"You can't see him in ordinary daylight. He only comes out at night, and only if you call him correctly."
Vanessa shifted on the grass, rolling onto her back as she read from her PDA. Beside her, Carl and Alyssa lay cuddled together, watching the sky as evening settled over Canyon Country. It was a weekly ritual of theirs, to spend the afternoon airblading around the neighborhood and afterward laze about on the soccer field behind Sky Blue Mesa Elementary.
"There are three major requirements if you want to call The Dead Whistler: an ordinary dog whistle, a pint of holy water, a willingness to provide several drops of your own blood—hey, are you getting all this?"
"Yeah," Alyssa murmured, though she really wasn't. Her mind was elsewhere, in another place, another time. Monday morning, to be exact, when she would be driving to Sierra Vista Junior High with her father, instead of walking to Sky Blue Mesa with Carl. How I'm going to miss our mornings together...
"You two should get a room," Vanessa snickered. "One last fling, before we all go our separate ways tomorrow."
Carl blushed, sitting up and separating himself from Alyssa. "We're not together. I was just keeping her warm, since she forgot to bring a sweater."
"Right," Alyssa agreed, suddenly becoming interested in the straps of her blades.
Vanessa shook her head and smiled, as if she knew better.
Alyssa knew that she knew, for how many times had she called her friend throughout the past year, gushing about how cute Carl was, how much she wanted him to be her boyfriend, how much she wanted to kiss him—only to freeze up whenever she hung out with him in person. We've been best friends, brother and sister almost, since kindergarten, was the typical excuse. You can't just tell your brother that you like him. I mean, really like him...
But Carl wasn't Alyssa's brother. He was a "well-mannered, sweet-faced hottie with a fine butt," in Vanessa's opinion, and when you came across such a boy you acquired him outright, before a less-deserving girl got the chance to.
"Right," Vanessa cooed, and took up her PDA again. "Well, back to our little danger hunters' meeting. Pay attention, you two! The Dead Whistler has been spotted up and down Soledad Canyon Road, all the way from Pinetree to the Bouquet Canyon area. Rumor has it that if you go down there at night, preferably near the horse trails or railroad tracks, and if you blow three times on an enchanted dog whistle, he'll make an appearance."
Alyssa looked doubtful. "That's got to be a hoax."
"Says who?"
"Says me. I mean, come on. Enchanted dog whistle? We're talking ghosts and goblins here. A real far-out urban myth."
"Yeah," added Carl. "Sort of like your relationship with Danny."
Vanessa stuck her tongue out at him. "Or like the rumor that you've ever kissed a girl."
"You're stupid. I've kissed, um, lots of girls before."
"On the mouth?"
"Yes."
"Prove it, then." Vanessa got to her feet, gestured for Carl to stand as well. "Kiss me."
Carl looked at Alyssa, whose face was flushed bright red. She shrugged and looked away, though, keeping any jealousy she may have been experiencing to herself. "Don't look at me. I don't care where you put your mouth."
With a shrug of his own, he stood up and faced Vanessa. They both still wore their airblades, which started humming softly due to the close proximity of the magnetic fields. "This is dumb," he said. "I'm not putting my lips where Danny's have already been."
"'Cause you don't know how."
"I know how."
"Let's see, then."
"This is stupid..."
There was a moment of silence. Alyssa looked up and watched as Carl leaned forward, tilting his head slightly. Since he was facing away from her, she couldn't actually see the kiss, but she imagined what it was like: their eyes closed, lips touching, or perhaps parting as Vanessa worked her tongue into his mouth. She found herself burning up inside at the mere thought of it, especially when she saw Vanessa's hands suddenly grabbing Carl's butt and giving it a squeeze.
"Hey!" he yelped, stepping back awkwardly so that his blades went off-balance and he fell back onto the grass.
Vanessa doubled over laughing as she wiped her mouth. When she could speak coherently again, she started chanting. "Carl Hanson has never kissed a girl! Carl Hanson has never kissed a girl!"
"Har-har," Carl grumbled with a scowl as he attempted to regain whatever composure he could. Even in the semi-darkness, the scarlet blush flaring in his cheeks was quite evident.
Alyssa glanced at her watch. "Well, I hope you two have had your fun, but it's getting late. We should get going."
Carl nodded in agreement. "Yeah. I'm gonna need to brush the ol' choppers for a couple hours now."
"Very funny," said Vanessa as she slipped her backpack over her shoulder. "What time will we be meeting tonight?"
"I'll pick you both up at midnight," Carl replied, heading southwest across the field. "Keep your inboxes open."
They headed westward along Aldbury, Carl leading the way and whistling an Ashton Scream tune. A year and a half ago he'd struck up a deal with the girls' respective parents, acting as their official after-school escort, so long as he brought them home on time and in one piece everyday. For any other boy in the neighborhood, the answer would have been a non-negotiable prohibition, but Carl had a way with women, young and old. At twelve, he was already getting his adult growth, and it showed. The new broadness of his shoulders, the muscles of his arms and legs becoming more defined, the slight deepening of his voice—he was starting to look less like an adorable child and more like an attractive young man. It wasn't just the physical features that gave him an advantage, though. His boyish charm was maturing along with the rest of him, and he knew it, although he didn't flaunt it. Whenever he used such assets to get something he wanted, he always offered something in return, and he always followed through. That was the difference between Carl and other boys his age, and that was why Alyssa and Vanessa's parents alike had decided to trust him, unattended, with their daughters.
Vanessa's father, Coke in hand, was waiting for them on the stoop.
"Hello, Mr. O'Brien," Carl greeted as he skated up the front walk.
Mr. O'Brien finished off his drink before checking his wristwatch and nodding approvingly. "On time, even until the end." He shook Carl's hand while the girls hugged, wishing each other goodnight. "If that doesn't look good on your resume, I don't know what will."
"Resume?"
"Just joking. My skewered sense of humor. Your parents need any help with the packing?"
"Naw, me and my dad took care of that."
"All right, then. Good luck with the move. Give us a call when you're in L.A., and we'll see if we can't get together sometime."
Carl nodded, hugged Vanessa goodbye, and skated homeward with Alyssa.
"Wow," he said along the way. "That was really goodbye. I mean, for the first time all day...I feel like it's over." He looked at Alyssa for feedback, but she was uncommonly silent, staring straight ahead and looking like she might cry at any moment. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.
Keeping the silence was quite possibly the only thing keeping him from crying as well.
They rounded the corner of Ermine, slowly ascended the uphill slope until they reached 19830. Alyssa sat herself down on the grass beside the brick mailbox in front of her parents' house and undid the straps of her blades, removing them one at a time. When she stood to face Carl again, he was suddenly four inches taller.
"Well," she said quietly and with a smile that was difficult to muster. "Thanks for walking me home."
"No prob."
A pause, an uncertainty as to what was the right thing to do at the moment...and then she suddenly found herself wrapping her arms around him, crying softly against his chest. He held her and smoothed her hair with his hand.
"It'll be okay," he said.
"When do you leave?" Alyssa whimpered without looking up.
"Around ten-o. Probably be in the new place by noon, then gotta register at school, go over all the academic and athletic placement stuff... Please, don't cry."
"I can't help it."
He lifted her head with his hands. "Alyssa..."
Their eyes met, and she was his in that moment. Whatever feelings she'd been accumulating for him over the past year suddenly came flooding uncontrollably over her. It didn't matter anymore, all the anxiety and nervousness over admitting she liked him, all the worry of how to tell him, how to make it right. She just wanted to be with him, to let him know that she wanted to be with him. It didn't matter how he reacted, or if they never saw each other again after this moment. She only knew she needed him now.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," she whispered slowly, "but, would you kiss me? I mean, I know it might be stupid—"
"It's okay," he interrupted, smiling sweetly.
Always so polite, so tender, she thought. He leaned in close so she could reach him. The kiss was much quicker than the one he'd given Vanessa, but quite potent nonetheless. For the moment their lips touched, he was all around her: his arms holding her, his breath mingling with hers, his odor of sweat, shampoo and the outdoors filling her senses. Even after the day's physical exertions, he still smelled nice. Sweet, not sour.
He pulled back afterward, licking his lips. "You taste like strawberries."
"Oh," she replied, blushing and looking away. "It's...I use Chapstick."
He giggled. "You're fruity."
"Yeah...I guess I am."
"See you tonight, then?"
"Sure thing."
"Cool." He let go of her, jumping briskly from the curb. As he glided down the street he yelled out, "Don't worry! It'll be fun!"
Yeah, Alyssa thought to herself. It'll be fun.
This was what the Urban Prophets' office looked like: A king-sized bed rife with pastel-blue comforters, stuffed animals, and heart-shaped pillows; a dresser and mirror against the opposite wall, both augmented by a hanging vine that threatened to take over its own corner of the room if not pruned; a weight-training machine set against a curtained window; and a cluttered desk and billboard tucked into the adjoining corner.
Alyssa sat with her bare legs draped over the edge of the desk, her laptop propped in her lap, and typed her next-to-last journal entry.
8/25/2074
Dear Journal:
After nearly two years of being with The Urban Prophets, the time has come to call it quits. The reasons for this are many, but it mainly has to do with the fact that we have become too busy to devote enough time to our danger hunting.
Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Carl is moving to L.A. I'm starting classes at Sierra Vista. Both of us are sticking with competitive athletics, and we'll probably be tied up in the compulsory exercises for the first week as well as the usual schoolwork, so there won't be much time to talk to each other. Vanessa is the only one of us, come to think of it, who has it easy, as she decided on recreational athletics when she hooked up with Danny. That gives her more make out time, I suppose.
But I'm going off on tangents. This journal is supposed to be about our danger hunting experiences, so let's get on with it.
At about 12:00am, my partners and I are going to investigate an urban myth concerning The Dead Whistler. Many people in or around the Canyon Country area have been swapping stories lately about The Whistler, mostly third-hand experiences heard from the friend of a friend of a friend. The usual sort of thing.
I'm going to be a wreck in the morning, but I'd say it's not such a bad way to close out the summer. As usual, I will complete this journal entry once we've returned from our investigation and determined the myth's level of authenticity.
~Alyssa
She smiled to herself when she was finished, amused at the notion of being a member of a self-appointed danger hunters' club. Early last year, she, Carl, and Vanessa had decided to form the Posse after watching one too many video specials on professional danger hunting. Being underage, they couldn't do much more than airblade around town with a camcorder and show subsequent "documentation" to school friends the next day, but it was something to do, and it was fun to pretend they were actually journalists of a sort.
The four hours or so until midnight were nearly unbearable. Alyssa passed the time in a variety of methods: feigning sleep when her parents came to tuck her in; browsing the Internet when drowsiness started creeping in; and practicing handstands and back-handsprings on the floor of her darkened bedroom when sleepiness started creeping in.
Finally, at ten past midnight, the soft chime of her PDA's video messenger sounded. She picked it up and opened a link. Carl's face filled the tiny screen. He was clad in a long-sleeved black sweatshirt and matching black beanie.
"You're ten minutes late," Alyssa observed.
Carl shrugged. "The night bots are being ornery tonight. I'm at the elementary school. Make sure you stay out of the light when you come down, okay?"
"Gotcha."
Blading to Sky Blue Mesa was a bit tricky at such an early hour, for there was a curfew in effect. Alyssa stuck to the shadows, cutting through neighbors' backyards whenever possible and venturing into a lighted area only when she had to cross Glasser to reach the soccer field. From there it was even more difficult, for the night was pitch black, and her only notion of the field's topography was what she could feel with her feet. She was thankful for her airblades, which made the journey far less perilous than if she'd worn traditional skates.
Should've brought a flashlight, she thought, realizing she had no idea just where she was supposed to meet her companions. From the look of Carl's video message, he'd been standing somewhere near the front of the school where the main building was located, so she headed in that direction. She was halfway there when suddenly something whizzed past her ear, something insect-like. She froze and stumbled to the ground, her body tensed, her heart hammering in her chest. She listened intently, but heard only the slight rustle of the desert night breeze in the trees and the low, distant hum of cars passing on the skyway. Still, something wasn't right—
"Ha!"
She let out a stifled yelp as a glowing orange orb popped unexpectedly out of the air in front of her and flew up to her face.
It was Carl's hyper yo-yo. With a muttered curse, Alyssa grabbed it, its tiny, insect-like wings beating incessantly against her skin.
"Carl, you know I hate this stupid thing!"
There was a small rounded video screen embedded in the spherical shell of the yo-yo. Carl's pixelated face smiled back at her, partly amused, partly serious. "Dumbass! Just follow it and it'll lead you to me and Vanessa."
"Thanks."
Alyssa sighed and let go of the yo-yo, which fluttered up into the air and started flying southward. She skated after it, soon reaching the southern end of the field and spotting her friends crouched beside a telephone pole.
Carl got to his feet and jumped into the air, retrieving his toy. "Great, you made it! Did you bring the med strips?"
"Yeah. How about you two?"
"Got everything," Vanessa answered, producing a dog whistle and a small bottle of water.
Alyssa raised her eyebrows. "Holy water?"
"Yep."
"Please, don't ever tell me how you got that."
"Hey, it's in the name of science, right?"
Carl snickered, saying something about Vanessa having already violated many of the Ten Commandments with Danny; mobile holy water wasn't going to lower her moral values much.
They left the school, heading down Aldbury in a silent procession. The valley opened up before them, a sea of glittering light speckled with palm trees and grassy hills, all cloaked in the pseudo-darkness of fluorescent street lamps and skyway markers. No one spoke much until they'd traveled the length of Whites Canyon Road and reached Soledad Canyon Road, when Carl, once again in the lead, suddenly reared up, spotting a night bot. It was crossing the length of the Ralph's parking lot, coming directly towards them.
"Uh oh," breathed Vanessa. "We'd better run for it."
"Outrun a bot?" Carl hissed. "Did you forget we're humans, or do you suddenly know how to blade at sixty miles per hour?"
"Well we can't just stand here! We're gonna get in trouble! Do you wanna get escorted home by the police?"
Alyssa elbowed Carl in the ribs. "Do something. Now!"
"For crud's sake," he groaned and quickly removed his backpack. "Stay where you are, girls, but turn your heads so you're looking behind you—for my sake, and for the bot's." With that he pulled his pants halfway down and mooned the approaching bot.
"Carl!" Alyssa hissed once she realized what he was doing. "Pull your pants up—you're going to make it worse!"
"Just shut up and hope this works," he replied.
She fell silent, listening as the night bot came to hover within a few yards of where they were standing. She didn't dare chance looking at it directly, but she knew it was scanning them with its video camera, attempting to match their physical appearances with their file photos stored in its database. Any second now it would find three matching records for three underage children who should have been in bed hours ago, and that would be the end of their fun.
Instead, it merely clicked a few times and then whizzed off elsewhere, suddenly interested in surveying other parts of the neighborhood.
"I don't believe it," Vanessa breathed once the danger had passed. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "Nice dimples, and I don't mean the ones on your face."
"Save it," Carl replied, readjusting his clothes and donning his backpack. "Let's just keep moving before a real cop shows up."
"But wait," Alyssa said as they turned westward onto Soledad Canyon Road. "How does flashing your behind at a bot suddenly get us off the hook?"
"Don't you know? The vids these things record are sent back to police HQ over a wireless network, which can be hacked by virtually anyone with half a brain. That means it's basically G-rated public domain. Public displays of nudity aren't allowed, especially if you're a minor. That also means that a bot can't be broadcasting lil' Carl Hanson's butt all over the Internet. Most bots aren't smart enough to censor just the faces, so they block out the whole image, leaving you with just a bunch of pixels."
"Genius," Vanessa giggled.
They skated on in silence, past half-lit convenience stores and barren parking lots, devoid for the most part of people at this hour, but nevertheless too well lit for their purposes. Eventually, they passed the Santa Clara River and entered an area of town that was mostly trees, dry brush, and defunct railroad tracks. The street lamps here were few and far apart, making for sizable sections of near complete darkness in between.
"There," Carl said, pointing to a choice section of bushes and trees. Flashlight in hand, he hopped the wooden fence, and gestured for the girls to follow. When they were several yards off the main road, he stopped and removed his backpack, setting it on the ground. "This'll do."
The others nodded and removed their packs as well. Alyssa took out her camcorder and began recording the proceedings as Vanessa rattled off the instructions from her PDA.
"To enchant the whistle, follow these steps. First, make sure it's a genuine dog whistle, one that cannot be heard by human ears. Make sure it was made in the late twentieth or early twenty-first century—a modern sonic synth won't do the trick."
Carl held up the dog whistle he'd brought, looking at it uncertainly. "It looks pretty old. Found it in my dad's junk collection in the garage. He used to have a Rottweiler when he was a kid."
"It'll have to do," Vanessa said. "Fill a small cup or bowl with holy water. Add to the water a drop of blood from each person participating in the calling."
"You know, this is as close as we'll ever come to devil-worshiping," Alyssa pointed out as she held out her free hand alongside Vanessa's.
Carl did the actual cutting, using a small laser knife to prick each of the girls' fingers. It stung, but they had the med strips ready, and by tomorrow evening there would be little more than a slightly tender spot to remind them of their wounds. He took care of himself last, and then looked at Vanessa expectantly.
"Next, we have to say the proper chant," she said. "While one of us says it, the others have to take turns breathing onto the water."
"This is dumb," Carl snickered.
"That's what it says."
Alyssa leaned over the bowl, attempting to keep the camera on herself. "I'll go first, you big babies. Let's do it."
Clearing her throat, Vanessa began dictating the words on her screen: "Blood of life, offered to the messenger of death, show yourself to us so that we may see beyond sight, live beyond life in the place where the somnambulists dwell."
Carl came up from his turn breathing over the bowl. "Okay. What next?"
"Blow on the whistle three times," Vanessa instructed. "The first blow should be long, followed by two short blows."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
With a dubious expression on his face, Carl took the whistle to his lips and blew on it as instructed. When nothing extraordinary happened, he shrugged and said, "Well, this sucks. Guess it was a dumb idea anyway—"
He was interrupted suddenly as a shadowy figure jumped from the nearby bushes and grabbed him around the chest.
"Carl!" Alyssa yelped, dropping her camera and taking an involuntary step backward. As she did so, she bumped into something—no, someone—who clamped a hand over her mouth and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off the ground. For a moment fear overcame her, filling her mind with all sorts of notions about ghosts and specters even though she knew such things were impossible, that the people now standing around her and her companions were living, breathing teenagers. They'd evidently heard the children's noises and had come to crash the party.
There were four of them, nearly fully-grown but still possessing that certain novelty to their recently deepened voices that gave away their youth. Three restrained Carl, Alyssa, and Vanessa as the tallest commandeered Carl's flashlight and shone it in his face.
"Aw, looks like mama let her baby sneak out of his crib," he cooed. "You forget your way home, Little Hanson?"
"Lemme go, Gary!" Carl snapped, squirming in his captor's grip.
Gary turned away, smirking, and surveyed the ground, spotting the bowl and the discarded dog whistle. "Oh, that's right. You think you're a danger hunter. You trying to call The Dead Whistler, huh? Well, let me save you some trouble. He doesn't show up for baby wannabes."
Alyssa was somewhat surprised that Carl and Gary knew each other, but she kept her silence, not wanting to worsen the situation if she could help it. Vanessa looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
"Are these your girlfriends?" he continued, shining the light on Alyssa. "Cute. Do their parents know you got 'em out here all alone with you?"
"That's none of your business, dickhead," said Carl. "Now fuck off!"
One of the other teens mumbled something about Carl needing to be taught a lesson. Gary stepped up to the boy, poking his finger against his forehead. "And if I don't? What are you gonna do about it?"
Carl looked murderous, but he kept a lid on his temper, barely. "You wanna find out? Now let us go!"
Gary laughed and shook his head as he turned away again, squatted over the children's backpacks, and started rummaging through their things. "Poor little Carl. Thinks he's a man, thinks he's a danger hunter." He held up Carl's homemade badge. "You win this at the state fair?" He tossed it into the nearby bushes.
"Hey!" shouted Carl, nearly wrenching himself free this time. "Go get it, fucker!"
"Ooh, hello!" Gary held up one of Vanessa's tampons. "Whose is this? Carl, you little horn dog! You never told me your girls are bleeders!"
The other teens chuckled. Alyssa cringed, feeling a slight bulge pressing against her buttocks. The teen holding her was getting an erection.
"Well? Raise your hand, Little Miss Waterworks. Which one of you's got the goods?" He turned and faced Alyssa, stepping in close. "I bet it's you," he murmured. She could smell beer on his breath. "You got grass on the lawn yet, sweet thing? How 'bout I check?"
She let out a stifled yelp as his hand slipped between her legs.
Carl snapped. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and tore free from his captor's grip, launching himself at Gary. Their bodies collided with a dull thud, sending the flashlight to the ground as a scuffle broke out. Alyssa and Vanessa were forgotten momentarily as Gary's friends tried to break up the fight.
Amidst the commotion, Carl managed to yell out. "Alyssa! Vanessa! Get out of here!"
It was against her instincts, to leave him here at the mercy of the bullies, but Vanessa was a mess, sobbing uncontrollably, and Alyssa knew if she didn't take care of her, no one would. She grabbed her friend by the hand and pulled her in the direction of the road.
"It's gonna be okay," she kept saying as they reached the fence, climbed over and glided out into the middle of the concrete. From the sounds of the fray behind them, though, Carl was taking some hits. "We gotta call the police... Ness, please tell me you have your PDA on you?"
Vanessa shook her head, wiping the tears from her face. "I dropped it when they grabbed me."
"Damn."
Alyssa whirled around, hearing footsteps approaching as two of Gary's friends came running towards them, devious intent on their faces.
"Come on," she said, grabbing Vanessa again. "We have to find help." She started to turn eastward, but stopped suddenly, an unexpected sound ringing in her ears. She stumbled in place, reoriented herself on her blades, and listened.
Someone was blowing on a whistle, but the sound wasn't coming from the side of the road, where she and her friends had been performing the calling. No, this noise came from somewhere down Soledad Canyon Road, and it was something peculiar, something unnatural...something she shouldn't have been able to hear.
Vanessa's hand tightened in hers. "Aly, what—"
And then they saw him.
An unearthly apparition was moving towards them through the darkness between the street lamps, about thirty yards off. They didn't even get the chance to guess who he was, for time suddenly seemed to cave in on itself. Motions became blurred and sluggish, sounds became muffled, as if traveling through water, yet The Whistler's call was crystal clear.
Alyssa found herself immobilized. With her peripheral vision, she could see Gary and his friends dragging Carl over the fence, their voices undulating in a decelerating cacophony as they, too, became entangled in what was happening.
From a distance, The Whistler looked like an old man riding an antique bicycle, and having a hard time of it at that. The closer he came, though, the more obvious it was that something wasn't right. For starters, his body didn't seem to fit right, the angles of his arms and legs too long or too short in places, as if parts of him had been stretched out while others had been compressed. His clothes were ragged and dusty.
He rode up to them, slowing his pace and setting his foot down onto the concrete when he was within arm's reach of the children. Up close, his features were grotesque, with leathery, rotting skin and brittle bones threatening to pierce through at a moment's notice. His face was a mask of ugliness, bathed in the sulfuric light of the street lamp, his eyes like peeled grapes staring at the children, searching, questioning...pleading. His parched lips clutched a rusted dog whistle that seemed to have fused itself with his mouth.
"Holy shit," echoed Gary's voice.
Alyssa could not see him, but she heard him and his friends as they took off running.
Jerks, she thought, as The Whistler surveyed each of the children in turn, moving slowly until his gaze met her own. She wanted to look away, but could not. Slowly, he reached out and took hold of her right wrist. She looked down and saw bits of his flesh flaking off, dusting her own skin, which began to shrivel in on itself, as if rotting from the inside.
"No..." she gurgled, her voice stuck down inside her throat. She tried to pull away, to no avail. The Whistler held her tight, a newfound urgency in his dead features. Her eyes fixed on his once more.
"I can hear it," he said. "All around. I... can... hear it." His voice was hollow, unnaturally deep, a product of emptiness, despair, and decay.
She looked down at her arm again and screamed, for it had shriveled even more, the skin turning brown and black in places. Adrenaline kicked in and she managed to pull away this time, separating herself from The Whistler and falling back hard onto the pavement. As pain flashed through her, time suddenly began flowing normally again.
"Alyssa!" Carl shouted. He was apparently able to move again, and he stumbled to her side, grabbing her under the arms and hauling her to her feet. "Come on! Nessa! We have to get out of here!"
Instinct, driven by delayed terror, took over as Alyssa grabbed onto Carl's shoulder and closed her eyes, tucking her afflicted arm against her chest. Her legs kicked into motion and she skated blindly, using him for guidance, somehow keeping on her feet for the next several minutes until they'd reached Whites Canyon Road.
"Stop," Carl gasped, slowing his pace and stumbling somewhat. He'd been supporting her weight the entire time and could go no further.
Alyssa collapsed onto the concrete. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her side throbbing from her exertions. Vanessa knelt beside her, wiping tears from her face.
"Your arm?"
Afraid to look but unable to ignore the query, Alyssa held her arm out in the light.
There was nothing wrong with it. Not a scratch. She flexed her fingers experimentally several times, watching firm muscle move under smooth skin.
"You okay?" asked Carl.
"Yeah," she answered, looking up and noticing Carl's wounds for the first time. His face was swollen in places, smudged with dirt and sweat. Cuts on his forehead and lower lip trickled blood onto his sweatshirt, and his hands were raw.
"Oh, Carl!" She clasped him and started crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"
"For what?"
"I shouldn't have left you there like that!"
"No, I told you to go. I didn't want you or Vanessa to get hurt."
Alyssa pulled back, wiping her face with her sleeve. "Who were those guys?"
"Just a bunch of jerks who hang around my block. They never used to bother me until I saw them picking on this little kid one day and I told them to fuck off. Ever since then, they've been in my business. Never got rowdy until tonight, though."
"What about...him?" Vanessa asked. She'd gotten to her feet and was now biting her lip nervously as she gazed down the road.
Carl stood, coughing, and glided slowly to where she stood. "I don't know."
They were silent for a moment as a pair of headlights approached from the west. It was obviously a car, but after what had just happened, the sight was somehow eerie.
"We should get going," suggested Vanessa.
"But all our stuff's still out there," Alyssa pointed out as she got to her feet.
Carl faced her, his eyebrows raised. "Do you really want to go back there right now?"
Good point, she thought, and nodded. "Okay. Let's get out of here."
The journey home was uneventful, and it was no coincidence that they kept The Dead Whistler out of any conversation that came up. Cruel prank, unexplainable magic, or collective hallucination, his appearance wasn't the kind of thing one could talk about comfortably. It all seemed too unreal to have actually happened.
Carl and Alyssa dropped off Vanessa, mumbling their goodbyes as if reading them off a cue card. When they reached Ermine, they glided slowly up the hill the way they'd done so many times before, only now something was missing. It was as if Carl was already gone, as if all familiarity and comfort had left the neighborhood, leaving behind the empty shells of houses and trees.
"You sure you're okay?" whispered Alyssa when they reached the back gate of her parents' house.
Carl nodded and slicked back his matted hair. "I'll live. What about you?"
"Tired. First day of school tomorrow—I'm going to be a wreck."
He nodded, giving her one last hug, a polite one this time, with none of the ardor of their former interlude. "Goodnight."
He left her side and started down the street.
Alyssa turned and started climbing the gate.
"Alyssa?"
She looked behind her. Carl had made his way back to the edge of the sidewalk.
"I've always thought of you as more than just a sister," he said, managing a wan smile. Then he was off, gliding down the hill and silently disappearing around the corner.
For a few minutes after he'd gone, she sat straddling the gate and watched the street as the trees rustled gently in the breeze, casting moving shadows on the pavement, filling the night air with nature's subtle tenor.
Eventually, she hopped down off the fence, crept through her bedroom window, and stumbled onto her bed without even removing her blades. She would have fallen asleep right then and there, had it not been for a single, distant, nagging sound permeating her head.
It sounded like a whistle.
[ END ]