“Why not?”
“Because you’re different, and if people see you where you’re not supposed to be, they might start asking questions. My mom might start asking questions.” No one can see you, I wanted to say. No one can know what you are. But the words were choked by the still blooming knowledge of the shattered cell phone and the foreign tire tracks and the sinking realization that somebody knew my secret. Somebody might even know about Adam.
The strands of worry hadn’t left my blood, and I felt them itching in my limbs for me to fix this. I crossed the room and dragged a metal trash can to the center.
Meanwhile, a groove deepened between Adam’s eyebrows. “I don’t want to be different. I want to be like you.”
I ducked below the counter and crawled, the knees of my jeans dragging along the dirty floor. Behind a set of tool drawers, I stretched my arm out and felt around until my fingers closed around crinkly plastic. I pulled out the hidden garbage bag and dusted off my jeans. “I’m different, too, just in another way. Trust me. You don’t want to be like everyone else. You’re a breakthrough. A piece of history. But for now, you’re also a secret.” Adam’s face went blank again. “Don’t you want us to have our own little secret, Adam?” I asked. “Just the two of us.”
He seemed to consider this. “You and me?” I nodded. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Good. But secrets have to be kept.” I pushed my arm shoulder-deep into the trash bag and pulled out a single article. “Otherwise they’re not secrets anymore. You understand?” The shirt was crusted and stiff with dried blood. Patches of white fabric showed through. I bit my lip and chanced a glance at Adam. His expression was still impassive, but his deep-set brown eyes were trained on the blood-soaked clothing.
I tossed the shirt into the garbage can and pulled out the pair of jeans, split where the road had torn into them. These were less gory than the shirt, but the waistband had been soaked to the point that the denim was dyed an even red. Farther down, droplets had sprayed the legs like flecks of paint.
“What are you doing?” he asked when I dropped the jeans in after the shirt.
“Making sure no one takes you away from me.” I rummaged around for the matches I used to light the burners and came back with a half-empty box. “We have to do all of this, keep all the secrets so that you can stay with me. That’s what you want, right? That’s what we both want.” I struck the match head on the rough siding, and it burst into blue then yellow flame. I looked at Adam through the thin curl of smoke snaking off the lick of fire.
I let the match fall into the bottom of the trash can, then lit two more and did the same. It took several moments for the smell of smoke to reach me. Orange and yellow flickered against the gray metal. The fire flared, puffing up a thick column of smoke like a black belch.
Across from me, the flames danced in Adam’s pupils. Smoke stung my eyes. I grabbed the nearest long, pointy thing I could find and prodded the fire with the wrong side of a broom. The once green handle came away charred. The cellar laboratory was thick with haze. Behind the fog, the floating specimens on the shelves looked like props in a haunted house, and the model skeleton, a set piece. I dropped one of Adam’s bloody shoes into the pile and watched as the flames ate into the leather, and before I closed the lid, I added its mate.
A familiar rap came from above. Tap-ta-tap. Tap-ta-tap. The hatch door creaked, and sunlight flooded the stairwell. “Is someone barbecuing or did you recently pick up a nicotine habit?” Owen’s shoes appeared before the rest of him did. The hatch door clanged shut.
“Owen.” Adam pointed.
Owen’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s right, buddy. In the flesh. Not polite to point, though. We’ll work on that.”
Adam lowered his arm slowly to his side.
Owen sniffed the air. His eyes narrowed. He studied the trash can at the center of the room, then opened the lid. His chin snapped back and he waved away a cloud of smoke. Carefully, he peered over the edge and quickly replaced the lid. “Fantastic. Destruction of evidence. A shiny, new line for the rap sheet. Right after criminal conspiracy but before desecration of human remains. Now where do you think that goes on my college application?”
“If you want out, all you have to do is say the word,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Really?” His tone was flat. “So I can just wave my hand and this all goes away?”
I responded with a signature eye roll. “Good morning to you, too.”