Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jules knew it was summer but it dawned on him then that he had forgotten the warm sensation of a fervent sun. Cicadas droned in his ears. Light poured through the leaves, illuminating his quiet escape. He wondered if anyone else noticed, or if the staff simply gave up after midnight and called the real police to deal with him. Or if anyone had been fired. The north exit should have never been unlocked during a fire drill anyways.

His feet were sore but he carried on. He had nowhere to run to, but his indignation outweighed the crushing doubt.

The forest came to an end, and his shelter ceased to shield him from the world, leaving him alone in the yellowing plains. There was a single road upon the ditch. Hitchhiking wasn’t the safest choice, but it seemed his options were limited right now.

Jules hiked beside the road, looking around for any sign of living, but the empty distance drew on for miles. He started counting backwards from one hundred in his mind, an exercise proposed by Mrs. Rodriguez to settle the kid’s nerves whenever they felt like they were getting agitated. The practice wasn’t so much for him as it was for the other kids, but at least it kept him distracted for a while.

By the sixth time he restarted the timer in his mind, he finally heard a car barrelling down the road behind him. It was an old, rusty pick-up truck. It didn’t look like a cop’s car, so he stuck out his thumb. The wheels turned slower and slower until the truck came to a stop in front of him.

The window rolled down to reveal a boy about Jules' age with messy, tawny curls and flushed cheeks. “Want a ride?” He asked. He wore a dusty blue flannel and a straw cowboy hat. He spoke with a slight twang, courtesy of the south.

Jules shrugged. He wasn’t so sure this was the best thing to do now that the option was laid out in front of him. But his throat was so dry and the adrenaline from his escape had begun to wear off.

“It’s really a yes or no question.” The boy threw out the stalk of grass hanging between his teeth. “I’m Wesley.” He extended his hand, which Jules took.

“Um, Jules.” He said, reciprocating Wesley’s kind introduction. It probably wasn’t smart to be giving out his name but Jules didn’t want to offend him.

“Nice to meet you, Jules. So, you want a ride or not?”

Jules was trying to stay under the radar, but he had been walking for hours without any luck. And Wesley looked too young to be a cop, but his father could be.

Regardless of his suspicions, Jules hopped into the front seat. Wesley’s truck smelt like cigarettes, but he didn’t carry the heavy cadence of someone who had an addiction.

Wesley tilted his head slightly, like a dog trying to understand something. “Well, where can I take you?”

“Whichever town is closest.” He said. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“The nearest town is Alma but it’s still a few hours away.” Wesley said, rearranging the mess of receipts and empty chip bags across the dash by throwing them in the backseat. “If you want, I have some extra clothes in the backseat.” He glanced across Jules' orange attire, “Since, you’re dressed like a prisoner and all.”

His kindness was strange but Jules chose not to question it. He reached in the back for a t-shirt laying on the seat when he noticed a heavily stuffed backpack and a hunting rifle in the backseat. He slid on Wesley’s shirt, discarding his old one out the window. Finally Jules was a person again. No longer a number in the system but a real person.

As they drove on, they passed a sign warning that hitchhikers might be escaping inmates. Normally, Jules would have laughed at the irony, but exhaustion had already begun to settle in his bones. He leaned his head against the window as a headache formed on the sides of his temple.

“What’s your plan once you get to town?” Wesley asked.

“Dunno.”

“You’re pretty talkative, huh?” Wesley chuckled to himself.

Jules didn’t respond.

Wesley looked back at Jules with a soft expression. “Do you have any family you can stay with? I can take you.”

This time Jules had the energy to laugh. “Why would you want to do that? You’re already risking everything.”

Wesley was stupid for even letting Jules in his truck in the middle of nowhere. He could have been a serial killer on the loose. Too bad he was also just a stupid kid.

“You seem like a good person,” Wesley replied as if it were a simple fact. “And… it’s not like I have anywhere important to be.” His demeanor shifted, like a bright meadow when the sun becomes covered by a dark cloud.

“You don’t even know me.” Jules retorted.

Wesley fell silent, nodding his head in agreement. “Well, then tell me about yourself.”

Great. This was going to be just like the group therapy sessions in the detention center. Jules wasn’t sure what Wesley’s game was, but he decided that if he was going to be coerced into small talk, he wanted to know why this stranger was so unusually kind to pick up an obviously escaped felon.

“You hunt?” Jules asked.

Wesley hesitated for a moment. “When I was younger. That’s uh, that’s my dad’s rifle.”

Jules pried harder. “Why do you have a backpack? You didn’t kill anyone and now you’re on the run, right?”

Wesley’s grip around the wheel tightened. “What? No, I’m just… seeing the world. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How do I know you didn’t kill anyone?”

“I guess you don’t.” Jules had a habit of ruining the mood. Looking back at Wesley’s stiff posture, he realized that he had made Wesley feel afraid. “I didn’t, though. Sorry.” Jules quickly added, trying to save some face.

“Okay,” Wesley breathed out, “That’s good. I don’t help bad people. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” Wesley reached forward and clicked on the radio. He adjusted the knob until the radio static was replaced with the antique sound of “Hotel California”.

By dusk, they arrived in Alma in silence. The buildings were relics of the past with crumbling brick walls and gardens overgrown with weeds. The town was delicate by size but it was far away from Jules' old life, so it was enough.

Wesley turned the music down as he slowed in front of a general store to let Jules out. He leaned back into his seat with satisfaction, “Well, this is it.”

Jules picked along the loose thread on a pair of dark-wash jeans. Wesley insisted he take it so that he could look more normal and less “sketchy”. Jules smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Wesley said. “Who knows, maybe the next time we see each other, I’ll be the one needing a favor.”

“Maybe.” Jules opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, giving Wesley one final wave before he drove off and disappeared in the dust.

Jules entered the general store and hurried towards the restrooms to avoid being seen.

He changed into his new pants, shoving the orange pair into the trashcan, and turned on the sink, cupping his hands under the faucet to drink.

He looked at himself in the mirror, his appearance was more disheveled than he remembered. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his hair didn’t lay smooth anymore, instead pieces of hair stuck out on all sides like tree branches. He still had a small scar by the corner of his lip from when his foster father threw a glass at him.

He was quiet, he got good grades and he always had good manners. But every scorched child will eventually reach their threshold.

Jules hit his a week after he had been adopted by a nice, older couple in Jane Lew. Mr. and Mrs. Hill. The Hill’s had a child before him, but she passed away in a car accident, but they wanted to be parents so badly that they decided to adopt.

Jules didn’t mind being alone, everyone in the foster system was. But in Jane Lew, he felt awkward. He didn’t fit into the stereotypical White, “American Dream” image everyone seemed to portray. He didn’t believe in God either. God never gave him a chance so why should he?

It happened during second lunch. Jules was washing his hands in the bathroom when Dylan, a kid he recognized from fifth period, walked in. Dylan paused for a moment when he saw Jules, then muttered something under his breath. As Jules walked past him to leave, he said it again. Louder this time.

“Disgusting.”

Jules looked back at him, confused as to what he meant.

Dylan didn’t offer any context. Instead, he stepped towards Jules, looking him up and down. “What? Are you an idiot, too?”

“What?” Jules laughed. He didn’t mean to, but the sheer confidence with which Dylan spoke caught him off guard.

Dylan shoved him into the wall, causing Jules’ head to ricochet off the corner of the wall. “Is this fucking funny to you?”

Jules grabbed the back of his head, wincing at the memory. The rest of that day was a blur, all Jules’ knew was that he left with a headache and Dylan left with a black eye. But he’ll always remember the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Hill when they found out. All of their friends had warned them that adopting was a bad decision because they could be giving a troubled child free access to the world, and Jules’ had just proved them right.

After that day, he was sent to Cold Rock Detention Center where he would make his escape during a routine fire drill. He wondered if the Detention Center had called his former foster family in Jane Lew, and he wondered if they were worried for him or they simply told the officer that he wasn’t their problem anymore and hung up.

Night fell over the town like a velvet blanket. Only a few streetlights were still working, moths swarmed the flickering light hungrily. Jules laid on a bench underneath a bus stop. The bench was hard and poked his back but it would have to do. His stomach ached with starvation, but he closed his eyes, praying for sleep to come and carry him away. He would just have to wait until morning to deal with it.

Chapter Text

Wesley pulled into the parking lot of a rundown motel. The open sign flashed on and off in a soft red light. He pulled the backpack forward from the backseat and unzipped the pockets, searching for something. He ravaged through the pockets once again, more panicked until he remembered.
“Shit…” He whispered in the dark. He left the wallet in his extra pair of jeans. The ones he gave to Jules.

He sat back, unsure of what to do now. He didn’t have any more money, and he was still wary about showing his face in public.

He looked out through the windshield. That’s when he saw her, leaning against the side of the motel. Wesley rolled his eyes and emerged from the truck in defeat. “Priscilla? What are you doing here?”

Priscilla’s golden hair looked pink against the glow of the open sign. She glared behind him, checking for any bystanders. “Dad wanted me to check up on you.”

“He did?” Wesley crossed his arms, trying to counteract the excitement that rang in his voice. He hadn’t heard from Riley for two weeks. Riley, the man who took him in when he was ten years old, was also the same man who told Wesley if he wasn’t just like them, he had to go.

“I think he feels bad about everything that happened. He’s just not ready to admit that yet.” Priscilla said.

“You followed me just to tell me that?”

“It wasn’t easy.” Priscilla flicked the top of Wesley’s straw cowboy hat. “Where’d you get this?”

“From some guy. How I got the truck too. He tried to kidnap me so I hit him over the head with a glass and stole his wallet. Which I then lost.” Wesley beamed, but his smile quickly faded when Priscilla’s eyes narrowed towards him.

“And did you…?” She asked.

Wesley knew what she meant. The image in his mind’s eye was enough to make his stomach churn. “No.” He answered meekly.

Priscilla’s voice softened. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not like all of you! He knows that and so do you.” Wesley shouted with annoyance. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me like you. Bye, Priscilla.”

“Wesley, wait!” Priscilla chased after him and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. “At least let me help you. You’re still family to me.”

Wesley rolled his eyes at the statement, but stayed.

Priscilla fetched her wallet from the pocket of her floral skirt and pulled out a fifty. “Here, for a room. Keep the change.”

“Thanks...” Wesley said, slightly confused. He folded the money into the pocket of his flannel.

“Why don’t we have breakfast in the morning? I’ll buy you some pancakes. After that, I swear I don’t bother you anymore.” She smiled sweetly, the way she did whenever someone tried to undermine her, only this time it was genuine.

“Okay… um, thanks.” Wesley tried to return the honesty, but he was leery about Priscilla’s kindness.

Priscilla stepped past him out of the parking lot, naturally gravitating towards the woods behind the telephone booth, leaving him under the shine of the streetlamp.

“Aren’t you staying here too?” Wesley gestured towards the motel.

“Nope,” Priscilla answered playfully, “This town’s a little too quiet for me, y’know?” She twirled around and disappeared into the darkness.

“Right…” Wesley muttered under his breath before pushing through the motel door.

The room was small and dusty, and the windows didn’t have curtains, which allowed for the moon to glare directly into his room. Wesley rolled over, twisted in the bedsheets, trying to command himself to sleep, but it wouldn’t take.

After seeing Priscilla, his mind stirred with thoughts of home. The tire-swing in the front yard, small feet racing to the end of the hallway, the zinnias growing in the garden. He missed the way everything was before, he missed the feeling of love without a condition.

He had trained himself to not feel it, and in return he lost the last bit of family he had. He felt stupid for missing them, but he was so, so alone out there.

He would do anything to go home for just a night, except the one thing that was hereditary to his being.

Priscilla knew this. Maybe she just came here to mess with him, Wesley thought. She gave him money and offered to buy him breakfast for… what? She was building up to something, and Wesley already knew his answer.

…

The morning light shone through the blinds, covering the table in shadowed lines. The diner was empty besides a few workers, and smelt of bacon and sweet vanilla.

Wesley found Priscilla sitting in a booth in the back with a plate of pancakes and sausage in front of her. She wore a purple sweater that was too big for her and a scarf around her head despite the summer heat. Wesley felt a little embarrassed in the same outfit he’s worn for the last three days, but at least he could wear short sleeves whenever he wanted.

“Good morning.” She gestured for him to sit and pushed the plate towards him.

“Morning.” He replied, picking up a fork. “Want any?”

“No thanks. I already ate.” She said, grinning.

Wesley shook the image from his head and sliced through the soft pancake, cutting out a perfect triangle before putting it in his mouth. After a few more bites, he looked up from his plate with anticipation. “So…?”

“So what?” She asked.

“There’s something you want to say, right? ‘You’re still family to me?’ That’s such bullshit, Priscilla.”

Priscilla sighed and pulled the plate away from him just as he went in for another bite. “That’s not how you talk to your sister.”

Wesley figured he should have waited until after he finished eating his meal to call her out, but he had been thinking about this the whole night. “Really? Because if I recall correctly, and I do, you weren’t jumping to defend me when Riley kicked me out. So, why are you here?”

Priscilla sighed, more annoyed this time. “Like I said, he feels bad. We all do. We treated you horribly when we should have been your family. We– I want you to come home.”

“Really?” He asked with childish hope gleaming in his eyes.

She let go of the plate and pulled a small vial out of her pocket, setting it in front of Wesley. The vial contained red liquid. Wesley knew exactly where she got it from.

“Y-You know I can’t.” Wesley protested.

Priscilla held his hand. “I know the urges can feel terrifying, especially after what happened with your mom–”

“Don’t bring her up.” He warned, digging his nails into her flesh.

“You can come home, if you bring fresh meat.” She explained. “You don’t have to kill anyone, you don’t even have to drink. Just bring someone back.”

Wesley thought it over for a minute. He felt bad about tricking someone into falling to a gruesome demise, but he felt so lonely and he missed making up jokes with his cousins and the community he once had. “Just…anyone?” He asked.

Priscilla nodded, a smile warming her face. “Anyone.”

Wesley figured he didn’t have to trick just anyone. He could pick a bad person, someone who deserved to die, someone nobody would miss. It would almost be ethical that way. Almost.

Wesley looked up at her, “I’ll do it.”

She laughed, “Good! I knew you would come around. Dad’s going to be so proud of you.”

Wesley bit back a smile, he still wasn’t sure how exactly he would manage to talk someone into going all the way across the state with him. He pushed the thought out his head, the only thing that mattered was going home. “Well, I should probably go.”

“Of course.” Priscilla leaned back into her seat as Wesley stood up. “Oh, Wesley. You should take this.” She held the small blood-filled vial up to him.

“No, I don’t want it.” He said.

“Your father was a vampire and you’ll forever share his instincts. You don’t have to drink blood if you don’t want to, but it will hurt you eventually. Think of it as a sort of epipen for vampires.”

“Fine.” He grumbled. Wesley took the vial from her hand, holding it under his sleeve. “I’ll see you later?”

“You will.” She assured.

Chapter Text

Suddenly in the grey light of the morning, Jules' new life didn’t seem so glorious. The bench protruded into his back, interrupting his sleep throughout the night, and the dusty air made his eyes itchy.

He sat up, examining the dreadful town that laid before him. Maybe he should have asked Wesley to take him further, to a bigger city where it would be easier to blend in.

He felt something shift beneath him. He reached his hand into the pocket of Wesley’s jeans and pulled out a small, black wallet.

Shit…

He must have been too tired last night to notice his back pocket was full. He opened the wallet to find one-hundred dollars in cash and the ID of a man who was not Wesley. As a matter of fact, the man on the ID bore no resemblance to Wesley. His name was Cameron Crawford and he was 47 years old.

But maybe Wesley knew him. Jules didn't know his last name, Cameron could be someone in his family. However Wesley got a hold of it, it was now in Jules’ possession, and more than likely Wesley was far away by now. He tucked the wallet back into his pocket for now.

He stood up and was viscously reminded of his hunger by the sharp ache that struck through his belly.

Across the street was the general store he stopped into on the first day. He wished to put more distance between him and his old life, but he succumbed to his primal instincts.

The bell chimed above him, announcing his presence to the two store workers chatting behind the counter. They paused for a moment, looking him up and down, before welcoming him in with reluctant smiles.

As Jules walked towards the food aisle, he noticed one of the workers following slowly behind him, pretending to organize the packages of gum. He was a large man with graying hair. He towered over Jules, who was considered tall for his age. A name-tag with Jason written across it hung from his linen shirt.

“Need help finding anything?” Jason asked.

Jules quickly shook his nod to escape the approaching conversation. “Nope, I’m good.”

Jules picked out a sleeve of salty crackers and some beef jerky before making his way to the front counter. On the top of the counter was a newspaper, flipped over to reveal the headline: “ESCAPED INMATE”, along with a picture of Cold Rock Detention Center. In the lower left corner of the print was a description.

“…A young Indian male, 17 y.o., with short black hair. Last seen near Ash Street outside of Cold Rock Detention Center wearing orange coveralls.”

“Where ya from?” The man continued to trail him. “I got to say, you look oddly familiar.”

The other worker, a young woman, watched in silence as Jules pulled out the wad of cash out of the wallet. He felt the air in the room tense, and the man nodded towards the other worker, who clicked something underneath the counter.

Fuck. He needed to get out of here now. “How much?” He asked.

“Um, $5.37.” She said, her voice trembling lightly.

Jason grabbed a bottle of water from the display on the counter. “You should take something to drink too. It’s hot out there.”

Jules took the water. “Thanks, Jason.” He said through bitter teeth. “Do you know which way is the nearest bus stop?”

“Go out and make a left. It’s by the park.”

Jules tossed a ten dollar bill to the worker and grabbed his food. “I don’t need the change.”

Jules pushed through the door, turned right, and ran. Sirens sounded softly behind him, but he knew they were still far away. He ducked into an alleyway, brushing away his sticky hair that was matted down to his forehead.

Now he was wishing he took Wesley up on his offer, but he was long gone by now and where could Jules even go? He didn’t have a home to go back to and nobody would harbor a criminal, at least knowingly.

Sirens grew louder and louder until they finally stopped. Jules heard doors slam and indistinguishable words. He peeked around the corner and saw Jason with a cop, pointing down the street towards the park, opposite of the way Jules ran.

Across the alleyway, on the other side of the street, was a cornfield. It was his only chance. He made a break for it, disappearing into the heart of the stalk. The husks slashed against his face, leaving traces of irritated flesh, but at least it provided some much needed shade. He walked along the small break between columns of corn, imagining how his perspective right now would be no different from an ant’s in a dry meadow.

He kept up a swift pace until he saw a wedge of green between the stalks. Tall sycamore trees embraced him into the new terrain. There was a long dip in between the trees, hinting at the existence of a small river at one time.

He sat down next to the draining creek bed, tore open the seals to his food, and drank down his water in seconds.

He instinctively reached to wrap himself, and felt the ache in his chest when he remembered he didn’t have his favorite jacket, a burgundy Carhartt jacket. It was the first thing he ever bought with his own money, but he had to give up all of his possessions when he was sent away. His foster parents could’ve kept it, after all they knew how much it meant to him.

Maybe it was the nostalgic summer sun on his face, or the panic and fear that finally caught up to him now that he realized he didn’t have a plan, but all he wanted right now was that jacket.

He pushed himself up, a new purpose occupying his movements.

The sun dipped below the tree lines, and the sirens had long faded when thick clouds loomed in the distance. He kept underneath the trees like the day he first escaped as rain drops found him in between layers of leaves. The air cooled around him and Jules felt like he could finally breathe again. If it was up to him, he would make it rain everyday.

Faint strumming of a guitar flooded around him as he came upon a hill. At the bottom of the peak was a small stage where a band was performing. People gathered around, laying across blankets and towels. He had no idea who was performing, nor if he was even allowed to be here without some sort of payment, but he figured he earned a few minutes of entertainment.

It wasn’t until he sat down in the grass when he noticed the crowd looked disappointed by the rain. The lead singer murmured something into the microphone that Jules couldn’t make out.

A young couple, a guy and a girl, sitting beside him on a yellow-checkered picnic blanket, looked at each other in similar confusion. They leaned forward and tapped on the shoulder of another attendee, who told them the band was going to wait until the weather let up before continuing.

“It’s just a little rain!” The guy scoffed, “We paid good money for these tickets.”

“It’s fine, Hubert,” The girl reassured, caressing his arm, “The rain won’t last long, they’ll probably be back in five minutes.”

Hubert fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and groaned, “Damn, I forgot my lighter in the car.”

“Can’t you wait? There’s no point in smoking in the rain anyways.” She disputed, clinging to his arm in desperation.

“Then I’ll go smoke in the car.” He retaliated, placing a cigarette between his teeth.

Jules watched Hubert as he marched down the hill, shaking his head at something unclear to unknowing onlookers. But Jules knew. He turned back towards the girl and caught her looking at him as well. Black hair trailed down her shoulders to a light printed floral dress, accentuating her earth-toned skin.

She gave a polite smile in an attempt to hide her frustration. “He can’t seem to quit those stupid things.”

Jules nodded. He had been around smokers his whole life, the stench alone took him backwards in time to the trashy trailer park homes where old women with curlers in their hair used to sit on foldable lawn chairs in the misty mornings and chat.

In other such cases, it was a nicer house but planted in the middle of nowhere, where children were simply ghosts. Only needed when called upon. Forgotten like dust. The husbands were cruel, the wives were manic.

They always, always had a cigarette in their hand.

He thought of Wesley and his pick-up truck. Strangely, the scent didn’t bother Jules. In fact, he had never felt as calm as he did driving to Alma with Wesley for five hours than he did in many years.

“They act like it’s a lifeline.” Jules concurred, grimacing at the thought of revisiting one of his former homes.

“Right? I’ll never understand it…” Her eyebrows narrowed, looking him up and down. “Were you here before?”

“No,” he admitted, trying to retain an apology, “I was just stopping by.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” She grinned. “I’m Vera, by the way.”

“J–” He paused. How could he be so stupid? He was almost caught a few hours ago and now he almost gave out his real name. He thought of the wallet. “Cameron. My name is Cameron.”

Vera watched his face intensely, the attention startled Jules but she didn’t question his awkward hesitation, instead she moved on. “Are you nomadic too?”

Nomadic was a much nicer word for it. Jules supposed that could be what he told people if they asked. It made him sound mystifying, more sophisticated than guilty, or shapeless like the wind. “I am.” He replied, claiming his new identity like a golden treasure.

“Us too. We’re going to Texas.” She looked out into the crowd before her, hair twirled around her cheeks but the weather didn’t seem to bother her, only inspire her. “Do you need a ride or anything?”

Jane Lew was far from Texas, but Jules wasn’t exactly in the position to be declining help no matter its promises. He could always hitch another ride along the way. “Yeah, that would be great,” Jules smiled, “Thanks.”

Rain drops splattered across her forehead as the storm rolled in. People began to stand, gathering up their blankets and towels and heading toward the parking lot.

“I guess that’s three-hundred bucks we’re not getting back.” Vera lamented, “we should go now before Hubert gets too grumpy to drive.”

As unexcited as Jules was to be stuck riding in a cramped car with a man whose name sounded like how a spoiled apple tastes, at least Vera would be there to provide calming words. Jules helped her fold up the picnic blanket, and the two of them rushed down the hill as thunder echoed overhead.

Chapter Text

This could all be some sick trap, but what did Wesley stand to lose? He was pathetic, and he knew it. He made an ugly scene when he left West Virginia, when he was sure it would be the last time he ever crossed paths with anyone he knew. He never wanted to leave. West Virginia had become his new home since leaving Florida all those years ago. But now that there was a chance to win back the family that abandoned him, he had laid down his arms with pitiful ease.

Maybe that was what he wanted all along. For someone to feel his absence, for someone to miss him, even if it was just a trick.

Wesley tipped the vial back and forth, watching the blood slosh from left to right. He only kept his gaze on the vial as he drove, fearing that the moment he relaxed he might screw open the top and down the bottle in seconds, relishing the smooth way the blood flowed down his throat, and the savory-sweet stick on his teeth. He felt like he could throw up, yet he couldn’t stop watching the blood pool towards one side, then back again.

Priscilla was probably trying to tempt him. Fuck her. He didn’t need an emergency blood flask, he had methods of keeping his cravings at bay. Eating rare meat or lapping up the edges of a self-inflicted wound was just enough, and lucky for him, he hasn’t had an uncontainable urge in many years.

Wesley rolled down the window and threw the vial into the traveling wind and rain, slamming on the gas until the blades of yellowing grass merged into one long strip of flatland. The growing distance made him feel better, but doubts still plagued his mind.

What were Priscilla’s real intentions? Did they really want him back? But why else would Priscilla have followed him?

The empty fuel light flickered on the dash.

He pulled into a small gas station along the road. There was only one car parked outside so Wesley hoped that it just belonged to some non-confrontational customer.

Wesley tapped the nozzle against the fuel cap to drain the excess liquid, and placed it back on the gas pump when he was done. He still had some money leftover from Priscilla’s donation, but he’d rather spend it on a nice dinner or a comfortable bed.

He surveyed his surroundings before moving towards the driver’s side door. It wouldn’t surprise him if this gas station had been abandoned, the sheer antiquity of the bricks was enough to convince him that this building may have existed long before humanity.

Even with that notion, the front door swung open and a face that was all too familiar to Wesley emerged with clenched fists. Cameron.

Despite his maddened posture, he smiled and laughed, “The Lord is good.”

Wesley ran for the driver’s seat, cursing under his breath.
How could he be so unlucky? He should’ve known Cameron would find him again. Messing with anyone from a small town has a horrible way of coming back around.
He fumbled with the ignition key, but Cameron was already to the window, yanking the car door open and pulling Wesley out by his hair.

Wesley fell against the concrete, scraping both of his knees, “Jesus…” He winced, rubbing his battered shoulder. He looked back at the doors, in hopes that someone in the gas station might come to his rescue, but the situation was blocked by the pump.

“You really thought you were free, huh? Where’s my wallet?” Cameron badgered, keeping his grip on Wesley’s scalp.

If being ugly on the inside truly made someone ugly on the outside, Cameron was living proof of it. He was barefaced and consistently had some sort of injury lacing his knuckles. A silver cross chain draped down his discolored t-shirt. Wesley would have laughed at the irony if his life wasn’t being threatened at the moment.

“I don’t have it,” Wesley confessed apologetically, “But I still have your other stuff–” He is cut off when a fist slams into his nose, leaving drips of blood trailing down his lips. He folds over when another fist plunges into his stomach, bile threatening to spew.

He pulled Wesley up by his shoulders and prodded him towards the passenger side. “Get in,” He grumbled.

Fuck my life. He had no choice now. Wesley crawled unwillingly into the seat, leaning his head against the headrest for support.

Cameron hopped into the driver’s side. “Not so cocky now, are ya?” He cackled, jabbing him in the ribs. “Well, you’re not getting away this time.” Cameron smashed the gas pedal down, sending the truck flying onto the main road.

Wesley leaned on the window, feeling the cool glass against his forehead. Through the wing mirror, Wesley noticed the same car from the parking lot following closely behind. He folded back his sleeve and wiped the warm blood from his upper lip, “Where are you taking me?”

Cameron’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.

Wesley didn’t recognize the small, grey car, but he noticed Cameron’s eyes shift to the rearview mirror, taking note of the car as well. He drove fast and carelessly as heavy rain beat against the windshield in protest. He turned sharply towards the right into an oncoming street. The grey car cruised past, continuing down the original route.

Wesley was a little hopeful that the person in the car might have noticed his struggle, he felt as terrified as he did during his first encounter with Cameron. When he realized in the dark valley of a small town alleyway that he was being hunted.

Until that moment, he thought of vampires to be the most cruel, barbaric abomination of nature ever conceived. Cameron had proved him wrong. Humans could be every bit as savage as vampires.

He glanced back at the rifle poking out of Cameron’s backpack in the rear seat. He had managed to escape Cameron once before, but he wasn’t so sure he’d get lucky this time. He wished Priscilla would magically conjure out of thin air like the other night outside the motel.

Wesley had expected Cameron’s house to be on the outskirts of town, a place of desolation, somewhere that projected a sense of sullenness. A ramshackle farmhouse in the middle of an empty field, or a shed tucked underneath an overpass.

Instead, his house was normal, nice even. Situated within a small neighborhood, Cameron’s house was the third one down on Paradise Drive. With a luscious garden below the front window, a porch swing, and a red hummingbird feeder filled with fresh flower nectar.

As they pulled into the driveway, Wesley saw three children tossed a ball back and forth by the cul-de-sac. He wondered if anyone knew who Cameron truly was.

“Don’t move,” Cameron warned as he turned to grab the rifle from his backpack. “And don’t say anything. Do not scream for help, do not try to run away, or I will shoot you right now. Got it?”

Wesley jolted forward, pushing Cameron’s arms away, trying to secure the gun for himself. Cameron's vigor was no match, he shoved him backwards, and Wesley’s head knocked against the windshield. When Wesley opened his eyes, Cameron was pointing the gun to his forehead. “Get out.”

He tried not to think about the throbbing pain in the back of his skull as he opened the door reluctantly.

Wesley stepped into the wet grass, the ground spun underneath his feet and he held onto the door for support. He needed a plan and he needed one fast. He had underestimated Cameron’s anger, which provided a visceral element to his strength.

Cameron rounded the front of truck, holding the gun down to his side to avoid ungarnered attention, “You think you’re fuckin’ tough?” He grabbed Wesley by the collar and pulled him into the house.

A dark staircase greeted them when they walked in. An American flag hung behind the living room couch. Trashy magazines and styrofoam cups littered across the table and into the kitchen. Every single curtain was closed.

“Stay–” Cameron’s gaze suddenly turned towards the top of the stairs, spellbound by something unknown to Wesley.

A door softly clicked open from overhead, but no one emerged into clear sight.

Cameron armed the rifle. “Who’s here?” He called as he gradually made his way to the upper floor, abandoning Wesley at the bottom of the stairs, too focused to remember his original plans.

Wesley saw his chance and took it. He ran through the kitchen and out the back door. The last thing he heard was a sharp yell, then the sound of his feet beating against the forest floor.

Damp trees encircled him on all sides, casting shadows emphasized by the falling sun. He didn’t stop running, not when his head wouldn’t stop whirling, not when a dull ache climbed up his calves, not when fire burned up his lungs.

A fallen tree abruptly hindered his path, and then he realized how quiet it was. Something was wrong, why hadn’t Cameron followed him? He assumed the yell was targeted at him, but what if it wasn’t? Knots twisted in his stomach, something greater was urging him back into the house, and he followed it.

Cautiously, he drew the door open. It creaked with age as he, carefully, bent his neck to peer inside. A swelling pool of blood glistened by the front door, the source of such horrible carnage was out of view. His breath hitched in his throat, his hand shook around the door handle, terrified and enthralled all at once. He couldn’t look away.

The door swung outwards, seemingly of its own accord, unveiling the fault of it all.

Priscilla.

She wiped away the dripping blood from underneath her chin, she smiled, and Wesley caught a glimpse of her razor-sharp teeth piercing her bottom lip. “Neat trick, huh?”

“What did you do?” Wesley tried to find the courage to cry out, but his words carried out just above an inaudible whisper.

“What you couldn’t,” she took a step toward him, “are you okay?”

“What the fuck are we going to do, Priscilla? What if someone, like-like his wife or kids, comes to check on him?”

Her voice was unwavering, “He was going to hurt you. This could have been over and done with if you had the courage to stop him at the gas station.”

“You were there?” There was no escaping the truth now. Wesley wasn’t just pathetic anymore, he was incompetent.

Priscilla had witnessed his struggle, she saw how easily he gave in. She had been the one following behind them in the grey car because she knew Wesley couldn’t defend himself.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.” Her typical stone-hearted glare softened into something sweeter, sincere. “You shouldn’t have been afraid, Wesley. He’s the one who should be scared, remember?”

Wesley glanced down at Cameron’s body. His neck was mangled, ravaged by passionate bites. His face was contorted in fear, eyelids wide and twitching, mouth hung open with a scream that would never be heard.

He shook his head, trying to disprove the inevitable answer he already knew was coming, “You don’t know that he was going to hurt me.”

Priscilla sighed, she opened her mouth to speak but dismissed it, letting Wesley linger in the stillness for a moment. She reached out a hand to brush away the disheveled hair that clung to his brows. “I’ll take care of him. There’s a bathroom upstairs, go find something to clean your cuts.”

Wesley had unknowingly leaned into her hand. He broke away, feeling along the sore bridge of his nose. His head still lightly buzzed, the tiles beneath his shoes were featherlight. It was all too real.

He walked past Cameron’s limp body towards the stairs, blood puddled around his limbs, soaking the entry rug. Cameron’s eyes followed him up to the second floor.

Wesley collapsed onto the sink for support, trying to stabilize himself. He covered his mouth to silence the short gasps for air, but it only managed to stress his choked sobs.

Someone was dead just below him. Even though he hadn’t been the one to actually do it, he still harbored an overwhelming guilt. The remorse and hatred was consuming him whole in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

A nest of mice used to burrow underneath the porch of their West Virginian farmhouse. Rain formed puddles along their yard one early spring, calling snakes up to civilization from the mushy rivers. Wesley remembered how the small bodies of the mice were hurled without caution into the gut of the black and green striped snakes. The lump outlined by the stomach made sickness in his own. If everything gets eaten, even the most innocent of animals, then what was the point of anything at all?

That’s how he was feeling now. Small, acidic. Digested.

Wesley opened the cabinet below the sink, and grabbed a bottle of peroxide. Shoved aside the wall was a stack of polaroids. He pulled one out, flipped it over to see the image in full. Kids, young children, not even Wesley’s age yet. The consuming ran through him again, in raging, crashing waves. With trembling fingers, he tore the photograph into shreds.

“Aren’t you glad that’s not you?”

Wesley spun around to see Priscilla standing above him. She possessed a soft glow but blood still stained the palms of her hands.

She reached out to him, “Forget the peroxide, we’ll get some later. Let’s go.”

He took her hand, following her down the stairs. Cameron was gone and so was the drenched rug. Wesley didn’t ask what she did or how, he simply kept his head down and matched her quick strides out the back door.

Priscilla had swerved her car off the road and parked within the shrubbery down the street from Cameron’s house.

“You kinda inspired me,” She said, buckling herself in, “I stole this from some definitely underage teenager outside a bar. You can play music if you want, but the only CD they have is Reckless by Bryan Adams.”

She tried to engage in a normal conversation but Wesley didn’t respond. He leaned his head against the glass and closed his eyes.

Priscilla nudged his shoulder, “Hey, don’t feel bad, alright? A guy like that had it coming.”

“I don’t feel bad. They were just kids, someone’s child,” Wesley fumed, “If I had known that I would’ve tried to bring him back.”

Priscilla slowly nodded, coming to an understanding, “...Because then it would be deserved?”

“Exactly. I don’t know why I can’t… I mean I do but…” He paused, hesitant on how to formulate his thoughts, “Thank you, by the way. I never said it earlier. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t showed up.”

“You’re my little brother. I wouldn’t be a very good sister if I didn’t protect you.” She replied.

He picked at the skin around his thumb, “We’re not even related.”

“Maybe not, but we took you in, remember?”

You also kicked me out, Wesley thought.

“And yes, we also kicked you out, but everyone says hurtful things they don’t really mean. That whole “family can only be related” stuff isn’t true. You’ll always have a place with us, you know that, right?”

Wesley bit back a smile, he didn’t want to seem overly eager yet. Priscilla had saved him, she put her own life before his. Maybe the grudge had finally exhausted itself, maybe he could go back to his old life.

His hidden smile quickly turned bitter when he remembered, “Shit…”

“What is it?” Priscilla asked.

“Jules…” He murmured under his breath, “He has the wallet.”

“Who’s Jules?”

“He’s just someone I gave a ride to… and my clothes. He has Cameron’s wallet.” Wesley confessed.

“How’s that bad?”

“He’s already on the run, if the cops find that wallet with him, they’re going to think he’s the killer.”

“Well…” Priscilla began, “if he’s already on the run then maybe he did something bad. Then it would be deserved, right?”

Wesley contemplated it for a minute. If Jules had escaped his cell, then he must have done something horrible. Something so dreadful that he loved the taste of, and he couldn’t get enough. After Cameron, he was lucky all Jules wanted was a ride. “Yeah, you’re right.” He finally decided.

Priscilla bit back a smile, clenching her jaw hard. Her eyes remained on the soft silhouettes of the slender trees that fell over the road, traveling into the encroaching dusk.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you told him we could give him a ride.” Hubert tossed his cigarette out the window, the half-fired butt smoked as it hit the wet road.

“Why not? We have the chance to repay the universe for all of the good people who’ve helped us,” Vera argued back. Suddenly, her voice dropped to a low whisper, “You of all people should know the importance of that.”

Hubert didn’t want to hear any of her reasons, he simply waved his hand in the air every time she spoke, as if wiping away her words as they came out.

Jules sat in the backseat, keeping his eyes directed out the window, watching the cornfields pass by. Arguing made him anxious, his foot tapped against the matted floor of the car repeatedly.

Vera looked back at him, glaring at his nervous foot, “Um, Cameron?”

“Oh, sorry,” He apologized. He kept forgetting that they did not know his real name, and each time they addressed him as Cameron, it took him a few seconds before he could register the question.

He felt like an invader. Clearly Hubert didn’t want him there and it was only a matter of time until Vera switched up her charitable act.

“It’s okay,” her smile was strained, “So, are you going anywhere in particular?”

“Um, I’m going to see my parents.” The word “parents” hit like gravel against Jules’ teeth.

“And where do they live?” Hubert chimed in.

Jules shrunk back into his seat. He could already feel the inevitable rage that would implode, “Jane Lew, West Virginia.”

Hubert inhaled deeply, “Well, Cameron, we’re going to Texas, so do you really think this is the best choice for you?”

“No,” Jules admitted, “I just need to get to a city or a bus stop.”

Vera frowned, throwing an indignant glare towards Hubert. She turned to the back seat. “We’re headed to Dodge City for now, so you might as well stay with us for a little while if you want a better chance of getting to West Virginia.”

“Thanks,” Jules mumbled in the response.

Vera pulled out a small cardboard box filled with cassettes from underneath her seat.

“No,” Hubert said, pushing the box off of her lap, “You know I can’t drive while music is playing.”

Vera’s eyes narrowed, “Maybe we should have an early dinner. Give everyone some time to regroup.” She disguised her insult with genuine concern, but Jules was sure that by “everyone” she really meant Hubert. Not that he disagreed with her, he was relieved to see Vera was unwavering in her confidence to challenge him.

The diner was comfortable, named after someone’s late grandmother and decorated with red and white awning on the outside. Picture frames of the building lined the walls, detailing when it was first established up until last year. Most of the patrons were seated at the bar, never turning their heads to acknowledge the ring at the door.

Jules kept his head down and didn’t make eye contact with any of the customers or workers. Alma had taught him a valuable lesson that he was about to break, but he didn’t have any other choices, and Vera was very assertive in her attempt to “help” Jules.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Jules softly mentioned that he wasn’t “entirely hungry”, which was a lie, and that instead he could begin his trek to West Virginia from there. Vera gripped his arm, leaving half-moons pressed into his skin, and murmured that he needed to stay to ease the tension, which Jules reluctantly did.

Hubert and Vera counted their combined change together on the table, weighing through the options on the menu from most necessary to cheapest.

“5.56… 5.57… That’s it? What happened to the dollar you found outside the gas station?” Vera asked.

Hubert simply tapped against the cigarette carton tucked into the pocket of his jacket. Vera rolled her eyes, struggling to contain her composure. She shot a look at Jules and tilted her head. See?

Jules couldn’t understand what drew them together. Maybe they were more affectionate at the start of their relationship. He could imagine them going on dates to drive-in movies, passing notes in class, celebrating an anniversary with a nice dinner under soft red lighting.
But the scene before him displayed that they were just a bitter couple who didn’t see a future other than what was in front of them.

Even though Jules has never had someone in the way Vera and Hubert do, he could assure without a doubt that he would sooner drink his own blood than be stuck in a stationary, vindictive relationship.

“What’s the problem?” Hubert reached for the measly pile of bills, and flipped through them with his thumb, “this is enough for the both of us.”

Vera gestured to Jules across the table, “What about Cameron?”

Jules could feel another argument encroaching. He opened his wallet— Or Cameron’s wallet— and dropped a twenty on the table. “I can pay for dinner.”

It was the right thing to do, after all they had invited him to tag along on their journey to Texas. Even if the invitation was one-sided.

Hubert peered over the table, noting how the money was haphazardly stuffed into the wallet, “That’s a lot of cash you have.”

“Thanks,” Jules replied sharply, cutting the conversation short before Hubert could raise any more questions.

A waitress came around the counter in joyful strides, she flipped to a fresh page on her notepad and clicked her fluffy pink pen. “Are we ready to order?”

For his main meal, Hubert ordered a black coffee, and a bacon cheeseburger with fries, he tagged on a go-to order of a ham and cheese sandwich and a slice of apple pie. He must’ve read Jules’ mind, because he simply shrugged and said, “What? We need lunch for tomorrow. And you’re paying, right?”

Vera kicked Hubert’s ankle underneath the table, “He’s trying to do a nice thing for us. Let him.” She whispered through gritted teeth. Despite her harsh words, she kept a kind smile on her face as she ordered a vanilla milkshake, blueberry pancakes and a side of sausage.

When it came to Jules, the waitress addressed him as “sir”, which earned a pained look from Hubert. Jules couldn’t help but bask in Hubert’s loathful grunt. “I’ll have the country breakfast. Just water for the drink.”

The waitress tucked the menus underneath her arm, “Alright, that’ll be out soon.”

Once she turned away and disappeared behind the counter, Hubert decided he had stayed quiet long enough, “So, what’s your deal, Cameron?”

“My deal?” Jules responded, slightly taken aback by Hubert’s directness.

“What is it? Are you just a reckless traveler or an ignorant runaway?”

This time Vera didn’t jump to Jules’ rescue, instead she watched him with doe eyes, awaiting his answer to the same questions she didn’t have the courage to ask herself.

Jules knew she would flake, he just wasn’t expecting her to play stupid when she did. “What is your problem with me?”

“I don’t think you’re trustworthy,” Hubert hissed, “So?”

“The former,” Jules liked lying, it was easy. He could create any backstory for himself, and if the lie was grim enough, people usually wouldn’t press for more answers.

“Where’d you get all the money?”

“I worked for a while at a hardware store. Saved up my money for my trip to see my parents.” His answers were quick. Maybe too quick he realized as he strung together an imaginary existence from excerpts of books and magazine clippings he’s read.

Hubert kept pushing, “You seem a bit young to be so far away from your parents.”

“Well, I’m adopted, sir. They were both poor and couldn’t support me, so they gave me up in hopes that I would have a better life. This is the first time I get to see my real parents.” Jules delivered the final component to his deception. It wasn’t a total lie. He had been adopted many times, but he didn’t like any of the families— or the families didn’t like him— as for his real parents, he had no knowledge of who they were or their current whereabouts.

Jules figured that if his parents truly cared, they would have tried to contact him years before. It was better like that anyways. Jules never had to waste his energy on searching for them because he knew they could have easily found him already.

A small “oh” was all that managed to escape Hubert’s lips, it sounded more like an epiphany rather than admitting that his grand attempt at unraveling the stranger across from them had ended in defeat. “I bet you’re excited to see them.”

Vera’s eyes were glued to the floor, and now her foot was the one tapping the floor incessantly; anxiously filling the silence with the soft knocking of her boot against wood.

Nobody spoke the rest of dinner, aside from discussions about where to stay for the night and a weak mumbling of thank you when Jules paid the bill, which was really a belated apology.

They rented out the fifth room on the first floor of a roadside motel for the night, which Hubert was quick to assure Jules he would pay for this time.

Vera and Hubert claimed the bed furthest from the door, away from the broken blinds, which left Jules sleeping with the streetlight shining directly onto his pillow.

He was too tired to care, though, but it occurred to him he shouldn’t be so generous with “his” money. Hubert gawked with suspicion when he saw, and anybody worse would’ve robbed him by now. But maybe they were just waiting for him to let his guard down.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Vera announced, wrapping Hubert’s jacket around herself despite the summer humidity that warmed the air even throughout the night.

Jules collapsed leisurely across the comforter as Vera left. He pulled the wallet out from his back pocket to ease the pressure against his lower back.

Hubert sat on the edge of the bed, adjacent to him, staring into distant nowhere before his eyes focused on Jules. “I’m sorry about what happened at dinner, Cameron.”

“It’s fine,” Jules said, holding a hand over his mouth to stifle an approaching yawn, “Anyone in their right mind is expected to be wary of a mysterious, rich hitchhiker in the Midwest.”

Hubert chuckled softly. He reached down to untie the laces of his boot but paused above the collar. “How come your foster parents aren’t taking you to West Virginia?"

Jules sat up straight, fondling the wallet between his fingers. “I wanted to do something on my own. Leaving the nest and all that. I wanted to take responsibility for myself.”

Hubert nodded slowly, “I left home when I was young too, not because I had a big goal or a courageous dream. I was just a fool who took my home for granted,” Remorse softened his voice, and he kept his eyes down as he spoke, “I think it’s brave what you’re doing. There’s a lot of bad people out there, and you may think you’re above that, but it’s so easy to get swept up in the motion. Just be careful.”

Jules didn’t know what he should say, or if he should even speak at all. He nodded his head, glancing back down at the wallet, Hubert had no idea that he was sitting two feet away from a criminal. An outlaw of the state, all because he couldn’t keep his own emotions in check.

The kid in the bathroom probably didn’t even try to change; Jules had simply made himself a riveting rumor for the underclassmen to laugh about over lunch, and a cautionary tale against other students who looked remotely similar to him.

Headlights shined into the room, and the revving engine of a car rumbled the carpeted floor before abruptly shutting off. Jules turned to look out the window and saw a dark police car parked in front of their room.

“I wonder what the cops are doing here,” Hubert wondered aloud.

Jules’ heartbeat quickened. Maybe it was the same cops from Alma. How did they manage to track Jules down so fast? How was he going to escape them again?

Ice ran through his veins as the door opened and a middle-aged man with graying hair emerged from the front seat, his face shadowed by the motel. The man looked directly into the window, then proceeded down the side towards the front desk, followed by another officer. He didn’t get a good look at the cop in Alma, but he was sure it was them.

Even if they weren’t here for him, every cop in the county knew his face by now, and the receptionist could give them easy access to their room if they learned about his presence.

Jules lost grip of the wallet, it slipped between his quivering fingers and collapsed on the floor. Cameron’s ID displayed in full front before the room. Jules bent down to pick it up but it was too late, Hubert snatched away.

“Wow, you look a lot different in this photo, Cameron,” Hubert said, flipping the wallet around to face Jules. “I had no idea you were 47 years old, you look so young.”

Jules was completely fucked now. He tried to ration, “It was an accident—”

“You’re just carrying around someone else’s wallet… accidentally? You used stolen money to pay for our dinner?”

“No, well—yes, but I was going to give it back.”

Hubert laughed, rifling through the wallet. He pulled out a driver’s license from one of the smaller pockets. “Really? What’s your real name?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Look, this can go one of two ways. The police are right outside that door, and I will—”

“I’ll give you the money.” Jules spat out frantically. It was a stupid idea. Jules needed the money more than him, Hubert was probably just going to spend it all on cigarettes.

Hubert paused, tossing his shoulders back in disbelief, “What?”

“You can take the money, there’s at least $60 still in there. Just please don’t tell anyone that you saw me.” Jules couldn’t believe he was begging the man who was brutally assailing him only a few hours ago. But Hubert seemed like a man with relaxed morals, so it was worth a shot.

Hubert shuddered, his breath catching on the words that were already rolling out of his mouth, “What about the ID? And the license?”

“I’ll take it, I’ll figure something out.” Jules extended his hand outwards.

Hubert was stagnant, caught between his morality and his shameful want. “Did you kill someone?”

Jules rolled his eyes, time was ticking fast, “Seriously? Based on what Vera said in the car, I don’t think you have the moral high ground here. You of all people should know that.”

“You don't know anything about me.” His voice cut like a knife, raised in fearful defensiveness.

“I didn’t kill anyone. Just give me the ID and license. I’ll deal with it.”

Hubert poured the money out of the wallet, crumbled it up swiftly and shoved the ball into his jeans. He dropped the now empty wallet into Jules hand, “What should I tell Vera? She really liked you, for some reason.”

Jules tucked the identification into his sock, “I don’t care. But if the police ask, you never saw me, okay?” He stood up and peeked through the curtains, another car was pulling into the parking lot but the two officers were nowhere to be seen. He paused before he opened the door, “But, um, tell her I said thanks.”

Hubert nodded, it was slight but respectful. “I still mean what I said.”

Jules pushed the door open, “Sure.”

He ran down the sidewalk, disappearing without a trace behind the motel towards the sparse trees and power lines.

Chapter Text

Wesley’s entire world was black. He listened to the rumbling of the rough road beneath the tires, followed by mellowing rain. If only he could erase the whole night from his mind, but even with his eyes shut, the memory of fluid and blood still infested his brain.

He felt the car swerve under his feet, soft light fluttered through his eyelids. Priscilla had pulled into a dim parking lot, a single streetlight flickering to reveal a roadside motel hidden within the night every few seconds.

Priscilla shut off the ignition, letting the silence fester for a while, but she could only keep her distance for so long before she began to spiral herself. “What are you going to do, Wesley?”

“With what?” he asked.

“The deal. Listen, you don’t have to do it if—”

“I’m not a coward, Priscilla. I’ll do it.” Wesley opened his door and stepped out, cutting her off before she finished.

Priscilla quickly followed him up the sidewalk near the front door, “I didn’t say that,” she grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face her, “I just worry that you won’t be able to do this if you try to moralize everything about—”

“I can do it.” he repeated. He was losing patience, he wasn’t a child, he didn’t need anyone to worry about him.

Priscilla glanced around the parking lot, aside from two cars, one belonging to the police, it was deserted. But below one of the streetlights, she spotted a young woman.

She was smoking a cigarette and wearing a coat that was definitely a few sizes too big for her. Her black hair swayed in the breeze, strands of raven hair catching on the denim collar around her neck.

Priscilla nodded her head towards the woman, “Her, then. She’s thinking about cheating on her boyfriend.”

“What? How can you tell?”

“I can read her mind,” She responds, clicking her tongue in a condescending manner.

“You can read her mind? Why can’t I do that?” Wesley complained, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Because you don’t allow yourself to.” A beat, “So?”

Wesley looked at the woman. She wiped her hand under her glistening eye, shoved it back into her pocket and took another drag of her cigarette.

Wesley shook his head, “No… she looks sad.”

“Like I thought,” Priscilla scoffed, "I’m going to tell dad the deal’s off.”

Wesley's heart sank. He only assumed Priscilla underestimated him, not that she thought he was completely weak. “No! I can do it.” he reiterated for the third time, desperation clawing up his throat.

“You’re not ready, Wesley. I’m sorry,” She cupped his cheek like he was some weeping kid who bruised his knee after a bike riding accident, and brushed past him to the front door.

His fingers curled into a fist, digging his fingernails deep into his palm, before following behind her wordlessly.

The walls were printed over with an obnoxious layer of yellow and green flowery wallpaper that juxtaposed the old western style of the front desk. A light hung over the desk, illuminating the woman at the counter in a dull lime color.

There was already a line, holding up the receptionist with questions. Two cops.

The older one of the two, leaned onto the counter, his light hair turned invisible under the light. The younger officer stood next to him. He held his hands proudly on his hips, his right index finger guarding his gun.

“Ma'am, I’m Officer Foster. We're with APD,” he held his badge up, “Alma Police Department. We’re after a pretty awful fella, so we’re just gonna run a quick search.”

Wesley’s headed snapped up, a novel solution to his problem whirring in his mind. If he caught this “awful fella” first, then he could offer him a ride to West Virginia, complete the deal and prove to everyone that he wasn’t weak.

“Do you have a warrant?” The receptionist asked.

Officer Foster scoffed, as if amused by such a basic question, “Ma’am, I don’t think you understand so I’ll explain it once again. I don’t wanna startle your customers in case they’ve seen the news,” he glanced over Priscilla and Wesley, “So I’ll keep his name confidential—”

The receptionist cut him short, “Do you know that the man you’re looking for is here?”

He shrugged, “Well, that’s why we’re gonna check.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We can’t let you conduct a search in a client’s room without a warrant. That’s unlawful.”

Foster smiled, the way that narcissists do when they’ve been caught in a lie. Full of smug and mockery. “Fine, we’ll just conduct our search somewhere else.” He tapped his fingers against the desk, and the pair marched out the door.

The receptionist sighed, then turned her head to greet the new guests. “Hello, how is everyone this evening?” she asked cheerfully.

Priscilla smiled, “Good—”

“Fine,” Wesley interrupted.

Priscilla shot him a warning glare, “A double bed room please.”

“Sorry, we just rented out our last two-bed room. Does two single-bed rooms work for you?”

“That’s actually better.” Priscilla said.

The receptionist grabbed two keys from off the wall behind her, and slid them across the wood surface, “Enjoy your stay.”

The cool brass of the key stung against Wesley’s palm. He reached his door, and looked back towards Priscilla, who was watching the women below the streetlamp make her way towards her own room down the sidewalk from them.

“Another wasted opportunity,” She mumbled, “I could have already been fed by now.”

Wesley was barely listening, he was preoccupied with his own night watch.

The cops had made their way to the edge of the motel, they were now roaming around the surrounding field with their flashlights illuminating through the thin trees.

The younger officer shouted something indistinguishable to the senior, and they promptly raced into the forest.

He wasn’t sure how he would go about this new plan. Too bad he didn’t have the truck anymore, it would make the execution much simpler, but Priscilla would never give him the keys to her car—

Priscilla nudged his shoulder, tethering him back to the real world, “Hey, can you hold the keys for me?”

“What? Why?” Wesley asked, dumbfounded.

“I don’t want to lose them. You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you?”

“No.” He suddenly felt conscious of his thoughts, and tried to focus his attention on a random color to shield his mind from her.

She tossed the keys to him and hollered a quick “I’ll be back later,” before she walked up to the blackened road, towards a distant city with patient, calculated strides. Like she already knows who she’s after.

Wesley didn’t even wait until she was out of view, he simply did not care whether she saw him leave or not. Chances were high she already knew, which gave Wesley all the more reason to ditch her.

He drove around the side of the motel, using only the headlights of the car to try and make out any moving shapes. He steered into the shoulder, off roading into the briar and shut off the ignition. Darkness swallowed him instantly, heightening the fast pace of his breath and the rustle of leaves above.

His boots crunched and bent the dry grass. He moved smoothly through the dark, like a practiced swimmer back in the pool, like it was in his blood. He tried to ignore the way his skin tingled and how his heartbeat pounded in his eardrums.

Was it fear? Excitement? Whatever it was, he ignored it.

Muffled footsteps echoed but he couldn’t place where they were coming from. Hastily, a shadowed figure ran out from somewhere beyond Wesley’s view.

Wesley knelt down behind a tree trunk, watching intently as his target slowed down to catch their breath. They bent over to grab something, but froze when soft lights, obscured by the trees, shined onto their back. The figure gave up on whatever they were searching for, and took off again, venturing deeper and deeper in the night.

Wesley chased after them, but it quickly occurred it him he had no idea how he planned on persuading this person into trusting him. He simply hoped they would rather trust a complete stranger than risk going to jail.

He followed them down into to a river basin. Arid mud smoothed flat with every step he took, closing in on the shadowed silhouette. Moonlight found his skin through the leaves, and Wesley’s heart sank to his stomach.

Jules was hunched over the water, looking for—or fixing— something under his sock.

Wesley lingered, stuck between pursuing his original plan and leaving him be. It was Jules. The same boy he offered a few hours of solace in his pickup trunk from the unrelenting sun to, was now running away from the law. Again.

Either they had caught onto his trail, or he had done something else.

Wesley drew a slow breath, attempting to steady his nerves. He couldn't back down now, not when the opportunity was displayed so delicately in front of him.

Then Jules stilled, paralyzed by something. Wesley couldn't see why, until he came closer and saw his own shadow reflected against the silver water.

Jules spun around, ready to attack. His face was sharp, carved by darkness. Eyes wide, a mix of fear and hatred sparkling in the shine of the moon. He almost slipped into the creek when he saw Wesley, “Wh— What the fuck are you doing here?”

Wesley’s throat ran dry, “I— I wasn't… I didn’t call them in.” It was the only thing he could think to say, hoping that it would be enough.

The words didn’t even register in Jules’ mind, he was just relived to see a familiar face. “Wait,” Jules sprinted to him, “Do you know this man?”

When Jules showed him the ID, the pieces clicked in place.

“They found me, tracked me down from Alma… I don't know how. But if they find this they're going to think—”

“Give it to me.”

Jules blinked. “What?”

Wesley snatched the ID and license from his hands, guilt already beginning to flood his senses, “You weren't supposed to have this.” He tried to ration, but the truth was he was about to take advantage of Jules’ misfortune, all because of a simple mistake.

Lights flashed between the trees. Loud, commanding voices reverberated off the trees. They were getting closer.

“Look we need to leave, now,” Wesley was frantic, gesturing to Jules to follow like coaxing a fearful animal, “I can give you a ride.”

Jules grimaced, “Why the fuck would you want to do that?”

Wesley was thinking the same thing, but he didn't have a straight answer, at least not one he could say. “That man, in the photo, is bad. I stole his truck from him and took his wallet, which I then accidentally gave to you. So just let me help you, okay?” He reached a hand out, but was unsure where to place it.

Wesley once believed burying evidence was something typically reserved for longtime friends. It was only their second time meeting, and Jules had no idea he was now an accomplice to a murder.

Jules’ face was obscured by shadows, but in the split seconds of light, he looked scared. His breaths were shallow and quick, and he keep shifting his arms around, unable to rest.

Wesley looked down at the ground, pushing down the knot that gathered in his chest, “Now, Jules,”

“I know!” He snapped back, swaying on his feet, “Okay,” he breathed out, the swift rise of his chest becoming steady. “Where are we supposed to go?”

“First, we need to get rid of the evidence.”

Chapter Text

Jules wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he knew he certainly wasn't expecting Wesley—the boy, with a grin of a goody two-shoes country boy, who helped him off the side of the road—to drive them out into the middle of a field.

Dawn broke through the night, casting an amber glow across the grass, like flames over a prairie. It was distracting enough from the real fire in front of them that they encircled with rocks to keep from spreading, which was now burning Cameron’s identity to ash.

Mountains of questions spun around in Jules’ mind. How did you find me? Why are you helping me? What is wrong with you? He wasn’t sure which would be best to lead with.

He decided it was better to keep quiet for now and let the silence rinse over them, watching the vibrant orange-yellow flames twirl and dance, allowing the world around him to still for a moment.

When he was twelve and younger, Jules imagined many instances where he would be caught in a exhilarating chase between life or death. Only now that he was tangled in the real thing, he wanted to disappear completely. Melt into the smoking flames, revert backwards in time and obey all the rules for just a chance of having a normal life.

Wesley turned to him, searching his eyes for something to say that would comfort him, “Trust me. It’s for the better.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jules asked, never letting his eyes stray from the fire.

“I don't think you’d want to know—”

“We just burned a man’s identity, Wesley. This is exactly what those cops are hoping for so they can send me to jail for life. So, what is it?”

The stillness seemed to stretch on for decades, neither of them moved nor spoke. Finally, Wesley did.

“He liked kids,” He looked down, “He tried to kidnap me before but I got away and stole his truck. When he found me again, he forced me to go back to his house, um…”

Jules spoke lowly, “Did he do something to you?”

“No, no,” He responded, sounding cold like rushing water, “I was able to get away. Luckily.”

“What did you do after?”

“Uh—reported him to the police. Anonymously…” His voice wavered, shaky with apprehension, “They’re probably searching his place right now…”

They stood for a minute, watching the fire slowly die out, orange and red fiery ribbons reduced to soft grey ash.

Another question erupted Jules’ peace of mind like a heavy stone crashing into a stream, “Why didn’t you give his ID to the police?”

Wesley’s brows scrunched in unison, “They would never believe it from me.” Red smears of irritated skin trailed up his arm from where he was mindlessly itching.

Jules didn’t pry any further. This was starting to remind him of the very first time they met. Instead of letting his innate ability to stifle every conversation, he turned to Wesley, “You should’ve killed him.”

Wesley blinked at him with wide eyes, but before he could speak, Jules walked off back towards the car hidden behind the cottonwood. Wesley quickly trotted after him, “We should probably lay low for a couple of days. Just drive until everything calms down.”

Jules paused mid-step, twisting around to face him, “We?”

“Well… yeah?” Wesley shrugged, “I don’t think splitting up now would be a good idea.”

“No,” Jules stated simply, “I don’t want to drag you down with me. Whenever those cops find us, they’re going to take you in too.”

“Then let’s make sure they don’t find us. We could go to the east coast, or California, or some other big city and blend in with the crowd.” Wesley leaned into the driver’s side door, “Anywhere you want.”

Jules mulled it over. He didn’t want to outright say it, as his tenacious effort to go back to West Virginia wasn’t going as smoothly as he hoped—and now, wanting a simple jacket seemed childish. But it was something, it was enough to keep going. “East coast. That’s where I want to go.”

“Alright, climb in then.” Wesley started the car up and the dim headlights flickered to life.

By some strange force of fate, Jules once again found himself getting in a car with Wesley, and he remembered the last time he had done this and Wesley mentioned something about a favor. Jules was curious to know what part of this played as a favor for Wesley.

They drove on through the empty road. Trees and pavement blending into a blur of green and grey past the window.

The car was more cramped on the inside than it looked, and the scent of pine wood from the air freshener ached at the front of Jules’ skull. “So, how did you manage to score this ride?”

“Some kid outside of a bar. I was passing through and saw they left the keys in the ignition. ”

Warm rays of sunlight flitted on the dashboard.

“How long have you been on your own?” Jules asked.

“Not long, maybe like a few months. I would’ve left sooner but I started learning how to drive pretty late, at least compared to most people my age.” Wesley kept looking in the side mirrors, despite the fact they were the only ones around.

Jules nodded along, only half-listening. He didn’t even have a permit of his own. It wasn’t exactly easy to learn how to drive when your house was switched every month. “Your parents don’t ever worry about you being out on your own?”

“Sometimes, I guess.”

“Are you close with them?”

He looked out the windshield thoughtfully, “I’ve always been different from them. I think they try to understand but it does more harm than good.”

Wesley’s life sounded uncomfortably familiar. Uncertainty in those who were supposed to care about you, unlicensed freedom because there was no one bring worry upon, a home he was never sure would accept him—even though it was probably what he needed most.

“What about you?” Wesley asked, “what’s your family like?”

Jules’ jaw tightened like a screw. He adverted his glance back to the road. “We should probably get new clothes. We need some sort of disguise.”

…

A sharp ringing sounded over their heads from the bell hooked above the door frame. The thrift shop, which they managed to track down through a water-damaged map underneath Wesley’s seat, was perched on a hillcrest beside the road.

Soft light faintly flickered across the unwashed tiles. It smelled of mildew and faded laundry detergent, the lavender kind. An old couple stood at the end of the first aisle, flicking through wrinkled button-up shirts.

A smooth-haired black Boxer rushed to greet them with teeth and yelps.

“He may look mean but he’s real nice,” A lady with long, grey braided hair called from behind the register, she had her legs propped up over the counter and was flipping through a magazine.

Jules knelt, brushing his hand between the dog’s ears. He flipped over the petite bone-shaped tag, the name “Boxer” was engraved into the metal. “Creative.” He chuckled to himself.

Wesley browsed the selection of baseball caps displayed on the front table, absent in the face. The dog brushed against his leg, dragging him back into reality. “Hey there, buddy,” Wesley bent over and held his hand up for Boxer to inspect.

The dog’s nose turned upwards, snarling with a full set of yellow teeth. With narrowed, warning eyes, he retreated back to his bed behind the counter.

Jules glanced over at Wesley, shrugged, and went towards the left, following the signs indicating where the male clothing section began. “We need to get something completely different from what we’re already wearing,” Jules pulled out a red polo shirt that could hang over Wesley’s knees, “Here, take this.”

Wesley crossed his arms, frowning at the shirt, “What the hell is that? I would never wear this.”

“Exactly. Take it.” Jules grabbed Wesley’s arm and forced the hanger into him.

“Fine,” Wesley groaned, moving past him, “but I’m picking out something really ugly for you.”

Jules rolled his eyes. The metallic sound of clashing hangers filled his ears as Wesley began his vengeful search.

“So, how long were you incarcerated for?” Wesley suddenly asked.

“…What?”

“Before you escaped. How long were you there?”

“Oh. Um, just a few months. Felt like forever, though.”

“What did you do?”

“Eh, it was stupid.” Jules rounded the corner and started looking on the opposite side of the aisle. “I’m not sure it was even worth it now.”

Wesley plucked out a vibrant green sweater decorated with bells and tinsel to mimic the appearance of a Christmas tree and threw it over the rack to Jules.

Jules shoved it back, “It’s too warm for that.”

“Fair enough,” Wesley put the sweater back in its original spot, “So, what happened?”

“I punched someone.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad.”

Jules looked up, “Really?”

In the moment when it happened, Jules didn’t feel bad. But in the detention center, he was conditioned to express sorrow for his actions, even when he felt nothing most of the time. Sometimes he actually believed it, especially when no one else ever cared to understand why he did it in the first place.

“I mean, did you at least have a good reason for it?” Wesley asked.

“I think so,” Jules said, then, remembering the encounter again like it was yesterday, “Definitely.”

“Then that doesn’t seem so bad.”

Wesley went on to say something else, but Jules wasn’t listening anymore. Faintly overhead, he could make out the quiet sound of a song playing from the radio he had heard long ago, but he couldn’t place where.

And so it was later

When the miller told this tale

That her face at first just ghostly

Turned a whiter shade of pale

The skin at the tips of his fingers twinged, numbing but aching at the same time. Cold, then burning waves flooded through his limbs, like when a fever overwhelms every sense. Or rather the sweaty finale after the fever finally breaks.

“What about your parents?” Wesley eyes swept across the aisle, waiting for Jules’ response.

But he did not answer. He only stood in complete stillness, as if waiting for something or someone to appear, at least from Wesley’s perspective.

The floor swayed beneath Jules, and a twisting, nauseating spirit held his body against his will, sudden and without reason. He held his hands against the clothing racks for support, quick and shallow breathes escaping his mouth, with every attempt to stabilize himself failing.

It was not the first time this has happened. He didn’t know when or why it began. He only knew that the episodes used to happen daily, mostly through forgotten nightmares when he was younger. As he grew up, they morphed into full-fledged breakdowns, often in broad daylight, which was immensely more embarrassing.

The episodes contained the usual symptoms: Nausea, accelerated heartbeat, dizziness and shaking, numbness or a prickly sensation in his hands or legs, and always—always—the feeling that if he didn’t act fast, someone would be hurt. He was never sure whether that person was himself or someone else.

They struck randomly, uncoordinated. Different from lightning, more similar to an intense realization that shakes the mind awake, and shines brightly against every other inferior thought.

Eventually, the attacks faded out into weeks, then months, then nonexistent when he moved in with the Hills and Jules thought he might have been free. But he knew that kind of wishful thinking was too optimistic for him—as here it was now, happening to him again.

“Jules?”

“What?” Jules’ head snapped up, “Sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m guessing you don’t get along well with your family.” Wesley moved down the row, “Otherwise, why would you be here?”

His mouth was dry, and the palms of his hands were glistening and trembling lightly, “There’s nothing good here.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, I don’t think we have the right to complain about the limited disguise options.”

Jules looked back towards the counter, the lady who was once behind the register was making her way to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. He yanked a random t-shirt from the rack, something about "Jesus Saves" was written across the back in bold font, and pulled out a dark-washed pair of long shorts and walked out the doors.

Wesley took the opportunity to leave behind the horrendous shirt Jules picked out for him, hoping that whatever mental conflict clouding his mind would be enough to distract him. He grabbed a short-sleeved flannel button-down, his go-to pattern, and a baseball cap to cover his face. He flashed a quick smile at the older couple who noticed Jules leave, having no doubt they would snitch on them, before hastily following Jules outside.

Jules flung the hangers off his new clothes, leaving them scattered along the grass as they sped down the road. He clicked on the radio, switching the channels until he gave up on finding good music, letting an irritating static fill the space.

Wesley clicked it off, brows pressing together in frustration, “Hey, you can’t just dodge the question. Listen, I told you about my life now I have some questions for you.”

“Why do you even care?”

“What just happened to you? Why are you acting so weird?”

“I just don’t like to remember what I’ve been through,” Jules sighed, agitated. He felt the stirring build up in his chest again, but he pushed it down. “I can’t remember what I’ve been through. I don’t know, something in there just made me feel…”

Wesley’s voice fell soft, like cradling a dark secret, “Did something bad happen to you?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know…” Jules turned away, watching his face in the reflection of the car window. “I don’t remember anything about my parents. It’s stupid, I know. Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what specifically he was sorry for, maybe just everything in general, but he felt that an apology was warranted.

“It’s fine,” Wesley muttered weakly before continuing on, driving nowhere without another word.

The sun was already crawling back into its bed when Wesley proposed the idea to abandon the car and travel on foot once they reached the Kansas border, teetering on Missouri territory. It would prolong their journey, but it was for best if they wanted to leave behind any traces of their whereabouts.

He swerved the car off the road, forging a new path into the foliage, hidden just in plain view. They each ducked behind a large oak tree to change, though Wesley’s choice of disguise wasn’t as drastic of a change as Jules' was, but the hat helped a bit.

When the shadows stretched thin and tall and night draped itself across the sky, they settled by a fallen log, cloaked in moss and lowly pale mushrooms. Jules gathered twigs while Wesley collected stones, working in the joint silence that hadn’t left them since the thrift store. They burned their old clothes along with the kindle, hoping the orange sparks and crackling of burnt wood would be enough for now.

Then, surprisingly, it was Jules that broke the stillness, “West Virginia. That’s where I want to go.”

“What’s in West Virginia?” Wesley inquired.

“My jacket.”

Wesley wavered, “you want to go to West Virginia for a jacket?”

“It’s stupid, I know,” Jules crossed his arms defensively, shrinking into the log behind his back, “But that jacket’s the only thing that’s ever belonged to me, and only me. It’s important to me.”

“Okay,” Wesley nodded, “West Virginia it is.”

“Thanks.” Jules leaned his head to the side, resting on the log, facing his body away from Wesley. “Night.”

“Yeah,” Wesley said softly. Sleep was dragging him down, but something kept turning inside him and it wouldn’t let up. He pulled the cap over his eyes, brushing off whatever the strangeness he was feeling.

He was probably just hungry, they would have to find somewhere to eat in the morning.