Boneyard (The Thaumaturge Series Book 2) by Matthews Cal

Author:Matthews, Cal [Matthews, Cal]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2016-05-25T04:00:00+00:00

The Cutlass sat boxed in between two big Ford trucks, the one on the driver’s side parked so close that I had to squeeze my ass past the side mirror. The car now smelled of bleach and lemon scented cleaning wipes and when I turned up the heat, the smell intensified. I rolled down the window and turned onto the street. Gray skies loomed overhead. The buildings I passed looked small. I saw no one on the street. Heckerson felt empty and lonely and dark.

My life felt like a series of cluttered rooms, like I constantly just waded from one mess to another. Maybe I could be one of those people who compartmentalized, I thought as I headed past the rows of mailboxes leading to my Mom’s house. I didn’t need to think about everything at once. Box one—dead bodies in my bathroom. Don’t think about it, it’s being handled. Box two—bad news lawyer asking questions. Pack it up, man. Box three—Cody possibly thought that I was evil and now there was a creepy priest sniffing around. Yeah, that one was definitely going on the back shelf. Closed up with heavy duty packing tape. At least I can't get arrested for being an unnatural sodomite. The march of progress continues. Box four—annoyingly pushy cop. At the moment, Chad was the least of my worries. Body snatching investigation? Did that warrant its own box? I’d toss it in box one and then ignore them both until they went away.

The unpaved road up to my Mom’s hadn’t been plowed and the Cutlass bumped and rocked over the snow drifts. My truck sat alone by the garage and no other cars were in the yard. I breathed a sigh of relief. Mom would be at work, stripping sheets down at the motel. Lloyd probably was down at the Knights of Columbus Hall, watching football and throwing back highballs.

The dogs trotted beside the Cutlass as I inched it up to the garage. “Hi, guys,” I said when I hopped out to open the door. I scratched their ears, their wiggling butts. Porky, my Mom’s lumpy, geriatric blue heeler, hopped up into the Cutlass and I let him stay there, perched in the passenger’s seat while I backed the car into the garage.

I let myself into the house and set the key fob down on the kitchen counter. I hadn’t been alone in the house in years and it felt weird, how quiet it was, how still. The furnace hummed in the background, but my footsteps sounded very loud as I clomped down the stairs to my childhood bedroom. The bedspread looked thin and flat. A thick layer of dust covered the dresser and the old CRT television set. I’d spent so much of my teenage years alone in this room, so often scared of, both of what I was and what I was learning I could do. The first time Leo had kissed me had been in this room.

I went back outside and scanned the snow-covered trees.

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