Page 14 of Them Bones

All good, man. I like space, too.

Dustin blinked, shifting his weight, totally taken aback. He wished he’d known Shane could Talk like that. He wouldn’t have had to spend six months trying to form the words, trying to tell him he wanted to be his friend.

Shane made quick work of the sandwich, and then took his plate to the sink where he washed it and opened a few cupboards until he found the one with the stacks of mismatched plates.

Dustin frowned. The only ones who cleaned were him and Laney. And if he was being honest, it was mostly Laney. Ma never cleaned, justarrivedanddepartedand left him and Laney to wash, put away, or throw out whatever had been used or broken. Cary said it was Dustin’s job to do the dishes. But he only said it because he knew Dustin didn’t like the feeling of the dirty dishwater on his hands. Cary would hide Dustin’s rubber gloves and stare at him until he did it anyway.

When Cary wasn’t home, Dustin cooked and Laney did all the dishes.

Nobody ever just… helped.

“It’s not a big deal,” Shane said out loud, gesturing to him having cleaned up after himself and drying his hands on a towel. “Least I can do, really.”

Dustin swallowed and beckoned for him to come see his room.

“Whoa,” Shane said as he slowly walked the perimeter. Dustin’s bed was on a small box-frame away from all of the walls, each of which was covered floor to ceiling in drawings.

“Dustin… these are out-fucking-rageous,” Shane breathed.

Dustin shrugged. Laney said they were good but he didn’t really know. He liked making them but didn’t like people looking at them. Ma always scoffed and said he was wasting his cash on art supplies. Cary ignored him. And nobody else had ever seen them. He would have liked to show Miss Nancy, maybe, but he hadn’t seen her again after kindergarten.

“Is this…” his fingers reached out to touch one of the drawings but he seemed to notice Dustin tense up, so he paused before dropping his hand back to his side without touching it. Shane cleared his throat. “Is this Laney?”

Dustin was surprised again. The character didn’t look like Laney at all. NotEveryone ElseLaney. The drawing was Big Laney, a gigantic, metallic blue and green dragon, with flashingred eyes and a horned tail, poised to strike a skinny woman wielding a clipboard like a sword. There were dozens of them – the dragon with its foot on someone’s throat in a grocery store, the dragon smashing a bus stop, the dragon breathing fire from above onto a woman shimmering in the heat, red lips visible through the flames. Shane laughed at the one of the dragon lounging in the sun, accidentally setting a book on fire.

Shane took them all in, studying them, until he paused at one in the corner, partially covered by other drawings.

Can I?he asked.

Okay.

Shane moved a drawing to expose one of another dragon. It was dark grey, much larger than Big Laney, drawn in charcoal instead of paint. Its edges were blurry, as if it were too big for its skin. One eye was facing outward, a glint of white flame visible in his pupil, its expression ruthless and brutally angular. It clutched three faceless blonde boys in his talons and his head was tilted upwards where a stream of cold, blue fire erupted from its mouth illuminating the bleak sky.

Shane swallowed and turned to look at Dustin. They didn’t say anything, out loud or otherwise. But they didn’t have to.

LANEY

By the end of the school day, Laney’s head was ringing. Her eye sockets were pulsing, her vision peppered with strobe lights, and she seriously considered using her last eight bucks to take a taxi so she didn’t have to walk. But she was too antsy to get back to the house to wait for one.

She was grateful they only lived a few blocks from the school as she hustled home and dragged herself up the stairs and into the house.

“Hello?” she called.

She sensed movement, and Dustin appeared around the upstairs corner with a finger pressed to his mouth.

He’s sleeping!

Dustin disappeared back down the hall and she recognized the soft click of his bedroom door. She stumbled into the kitchen, fumbling for the Ibuprofen and swallowing it dry.

She was, without a doubt, concussed.Not the first time. You know the drill.

She needed to sleep. And unable to think clearly, she followed the thread tugging at her from behind her navel, finding herself on the other side of Cary’s bedroom door.

SHANE

Shane awoke slowly, like trying to tune into a bad radio station. There were snippets of waking up - the unfamiliar feeling of a mattress, a mouthwatering smell, a shadow on the wall - but he kept sinking back under like he hadn’t slept in a year. Or half of one, anyway.

When his brain finally started blearily forming actual thoughts and realized the lump he’d wrapped his arm aroundwasn’ta pillow, the first coherent words in his head wereI’m fucking fucked.

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