Page 4 of God of War

He angles his body away from me and tosses the empty soda bottle into the air. Right before I think it’s going to smash on the pavement, he kicks out with his boot and rockets the thing into the street. The bottle is plastic; I hear it ping off the curb and it skitters into the gutter.

“You shouldn’t litter.”

“You shouldn’t sneak around people’s houses.”

Part of me wants to shrink away. I hear the angry edge to his voice and usually that’s followed by other stuff — stuff that hurts and leaves bruises. But today I’m surprisingly brave. Maybe it’s because he’s already marked me. He could have done a lot worse to me last night, but he didn’t.

I survived.

I purse my lips and prop my hands on my hips.

“This isn’t your house. It’s hers.”

“S’mine, now,” he says with a shrug. “She gave it to me.”

“No, she didn’t.”

He huffs and arcs one of his sandy eyebrows. “I’m not playing this game with you, kid. Get outta here. Go home before someone calls the cops.”

My stomach lurches. He wouldn’t call the cops on me. Would he? I stumble back and I think my face must go pale or something, because he frowns like he’s worried about me.

I go back across the street. My front door is so close. Just one more house down. I can see the driveway from here and it’s empty — both Mama and Daddy are gone, even though Mama still doesn’t have a day job yet.

I feel that tug again, the one deep in my belly, and it forces me to turn back to the guy at the old lady’s house.

He’s still watching me, hands planted on his hips.

I have to know. I don’t know why… I just have to.

“Is she dead?”

A few seconds pass. The guy looks around, up and down the street, and then he jogs over to me. I stumble back, onto Mrs. Ullmer’s front grass (even though she yells at everyone who walks on it).

“Shit,” the guy mumbles, almost to himself, and he takes a big step back. He bends down on one knee. His frown is even deeper. Why the heck is he so worried?

“She’s not dead, kid,” he says. “She moved to a retirement home down south. She’s my grandma.”

“Oh.”

Retirement home. Yeah. That makes sense. More sense than her lying dead under a stack of old newspapers.

“What’s your name? She never said she had a little friend.”

“She doesn’t,” I reply sharply, a bit offended at being called little. “I don’t talk to strangers.”

“We’re not strangers?” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I… This is different,” I say with a sigh. “I had to make sure.”

“That she wasn’t dead.”

“Right.”

I’ve been out here too long. Someone should be home soon. I want to get inside. Away from the old lady’s house. Away from him.

He cocks his head to the side. “What’s your name?”

I clamp my lips shut.

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