Page 17 of Bottoms
At least it wouldn’t take me forever to open them with the crappy wrap job.
The box was plain and brown, void of any markings to give a clue to what was inside. My heartbeat quickened in my chest, and I felt my forehead start to heat. I couldn’t tell if I had a panic attack about opening the damn box or if my fucked-up body was about to be hit with another wave of pain.
I closed my eyes and breathed in slowly through my nose. Letting my mind seek out the pain inside me to see what hurt the most. The deep pull of air filled my lungs, and my body relaxed slightly. At least it was nerves. Those I could handle.
“Do you have a knife to open the box?” I asked, looking up to Fynn now that I was back in control.
He moved towards me, his hand reaching into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a pocketknife. With the flick of his wrist, the blade came free, showcasing a curved blade. It looked like a raptor’s claw. He offered me the handle after spinning the knife quickly in his large hand.
My fingers wrapped around the handle, but he didn’t release the blade. Our skin was nearly touching, and I felt the short hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I had only begun to recognize the strange current dancing between our skin like the licking flames of dying fire. Something about Fynn drew me in, making me feel content in my imprisonment, when I should have been clawing to get away.
I looked at Fynn, his blue eyes staring back at me through a curtain of dirty blond hair. He didn’t seem to have the eyes of a crazy killer; his gaze was soft and exhausted. Like a traveler finally returning home after an extended trip.
When I pulled the blade towards me, his palm opened just enough to allow the edge to slide across his skin without cutting him. Our gazes never parted until I felt the heavily curved tip of the blade dip towards the floor when it was only me and gravity holding onto the knife.
The thick air of tension snapped like a rubber band, and my mind came back online. I hastily grabbed the present and cut the tape apart, forcing my mind to worry about what was inside rather than contemplate our little exchange.
“I don’t hear any storytelling,” I said, my hands paused on the open flaps of the box.
“What I want, when I want Nessa,” Fynn said, making my hairs stand again as he used my nickname in a way that felt all too familiar.
I peered inside the box, trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside before I opened it. Whatever it was, it seemed small compared to the vast empty space around it. Curiosity took hold of my movements as I peeled away the cardboard blockades to better look at the object.
Light from the twinkling tree reflected from the small, familiar necklace nestled inside the box. It was the same one that was on my bedroom desk in Bottoms. One I had thought was from Tanner.
6
Making Graves
Fynn
20 Years Ago
“Colt,guesswhatdayit is!” I exclaimed as I burst into the clubhouse.
We have made a lot of changes to it through the years. It was one of many garages owned by Colten’s dad. Once his dad skipped out with Tanner’s mom, the vintage cars inside were left to collect dust. We took over this building as our headquarters, and Colten’s mom didn’t seem to mind.
“You have got to stop stealing his shit. He’s going to blame it on Tanner again,” Colt snipped, pushing his thick black glasses up his nose.
“Dad just taught me how to kill someone and make it look like a heart attack. I think Daddy Ryland is almost at that age,” I mused, coming to sit down on my favorite spinning chair. I flung the discreet envelope we knew contained a nude magazine onto the workbench. “Don’t ruin nudie magazine day, dude.”
“Tanner’s only thirteen. He can’t be an orphan at thirteen,” Colt said slowly, like he needed it to sink into my brain.
Colt needed to relax. I was only joking. Mostly.
“Worked out well enough for Batman,” I shrugged, smiling when Colt clenched his jaw.
The door to the garage opened, and Tanner strode in. His hair, a mop of nearly black, hung in his eyes. His back was always straight, and his gaze was firmly fixed ahead. Like his gaze was set on the future. A bit odd for a gangly kid, but I shrugged. Knowing that we would get to see the real Tanner once his babysitter left. He was just a scared little boy that missed his mommy.
“Look, he even has an Alfred,” I laughed. Pointing at Mike as he followed Tanner inside, the always familiar shadow. Mike glared at me, and I flipped him off. It was our little way of saying hello. He loved it.
“Your father has several important meetings today. I would advise you to stay with your friends until dinner,” Mike said, looking at Tanner. Mike always used a harsh tone, but he always looked at Tanner in the way Daddy Ryland should have.
“Tanner can have dinner with me tonight, sir,” Colt said. Using far more respect in his tone than I would ever waste on hired help. Once the money was gone, so was the loyalty.
Mike nodded sharply. “I will let Mr. Ryland know not to expect Tanner for dinner,” he said before disappearing through the doorway. Leaving us to get down to business without his nosey ass like he did when we were little kids.
“I thought we were doing dinner and hand-to-hand combat at my house tonight?” I asked Colt with a raised eyebrow.
