Black Bird of the Gallows(82)

Lacey’s lips compress at the description, but she doesn’t argue it. “That’s a good sign, right? He could end up okay?”

The hope in her voice is painful to listen to. Oh Lacey, I’ve seen how this ends…

Reece pulls down Deno’s shirt. He snaps off the flashlight again, plunging the van into darkness. “It’s unlikely he will be okay, Lacey,” Reece says gently. “His control is unusual, though. Beekeepers can sense people who are unstable, just like harbingers can smell impending death. That’s who they typically sting—the unbalanced. People who are sick to begin with.”

“Which Deno isn’t,” Lacey says. “So why sting him?”

Reece’s brows pull together. “That’s a good question. Maybe because of his connection to Angie. Maybe—” He breaks off and shrugs. His mouth hardens, and his eyes take on a faraway look. He’s thinking something. Something he’s not going to tell me. Or maybe just doesn’t want to say in front of Lacey.

I bite my tongue and turn to Lacey. I’ll quiz Reece later, when we’re alone. “You’ve been with him this whole time. Any idea when or where Deno may have gotten stung?”

Lacey’s eyes flutter skyward as she thinks. “Well, um. The only other time we were around bees was yesterday. When we almost got on a rescue helicopter, there were bees around. Deno didn’t say anything to me about getting stung, though.” She looks to Reece. “Do they hurt? Would he have even known?”

Reece makes a humorless laugh. “Oh, he knew. It’s terribly painful, so I’ve heard. He may have kept it to himself so he wouldn’t worry you.”

“My mom didn’t have a sting like that,” I say quietly.

“The stings fade,” Reece replies, head close to mine. “They disappear completely upon death.”

“So what do we do?” Lacey demands. “We have to do something. There must be a cure—a way to reverse whatever this sting is doing to him.”

“I’m sorry, Lacey.” Reece’s voice is empty. Devoid of hope. “There is no known cure for a Beekeeper sting.”





36-under the ground


Our eyes adjust to the darkness. We have a debate about it, but decide against tying up Deno, even though Reece makes it clear that it would be smart if we did. He even offers his belt—which came from my dad’s closet—for the job.

When Deno is lucid again, we ask him about the sting. He knew, of course. Afraid to scare Lacey, he kept it to himself and tried to deal with his increasingly negative impulses.

He doesn’t ask about a cure. He doesn’t ask about anything.

Lacey and Reece take the flashlight and go to check the mine entrance, to see if the bees are still there, and I stay in the Bus with Deno. He sits on the floor, a dark shape in a dark place.

For a long time, we are still and quiet. I count my own heartbeats. I wait for Deno to talk, which usually doesn’t require a wait, but he falls silent and stays that way. Deno, who for as long as I’ve known him, has been the schemer, the planner, the hopeful one. This time, he seems to be the one who needs a plan and some hope.

I sit across from him. The rear seats are long gone, leaving the back open. When I lived with my mother, this was packed with our stuff and us, when we weren’t living with some guy. My fingers pluck at the matted floor carpet. My dad had the Bus thoroughly detailed, but a bit of her scent lingers—hair spray, ramen noodles, pot. The industrial cleaners have scrubbed away the smell of unwashed bodies and general life apathy. Still, I’m afraid to breathe too deeply.

“That’s where I used to sleep,” I say to him. To the dark quiet. “Right there, where you’re sitting. I had a purple sleeping bag and a Barbie book bag that contained all the pilfered goods I’d lifted from the assholes we shacked up with. It was mostly silly stuff, but things that would annoy them. Sunglasses. One sock from a pair. Packs of cigarettes. Remote controls.” I grin in the dark. “I took a lot of remote controls.”

“What did you do with all that crap?”

He’s talking. He sounds normal. My shoulders unfold from my ears and relax. “I usually kept it for a while, then found some place to throw it out. I didn’t really want the stuff. I just liked messing with those guys. I blamed them a little bit for why we lived like that—the reason my mom wasn’t much of a mom. I’d look around and see these nice families and wonder what I’d done to deserve living in a van, in dirty clothes.” I rap my knuckles lightly on the floor. “This shouldn’t be a kid’s home, but it could have been worse. My mom did her best to take care of me,” I say, and I surprise myself by meaning it.

He makes a disgusted sound. “Sounds awful, Ange.”

I close my eyes as faces of other children I’d met swim behind my eyelids. Children with addict parents who were not as scrupulous as my mom. In all those years, I hadn’t been touched by the men she was involved with. Some had tried. Some had offered her money and drugs in exchange for time alone with me. She’d laughed in their faces and threatened to cut off their balls if they so much as looked at me too long. “She wasn’t a good mother,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “I could spend a lifetime recording her mistakes. But, to her unwell mind, she was protecting me.”