Colt made it through work the next morning and dinner with the Brown family the following evening. Ronnie was silent and sullen as usual, and Colt was beginning to think his presence in the household had less to do with the teen’s mood than he had originally feared. Susan and Stan peppered him with questions about his day and whether he’d had any “close calls.” It seemed a rather casual way to phrase the possibility that he might go cannibal on another human being at any given time, but as friendly as the ghouls were, it was obvious to Colt that there was a whole hell of a lot of difference between “blending in” with humans and being one of them.
In between the smalltalk and hospital anecdotes, Colt managed to learn a bit more about the world he unwittingly found himself a part of. He got the feeling the Browns were trying not to overwhelm him, but the pieces that were fitting together formed a picture of a society connected yet separate from humanity that rivaled the country club politics Jason’s family played any day.
There were thousands of ghouls worldwide, and hundreds in the state of Rhode Island alone. They were police, teachers, politicians, housewives and thespians, and Colt almost certainly passed one or two each day without realizing it. There was no way to tell a ghoul apart from a human from sight alone. Their senses were no more or less sharp than a normal human’s, but most of them knew each other through the tight-knit social circles they formed called “echelons.” Each echelon self-policed to a large degree, and there were regular meetings to ensure that everyone stayed on the same page. Stan had already made his echelon aware of Colt’s presence, and since he had been taken under the Browns’ wings, no other ghouls would bother him as long as he kept a low profile and didn’t risk exposure.
Exposure, he learned, was one of the few laws that governed the Kinship--a fancy word for the community of monsters that existed alongside humans without their knowledge--and while they were far more lax when it came to the violation of human law, the punishment for exposure was swift and decisive. Any ghoul who risked exposing his own kind was given to the Moreau family as a “tribute,” which was a sugarcoated way of saying they ate him alive. Of the fact that Stan and Susan had saved his life, there was no question. Colt just wasn’t sure if their good deed was worthwhile.
In any case, he felt a sense of responsibility not to bring any scrutiny upon the family that had so generously taken him in. It was a similar if subtler version of the obligation that had turned him from a troubled preteen into a model student in an attempt to prove that his adoptive parents’ kindness wasn’t unappreciated. He couldn’t escape the guilt that plagued him whenever he had a moment alone with his thoughts, but between work and everything the Brown family was teaching him, he had sufficient fuel for distraction.
And then there was Jason. Colt had been avoiding his texts and calls like a coward, but he knew he couldn’t go on avoiding him forever. He had originally been staying clear of Jason out of shame over what he’d done, both at the restaurant and in the horrific moments that followed his emotional outburst, but now he was avoiding his best friend out of fear. Fear that he’d betray the confidence both his life and the Brown family’s depended on, fear that he would say or do something to hurt Jason even more than he already had, fear that the monster he’d turned into in that alley was still lurking just beneath the surface, ready to take over again at the worst time. Only this time, his victim wouldn’t be a criminal on the other end of a gun. It would be the one person Colt couldn’t imagine life without, and the only one he had never lied to.
He knew he couldn’t stay away forever, though. The longer he did, the likelier it was that Jason was going to figure out something was going on.
Armed with the justification that telling Jason the truth would only mean putting him in danger and placing an undue burden on his shoulders when he’d already expended so much emotional energy dealing with Colt’s problems over the years, Colt set off for the dorms.
During the one year Colt had spent at junior college before dropping out to pursue his trade, he’d rarely seen reason to socialize. The fact that most of the other students were commuters who went to class and straight home suited him just fine, even though Renee had always insisted he was missing out on “the college experience.” As Colt watched the students gathered in the lobby, draped over various upholstered surfaces while they socialized or read passively, he found himself just as bewildered by human behavior as he had been then. At least now he had something to blame it on.
Colt climbed the stairs and found room 313. He realized showing up unannounced was probably the last thing he should have done, but after half a week of ignoring Jason’s texts and phone calls, replying electronically seemed equally shitty. He raised his fist to knock and talked himself out of it a few times before the door flew open and he found himself face-to-face with Jason.
A series of emotions projected themselves across Jason’s face in rapid succession, first confusion, then relief, then anger. Rage was where he settled, and Jason gripped the doorknob so tightly Colt could see the raised outline of a vein beneath his skin. “I guess you didn’t fall off the face of the earth after all.”
“I’m sorry,” Colt said, deciding to get those words out of the way. He doubted it would be the last time he apologized that night.
“Sorry?” Jason folded his arms. “You left me at a restaurant, and I haven’t heard from you for three days, and you’re ‘sorry’?”
“Okay, I’m really sorry,” Colt said. “And an asshole who doesn’t deserve the chance to apologize, but I’m kind of hoping it’s enough of a habit that you’ll let me anyway?”
Jason set his jaw and looked away. His temper was as fiery as his mother’s, but it never lasted for long. He was too forgiving, if anything, but Colt wasn’t above taking advantage of that. He’d done worse.
“Come on in,” Jason said, stepping back to let Colt inside the small but well-organized room.
There was a lofted bed over Jason’s desk, which was covered with books and an open laptop. A flatscreen sat on the dresser across the room, and music was coming from one of the many gadgets sprinkled around the room. Between the on-demand cable box, the digital assistants and the tablet, Colt had a hard time keeping track. Jason always had been a technophile.
Colt shut the door behind him and took a seat in the desk chair at Jason’s behest. “Want anything to drink?” Jason asked, resting a hand on the door to his mini fridge.
“Thanks, I’m good.”
“Well, I need a beer,” said Jason, taking one out of a new six pack. He strained with the cap for a few seconds before looking around, muttering something about his lost bottle opener.
“I’ve got it,” Colt said, holding out his hand.
Jason scowled, but he reluctantly handed the bottle over. Colt twisted the cap off easily and handed it back.
“My hero,” Jason said dryly, taking a sip.
“Listen, about what happened the other night,” Colt began, running a hand through his hair. “You were right. I wasn’t myself. I’m still not, but I took it out on you and I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did.”
“Are we talking about the freakout or the silent treatment?”