Snow Cones
Josh isn't at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or after that. Chris stops searching for him when he sees the familiar parking space empty over and over again. The Twins look exhausted, dark circles mimicking their older brother's but they still laugh with Emily and Chris (occasionally Jess when she doesn't mind being scolded by Em because of skipping class). Chris doesn't ask about Josh and in turn neither of them ask why he hasn't been around as much. He was still waiting on a text back, on a call, on some sliver of hope that Josh hadn't actually bit him at all and its some misplaced dream.
He didn't tell his dad about it but the doctor he went to was suspicious enough to ask if he needed to talk to anyone. Chris had said no, taken his prescription and left. His dad hadn't mentioned him leaving when he wasn't supposed to, hadn't really talked to him at all but Chris figured his own expression must've stopped any conversation that might've happened.
He couldn't sleep, didn't want to eat when everything offered to him seemed to be shaped like him on a plate. He stayed in his room, only leaving for school or a random grocery run, as his mind tried to bring pieces together.
Josh's behavior wasn't anything he had experienced before since they've known one another. The clicking was new too. Chris wonders if anything happened on Mt. Washington, because the dreams didn't start until that night, the night he bailed on Josh for Ashley. Josh had been acting strange since the Washington's came back. It didn't seem plausible. Nothing made sense. He'd have to talk to Josh or Beth and Hannah or-
"What do you mean, man?" Mike lifts an eyebrow at him, bent over Trigonometry homework with a vein popping out of his forehead. Chris sits across from him, tired and jittery.
"You went up there with him. Did anything happen?" Chris repeats, slower this time.
Mike pushes his textbook away, slouching back in the seat. He fixes his gaze on the bandage peaking out from Chris' collar. Chris adjusts his shirt. Mike looks back at him. He sighs, brow furrowed as he thinks.
"He was pissed at you most of the time." Mike supplies with a shrug. "He drank a lot. I mean a lot okay. I was pretty drunk through most of it though. He wasn't there when I woke up but I guess he left sometime that night because Hannah and Beth were freaking out when the morning hit. The whole family was. I just waited at the lodge while they did a sweep of the area. Pretty sure I was still drunk that morning."
Chris raises an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"
"'Cause, man. Josh came back covered in blood and smelling like death and said he slept in an elk. What kind of shit is that? Post-vodka shots shit right there. That's some soaked rum apple Danish gummy bears shit." Mike snorts, a small smile on his face. "He was cold and shaking. He told me not to tell his parents or sisters so I threw the clothes away while he showered. Didn't seem very real, ya know?"
Mike crosses his arms. "Why?"
"He's been weird." Chris answers.
"Yeah he has." Mike sighs. "Look, bro, about Josh and I. I'm sorry. I know it was a low blow. But I'm glad we can still talk like civilized dudes about stuff."
"Me too." Chris says and he means it. Chris explains a formula to a problem Mike's working on before he gets ready to leave. Mike grabs his wrist, looking unsure and Chris wants to say worried but he's not good at reading anyone besides Josh.
"If something did happen," Mike gazes down at his homework. "Will you tell me?"
"Yeah, bro." Chris says, patting Mike on the shoulder. The other releases his wrist with a smile before turning back to his homework. Chris heads out of the library, weaving through groups of kids standing along the entrance. He stops in front of Marion's memorial. The flowers in plastic cups are dying, candles unlit and Marion's smiling face stares up at Chris with lost knowing.
This day is starting to feel a lot like one of his bad days. He should've stayed home. Chris finds Sam standing outside his locker, Matt beside her. Matt notices him first, smiling widely in greeting. There's a Manila folder tucked under his arm. He waves it in the air.
"Homework."
"Josh's homework." Sam adds on. "We did most of it. Emily helped, of course. But you know he'd rather look it over himself."
Matt nods in agreement. "How has he been? Hannah said he's been sick."
"I haven't seen him." Chris admits honestly.
Sam shoots him a look but doesn't comment further. Instead she adjusts the tote strap on her shoulder. Matt shakes his head sullenly. He checks his phone for the time.
"We should go see him. I'll talk to Em about it. She's been worried. Even if she doesn't show it." Matt tells him.
Chris nods. "How is everything?"
"Yeah," Sam adds on. "How's practice and the team? Will there be a team in the spring?"
Matt shrugs. "We're just kinda busy with football. Coach Wilson said I'm pretty much guaranteed as Ace in the spring. Kinda sucks though."
He stares down at his shoes, clutching the ends of his varsity jacket with a shaky hand. Chris places a hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
"I have very big shoes to fill." Matt forces out a laugh.
"Let's just hope we make it that far." Sam snorts. "Bears running rampant, ok. Rampant!"
"Ain't got nothin' on me." Matt jokes. "Our main focus should be surviving prom."
Sam pales. "Fuck. I have to plan. Did you ask Em?"
Matt blushes. "Um, no. Jess kinda beat me to it. Girls work really fast ok? Really fast. I considered asking Ash because we're buds."
"You should." Chris supplies helpfully. "I'm sure she'd go with you. You're pretty enough."
"Or maybe Mr. President will sweep you away first." Sam winks and Matt's cheeks darken a deeper shade. He takes a wobbly step back, raising a hand and he's gone, scampering away like an embarrassed child. Chris is glad that all of their burdens, all of their problems are normal, normal teenage problems.
Sam turns to Chris, a hesitant smile on her face. "Something's wrong with Josh."
"I know." Chris admits.
"He tried to bite Beth." Sam tells him. "He tried to bite her when she went to check on him."
Chris tenses up, dragging his eyes to meet hers. He adjusts his glasses, painfully aware that she's staring at the blossoming bruise peaking out from his collar. Sam reaches out to touch it but stops halfway, hand curling back to her chest.
"Chris," Sam swallows. "What is going on?"
"I don't know." Chris says helplessly. "I don't know, Sam."
"Han said he hasn't been the same since the mountain."
Chris stares down at the folder underneath his arm. He tugs it out, smoothing a hand over the cream surface. "Somethings happening to him. It's not good."
"What do we do?"
"I need to talk to him." Chris looks back at her. "I need to talk to him."
Sam searches his face. "You're scared."
He is. He's scared that he'll be next, that one of them will be next because Josh won't be able to stop. Whatever it is. He has some control over. Josh was able to stop, was able to pull himself away but only after doing damage. Chris doesn't know if it's going to be enough and he's scared, so scared that he keeps his window locked, keeps his door locked and sits in his closet most nights when the video games do nothing to curb his frantic mind.
He doesn't go to see Josh. The days grow darker.
It's two teens that find Miss Peterson, two teens stumbling around deep in the woods to get a moment alone, a moment of blissful peace. Ashley is one of them, stumbling through his door too early in the morning with his dad tiredly standing behind her. She's crying, crying so loud and the noise rocks Chris to his core because he knows, knows without her even telling him.
Chris sits with Ashley, her hand folded in his. She stares absently ahead of her, gaze vacant and unseeing. There are tear streaks running along the soft skin of her cheeks, eyeliner smeared like a bruise. They sit in his closet until Chris' legs go numb and the world feels like it's on fire.
"Felx is moving." Ashley tells him. "Their parents are taking them away."
"I'm sorry, Ash."
Ashley squeezes his hand hard. "I... I.. I've been in those woods a thousand times. The most I've seen is a rabbit caught in the teeth of a fox. That's the most I've seen, Chris. A dead rabbit."
She wheezes. "They're taking Felx away and it's my fault. I've been in those woods before... how.. how was I supposed to know?"
Ashley hiccups, shoulders shaking as quiet tremors rack through her small frame. Chris pulls her to him, wrapping arms tight around her. Ashley sobs into his shirt, fists wrinkling the fabric. It's a broken, ugly sound. One Chris never wants to hear again.
But he's forced to. For the next couple of days until Ashley's parents come for her, so pitiful and distraught that Chris wonders where this love was before Ashley stumbled upon the mangled remains of their teacher. His dad stands on the stairs through it all, watching Chris stand between Ashley and her parents, who are so grateful it wasn't their daughter, so grateful that she's alive even if she was 'built wrong'.
But Felx was leaving, the town was concerned. They couldn't shut down the woods but the mayor figured it'd be best if a curfew was in place. Chris tries not to think about how quiet the school is that following Monday, how two of his teachers had to step out because their voices kept breaking. He had seen Sasha, the Russian hotel manager, leaving the school with a small box labeled 'Peterson'. Chris watched him cry in the front seat of his BMW.
The news marks it as another bear attack, a contractor speaking out about how recent building in the north has been pushing animals from their homes. Devil's Kettle rarely saw bears. But it wasn't a bear. Hushed whispers filled the halls of the school, quiet horrible stories about how they could only identify her remains from dental records.
Chris sees Josh in the hallway the next day at school. He sees him and his shoulder aches painfully because Josh sees him too. Josh sees him, eyes lingering on Chris' shoulder and he's taking shaky steps back until he's turning and walking away, posture slouched. Chris goes after him, pushing through students and an irritated teacher until he's following Josh in the direction of the art room. The distance between them speaks volumes, Josh's hurried steps ringing in Chris' ears like a warning sign.
Chris has to run to catch him, has to actually put more effort than he's used to and Chris is pretty sure the only reason he's able to actually catch Josh is because Josh nearly falls into another kid in his haste. The kid moves around them with a frown, Chris' hand on Josh's elbow.
"Josh." Chris turns the other to face him. His insides are screaming, screaming to run because all he can see is a drained, absent stare. Josh's hair is shortest he's ever seen it, sides buzzed close to the scalp, healing red scars carefully concealed behind hair. His left eye seems discolored, glossy and dazed. It focuses on Chris in way that makes his skin crawl. His eyes are sullen, purple bags staining underneath. Skin pale and gray, littered with dark blackened veins. Josh jerks his arm away, taking a step back.
"What, Chris?"
"You didn't text me back."
Josh looks up at him incredulously. "I'm pretty sure that's the least of our concerns right now. Look, Chris. I don't want to text you back. I don't want to talk to you. I'm just here for my assignments and then I'm going home. I can't be here."
"Why?"
"It's none of your business, man." Josh snaps, eyes narrowing. He moves to walk away but Chris grabs him again despite the raging terror wrapped along his stomach. He feels like vomiting but he sees Josh, sees how distraught and thin he looks and all Chris wants to do is fix it.
"You tried to bite a chunk out of my shoulder. Kinda think I deserve to know why."
"Must've been a dream, Cochise."
"Stop lying!" Chris shouts. Josh startles, eyes widening a fraction before they narrow dangerously into thin slits. Josh grips his wrists tightly, yanking Chris' hand from its hold with so much force Chris nearly cries out. Josh's hand shakes against him, nostrils flared and Josh squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling sharply. He slowly releases Chris' hand.
"Please, Chris. Just." Josh breathes, clutching the strap of his book bag tightly. "I have to go."
Chris watches him leave, frozen in place, sweat beading along his forehead as he tries to breathe. He peers down at his hand, pushing the sleeve of his sweater up. Blackened purple stares back up at him, breaking around reddened, throbbing skin.
Chris' back hits the wall, legs failing and he slumps to the floor, shaking. His lungs won't work, throat burning and all he can feel is intense heat spreading through him like a sore. He can't feel his arms, can't feel his legs, can't focus. Colors spot in front of his eyes so he closes them, trying to remember numbers, trying to count but all he can feel is heat and pin needles pressing against him.
He wants to run, to move but he can't, he can't, he can't. What would his mom do? What would she do? He has to count, he has to count. Where is he? He's at school. He can count. What's a number? Which number?
3. 2. 1.
1. 2. 3.
Those are numbers, his numbers. He has to say those numbers. His numbers. Those are his numbers. Chris tries to focus on breathing, tries to open his eyes but he can't open them. There's a hand on him, it's so cold, so cold and boney. It's touching him. Stop touching him. He tries to count. There's a voice somewhere. It's all muffled and low and it's counting. Those are his numbers. His numbers.
"1, 2, 3."
"3, 2, 1."
Chris breathes shakily and it feels like lava, feels like someone has poured a pot of coal inside of him and watched it simmer.
"T-t-three." Chris grits out.
"Two." Deep breath. Chris mimics it. His chest swells, he exhales. The voice sounds clearer, deeper and slow. It's counting his numbers, it's telling him to breathe. The hand on him is gone. He can breathe. Chris inhales when the voice tells him to. He counts when it says to. Chris realizes he's crying, nose stuffy, but he can breathe, he has numbers.
"3, 2, 1. 1, 2, 3." Chris sighs, eyes still closed and he's so tired. He's so tired and he wants his mom. He wants his friends to be okay, he wants Josh to be okay. They all had to go to prom.
"Chris? You with me?" It sounds like Emily but it's not the voice, not the voice that knows his numbers. Chris forces himself to nod, eyes still closed.
"Is he okay?" That's Jess.
"Where did Josh go? He was just here." Hannah.
"Should we get him to the nurse?" Jess again.
"Chris, what do we do?" Beth.
"Just let him breathe." Emily.
Chris breathes and his eyes open, staring intently at the tops of his knees. He can see every line through denim, every tiny form of fabric. He's useless. How is supposed to help Josh? What does he do when he's so weak?
"Hey. You with me?"
Chris nods slowly, looking up at Emily whose crouched beside him, eyebrows perfect and riddled with worry. The rest of her face remains stoic. She reaches a hand out to him but stops short of touching him. Chris nods again and she does touch him.
"Josh was here. He left. You okay?"
Josh. Josh. Josh was the voice.
"Something's wrong with Josh." Chris whispers. Emily turns to Beth, who in turn looks at Hannah. Hannah is biting her cuticle, eyes teary and afraid and she shrugs helplessly. Chris wants to help, wants to help them, wants to help their brother. Reality feels bitter and cruel and it all looks the same.
Chris leaves early with a pointed look from the school nurse when he declines calling his dad. He didn't want to be bothersome and also just didn't want to talk to his dad about it. Chris drives home, mind distracted and jumbled and he sits in the driveway until he finally managed to make his limbs work.
Chris ices his wrist, sitting on the kitchen counter. He doesn't think about anything. His dad arrives shortly after he does, taking one glance at Chris on the counter before he's frowning with pursed lips. Chris watches him hang up his coat, sliding a scarf from around his neck. He considers running.
"What happened?" His dad gestures to the ice.
"Slipped." Chris lies smoothly.
"And that?" His dad points to the bandage on his shoulder. Chris tugs his shirt over to cover it.
"Ran into the door."
His dad slams the scarf down on the table, jaw locked, teeth grinding together. Chris tenses up, watching him warily.
"Damn it, Chris." His dad sighs tiredly. "What is going on with you?"
"Nothing." Chris answers.
"Stop lying! You're lying. Actually lying to my face. Is Josh... Is someone hurting you?" His dad inquires, sounding desperate and concerned.
"No." Chris huffs impatiently. "Can we not talk about this?"
"I'm your father, Christopher. Not your friend. I want to talk about this now."
Chris grits his teeth, fighting a frown. He looks away from the older Pilgrim, eyes locking on a random tile in the floor. A pair of loafers step into his line of vision, a hand on his shoulder easing him back and Chris sighs heavily.
"Chris. Talk to me."
There was nothing to talk about. Nothing his dad would understand because he never understands anything. His dad doesn't believe in therapy because Chris' mom died, because she killed herself in the hall bathroom after sending Chris to the store. But therapy didn't fail her. Chris did. He should've been home, should've stayed but she was getting better, she was picking up her hobbies again, she was taking the medication, she was fine, she was fine.
Chris shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes. She was fine. Josh was fine. But this is different, this entire fucked up situation was different and it feels like it's all going to end the same way. Chris standing at another funeral, feeling hollow and empty and he won't be able to cry because the lifeless body in the coffin will turn to him and say 'you can't because you failed'.
"Chris?"
Chris shakes his head again. "I just need to go to sleep, dad."
His dad nods, wrapping his thin arms around Chris. He smooths a hand over his son's hair, making soft hushing noises. Chris realizes he's crying, glasses pressed painfully against his face but he buries his face into the other's shoulder anyway, broken sobs escaping his lips. He's exhausted and tired and he must fall asleep against his dad because he wakes up in his bed, wrapped up in a blanket and quilt, glasses absent from his face.
The crack in the window whistles as wind breaks through. It's easy to close his eyes back, so easy to slip back to the sweet feeling of sleep but his bed shifts and his eyes snap open. Arms wrap around his torso, squeezing softly as a head presses into his spine. Chris stills, painfully aware of how hard his heart beats against his chest. His room feels cold, snow falling from the ceiling.
Chris shivers, teeth chattering loudly, white fog collecting in front of him. It's cold. The moon shines through his window, bathing it in a soft light. The walls have shifted into branches, empty silence flooding the room and the snow packs along the floor.
Chris tries to move but he's paralyzed. The arms around him are tight, tight and chilled bone and the body moves behind him. He's rolled onto his back, staring up into darkness but he can see long arms, stark white and dead. A gleam of sharp teeth flashes before him.
"Josh." It's his voice but his mouth doesn't move, pinched tight in fear. The body leans forward, a milky grey iris peering out from the darkness. It rolls around lazily before locking on him. A deep rumble fills the room, rustic and throaty and he can smell wood and the forest and cold.
"Josh."
Chris snaps awake, body lurching forward, head colliding with someone else's and he groans, falling back. He feels dizzy, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead. There's a hand on his face, cold and smooth as it shoos his hand away. Chris sighs. It feels nice considering how warm he feels.
"Josh." Chris breathes and the hand stills before resuming its slow movements. He opens his eyes. Josh is sitting on the edge of the bed, in a dark hoodie, eyes downcast. He moves his hand away but Chris grabs it, holding it tightly. Josh cracks a smile.
"I wanted to check on you." He says softly. "You woke up pretty fast."
"I had a dream."
"'bout me?" Chris nods.
Josh gives a small shrug, staring down at their locked hands. He looks back at Chris.
"Maybe this is a dream too."
"What happened on the mountain?"
Josh turns away from him. "Pretend it's a dream and I'll tell you."
"Okay."
"There are mines that run underneath my mountain," Josh starts, not looking at him. "Mines filled with a lot of fucked up things. Did you know? No... Why would you? You never came. Guess I still feel kinda bitter about that."
"I'm not doing to well, Chris. It's hard to fight something in your mind. Especially when it makes everything feel pointless and dull. But I guess," Josh chuckles softly. "I'm still holding on. It's very insistent. It's hard and I'm tired, Cochise. So, so tired."
"Josh-"
"Shhh just a dream. Remember?" Josh turns to him. "Just a dream. It's not even a nightmare and here I am... Can I kiss you?"
"Yeah." Chris sighs and it must be because he's half asleep, and maybe this is a dream, that he doesn't feel as afraid as he had before. Josh keeps holding his hand, the other coming up to cup Chris' chin and he hovers over him.
"I like you a lot, bro. It's hard," Josh admits. "To like you so much because it makes my self control really, really bad."
"Josh, let me help you."
"You can't." Josh whispers. "But you can let me kiss you. Please. Please just lemme kiss you."
Chris sits up, grasping Josh's arm, and he touches his face, feeling how cold and stiff the skin is. Josh leans into the touch, eyes slipping closed. His best friend is sitting beside him, fading away, fading into something awful and evil and yet Chris' heart swells with some warm feeling that makes him uneasy.
"Do you think I'm a monster?"
Chris isn't sure what to say, what he can say when it's all here, all laid out and nasty and awful and they found Peterson's body is pieces. Chris shakes his head. Josh's mouth twitches in the corners.
"Chris, I'm not going to make it to prom."
"You promised, asshole." Chris bites out. "I picked out colors and everything."
Josh giggles. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"At least I didn't kill myself this time."
Chris squeezes his hand. "Shut up, dick."
"Close your eyes. Don't open them until tomorrow."
"Josh-"
"Promise me, bro."
"Okay. Okay."
Josh leans forward, so he does as well, eyes closed, warming Josh's cold skin with his hands and Chris wants to cry when he kisses Josh because it doesn't feel like him, doesn't taste like him. There are no cigarettes or mangoes or big red or mint, there's only melted ice and cold.
Josh pushes him down, grasping the front of his shirt tightly.
"Don't forget your promise, Cochise." He whispers pulling away. Chris tries to reach for his hand but all he finds is air, air and the sound of the window being pushed open. He made a promise. He made a promise. It's the only comfort Chris is able to find, tears slipping through his eyelids and he bites back a sob because it's a dream, this all has to be a long, awful dream. He'll wake up.
He'll wake up and Josh won't know about his crush, will remain the same lovable asshole he's known for so long. Marion will still be alive, Peterson will move away with Sasha. Ashley won't be caught by her parents. Sam won't ask Beth to prom yet. Hannah will remain smiling and youthful and beautiful.
Chris will wake up. Things will be back to normal. He'll go with Josh to the mountain, he'll tell him he likes him. Their problems won't be filled with death and despair and Josh will be okay.
Chris wakes up. His room is the same. It's warm and toasty and some of his blankets are on the floor. There is no snow, no absence of light, only sun, only warmth. A knock comes to his window and Chris forces himself out of bed, feeling a lot like molasses. He's disappointed when it's not Josh. Sam is peering inside, hair up in a messy ponytail and she looks dressed for the winter. Chris opens the window.
"Road trip. You and me."
Chris frowns. "Where?"
"Mt. Washington."
Chris wishes it had been a dream, had been something other than what he's being forced to deal with but Sam is staring at him with determination and fire and as if she knows what's wrong with Josh Washington. Sam dangles a pair of keys in her left hand.
"Good thing my parents are stoned hippies who believe in hell and demons cause I got their blessing and a credit card and a tank full of gas."
"What do you know?" Chris swallows.
"That you need to get dressed and get ready for a long ass trip because Alberta is far. Good thing we went on that middle school trip to Mexico because definitely would not have thought I needed a passport before then."
Chris stares at her like she's grown three heads and maybe she has because this is all very sudden and so painfully unlike Sam it's ridiculous. Sam's face softens.
"He's my best friend too."
"Okay."
Chris hurries to brush his teeth.