So, according to Lyle, each brother kept his mouth shut and obeyed. Until, of course, they realized Blake wanted to do more than scare us.
Gives a whole new perspective on stuff when you hear it, I guess, but like I said before, the color commentary doesn’t make things right.
“So,” I say as we turn down a dirt road in his brand-new, shiny pickup, “how do you guys know about this place?” We pulled off the freeway and had to take the frontage road to get here.
“I’d prefer not to say.”
“I prefer you do.”
Lyle keeps his intense gaze on the road for a prickly moment. I’m on a razor-thin edge with him. Fucker touched River. Hurt her. Scared her. I suddenly realize I’m this close to beating his face in. The only thing holding me back is that he’s showing remorse and doing what he can to make things right.
“So?” I push.
“Blake’s dealer used to work here,” he finally says.
“In the middle of a swamp?”
“No. This leads to the back lot of a manufacturing site.”
“Don’t tell me they make radioactive products.” I refuse to let my life be altered by tired fiction plots.
“Naw, man. They make supplements. Protein drinks and stuff.”
That somehow sounds way worse than radioactive waste. “So the guy who used to sell Blake his juice worked for a sports drink manufacturer?”
“Yeah, he was some chemist guy—you know, the kind who makes all those fitness supplements for bodybuilders. He left the company and went into business for himself. Vitamins in the front door, steroid injections through the back.”
“So what’s with the water Blake dumped me in?” I ask.
“I dunno. He said his dealer told him about it.”
“Why?”
“Never asked.”
“Which company does the factory belong to?” I wonder if it’s a cover for some covert government lab where they make super soldiers. Yes, another tired fiction plot. I know.
“MJP.”
I want to laugh. Muscle Juice Potion? Here I was thinking my transformation was a miracle from God, but I was probably dumped into some sludge pond for experimental muscle-gain drinks.
“What’s so funny?” Lyle asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” Before all this started, River called me out on needing to unpack my mental baggage, and I didn’t listen. I really should have, because I’ve just spent the last two days running around thinking my body’s undergone a massive transformation.
But really?
I’m probably suffering from a form of body dysmorphia, where I look in the mirror and think I’m ripped. In reality, I’ve taken an overdose of workout supplements.
Of course, that doesn’t explain why people are treating me differently.
Come on, take a look at Ronno, I argue with myself. My roommate believes he’s the shit, and people buy it. Confidence is everything. So here I am, walking around believing I’m an alpha male, and people are taking notice. It’s not a miracle. It’s human nature.
All of the other stuff—zipping around, lifting the bus to save that puppy, finding that little girl trapped in a well, Blake keeling over before the game—probably have perfectly logical explanations.
I likely walked home that night and carried River. I blocked it out and assumed I made it to my dorm in the blink of an eye. Same goes for finding that little girl. Maybe I went for a walk and stumbled on her.
There. You see. It’s all been in my head. Explanations for everything. A sense of relief infuses with disappointment. Part of me wanted to believe in something bigger. Life had a scale of justice, and people’s wishes could come true. But now that I’m hearing myself, I realize how stupid it was. Fantasy land.
Lyle slows his truck at the edge of a big green pond partially covered in neon-orange algae. It has a chain-link fence around it, which I don’t remember. I see large PVC pipes extending over the surface, pumping out clear liquid.
“This is where Blake put me?” I ask.
Lyle nods but doesn’t look at me. Shame is all over his face.
“How did we get inside?” I ask.
“The fence is new. Wasn’t there the other night.”
“So they put it up yesterday?” Seems odd.
“This is the place, so yeah. Maybe one of their security guards heard us out here, and the company decided to protect it.” He points to a pole with a camera on it. The angle points away from the water and toward the road we came down.
He adds, “I’d hurry if I were you. We’re on private property.”
I don’t want to tell him I’ve been having delusions of superpowers and don’t have any hope of finding that thing, so I hop out. I do a quick lap around the accessible part of the pond. I don’t remember much because it was dark out the other night, but I think this is the place. The bumps in the dirt road and the time traveled on the freeway fit with what I remember about the route we traveled. But I don’t see anything special about this water. It smells funny, but that’s about it.
I get back in the car. “It’s not here.”
“Maybe one of the guys who installed the fence picked it up. What was it again?”
My sanity. “Nothing.”
“Can we head back now?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“And we’re good?” Lyle looks anxious.
I turn to face him. “We’ll be good when you make things right with River.”
“I understand.”
“Cool.” I slap my hand on the dash. “Let’s get out of here. I need tequila.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I never imagined I’d be hanging out with a couple of football players, drinking beer. And screw me for saying this, but the guys aren’t total douches. Kyle and Lyle grew up not too far from me, about two hours away. Their parents are farmers. They’re here on scholarships.
Then there’s Jorden. He wasn’t there that night, but I can tell from the shocked look on his face when he sees me sitting on the couch in their living room that he knows what went down. Also, Jorden tells me right away that he filled out the paperwork to transfer somewhere else after he heard what Blake made them do.
A part of me suspects they’re covering their asses and I’m not getting the full story. Mostly because they don’t seem like complete immoral jerks. So why were they all so eager to do Blake’s bidding? Why risk everything to please one person? They just don’t seem like bad guys.
Or maybe they are, and I don’t know the difference. I tend to look at people and throw labels on them. Assholes. Not assholes. In the past, I wasn’t given the choice to dig deeper. Result being, I’m pretty unskilled when it comes to reading others. I can’t tell if they’re genuine or dishonest. Kind or up to something.
I’m going to have to be more careful and not hand out the friendship cards so quickly. Or condemn them.
Thankfully, I can’t really kill people with my mind. I’d be knocking on Manda’s door right now if I could.
“Guys, I have a question,” I say, the alcohol getting to me. It’s just past noon, and I haven’t eaten yet.
“Yeah?” says Kyle.