Dirty Secrets

Part 45

Packer pulled to the curb in front of Lyla's house then leaned over the console for a kiss.

"Dude. My dad." Ryan's car was parked in the driveway.

He kissed her on the cheek before she got out of the car. "Mmmm, salty. So what're you doing later?"

"Prob'ly something with Darcy."

"Kay. Lemme know."

She waved from the sidewalk as he drove away. When she entered the house, she found her father in the kitchen unloading grocery bags.

"How was your run?"

"Meh. Bad run's better than no run."

"Hey, look what I got." He took four containers of salt from a paper bag and set them on the counter. "Think that's enough?" he said with a grin.

"I hope so," she replied and bounded up the stairs. In her room, she ripped open the velcroed armband and released her phone. She needed to search before she forgot the name.

What was it? Geno Benetti?

Several photos popped up.

Nah, that's not right. Geno Benotto?

She tried a few more variations with no success.

It had more syllables. Bentelotti? Benetelli? 

After a few more name fumbles, she recalled Geno Bonatello. She studied the five photos that appeared on her phone, none of which resembled the creepy janitor or anyone who looked like the kind of person who would sleep on a park bench in the freezing cold. She tossed her phone onto the bed and headed for the shower.

........

Lyla and Darcy's most serious discussion occurred at approximately 11:30 that night when a critical decision needed to be made. McDonald's or Taco Bell? They had already committed to Drive-Thru since, as Darcy so eloquently put it, "I'm no way gonna sit in a glass terrarium on display for every freak that drives by." Lyla's impassioned case for Chicken McNuggets persuaded her friend, and so they sat in the McDonald's parking lot, alternately dipping their McNuggets in honey mustard, tangy barbecue, and creamy ranch sauces.

Lyla asked, "So what about Richie's new guy? Ash?"

"He's crushing so hard."

"Right?"

"Did you hear about Richie's latest caper?" Darcy cracked up. "Of course you didn't."

"Caper?"

"Let me see if I can find it." Darcy yanked her book bag from the back seat and began digging. "You heard about Carissa descending from the heavens to give us lowly peasants a treat, right?"

"When did this happen?"

"Last week. The whole school's all Carissa's back in town. Whoo! Carissa's back. And she's all you wouldn't believe life in Brooklyn. A tall macchiato is fifteen dollars. Blah, blah, blah. And all her minions are totally gushing and eating it up. Boo-hoo we miss you soooooooo much. The school barely functions without you. Even Ms. Taylor is oh, please. Do tell us about the grueling life of a New York fashion model."

"And Jack?"

"Yep. Right back at it. King and Queen of the galaxy."

That wasn't what Lyla wanted to hear. "Glad I missed that," she sighed.

"And the worst part, she's a total feline. Carissa is hotter than ever. Hurts your eyes to even look at her. More proof that there is no God."

Lyla stuck her finger down her throat.

"Oh, but check this." She handed the school newspaper to her friend. Lyla looked at the photo of Carissa on the front page. 

"God, she never takes a bad pic."

Darcy laughed. "Look down here." 

Lyla read aloud, "For the local high school senior, the move to New York City with trips to Paris, London, and Tokyo, meant giving a lot of head. What?!"

Darcy wiped her teary eyes. It was supposed to say giving a lot of heed."

Her eyes went wide. "Heed? What does that even mean?"

"Carissa and her mom lost their shit. And Richie, the editor. He played it totally innocent. Said it was an autocorrect mistake."

Lyla laughed herself into tears. A nugget rolled across her lap onto the floor.

Darcy continued, "He was totally sorry not sorry." She caught her breath. "And Carissa was shooting death rays out of those gorgeous green eyes. So Richie said we'll reprint it with the correction. Authorities are still investigating."

"Oh, no."

"Totally epic. This one's gonna go down in school history."

........

Lyla clenched her eyes against the wind-driven snow that streaked through the arctic air like insects swarming from the charcoal sky. Anchored on the park's decorative wall, she was a statue wrapped in a wool coat focusing on the mound of snow accumulating on the park bench opposite her. The fingers of a gray hand protruded from the snowpack, coated with a fine powder of frost. The grisly image triggered her flight response but, aside from her eyelids, every muscle in her body was paralyzed.

Packer limped into the park, shielded his eyes with a gloved hand, then smiled when he discovered Lyla. He crunched across the snow-covered pavement toward her but was intercepted by Conrad, the stained collar of his ragged coat pulled up against his reddened cheeks.

"Flights are grounded in this weather," he rasped. "Give me a hand."

No. Packer. Turn around. Get out of here.

Conrad coughed. 

Packer hesitantly stepped to one end of the bench and gently brushed the snow from the face of the deceased. Ice crystals nestled in the stubble on the ashen face of Geno Bonatello. 

Conrad stifled his hacking in a cloud of condensation while seizing his friend's stiff legs by the ankles. "C'mon," he sputtered. 

No. No. No.

Packer excavated, found both of Geno's hands beneath the snow, and grabbed his wrists. Large, swirling snowflakes fell, once more covering the body. They lifted the corpse from the bench then, with short, unsteady steps, Conrad and Packer labored toward the exit.

A wicked gust of wind stopped their progress, and in the process, swept the snow from the cadaver's face. They were no longer carrying Geno, it was Keenan's corpse. Before Packer could react, Keenan's eyes snapped open, his cold hands clamping Packer's wrists. 

While clawing her way out of the nightmare, Lyla instinctively reached for the container of salt on her nightstand. With trembling hands, she poured a line at her door then went to the window and shook salt onto the sill. She glanced down into the backyard. The container slipped from her grasp when she noticed a pair of eyes leering up at her from the shadows of the toolshed.