“And my parents?” he asked, voicing the question he was most afraid to know the answer to. “My friends, my coworkers...is it even safe to be around any of them?”
“It will be in time,” said Stan. “Ghouls aren’t aggressive by nature, not when we feed regularly. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to blend in half as well as we do. We don’t tend to take the risk of living with humans, but it is possible to live a normal life with a bit of discipline, and that can be learned.”
“Stan is a surgeon,” Susan said proudly. “There are ghouls at every level of society. As long as we blend in and don’t step on the Moreaus’ toes, we’re free to do as we like.”
“The Moreaus?” asked Colt.
Susan’s face went blank like she hadn’t meant to say the name at all. “Oh, that’s not something you need to trouble yourself with tonight. Just a bit of ghoul politics, but there’ll be plenty of time for all that later, once you’ve had a nice, long rest.”
“You’re welcome to stay the night,” said Stan, standing from the couch to stretch. “In fact, I’d recommend it. Susan already made up the guest room while you were in the shower.”
Colt hesitated. There was still part of him that felt compelled to turn himself in. After all, there was a body out there, and surely by then, the police would be looking for the killer.
“Like Ronnie said, if you were to confess to killing that man, nothing good would come of it,” Stan said, resting a hand on Colt’s shoulder. Was it really that obvious what he was thinking? “From the janitor to the coroner, the police station is crawling with ghouls. If you’ve got a death wish, be my guest, but I’d hate to see such a promising young life cut down in its prime for no good reason.”
The prime of what was the question. Colt still wasn’t sure if the Browns were bluffing, but the thought of someone showing up at his parents’ door to announce his death and the morbid circumstances surrounding it was enough to silence his guilty conscience.
“That and we could get in trouble for helping you,” Susan said in that tone Renee always used when she was hoping Colt would do the right thing. She even had the doe eyes. It was manipulation at its finest, the way only a mother working in the best interest of her family could manage.
Colt swallowed hard, standing from his chair. “I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but I won’t say anything that could hurt your family. I’m just not sure sticking around is a good idea.”
“Nonsense. Besides, you’ll feel better after a good night of sleep,” Stan said, leading him up the stairs. The music had stopped, and the light under Ronnie’s door was out. Stan opened the door to the room across the hall and turned on the light. It was a decent sized room with a nice queen bed, a dresser, and a full-length mirror Colt made every effort to avoid looking at.
“Thanks,” Colt said, nodding to Stan. “Have a good night.”
“Try to get some sleep,” Stan said with a smile before closing the door.
Colt sat down on the edge of the bed and just stared at the wall for what felt like hours even though it might easily have been a minute. He finally looked down at his phone and saw the half a dozen missed calls from Jason. He didn’t even have the energy to open the text messages. Not that he trusted himself to reply.
For as long as he could remember, Colt had been able to tell his best friend everything. Now, he didn’t even know what to tell himself.
Chapter 5
The smell of eggs and bacon that greeted Colt on his way downstairs made him pause with his hand on the railing. The fact that he’d woken up in a strange bed was the only thing that kept him from denial about the events of the night before. In the light of morning, it felt like an outlandish nightmare, but the smell of food both made his stomach growl and made him wary about just what might be on the menu.
When he finally got the courage to venture into the kitchen, Susan was at the stove and Stan was sitting at the head of the table across from Ronnie, reading a newspaper while he sipped his morning coffee. They looked like the all-American family, sulking teenager included.
“Morning,” Colt said, eyeing the spread on the table as discreetly as he could. Ronnie’s plate was piled high with toast, eggs and fruit.
When Susan caught Colt’s eye, he realized he’d been caught looking. She gave him a knowing smile and motioned for him to take an empty chair. “Good morning, Colt. You’re looking a bit less peaked!”
“I feel better,” he admitted. “Probably just denial setting in.”
Stan chuckled. “Sometimes, that’s for the best. Fake it ‘till you make it. Or, as my old college mentor used to say, ‘Keep on lyin’ ‘til you’re fine’!”
“Ugh, dad,” Ronnie muttered into his juice.
“Help yourself,” Susan said brightly, setting a clean plate in front of Colt.
Colt stared at the plate, then at the food. “Is this...I’m sorry if this is offensive, but is this normal food?”
“Ghouls eat ‘normal’ food, too,” Ronnie answered in a sardonic tone that perfectly matched his expression. “But if you’re not in the mood for long pig, I suggest you stay away from the bacon.”
Colt resisted the urge to grimace. What bothered him even more than the fact that Susan was humming while frying up people was the fact that it smelled delicious. And not at all unlike the bacon he ate almost every morning at the diner across from his apartment. Colt glanced back at Ronnie’s plate as he filled his own and realized the boy had skipped out on the bacon, too.
He must have looked for a bit too long because Ronnie shot him a withering glare and bit off another piece of toast. Colt quickly looked away.
There were so many questions Colt wanted to ask that he just hadn’t had the clarity of mind to formulate the night before. To his deep shame, he had slept like a baby. “Is it rude to discuss, uh, ghoul things at the table?”
“Not at all,” Susan said, finally sitting down to join the family. “Ask away.”
“How often do you have to...you know?”
“We only have to eat human flesh about as often as a human has to eat in order to live,” said Stan. “In order to stay calm and comfortable, it’s best to eat it every few days, at least. It keeps us from getting worked up when we smell blood, which can get ugly fast--quite literally, as you experienced with your own shift. Rather inconvenient to grow claws and fangs on the bus every time someone gets a papercut.”
“I guess so,” Colt mumbled. “How sensitive are we?”
“Our senses are pretty much the same as any human’s, but blood has a different scent to a mature ghoul,” Stan replied. “It’s like the difference between smelling filet mignon when you’re full and smelling it when you’re half-starved.”
“What about blood? Do I need to drink it, or just eat flesh?”
“Blood isn’t required to survive. We cook it out most of the time,” said Stan, taking a bite of bacon. Colt noticed the fact that Ronnie grimaced and looked down at his own plate.
“Blood is like alcohol,” said Susan. “It’s a luxury, not a necessity. There are those of us who don’t partake because it tends to cloud the mind and dull the inhibitions,” she said pointedly, looking right at Stan.