Our Crooked Hearts(15)

I jostled my knee until Fee sat up.

The men, two white dudes, walked up the beach, their pinstriped shirts untucked from their Casual Friday khakis. The one who’d seen us first was ferret-skinny, his hair in bleached spikes. His friend was shorter, a young man with an old man’s paunch. He’d managed to get himself a sunburn somewhere. They stopped a few yards away, cocking up our view of the lake.

“Evening, ladies,” slurred the Ferret. He was so drunk he looked like he had pinkeye.

“Gentlemen,” I said. “Nice night at the Admiral?”

The sunburnt one blinked. “We weren’t at the Admiral.”

“She’s mocking us,” said the Ferret, grinning. He had that slippery veneer of high good humor that generally conceals a black hole. He ticked a finger at each of us in turn—Marion, Fee, me. “Lemme guess. You’re the slutty one, you’re the spicy one, and you’re the sad emo chick.”

“I like emo music,” Sunburn said, beaming in from a different conversation. “I used to be in a band. In high school.”

Ferret slung an arm around his friend. “Hear that? Which one of you wants to blow a rock star?”

“Huh?” Sunburn focused on us with difficulty. “Dude. They’re kids.”

“Not interested,” Fee said, her voice ironed flat. “Keep walking.”

Ferret plonked his ass down in the sand. “Keep walking! What are you, fuckin’ … fuckin’ Johnny Corleone? Keep walking.”

“Vito Corleone,” said Sunburn. “Come on, Matt. Let’s go.”

I knew how to coat my disdain with enough sugar to get guys like this to back off. Sorry, I have a boyfriend, that kind of thing. But my mouth was wicked with wormwood and I was pissed at Marion’s silence.

“Listen to your friend, Matt,” I told him. “You’re gross. Nobody here wants you.”

Ferret’s mask slipped. I think he wanted to haul back and hit me, but he was trapped in the grip of the nice-guy dilemma: if you’re too good a dude to ever hit a girl, what do you do when some bitch disrespects you?

He settled on leaning over almost lazily and rapping his knuckles twice on my skull, hard. “Talk nicer to me, sweetheart.”

Before I could react Fee was between us, shoving him away. “No way, motherfucker,” she spat. “You don’t touch her.”

Then Marion surged to her feet. Shaking, fisted hands held out. Her lips were moving and her face looked possessed, one eye wandering off center.

“You sh-shit,” she panted.

Ferret laughed, but it sounded nervous. I think all of us were spooked.

“What did you think would happen here?” Her voice still trembled. “What ugly things do you think about when you mess with girls who don’t want you?”

His lip curled back. “You wanna talk about ugly, babe? I’d be doing you a favor.”

Marion went still. No, she steadied, drawing herself up and in like a flame clapped under a hurricane glass. When she spoke, the words came low. A cadenced murmur that played havoc with my heart.

“Let all his thoughts be seen.” Her voice gained volume, grew sure. “Let their dark matter touch the air. Let them trouble him from without.”

The two men exchanged a look. “Yeah, I’m out,” said Ferret, clapping his hands to his knees. “Fuckin’ weirdos.”

As he stood, something fluttered onto his cheek. It had the crunchy, iridescent heft of a cicada, with wings of red lace and a black carapace. He swiped it away.

A second insect landed on his temple. This time he slapped it, killing it in a messy crush that smeared over his eyebrow. “What the hell,” he muttered, looking at his palm.

Now came a third, cutting itself out of the backlit night to settle onto his jaw.

And another.

And another.

Their wings a sickly whir, their tendril legs flexing over his forehead and cheeks and neck, and the V of skin showing above his button-up. He swept them away, skin reddening and pricking with sweat.

“What is … what are you…” An insect landed on his mouth. He dragged an arm across it, whimpering, then screamed as a fresh drift settled over him. “No,” he said. “No no no no—”

Then he stopped talking, mouth seamed tight against the onslaught. He was down, he was screaming with his lips closed, he was mashing his face into the sand. I didn’t know whether the insects were stinging or biting or just crawling over his skin, but they kept coming.

I hung back, horrified. Fee kicked sand at the guy, I think in an attempt to drive off the bugs. Marion stared. Her mouth was open, her face like a room someone had just walked out of, slamming the door.

“Help!” Sunburn screamed. “Help us!”

Down by the water a man in a backpack slowed down to watch. On the path a pair of cyclists swung off their bikes, peering across the sand.

“Time to go.” Fee was gathering our stuff, her voice calm but rising. “Let’s go now, now, right now, Marion, mueve tu culo!”

Marion snapped back to life. Her eyes were hot with shock, taking in the scene as if she were blameless. Then she ran.

“Wait!” yelled Sunburn, kneeling close but not too close to the man writhing on the ground. “Come back!”

We pounded over the sand. Marion’s boombox was in my arms. My eyes were watering, my legs rubbery with shock, and by the time we hit Morse I could barely stand.