Burning Moth

Chapter One, Part Two - A Grave Situation

"Two dead bodies?" Aidan's whisper was part screech. "What the fuck, man!"

We stared into the coffin, bewildered by the blonde woman lying face down on Luther Dixon, her limbs splayed across his suited skeleton like a pale spider of death. Her red-stained evening gown revealed stretches of grey skin mottled like rancid jelly. Judging by the maggots, she was still fresh. Aidan knelt by the hole, covering his mouth with the neck of his black t-shirt. "Who is she?"

"How should I know? I didn't put her here. And anyway I can't see her face."Thank God for small blessings...

I saw the mound of pallid, blonde hair lumped by congealed blood, my stomach turning as I picked out a hole with solid bits that looked like brain matter. I was no pathologist, but it looked like the poor girl had been shot - and more than once.

"Aidan, I don't want you to panic--because you always panic--but I'm pretty sure this girl did not die of natural causes."

Aidan retched.

But I was colder than the corpses–and it had nothing to do with the autumn weather. After everything we had risked, I had no intention of letting the night end in vain. We had to walk away with more than just this fucked up memory.

Mouth twisted in disgust, I reached in the coffin, taking hold of Luther's yellow-boned hand. His ring was black and silver, emblazoned with the dark outline of a wolf's head, the family surname etched beneath. The ring was a reminder - this girl was in a Dixon grave, and the distance between me and her was small in so many frightening ways.

I snagged the ring then slammed the coffin shut. Using the elbow of my leather jacket, I scrubbed the places I thought I had touched in the hopes that I wouldn't leave fingerprints.

Round-eyed with fear, Aidan reached out and pulled me from the grave. "Scar, what the hell did we just do?"

"We didn't do shit. Someone else did."

"We looted a grave with two dead bodies. Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's only supposed to be one. We have to go the police. We can't just leave her--"

"Actually, that's exactly we're gonna do." I grabbed Aidan's shovel, pushing it in his hands. "We're not supposed to be here, remember? If we go to the police we'll be arrested. I didn't steal some stupid ring to go away for murder." But the way my friend was looking at me, I may as well have killed the poor girl myself. "C'mon, Aid. We have to be smart about this. If the Dixons put her here and they find out we know..." I couldn't even finish the thought.

Aidan nodded, releasing a shaky breath. "What do we do?"

"We clean up the grave. Then tomorrow you'll give Nicholias his ring, just like he asked."

"Okay. Then what?"

"We get drunk as fuck and send the police an anonymous tip from a payphone."

"Do they even have payphones anymore?"

"I guess we'll see."

We reburied Luther and his guest beneath the fading moonlight. I threw the last shovel of dirt in place; we grabbed our gear, hopped the fence, then ran through the trees to the parking lot.

Later that night we smoked a few bowls in the dark–too spooked to even turn on the lights. At four o'clock in the morning, Aidan and I were still sitting on the floor in our tiny, busted kitchen, thoroughly awake.

He sat against the cabinet below the sink, his handsome face covered in shadows. "I never thanked you for saving my ass, Scar."

"No need. Tonight was quite obviously my worst idea yet."