Page 9 of Haunted

I don’t know how to process all this. It’s too big. My family is missing. My home is gone. I’m wearing my friend’s clothes. My friend, who drove through fire to save me.

To save me.

What do I do now?

Chapter three

Lance

Parker is in the backyard when I get out of the shower. I watch him pacing back and forth, staring at his phone.

Dad comes home from his shift in the afternoon, and together, we walk around the truck and look at the damage. The entire back of the truck seems to be one scorch mark. Dad kicks the tires and shakes his head.

“Well,” he finally says, sounding tired, “if your mother asks, I gave you a real talking-to.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

He claps me on the shoulder. “The truth is that I’m right proud of you. What you did was foolhardy and boneheaded, but there’s a person alive today because of you. The rest is just a matter for insurance to settle. Do anything like that again, though, and I’ll kick your teeth in.”

“Mom wants to ground me.”

He shrugs. “Believe me, I agree with her, but under the circumstances…” He sighs. “Your mom says Parker’s a mess, and I think lowering the boom on you would make him feel worse. How is he?”

I shrug. “He doesn’t know what to do with himself. I just wish Mrs. Bishop would hurry up and call. The waiting is killing him.”

I keep thinking about Elliott. The last time I saw him, he was waving at me from the back seat like it was a game. If they’re stuck somewhere—some overcrowded shelter full of strangers and noise—he’ll be falling apart. Parker’s mom can’t handle that alone. They just need to call.

“And what about you, son?”

“I’m...” I stop. “I’m scared. I’m more scared now than I was four hours ago.”

Dad sits down on the driveway with his back against the front bumper. He pats the ground next to him. “Sit down.”

I sit next to him and we stare at the house in silence. The cement hurts my butt and the front bumper hits my back at a weird angle.

“I should have helped them more. If I had convinced his mom to follow me, Parker would have her and Elliott and his grandmother. He’s so unhappy and I can’t do anything about it.” I choke up.

He reaches over and rubs my shoulder. “But he’s here, he’s alive, and there’s still plenty of hope for his family. The news said there are some pockets that got spared. I saw the pictures. It’s been chaos at all the collection points. One hand doesn’t know what the other is doing.”

I lean into him and nod. He’s right. I know he’s right.

“Dad, can you just sit with me for a few more minutes?” I ask. “I just can’t let Mom see me like this. Or Parker. She’ll lose her shit and he’ll think it’s his fault I’m upset.”

He relaxes next to me. “Your mom already knows. Unless I miss my guess, she’s only holding it in for his sake. But when it comes to your friend, if I can give some advice, tell him what you told me.”

“Why?”

“Because that way you can share that and he’ll remember that you’re more human than superhero.” He rubs my shoulder again. “Think on it and decide how you want to say it. You’re the only one in the house who can relate to him about this, even a little bit. It might help remind him he’s not alone.”

I think about that. Parker has always been alone, in one way or another. I’ve watched it happen—the friends who stopped calling, the invitations that dried up, the way he’d show up at the start of every school year a little more withdrawn than the last. I’ve wanted to close that distance for longer than I can admit, but the timing was never right. Now the timing is a catastrophe, and he’s here, and I still don’t know how to reach him.

“Parker’s great, you know. He’s kind and creative. You’ll like him.”

“You like him. That’s enough.”

The day after I came out to my family, Dad sat on the front porch swing and quietly told me that no matter what, he would have my back. I didn’t think much about it then, because I’d never once had a reason to think he wouldn’t. I’m thinking a hell of a lot about it now.

The front door opens and my mother appears on the porch, scowling at us. “What are you doing on the filthy cement? Dinner’s almost ready and that table is not going to set itself.”