed connected” and that it’s been over a week since we’ve talked, and all I can think about is how that means it’s been over a week since I found out Mark died. Nevertheless, I told him I’d be there, because that’s what you do when your CEO asks you to come in and discuss your new promotion.

I’m hit with momentary panic from time to time, worrying that what Lauren suggested—that by coming here, I’d screw it all up—is true, then remember to slow down. Breathe. Rob was cool with this, and he hasn’t reached out before today.

I grab a couple shirts off the floor and sniff them to see if they need washed. They smell good enough, but one is covered in grass stains from our night at the park, and the other has a fading yellow stain near the collar that looks like beer, so I stuff both in my bag, zip it up, and throw it over my shoulder. Mark’s place doesn’t have a washer or dryer, so even if this talk with Rob doesn’t go well, at least I can do some laundry while I’m home.

Worst-case scenario, I guess there’s a small victory in that.

I start to walk upstairs, then pause and turn around. The basement’s as dingy as ever. Light creeps in from the two windows near the ceiling and shines across the room in fat stripes that make it look like a prison cell. In between them are clothes, sheets, empty beer cans, a few half-packed boxes, and our laser tag equipment. As much as the grossness of it makes my stomach churn, I’m sad to leave it. My bed’s more comfortable, sure, and Lauren would never let the house turn into this, but this place, the posters, the grossness, the behemoth of a tube TV, it feels like home.

This is a strange feeling, liking life in Lafayette, so I shake it out of my head, turn back around, and walk upstairs. When I get there, Brian, Kenny, and Beth are all in the kitchen, and they turn to look at me as if they coordinated the movement. Their eyes are wide, and a nervous lump develops in my throat, making me suddenly feel like I’m about to be interrogated.

And, of course, the questions come.

“What happened to your neck?” Kenny asks.

“What are you doing?” Beth follows.

I hold my fingers to where the paintball smacked me. I’d forgotten I was hit. The skin’s warm, and touching it starts a new trickle of aches. “S.A.M.,” I tell them. “And, I have to go.

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