How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12TH
7:22 PM
THE RIVERA'S HOUSE

I can see that the kitchen light is still on when Ambrose drops me off at home. Mom and Dad are probably washing the dishes from dinner. 

They weren't too eager for me to go to the football game now that they believe there's a killer offing Bradford's teens. When they see how beaten up I am, I doubt it's going to do much to lift their spirits.

I wave goodbye as Ambrose pulls away, heading off in the direction of Watts' house. The four of us are no closer to putting an end to all this than we were before the game. Now, we're just plagued with more memories of death, and bruises and scars to show for it.

I have to try to look on the bright side, or else all this will seem totally hopeless. At least we know about Homecoming now, I think as I open the front door and drag myself inside. I'm exhausted and sore as hell. All I want is a hot shower and a long, dreamless sleep.

But Dad is calling for me before I even get the door shut. His voice is stern and even, and I know he must still be pissed that I went to the game.

"Yeah?" I call out, hovering by the stairs. I don't want to let them see me like this if I don't have to.

"Come here."

My stomach sinks, heart picking up speed. Not only will they see me, but by the sound of things, I'm in trouble.

If they're going to yell at me for going out, why would they even let me go out in the first place? I wonder bitterly as I trudge towards the kitchen. Just like I thought, they're loading the dishwasher, finishing up just as I step up to the counter.

"Diego—Dios mío, what's happened to you?" Mom is around the counter in a second, grabbing my face and analyzing my injuries with a stern look.

"It's nothing—there was a fight at the game," I borrow Watts' fabricated story. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I'm fine."

"Diego, your mother went to pick up a pizza earlier," Dad says. It's so unrelated that I'm totally blindsided, only able to blink in response at first.

"Um. Yeah?"

"She overheard a conversation while waiting for our order."

If he's trying to give me some sort of hint as to what he's saying, I'm not picking it up. I look between them as Mom finally lets go of my face, stepping back with a sigh.

"A father and his son were standing by the door, talking about how he did at baseball tryouts. We called the school— tryouts were on the second, Diego."

If it hadn't been for the two times I already blew chunks, I know I'd be about to spew again. My face is hot, chest tight. 

"Diego, you lied to us," Dad says, crossing his arms. "You deliberately mislead us. How long were you planning to keep up the lie?"

"It's—I—I didn't mean to lie. It wasn't like that!"

Dad's expression doesn't lighten up. If anything, his eyebrows furrow more and his glare gets even sharper. "Were you or were you not aware of the fact that you missed tryouts?"

"Well... yes. But—"

"No. But nothing, Diego."

"I thought I could talk with Coach! I thought—"

"You thought you could do it behind our backs," Dad finishes for me. "You thought you could lie and we wouldn't find out. That you could fix your mistake with no consequences."

"There's a lot going on right now. I was distracted. With the nightmares and the throwing up, and being at a new school... It's a lot." 

Funny, I'm defending my lie with another lie. But how could I tell them the truth? Like I said before, they'd check me into a hospital. Or worse, they'd think I was joking, trying to upset them on purpose.

"Apparently not too much for you to go out and get yourself into trouble," he argues, gesturing to my disheveled appearance.

"I'm sorry." My voice strains to get the words out. I'll admit I screwed up with tryouts. But I shouldn't have to apologize for tonight, not when I was trying so hard to do the right thing. "I just... there's been so much to deal with since Miguel..."

Dad scoffs, and Mom looks away, walking back to the sink and busying herself with dishes. "Miguel wouldn't have lied to us. And he wouldn't have used a tragedy as an excuse for doing so."

The words hit me like a slap across the face. That sentiment hurts more than anything else I endured tonight.

"Can I go now?" I ask sharply over the lump in my throat.

"Fine." With a tense sigh, Dad gives a single nod and waves his hand towards the stairs, as if he couldn't care less what I do.

As if I don't already know that Miguel wouldn't have gotten into this mess, I think as I head upstairs, trying to keep myself from stomping. I can't decide which is heavier, my sadness or my anger. They swirl inside of me, fueled by Dad's words.

Miguel wouldn't have missed tryouts, he wouldn't have lied, he wouldn't have made excuses. And if he were here, he would help me sort all this out—everything. Not just with Mom and Dad, but with Bozzanath, too. He helped me figure out everything from Algebra to curveballs.

Wait.

The image that flashes through my head of Miguel helping me practice pitches in our old backyard has me running up the rest of the stairs. How didn't I realize it sooner?

I hurry into my room and fling open my closet door, pushing the hanging clothes aside to find what I'm looking for. In the moonlight, I can just barely see it. Leaning against the wall is the baseball bat he'd used whenever he helped me practice. Solid maple. Taped handle.

I grab it, breath catching as my fingers curve around the worn tape. It's familiar against my palms because I felt it only nights ago in the dream. Apparently, Renny isn't the only one who already had her weapon.

If Miguel was in my position right now, he wouldn't let the weight on his shoulders crush him. He'd stand up and figure out what to do. He'd figure out how to rid Bradford of Bozzanath.

So I will, too.

sorry today's update is shorter than usual! but the next one is over 3000 words so hopefully that will make up for it 🤪