Page 105 of Rogue's Path

The Dead

Dylan

“What do you mean when you say that you’re obsessed with death?”

Rogue had to ask that, didn’t he? “Nothing where you have to worry about whether or not I’m going to kill you in your sleep or anything…Well, unless you cheat on me.” I wink at him.

“Good to know.” He smirks but keeps his eyes on the road.

How do I explain something that doesn’t make much sense to me? “You in the mood for a long story?”

“We’ve got nothing but time.”

That’s the problem with going on an endless journey with someone who’s as curious about you as you are about them. “It started right after I got back from my summer road trip with my dad. My family wasn’t very big, but it wasn’t small either. My uncle died right after school started, and my parents decided that I was old enough to start learning about death so I wouldn’t be afraid of it, and I knew how to act when I got older.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

My parents will always be reasonable. “It was. So I got all dressed up in a pretty black dress. Aunt-mother was the first one to take me inside for the viewing. From far away, my uncle looked perfectly normal, like he had fallen asleep and we were all watching him take a nap. Aunt-mother would do this all the time to me. She would watch me sleep to make sure I didn’t die.Did I look like him when I was asleep? I must have. When I got close, everything was different. They put makeup on him, but you could tell where it stopped, it was a different color. It didn’t look like him, but it looked like him exactly.”

“I know what you mean.”

Rogue does? Of course he does. His nephew just died. “Have you seen a lot of death?”

“More than I care to.”

Do any of us ever care to see death? “Before we left, she made me kiss his cheek and tell him I loved him. His skin didn’t feel right either. It wasn’t alive.”

“She made you kiss him?”

I shrug. “They were trying their best. Each time I went up, I noticed something different about the body. When we went to the library after that, I started taking books out about death and dying. Then whenever I went to a funeral, I looked for clues and compared them to the books I read to see if I could figure out why they died.”

“That’s kind of messed up.”

“Does it make you like me less?” Why did I ask him that?

Because you want the truth before your heart gets any further in.

“No. But I do question your parents’ behavior more and more.”

“It all helps me to write believable murder mysteries.”

“Would you stop writing books if you had the option? If you could go do anything in the world, would you still write them?”

“Do you always have to ask such amazingly interesting but challenging questions?”

“How else will I get to know all of you, Peaches? If, when we get back to Silent Valley, I told you I would financiallysupport you, no strings attached to do whatever you want, would you do something else?”

Rogue has money. Everything about the clubhouse and this truck, not to mention the jewelry he bought me, screams, I’m well off, and I know it. “That is the sweetest offer I’ve had, but it’s unnecessary. Any time I want, I can quit. I have all the books to finish this series completed, and money in the bank to do whatever I want for the rest of my life.” This isn’t the case with most authors. “I can’t afford to buy a jet, but I can travel the world, sail on a boat, or take up sunbathing in paradise for the rest of my life.”

“Good to know.” He winks, completely unfazed by what I just said.

“So what do you do?”

The truck comes to a stop at a flashing railroad crossing.

“I know you work for the club’s custom bike business, but how? What is your role?” I can’t see him working in the office all day or schmoozing people to sell them. Rogue works with his hands.

“I’m a machinist thanks to my father’s training. I went to school for Automotive Engineering, and I dabble in design on occasion.”