Chapter Twenty-One: Tasting Death
(Vanessa)
Ketchup grins at me when I crawl into his car. I’m barely even awake enough to smack him in the arm. That only makes him laugh. I’d like to hit him again, but I slouch down in my seat instead. Ignoring him is all the reaction I have strength for right now. Maybe it’s the fact that Zander isn’t here, or it might be my sour attitude, but Ketchup doesn’t lurch away from my house like he usually does when he picks me up. He looks over at me seriously, his posture soft and inviting. Then again, it might be the fact that when Zander told me last night after he picked me up from work that he wouldn’t be able to take me to school today, I called Ketchup instead of asking Grandma for a ride.
I didn’t call Ketchup because anything has changed. The more time I spend with Noah and his family, the more my desire to have a normal life grows. I called Ketchup because Zander has been acting really weird since Sunday night. Well, Monday morning, I should say. I don’t know where he was all night, but he didn’t get home until after three in the morning again. All yesterday he acted nervous, but at the same time relieved. It was a weird combination I couldn’t explain. Then he tells me he can’t take me to school because he’s picking Ivy up so they can go out after practice. He didn’t want to tell me what they were doing, but I wouldn’t let him go until he admitted they were going to a movie.
Maybe to anyone else that would seem harmless enough, but I know better. Hunger mixed with him and Ivy sitting up close and personal in the dark is a fast track to disaster. I freaked out and yelled at him, just barely holding back another punch to the face, but he wouldn't relent. He kept saying it was fine. He had everything taken care of. I have no idea what that meant, but when he slipped and said Ivy was going to help him, I knew something was wrong. He clammed up and refused to even speak to me after that. There’s no way Ivy can help him unless she knew what the problem is.
He told her something.
“Hey,” Ketchup says, “are you okay? You aren’t usually this crabby in the morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep last night.”
Ketchup startles me by slipping his hand over mine. “Van, what’s wrong?”
Shaking my head, I look over at him. “Something’s up with Zander… and it’s not good. I’m afraid something bad is going to happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think he told Ivy something he shouldn’t have, and now they’re planning on going out tonight. Alone. He’s acting weird… taking risks, keeping secrets, acting moody and edgy.”
“Isn’t that how it started with Oscar?” Ketchup asks without looking at me.
My eyes pinch shut, and I have to force the lump in my throat back down. “Yeah.”
My bottom lips starts trembling. Ketchup’s arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. I bury my face against his shirt and take slow deep breaths. I don’t want to cry, not in front of Ketchup. He’s stubborn and pigheaded, but he can’t stand to see girls cry. If I start blubbering in front of him, I’ll never get him to focus. A few minutes later, I pull away from him slowly. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the concern building by the second.
“We’ll figure something out, okay, Van? Whatever it takes, we won’t let Zander end up like Oscar. Just tell me what to do.” He’s absolutely serious, and I love him for it. He doesn’t understand even half of what’s going on, but he’ll do anything I ask of him. He let go of my hand when he moved to hold me, but I take his now and squeeze it.
“Thanks, Ketchup.”
He smiles and doesn’t say anything. The flick of the kitchen curtain draws my attention. Grandma stares down at us with one eyebrow raised. A clear what are you two doing out there is reflected in that one look. Before she decides to investigate, I say, “Let’s get going, okay?”
Nodding, Ketchup lets go of my hand reluctantly and shifts into drive. He presses down on the gas, but lurches to a stop a second later. “Van, you forgot your backpack. Do you want me to run inside and get it for you?”
“Uh, no,” I say, “just go.”
“But, Van…”
My voice takes on a demanding edge. “Go, Ketchup.”
He shakes his head and presses on the accelerator. I wait until we’re out of my neighborhood and nearing the school to speak again. “How would you feel about ditching school today?”
The way his eyes light up and one corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile almost makes me regret asking. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“I want to go see Oscar.”
Clearly not the answer he was expecting, his eyebrows rise in shock. “What?”
“Please, Ketchup? I need to talk to him about Zander. He’s the only one who can tell me what’s going on with him… whether or not it’s the same thing that happened to him.”
“Van, are you sure? I’ve never been to see him before. What if it freaks him out?’
“It won’t,” I say.
He looks at me doubtfully.
“Unlike Zander, Oscar’s always liked you. He’ll probably be happy to see you. Nobody outside the family ever visits him.”
Stopped at a four way stop with no one else around, he reaches down and takes my hand. This time his grip is firm, but nervous. “You said the last few times you’ve gone to see him, he hasn’t been very coherent. What makes you think he’ll be any different today? I don’t want to risk taking you to see him if there’s no point. I know how much his outbursts upset you.”
“I need to go. Besides, I don’t think he’ll act that way if Zander isn’t around,” I say.
If what Ketchup and I found out about the strange taste is actually true, things will go much better with just the two of us. Lately, when Oscar sees Zander, he keeps saying weird things, like how close Zander is to joining him, how he knows. It scares me to death to think of what Zander may have already done, but I have to know for sure.
“Please, Ketchup.”
He sighs and rolls through the intersection. “Fine. How do I get there?”
The route is ingrained in my memory, so we make it to the hospital without a problem. My usual fear of stepping through the doors is missing today. We stalk right up to the front desk. I grab the visitor log and start signing us in. A familiar face stares down at me.
“Van?” Rita asks. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your assigned visiting day.”
“I know, but I really need to talk to Oscar. Zander is sick. I was hoping you’d let me slip in for a few minutes to talk to him.”
Rita looks doubtful. “I don’t know. Knowing Zander is sick may only upset him.”
“But, if Zander doesn’t get better…” I leave it hanging, letting her imagine what it would be like to tell Oscar his brother is dead without any time to prepare himself.
Now Rita honestly looks worried. “I know all three of you have some kind of genetic disorder…”
Ketchup looks over at me with a question in his eyes, but I can’t stop to answer him.
“…but I thought you and Zander were doing well.” Rita presses her hand to her heart.
I feel bad lying to her, but to be honest, if I don’t stop Zander from ruining everyone’s lives in time, we may all be in danger of dying. “Please?” I beg.
“All right, but I can only give you fifteen minutes today. Oscar has therapy soon and he can’t miss that.”
“Thank you so much, Rita! You have no idea how important this is.”
Rita’s eyes tear up. “Your poor family has been through so much, I’d hate to cause any more distress. Tell Zander I hope he feels better soon.”
She completes the sign-in process and asks us to wait in the lobby for an orderly to collect my brother. The wait seems to take forever, but the ugly plastic clock on the wall says it’s only been ten minutes when Rita waves us over. She buzzes us through, and guides us to the room with the metal table and chains. I hate this room, but I force myself to open the door and step inside. K
etchup’s hand, which pretty much hasn’t budged since he took it in the car, tightens around mine. If I weren’t who I am, it would hurt. Instead, it only reassures me. There’s no way I could have asked Noah to come with me.
Ketchup and I stand in the middle of the room. As usual, it takes Oscar a few minutes to realize we’re here. When his head starts to come up, I brace myself for his reaction. Last time, he started ranting at Zander the moment he saw him. We didn’t stay long. This time, he shocks me by smiling. The expression seems so foreign on him now. Even more surprising is the laugh that bursts out of him.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite condiment,” Oscar says. “You know, there was I time I almost started calling Van mustard, you two were together so much. I don’t know how many times I walked her over to your house, Ketchup.”
He sits back in his chair. The leather cuffs holding his wrists securely to the table are digging into his flesh, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Looks like things haven’t changed much, have they? I was wondering how long it would take Van to ignore Zander and get back together with you. It’s nice. You two look good together.”
“Actually…” I start. Ketchup’s fingers cinch around mine. I decide to let it go, for now. Oscar seems to notice our exchange, which is surprising, but doesn’t comment on it.
“Sit down,” he says amiably. Neither of us moves. “Come on. I won’t bite. Can’t even reach you if I wanted to.”
We look at each other and start forward at the same time. We slip into the chairs across from him, but keep our distance.
“You seem to be doing really good today,” I say.
“It comes and goes,” he says with a shrug. “It helps that Zander isn’t here, and it helps that Ketchup is. We should do this more often.”
“Why does it help that Zander isn’t here?” Ketchup asks.
Oscar’s eyes darken. “Because Zander is a liar. I hate liars. I hate, hate liars. Liars, liars, liars. All they do is ruin lives. Liars, liars, liars.”
My body tenses. Fear that this will become another ranting litany that sends him back to insanity forces me to interrupt him. I came here for answers, and Zander’s lies are chief on the list. “What is Zander lying about?”
“About what he did.”
“What he did?”
“To Lisa. To Lisa. Zander lied about Lisa. I know, but he won’t admit it. He can’t hide it from me. I can see through Zander’s lies,” Oscar mumbles.
I should go on, keep him talking while he’s lucid, but I can’t. I am too shocked. Thinking Zander had killed someone was hard enough, but Lisa?
I remember that night. Two months after Zander turned sixteen, just after he’d come out of seclusion, I was in the kitchen with Grandma. Mom and Dad were out and she and I were making tiramisu. Zander had gone out four wheeling with Lisa that night. Nobody called like you might think. I suppose they probably called Lisa’s family, but no one called us. Zander simply burst through the door and stumbled into the room. He fell to his knees before he ever made it to the couch. I’d never seen him like that. He always held everything inside. When Grandma reached him, he started bawling like a child. I was so scared, I dialed my parents right away. They raced home in a panic.
It took an hour to get him calmed down enough to tell us about how the four wheeler had slipped and rolled off the trail. Zander came through it okay. He thought he’d broken a few bones, but they were already healed. Lisa wasn’t so lucky. Zander said he tried to protect her, get her out of the way of the bulky machine, but it came down on her before he could do anything. Her neck was broken, her life ended.
At least, that’s what he told us had happened.
My hands start shaking. “What do you know about Lisa?”
“Pretty little Lisa, she couldn’t be scared away. She saw what Zander was, but she let herself believe. She closed her eyes and played pretend that he would love her till the end,” Oscar says in his creepy sing-song voice. His eyes snap up to mine, the anger in them flattening me against the back of my chair. “He did. Zander did love her till the end. Right up until he killed her.”
“What? No, man, what are you talking about?” Ketchup asks.
I shush him and force myself to meet Oscar’s gaze. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I could taste it on him.”
Ketchup goes very still. He looks over at me with fear and sadness in his eyes. He knows as well as I do that we were right. Even still, it’s so hard to accept what Oscar is saying that I badger him for more proof.
“What do you mean you could taste it? What did it taste like?”
Oscar’s face screws up, as if he’s tasting death right now. “Every time he comes near me, I can taste it. It doesn’t taste like pain. Pain tastes like truffles to me. Not the chocolate kind, the prized fungus only the most refined restaurants use. The earthy, meaty exquisiteness of them are exactly how pain tastes to me, the most beautiful sensation. Death tastes different, stale and bitter. And it never seems to leave. It clings to Zander still. I hate the taste of death. I hate that he brings it here.”
I want to argue with him. I want to believe that if Zander did kill someone, it was someone bad, and for a good reason. I don’t want to believe it was Lisa. Lisa was such a sweet girl. She cared about Zander, and he cared about her. At the time, the guilt that poured out with his tears seemed too much for the enjoyment I know his hunger must have gotten out of her death. I’d wondered that night if something was wrong. The look on my grandma’s face said the same, but I never let myself question him. Zander was my brother. I didn’t want to believe something like that about him.
I know Oscar is telling the truth. I don’t know what to do with that knowledge, though. So, I do what I did last time. I stuff it down deep, and ask the next question I don’t really want the answer to.
“Why… why can’t I taste it on him all the time like you can?”
Oscar’s interest perks up. “All the time? Does that mean you taste it some of the time?”
“It’s really random,” I admit quietly. Oscar nods slowly.
“You’re too young to taste it all the time. Van, Nessa, Nessie, Vanessa, you’re still too small, just a baby hunter with chaotic, crazy hunger. But you’ll mature. You’ll turn sixteen and you’ll be able to taste the real pleasures and evils of this world.” His hands tighten into fists and pull at the shackles that won’t let him go. “Just wait until you turn sixteen, and then you’ll taste Zander’s secrets all the time too.”
My head drops down. I was already worried enough about my birthday. Ketchup shifts in his chair, reminding me of his presence. I glance over at him with hooded eyes. His hand is still in mine, but his body is rigid. Everything Oscar just said rings in my ears. Tasting, pain, death, even me turning sixteen and changing, I can’t imagine how that must have sounded to him.
He let me slide on the bare minimum before, but I think he just got a lot more in the way of answers than he wanted. Seeing the familiar indicators, I relax my fingers and attempt sliding them out of his grip. I get about half way before he grabs me back and holds me tighter than before. He doesn’t look at me, though.
There’s nothing to do but let Ketchup make his decision and get on with what I came here for.
“Oscar, I need you to tell me what it was like before you came here. What changed? Did Mom and Dad say anything to you about how you were acting?”
Oscar’s face screws up in disgust. “I don’t want to talk about that. Why do you want know?”
“Zander’s been acting strange,” I say after a moment’s pause. “I think he’s going to get in trouble.”
“I told him. Told him. Told him. I would see him here soon.”
“Oscar,” I snap. His mouth stops blabbering and he looks up at me. “I need to know if Zander’s in trouble.”
“Trouble,” Oscar says. He nods deeply. “Tell me everything.”
So I do.
I force myself
not to look over at Ketchup once during my explanation. I hadn’t been planning on letting him in on the secrets of our family right now, or any time, to be perfectly honest, but what else was I going to do? There was no chance I was going to ask him to step out. Not only would that be incredibly unfair after I forced him to bring me here, but also, as much as I love Oscar, I do not want to be left alone with him. My mouth spills out the details of Ivy and Zander’s bizarre relationship as I pretend Ketchup isn’t listening to a word of it. I tell him about our hunger reactions, my suspicions, Zander’s love, his likely confession, and his slip that Ivy was somehow going to help him.
At that last part, Oscar’s entire body goes rigid. His eyes latch onto me like a barbed dart, painful and difficult to be free of. “She thinks she can help him?” Oscar says. “She won’t. She won’t help him. She doesn’t really want to. Ivy, Ivy. Ivy is lying. Ivy Guerra. I don’t like her name. Vines and War, that’s what her name means. She will wrap herself around Zander and strangle the life out of him, start a war that none of us can win. Ivy Guerra can’t be trusted.”
“I… what? Her name means war? What are you talking about?”
Oscar tsks at me, one finger of his bound hand bobbing up and down. “I told you to keep up with your Spanish, Van. It’s always useful to know languages. Shows you things that others miss. Guerra means war. Ivy is here to start a war.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Not that I disagree with him, but he’s actually crazy. I suspect Ivy is trouble because of what I’ve seen. I want to stop her, but I’m not going to launch a full out campaign against her on the word of my murdering, psychotic brother.
The dull thud of Oscar’s head hitting the metal table startles me. I look down at him. Panic creeps under my skin. Is this the end of his lucidity? It can’t be. I have more questions still. “Oscar. Oscar! How do you know Ivy is here to start a war? You have to tell me or Zander might get hurt.”
“Oh, Zander will get hurt.” The muffled slur of his words makes them even more ominous. “That girl is no good. If you want to save Zander, you have to stop her, but he’ll still get hurt. Save him and hurt him, don’t save him and hurt him. Pain, either way. Delicious pain. Hunger will be the only one that wins. Hunger always wins.”
My fingernails are digging into Ketchup’s skin. Pain ripples around his wrist, but I pay it no mind. All my focus is on Oscar. “How do you know about any of this, Oscar?”
“They didn’t want me to know, but I found out. Someone tried to help me, and I didn’t believe them. I searched and asked and demanded and screamed until someone told me. They didn’t want me to know, but I found out. I found out, and it made me angry. So, so angry. Furious. Irate. I wanted blood and pain and death when I found out. Nothing could feed my hunger enough, not after being starved for so long. I found out, and they paid for it. I made them pay.”
“Oscar,” I whisper, his words making more sense to me than I wish they would. He made them pay. They didn’t want him to know. He made them pay. My shaking rattles the uneven legs of my chair against the floor, a skittering noise that fries the last of my barriers. I ask my last, most frightening question. “Oscar, why did you kill Mom and Dad?”
“Because,” he hisses, “because, because they lied to us. They knew. All along they knew who we were, what we were, but they tried to pretend, change us, turn us into something we aren’t, starve us, deny us, make us suffer for years and years and years! They said they loved us, but they lied! They lied! They lied! THEY LIED!”