Page 33 of King of Lies (Mayhem Manuscripts Season One: 1nf3ction #6)

August

This was all new to me, the having someone in my space, sharing my bed, and conversing after sex, even if it had taken a rather dark turn into shared pain and grief.

It was also new to wake up in the night to find Keaton over by the candle we hadn’t bothered to blow out.

He was hunched over, my alarm instinctive.

I shot upright in bed, certain something was wrong. “Keaton?”

Only after he turned his head did I see the book he pored over on his lap.

I’d brought the encyclopedia upstairs for him and left it by the door.

He’d obviously gotten out of bed and retrieved it.

I relaxed back against the pillows, marveling at this feeling of concern for someone I wasn’t related to.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He returned to the book, tracing his finger over something. “This book is fascinating.”

“Apparently so. More fascinating than my naked body. I should take offense.”

Keaton’s chest expanded in a silent laugh. “Not really. I just struggled to sleep, and curiosity got the better of me.”

“What are you reading about?” The silence that followed was so heavy I knew instantly I’d said the wrong thing.

“I can’t read,” Keaton said at last. “I’m guessing you can.”

“Yeah. My grandma taught me. Luckily, she was pretty good at reading and writing before the world went to shit.”

Keaton nodded, his finger still tracing something on the book. “There are a lot of pictures, so I’m getting by.”

“I could teach you,” I offered, the words slipping out before I thought better of them. Because I wasn’t just offering lessons, I was offering a future, a promise we’d stay together.

“Maybe.” Not exactly the enthusiastic response I’d hoped for. Perhaps Keaton realized it too, because he closed the book and set it carefully aside. A moment later, his hands were on my skin, his lips on my neck, and I vowed to stop thinking.

Caroline’s smile was strained. “You could stay longer?”

I pulled her into a hug, mindful of her frailty. “We’ve stayed five days.”

“So make it a week.”

“We can’t.” I might have said “we,” but we both knew I meant Keaton. With vengeance almost within touching distance, he was keen to be on his way.

Caroline nodded and stepped back. “I have something for you before you go,” she told Keaton. He shot me a questioning look as she left the room. I shrugged. I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t know.

When she returned, she had a watch she’d been tinkering with for months. It had a thick brown leather strap and a large face. “You finished it?” I asked.

“I did,” she said proudly. “And it’s good as new.” She held it out to Keaton. “I’d like you to have it.”

He recoiled, caught between shock and surprise. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“You could,” Caroline insisted, grabbing his wrist and fastening it in place. “And you will. I’m an old woman who doesn’t get to meet many new people, let alone give them gifts. You wouldn’t want to hurt an old woman’s feelings, would you?”

“No, of course not.” Keaton turned his wrist, the watch face catching the light. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

I hid a smile at how easily he’d been manipulated into doing what Caroline wanted. It wasn’t difficult to see where I’d inherited my skills.

Caroline wasn’t done. “It’s customary to thank people with a hug.”

Keaton obediently stepped forward, my grandmother disappearing in his arms such was the discrepancy in their sizes. “You make sure you take care of him for me,” she said.

We made good progress for the next few hours, the bike showing no ill effects from Oz’s interference and running better than it had for some time.

Most of the roads were relatively clear of abandoned vehicles, and when they weren’t, they weren’t so blocked we couldn’t squeeze by.

I didn’t bother stopping to search any of them.

On a major route like this, they’d all been picked over long ago.

Despite the brief span of time we’d spent together on the bike compared to how many years I’d gone it alone, I’d grown used to the solid weight of Keaton at my back. It was reassuring. Us against the world rather than just me. I refused to dwell on how temporary that feeling might be.

It was mid-afternoon when I slowed the bike at a junction, the front wheel angled so I could go either way. “What?” Keaton asked in my ear, breath hot against my skin. I pointed left. “That road would cut at least a day off our journey.”

Keaton lifted his gaze to the rusted blue and white sign, the word on it still legible. “London,” he said.

“Thought you couldn’t read?” The bike shifted as he shrugged. “Have you been telling lies?”

He laughed. “Right. I’m the liar.” We both stared at the sign until Keaton broke the silence. “I know letters, and I can put them together at a push. One word is about my limit.”

I nodded, still weighing the choice.

Keaton leaned his chin on my shoulder. “You promised her.” The words were like having a bucket of freezing cold water tipped over my head. “I’ve waited this long. What difference is another day going to make?”

“No difference.”

“There you go then.” Keaton rocked his chin so that the point of it dug in. “You could just admit you want to see it.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Maybe. But I want to reach my objective more. And given what your grandma described, there’s no saying it actually is quicker.”

I exhaled slowly and kicked the bike into gear, steering us onto the longer route that circled London.

Dusk found us in an abandoned housing estate, Keaton easily taking down the three biters who’d taken up residence in the house we claimed. While he secured the doors and windows, I wandered through the rooms, sifting through the remnants of lives left behind.

Whoever had abandoned this house had done so in a hurry, clothes spilling out of every drawer in both bedrooms, one an adult’s and one a child’s. You learned to tell the difference between a house that someone had ransacked and one whose past inhabitants had simply left.

A photo in a frame caught my eye, and I picked it up, examining the couple in the faded photograph.

The man had red hair and freckles, the woman long, dark curly hair.

The child at their feet didn’t look any older than five.

All three were smiling, and I wondered how long before the apocalypse they’d taken the picture. Years? Months?

“We’re as secure as I can make it,” Keaton said as he stepped into the room. “Where I couldn’t block an access point, I’ve booby trapped it so we’ll hear if anyone comes in.”

“Good job.” I showed him the photo. “I hate finding shit like this.”

He barely glanced at it. “Why?”

“Because it makes me wonder what happened to them.”

“They’re dead.”

I tapped the boy. “He might not be.”

Keaton looked longer this time. “I would think the odds are firmly stacked against him. Your grandma’s one in a million. Maybe even one in ten million. She was immune, and she was lucky.”

My hand found the horseshoe pendant at my neck, the one she’d given me when I wasn’t much older than the boy in the photo. I’d never taken it off except when the chain broke. Oz stealing it had pissed me off more than I’d admitted.

I placed the photo back where I’d gotten it from, taking care to line it up with the marks in the dust so it was in the same place. “I wonder why they didn’t take it with them.”

Keaton’s nonchalant shrug made me feel like we’d swapped roles. I was supposed to be the one who didn’t care about anything. Not him. I followed him into the bedroom, Keaton stripping the bed. Dust rose in a choking cloud that had me covering my mouth with my hand.

“Serviceable,” he muttered.

“Who’s chaining who up tonight?” My attempt at a joke fell flat, Keaton not even cracking a smile. This wasn’t the Keaton who’d left my grandma’s house earlier. This was a man consumed by his mission, who could no longer think past his prime objective.

He left the room and went downstairs. After a pause, I followed, finding him in the room where I’d stashed my bike.

He’d shoved a tall dresser in front of the window.

Keaton was bent over, sorting the food we’d brought with us into piles.

Although it was impossible to tell what categorization system he used.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Imagine something for a moment, would you?”

He didn’t look up. “Depends on what it is. I’ve never had a great imagination. I blame not being able to read and write.”

“What if we didn’t go to Dover? What if we just… turned around and went back?”

His head lifted slowly, as if the words needed extensive processing time. “Back where?” His voice was devoid of emotion.

“I don’t know. To my grandma’s, maybe. For a while, anyway. You liked it there, right? It’s safe, and we got to―”

I didn’t get any further before Keaton surged to his feet. “So you’re a paragon of fucking virtue now, are you? One psycho scientist rattles you and suddenly you want to change, and I’m supposed to fall in line with that.”

“I never said that. I just wanted you to consider another option.”

“One that makes me forget about the bastard who killed my sister.” His jaw tightened. “I get it. She’s not your sister. You never met her, so she means nothing to you.”

I shook my head. “It was just an idea.”

“It was a terrible idea.”

I chose my next words carefully, knowing I’d made a complete hash of this so far.

Lying was easy. Being honest was much more difficult.

“Is it so terrible that I don’t want you to die?

Everything you’ve said makes this sound like a suicide mission, like you don’t give a fuck about what happens once you’ve avenged your sister’s death. ”

“I don’t. Why would I?”

When he left the room this time, I didn’t follow.

So this was what rejection felt like. Like you worked up the courage to offer something you never had before, only to have it slapped out of your hands and told it was worthless.

Well, screw him. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone.

I’d get him to Dover, and he could get on with the business of killing himself.