Page 20 of Long Way Down

Titus wiped a big hand down his face, gaze trained on the still-open doorway. “Me either, man. But whoever did it needs gutting.”

On that, they agreed. “Any idea who ‘Davey’ is?”

“Nah. Not a clue.”

Pongo nodded. “I’ll ask around.”

He stood a long moment out on the sidewalk after he walked out, finishing his coffee and watching the sunrise in the dingy windows across the way. Every time he blinked, he saw words in blood-black scabs. A message.

Atribute.

Five

“We’re not supposed to go.”

Ivy finished buckling her shoe and stood up with a dramatic hair flip, hands landing on her hips as she looked down at Melissa with weary disappointment stamped across every inch of her face. “We weren’t supposed to go last time, but you came along anyway.”

“Yeah, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

Melissa fisted the hem of her t-shirt and wrung it between her fingers, stomach tight with anxiety. “BeforePastor Keithsaid he wouldn’t tell.” She didn’t know why she’d whispered his name, since it was only the two of them here in the kitchen, but it had seemed appropriate.

Ivy stood up straighter. “FuckPastor Keith,” she said, with great feeling, and Melissa gasped. Of all the bad words she wasn’t allowed to say, that was the worst.

Ivy smiled, pleased and proud of herself. “Yeah, fuck him,” she said again. “He can’t tell me what to do. I’m going. You stay here if you’re too much of afuckingbaby.”

Melissa let her get out the door and down the back steps before she snatched her hat off the back of a kitchen chair and followed at a run. “Wait for me! Ivy, wait!”

Last time, it had been an aimless stroll, Ivy huffing with annoyance each time Melissa stopped to add a new bug to the little wood-and-wire cage she’d carried on a strap around her neck. This time, without cage or net, Melissa had to hurry to keep up. Ivy seemed to have a goal in mind, taking long strides with her head up, not even distracted by the snake and sleeping screech owl Melissa pointed out to her.

It was noon, the sun beaming down through the gaps in the canopy, pockets of intense heat that seemed to scorch her skin each time she passed through one. The cicadas chorused so loud it was hard to hear her own thoughts. Squirrels leaped from branch to branch overhead, but if they barked in annoyance, the insect noise drowned them out.

The shack came into view, and Melissa finally caught Ivy by the back of the shirt.

Ivy whirled. “What?” Her nostrils were flared, her brow furrowed, jaw set.

Melissa released her, shocked by her expression, but she refused to back away. “What if he’s in there? What if he catches us?”

“Then I’ll punch him right in the balls,” Ivy declared, turned, and marched forward.

Melissa followed, heart in her throat.

Ivy’s march slowed, though, as she approached the door. She was tip-toeing, really, when she reached it and tested the knob, an old, tarnished brass circle with lichen growing from the keyhole at its center. It turned easily, though, in Ivy’s hand, and the door glided soundlessly in when she pushed it.

Melissa stood frozen just beneath the eave, watching the shadows within swallow her cousin, knees weak as cooked noodles. She wanted to run, but she didn’t want to runalone.

All of Ivy’s many taunts over the years were the deciding factor. She refused to bePissy Missy. Face screwed up into a determined scowl, shoulders thrown as far back as she could get them, she took a deep breath and stepped into the shack, ignoring the hard knock of her pulse.

It was cool inside. Stuffy, yes, with the windows and door shut until moments before, but blessedly cool compared to the temperature outside. Melissa blinked until her vision adjusted, and was surprised to find that the interior wasn’t as ramshackle as the exterior. The floor was dirt, but Ivy had left prints amidst fresh rake marks; the rake itself hung on a rack on the back wall, alongside an assortment of other tools. Beneath, a line of small, silver trash cans with lids, and a plastic cooler; disassembled folding chairs leaning against the clean wall boards.

A table stood in the center of the shack, its surface shiny and soft-looking, scarred from use, freshly scrubbed. Ivy had walked around to the far side of it, and trailed her fingertips along its surface, tracing the loops and whorls of the woodgrain.

Melissa turned in a slow circle to survey the rest. She spotted crawfish traps, and stacks of buckets. A row of cabinets just beneath the open beams of the ceiling, too high for her to have reached without a stool. A coil of rope hung on a peg by the door.

“Do you think somebody lives here?” Melissa asked, voice hushed. If someone did live here, or if Pastor Keith was lurking around, she didn’t want to be overheard.

“No, stupid. There’s not even a bathroom.”

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