FEVERCHAIN 4

Lesbian werewolves, et cetera. FEVERCHAIN is a contemporary horror-romance serial set in the fictional Pinetown, New Jersey.

Emily S Hurricane has done it again folks with another voiceover! Would like to reiterate that she has done these so quickly and professionally and I will continue to hype her up forever. Good day.

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On the slick black road I approach Gwen’s abandoned backpack like there’s a bomb in it. Her phone is nearby, shattered on asphalt. Press its sides to turn it on, hold buttons down, but it’s totally kaput.

Smokey keeps barking; even with the front door shut I can hear his muffled cries from the street. I pick up Gwen’s backpack and notice my hands are shaking. I move to go inside and piece this together, but realize that if I bring Gwen’s shit in, it’ll agitate Smokey even more.

I recall his reaction to my wallet—not to my wallet, but to the bills in my wallet, the bills Gwen gave me. Was it some cologne she wore that triggered him? He’s never acted like this for anyone or anything, but he could be sick. Note to self: call the vet tomorrow. I could try to take Smokey in the morning last minute—Mom would let me come in late.

The garage door’s gears screech and struggle to life after I type our code, which is obvious as “2” is the only faded button. Pull the lightbulb chain and unzip the rest of Gwen’s bag. On top of the marshmallows, I see a small, black square. It’s warm. It’s on. I flip it. KAHN SECURITY. The hell is that? I search on my phone. It’s a tracker tile.

Maybe Gwen didn’t know it was in there. Or that her mom would abuse it. A metal bat leaning against the wall gives me an idea. I place the tile on the ground, swing over my head, WHACK it. Vibrations from the impact keep me unsettled. I crush the shards, bearing down my weight on the bat’s handle. Crinch, crinch…

Do Gwen’s parents think her diagnosis gives them free rein to control her, act like her adult life is over? Maybe her condition is worse than I thought. She seems perfectly healthy to me—just hot. In every sense.

There were moments, brief moments, when her eyes would unfocus. Go glassy. Some people are like that, head in the clouds. It could be from her illness, it could be that she just has a lot to think about.

Over and over I think please talk to me again. Please talk to me again. She’s embarrassed, I know. But I still want her in my bed. Tonight, tomorrow, the day after. I can give her a Tootsie Pop and show her my Smokey scrapbook to prove he’s not a maniac. A breeze enters the garage and tickles my hair. I expect her to appear, as she did earlier, out of the trees or bushes.

I wait, it’s stupid—I know her mom drove her home. Don’t I? Nothing appears out of the darkness, so I press the button and the garage door shuts, grating and harsh, causing the black pieces from the tracker tile on the ground to tremble.

↟↟↟

“Pew, pew!”

I enter Panco’s Diner in the afternoon. Emilio’s sitting at the counter, aiming his camera at me.

“Look what I got, Binks!”

“Wow,” I raise my brows and duck my head. The vet said nothing was wrong with Smokey, except maybe separation anxiety or an allergy. Welcome to the club, kid. Gwen could also be using a topical medication that’s neurologically toxic to dogs—but that’s something I’m not sure I can ask her yet. I trudge behind the counter, hang my jacket in the kitchen, and stare at my peanut butter jar, apples, and crackers sitting untouched.

Don’t know why I’m pouting. Gwen likes me. She fucked me with her hands. Her mom and my dog can’t ruin that.

“Bianca Panco, so mysterious, what’s happening in the world of Bianca…”

I scowl at Emilio, who’s manipulating his lens in my direction.

“I said don’t record me.”

He lowers his camera. “Just practicing.” Slurp. “Hear about Peanut?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“I feel bad, but,” his eyes widen, “imagine if I got that on camera.”

I want to ignore him, but there’s no one else in here on Saturday, January 23rd, at 3:13 p.m.

“No one wants to watch that.” Hate being short with him, but it’s not funny. Smokey’s acting insane, and I can’t even let him outside without worrying he’ll get mauled. “How was the lunch rush?” Sometimes my mom pays Emilio to help out, mop and bus the tables.

“Wasn’t a rush, really. Thornton and the Twitchells—talking about coyotes. You know rabies is like 100% fatal for humans?” Emilio finishes his soda and burps. “You become like an aggressive zombie, afraid of water.”

“I know what rabies is.”

“Like real life zombies.”

“Yeah.” I sit, rest my chin on my hand, and stare at the door. “Emilio, don’t go into the woods alone.”

“I’m only going for a couple hours.”

This fucking kid. “Do you want rabies?”

“Bro, chill. I have this—” he reaches into the open mouth of a red-checkered backpack.

An explosive honk bursts my eardrums; I scream “STOP!”

He shakes the can and giggles. “Blowhorn.”

“Jesus Christ, get out Emilio!” I want to chuck the remainder of his soda and ice on him, but think better of it, slapping the countertop.

“What was that!” my mom shouts.

He almost responds but presses his lips together when he sees my mom storm out of the kitchen.

“He brought a blowhorn.”

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, Miss Panco.” He hides it behind his camera.

“What’s that? Video recorder?”

“He wants to go out in the woods and record the coyotes.”

“He wants to go in the woods?” Mom shakes her head. “No wayyy, Emilio. I’m texting your mom right now.” She types with her inefficient index finger, pursing her lips. “The woods? After everything I heard this morning? I don’t think so. You can record your movie in the diner.”

I give Mom a dirty look, and she shrugs.

“This diner is boring,” Emilio groans. “No offense. Like, I need carcasses and stuff.”

“We have raw bacon,” Mom suggests.

“Maybe,” he sighs, tinkering with his camera.

“Oh!” Mom’s face brightens. “There’s Gwen.”

What? She’s outside the window, waving. She looks okay, just a little flushed as she walks inside wearing a red college sweatshirt rolled up to her elbows and cargo pants. Unclean boots, hair brushed by the wind. I take a breath.

Emilio squints at her, and I see his finger hover over the camera’s record button. Then his cell phone rings. He fumbles to turn it off, but I can tell the caller ID shot cortisol into his veins.

“Hey, aren’t you Ms. Valenzuela’s kid?” Gwen asks him. “The school principal?”

“Infamously,” I smirk.

“You got tall,” Gwen tells him.

Emilio’s cheeks darken. “Okay, you guys are snitches and narcs.” He stuffs his camera in his backpack and stomps to the exit with fourteen-year-old defiance. “I’m out.” He pauses at the threshold and mumbles: “Goodbye, Miss Panco.”

“Buh-bye.” My mom snorts. “He’ll be back. How are you, Gwen?”

Gwen sits beside me and folds her hands on the counter. Back stiff. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.” My mom grins. “Want anything?”

“Um.” Gwen blinks, glances at me, glances at the acrylic holder full of menus on the counter, and back at my mother. “Eggs.”

Eggs? Those aren’t vegan. I’m certain of that. She didn’t even want egg wash last time—does Gwen not know what vegan is? That’d be cute if I hadn’t spent like twenty bucks on peanut butter snacks.

“How do you like them done?”

“Oh. Just any… way.”

Her profile is defined by thick lashes, tousled hair, parted lips. Fine, I guess it’s cute.

Mom furrows her brows. “Scrambled?”

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

“Cheese? Peppers?”

“No, just plain. Thank you.”

I get up from my seat. “I can make it, Mom.”

But she waves me off, expression mischievous as she enters the kitchen through the swinging door. I feel my rosacea spread. God. At least she’s supportive.

I touch Gwen’s wrist. It’s warm. “I thought you were vegan.”

“I was—I am. I want to be.” Her hands grip each other. “I’m just trying to not feel like shit right now.”

“Oh.” I pull my hand back. “I’m sorry.”

A pan clangs. Liquid hisses. Gwen shuts her eyes.

“Don’t apologize.” She sounds mad. “You didn’t do anything.” She sounds really mad.

“Do you want to talk?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”

She rubs her face with her hands. Speaks quietly. “Not really.”

“Okay.” My heartbeat goes crazy. I get out of my seat. “Do you want to go to the bathroom?”

“Your mom’s coming out.”

My mom swings through the kitchen door with a steaming plate of eggs and sets it down in front of Gwen. “Here you go!”

“Thank you.”

She slides Gwen salt and pepper shakers. “Something to drink?”

“Water, no ice. Please.”

I stare at Gwen while she stares at the eggs. Yellow chunks sitting in their own liquid. Her nostrils flare and she swallows hard, looking queasy.

My mom sets down a full glass. “How long do you think you’ll be in Pinetown?”

Gwen clears her throat. “Um,” she shakes her head, voice oddly high and airy, “I’m not sure.”

My mom nods, backs off. “I’ll be making a coffee cake if you girls need me. Let me know when Thornton comes in.”

“Will do,” I murmur, thanking her with my eyes.

Once my mom’s in the back, and the door stops swinging, Gwen rushes to the bathroom. I don’t know if I should follow, but I do. She left the door unlocked. “Gwen?” I find her sitting on the floor, in the corner, chest heaving.

I kneel beside her. Take out my phone. “D-do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” she gasps. “Sit with me.”

“Okay.”

She ducks her head between her knees. I rub her back until her breathing slows. I want to say something, but my mind is television static. I scratch her neck, run my fingers through her hair. She thanks me. I don’t know how much time passes. Definitely enough for my mom to notice.

Gwen lifts her head, eyelids swollen. “This diagnosis… it’s been really hard for me.”

I squeeze her shoulder.

“Makes me feel like a different person. A different person who wants different things, and I didn’t expect that. No one told me to expect that. There’s other things too.” She grimaces. “But they’re not even real.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”

She meets my eyes. “I hear things I’ve never heard before. Smell things I’ve never smelled before. There’s more, but I don’t know how to describe it. It’s all from fever delirium. But it feels so real.”

“Fever delirium?”

“Yeah,” she rubs her head. “It’s a symptom. From lupus.”

“That sounds serious. Really serious. We should go to the hospital—I can give you a ride.”

“No.”

I touch her forehead. She’s feverish, just like last night. It doesn’t feel as magical now. “Gwen, I’m really worried.”

“This just happens to me now.” She stands, offers me a hand. I take it and rise. “Doctor says there’s nothing I can do but mitigate. None of the shit they give me works. And if they try to lock me in a hospital, I’ll kill myself. Told my parents that. If you don’t let me go outside, I’ll die.”

“Gwen…”

“So I’m going to take the eggs and eat them outside. You can join if you want, but I know it’s cold and weird. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, that’s fine. I’ll be fine as long as I’m outside, not trapped in some room.” She leaves before I can say anything. I look at myself in the mirror. My mouth is gaping, I look stupid. There’s a mascara smudge under my eye, I wipe it away.

I take two deep breaths and leave. Thornton’s in his spot; he’s ogling at the door. Pack of cigarettes on his table. Gwen and the plate of eggs are gone.

“Hi Thornton,” I say. “Mom, Mr. Thornton’s here!” I leave before anyone can respond. My mom will try to give me tip money tonight, but I didn’t earn it. I’ll close, at least.

Gwen’s sitting on the curb with an empty plate. I want to say wow that was fast but hold my tongue. She gazes up at me and offers a sad smile.

“Need anything?” I ask.

“Bianca, I’m so, so, so, so sorry about the last 48 hours.” She gets up and hands me the plate, then sticks a fat wad of cash in my cleavage. I look down at the folds and see twenties.

“What? No!”

“My parents’ money, who cares. They invested in Canadian Solar and it worked out.” She starts walking away, towards the fucking woods.

“Don’t fucking pay me!” I throw the wad at her.

She catches it with both hands before it can pass her face and laughs. “Want to come with Wade and me to Robby Bob’s tonight?”

I have whiplash. That’s got to be the crustiest bar on the god damn planet. But they have a frozen daiquiri machine. And I don’t have plans. I hardly ever have plans—clearly, I’m still in Pinetown. And it’s Gwen, and she fascinates me more than she scares me and I think she can get better and maybe we could fall in love and live together somewhere. Or something. “Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine.”