Page 30 of Together We Rot

My nightly escapades never sound that great coming from other people. “Something like that, yeah. You wouldn’t have noticed, though. I’m stealthy when I want to be. Have you ever seen me taking photos before?”

Luckily, I’m too busy rummaging under the bed to see his reaction. I’m sure his eyes have popped right out of his skull.

“Wil, are you trying to tell me you’ve been stalking me? Wait, I thought I saw something in the bushes two weeks ago. I thought you were a raccoon.”

“Eh, honest mistake.” The space under my bed is packed with shit. It doesn’t matter, though. I know exactly where my box of evidence is. It used to hold size 7 Skechers, but now it’s home to a million incriminating photos. “You’re a boring guy to stalk, Elwood.”

“I’m... sorry?”

“You should be, but don’t worry, my Saturdays weren’t all wasted.” I dump the contents of the box beside him, and he jumps. Hundreds of blurry photos of his family spread across my duvet, and I gotta say, it looks pretty damning together like this.

“Holy sh—” He stops himself with a bite of his lip.

“Were you about to say shit?” I snort. “I’ve never heard you curse. Kinda assumed you had some parental-control chip in your brain.”

I expect him to squawk and squabble, but when he doesn’t do anything, I’m forced to shift gears. The humor drains right out. “Okay, okay, it’s not the most ethical thing I’ve done. God. Don’t look at me like that, Clarke. I never peeked into your windows or anything.” Both of our faces burn crimson at that and I swat the idea away. “All of these were taken from the outside. Your father sacrificing animals in the woods, your mother wearing Mom’s jewelry, your dad walking into the church and literally never coming out one night. The next morning he was back at your house. I swear to God I didn’t fall asleep, but—”

“And this one?” Elwood asks, his fingers deftly lifting the one photo I should’ve burned. “Give me that.” No amount of slapping my face will beat away this blush, but I’m determined to try when he lifts it out of my reach. If my face gets any hotter, the Smokey Bear fire danger sign outside is going to have to be bumped up to “high.”

“I didn’t mean to take this one. Give it back.”

Elwood’s photo captures a rare smile. Genuine and blooming wider in the summer breeze.

He’d been sitting outside of his house by his mother’s garden, and in true Disney Princess fashion, there’d been butterflies fluttering overhead... and if I’d liked the way the afternoon glow settled upon his skin, that’s my business, not his.

He can be frustrating when he wants to be. “How long were you watching me?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” I quip, and this might only embarrass me further, but I’m bringing out the big guns here. There’s another shoebox I’ve kept under my bed. One I should’ve parted with, but never had the heart to. I dredge it out in the open, and by God, does it work like a charm.

“Y-you kept all of this?” he stammers.

My own face stares back a thousand times; I exist on torn parchment paper, notebook margins, and the crinkly expanse of a napkin. Elwood left these little doodles for me like cats offering fresh kills to their owners.

“Evidently.” I swallow. “You think you would have gotten tired of sketching me over and over again. How many different ways can you draw greasy hair and a permanent scowl?”

He opens and closes his mouth like an airborne fish. I wait for him to deny any of it, but he doesn’t breathe a word. What did I expect—him to sing my praises? Have some flattering, wonderful reason for drawing me so damn much? I was the only person who talked to him for years at school. Obviously I’d be his only muse. It’s not like it meant anything else.

I kick the box aside and if I’m being honest with myself—which I rarely ever am—it stings more than it should.

“Whatever. We’re not here to talk about that or the stupid photo in your hand. We’re here to talk about your lunatic father.” I thumb one photo off the top. I don’t care what I grab as long as it acts as a distraction. I glance at the image and I’m in luck: perfect segue achieved. “There’s a handful of photos of him at the library, too. That seems to be one of his haunts aside from church and your house. Didn’t think a place like that would be his scene. I doubt he’s checking out Stephen King. Does he have a permanent hold on the Bible or something?”

Elwood has miraculously regained his ability to talk. “Libraries aren’t just for books, Wil. There’s records there too, you know? He’s probably checking out the town ledger or something.”

Town ledger. The two words blow the dust off the gears in my head. “What sort of things would be in a ledger like that?”

He’s the same Elwood as in class, always so eager to lift his hand and prattle off answers. “Everything. Anything. It’s the best way to preserve our history. Important dates, births, deaths, you name it. My father is very good at record keeping.”

Those same gears start spinning. “It’s settled, then.”

For as quick as he was before, he’s slow on the uptake now. “What’s settled?”

“We need that book.”

“If it’s even a hair out of place, Dad will know I’ve taken it.” Elwood scratches his cheek, his eyes darting to the window. I’ve swung the blinds closed, but some of the Morguewood manages to peer through the cracks. The once-familiar land has grown wild in the storm. “Besides, what if he sees me?”

I shake off his concern. “It’s the perfect time to go. You said it yourself. You can’t risk anyone seeing you. What’s better than an empty library on Christmas Eve?”

He mulls that over, and I can see the indent from him gnawing on his cheek. “How are we going to get there?”

---