Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 47

The Jeep's tires screeched in protest as we rounded a corner—the same one for the third time—as I tried to pry my brain for any information left about Major Clemons's house and what the fuck it looked like. In the brief amount of time, I might have aged ten years older from stress, scared that we wouldn't be able to find it.

Keep it together, Bren, I thought; forgetting an address is not something to worry about than a literal monster eating your insides. That should scare you more than a little memory loss.

"Are you sure it's around here?" Logan asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," I said, "but he only moved here three years ago to work at West Point, and that was the time we last visited him. He used to live in Baltimore."

It was a little strange to find that half of the neighborhood still had their vehicles parked on the driveway. I did not see even a speck of trash littered around the street, except for the evacuation flyers.

Logan drove around the same neighborhood four times, and he was sure I had forgotten the address. Maybe he was right, and I felt a little bad that we wasted almost half an hour searching for it. We drove past signs that said ONE WAY ONLY and turning left from signs that said NO LEFT TURN. I was frustrated, beginning to lose hope that maybe Major Clemons's house was farther than I thought.

I was glad I was distracted. It kept me from thinking about Peter and how he could be a mile away from me. I had never known that he went to West Point. I gathered he'd join a military college somewhere far away, enjoying what little freedom he got from his strict and demanding family, but I never imagined him to choose this school. It had been more than a year since we last saw each other.

The universe had a strange way with comedy, and it took the end of the world to cross our paths.

Forget it, Bren. So what if Peter is here? You didn't stalk him. He happens to be in the same place as you. He can't accuse you of stalking him...again.

I did not want to hear him say those words, painful as they were to hear. Back then, I thought he would understand, thought that maybe all the gossip and whispers from school wouldn't get to him because he was strong and above all them petty fuckers. Oh, how wrong I was. It was a one-off thing. I wanted to see him so we could talk about everything that had happened since the video got circulated on social media, and when I couldn't find him, I stalked him for days.

I realized he did not want to see me--him and his parents. Some words were thrown; maybe he meant them, maybe he didn't, but I was too crushed to contemplate any of it. Maybe it was all true, and maybe they weren't.

Fuck Pete Gauthier. I tried to tell myself that I don't care about him any longer. If he's in West Point, so fucking what?

I didn't know how my mind suddenly cleared from my constant puttering and annoyance, maybe a little bout of nervousness from meeting Peter again. I asked Logan to turn right instead of left from the same corner for the fourth time, driving past a sign that read ROAD: DEAD END.

And there it was, splayed like a roasted pig on a raised hearth, a two-story colonial-style house, surrounded by close-trimmed grass, bushes of carnations and hyacinth, and the aura of an idyllic summer getaway in this secret corner of the suburbs. It was smaller than I remembered it, with two large windows on each side by the front door, a balcony hanging overhead, and five symmetrical windows hugging the second floor. The American flag gently flapped against the wind by the secured pole against the porch column.

No one was home from the looks of it, just like the rest of this ghost town. I climbed out of the Jeep, ears and eyes perked for any sudden change. Slowly, my distance from the house drew nearer, passing by the closed garage, and reached the door. I peered inside from the side windows and knocked. Titus or Sadie, the Clemons's two rottweilers, would have made noise by now, barking in excitement. I've known the two pups since the Clemons adopted them six years ago.