Eyugho<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/p>\nThirteen had been a defining age for Ferris. It had been the year of his bar mitzvah, his first cup of black coffee, and the first time he\u2019d laid eyes on a dead body.<\/span><\/p>\nSouthport in winter was heavy with snow, the city lights reflecting neatly off of the iced street curbs. His family had gone to Ristorante Giorgetti for dinner that evening, but at the end of the meal Gino had come to talk to his father. The conversation had taken a serious turn and they\u2019d gone into a back room, leaving his mother to chat with Victor\u2019s wife and Ferris dying of boredom.<\/span><\/p>\nThis happened a lot.<\/span><\/p>\nSergio was tending the bar for the evening. He was Victor\u2019s son, not old enough to drink but apparently old enough to help others do it. At least the black vest and bowtie helped him look more mature. He leaned over the counter, catching Ferris\u2019 attention.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cHey, you want a cocoa or something?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nAll thoughts of his mother\u2019s stuffy conversation slipped away. This was Ferris\u2019 chance. It was time to be a man.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cCould I\u2014have coffee?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nSergio did an admirable job of holding down a laugh. \u201cSure thing.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nWith a smile, he prepared the drink in a ceramic mug, then slid it over to the boy. Ferris glanced down to see that there was no cream or sugar in the cup. He paused. Somehow, he couldn\u2019t bring himself to ask for either in front of Sergio. Sugar was for kids. Well, also his dad. Harold\u2019s coffees were practically desserts. Still, Ferris had to at least try. Attempting to look collected, he took a sip. <\/span><\/p>\nIt tasted like the bottom of a burnt shoe. His face contorted into a forced smile and he ignored the sweat that had formed on his forehead. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cIt\u2019s\u2014it\u2019s great,\u201d Ferris said with clenched teeth. \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nSergio only bit back a smile and focused his attention on cleaning the bar.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYou know, I think I saw Rocco wander into the kitchen,\u201d Sergio said. \u201cI hope he doesn\u2019t get fur on anything.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nRocco was Gino\u2019s fussy white Persian cat. He was only allowed in the restaurant when no customers were present and was most certainly not allowed in the kitchen. Desperate for something to do, Ferris picked up his head.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWant me to go get him?\u201d the boy said.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGo for it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nZeroed in on his quest, Ferris abandoned his cup of bitter regret and headed toward the swinging kitchen doors. <\/span><\/p>\nRistorante Giorgetti\u2019s kitchen was empty for the night. He crept through, passing spotless steel counters and a row of gas ranges. A flicker of white was the only sign of life, drawing him to peer below a prep table. Sure enough, the cat was settled beneath it. Rocco glanced back at Ferris, unimpressed.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cCome on, boy. You don\u2019t belong in\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nBefore Ferris could finish, the Persian darted out into the aisle between stoves. It was only when he reached the doors leading into the alley that the cat stopped. Ferris froze\u2014the doors were wide open.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cN-no, wait!\u201d <\/span><\/p>\nFerris reached, but was already too late. Rocco slipped outside, a pale flash through the threshold. Heart pounding, Ferris rushed out into the alley. The last thing he wanted to do was tell Gino Giorgetti that he\u2019d lost his beloved cat.<\/span><\/p>\nIt was getting dark earlier now that it was December. Though the streetlights had come on, the driveway was angled, blocking any view of the main road. It was dark, forcing Ferris to strain his eyes in search of the cursed cat.<\/span><\/p>\nFinally, he saw it\u2014a stroke of white against the dark of the alley. There was a car parked in front of the service entrance, its trunk cracked just enough to reveal the cat\u2019s tail. Ferris approached with slow steps through the snow, steadying both hands on the trunk before pulling it open. It was only when his eyes focused that he realized it hadn\u2019t been a cat\u2019s tail at all.<\/span><\/p>\nThe slip of white was a piece of cloth\u2014part of a man\u2019s shirt. <\/span><\/p>\nFerris inhaled sharply. Cold air seared his throat as he staggered backwards. His eyes locked on the pair that were staring back at him, pale and unmoving.<\/span><\/p>\nThe body in the trunk was bloated and pale gray. Dried, reddish-brown blood was caked on the man\u2019s matted hair and throat. He was still and cold, staring back as if caught in the moment he\u2019d been killed. It smelled terrible, like rotting meat, blood, and bacteria. Ferris swallowed back the bile that wanted to come up the back of his throat. His heart knocked around in his chest, pulse wild, preparing him for the run of his life. He took one more step backwards before a gloved hand clamped over his mouth.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cDon\u2019t scream,\u201d came a stern, calm voice.<\/span><\/p>\nFerris quickly nodded in response. <\/span><\/p>\nThe hand paused, then let go. A figure stepped around him and slammed the trunk shut. The white, gazing eyes were gone, though Ferris could still see them clearly in his head. What had once been a living person was now decomposing in the trunk of that car. The corpse had locked its gaze on him, eyes glazed and accusing. Ferris clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. The man finally turned around, staring down at Ferris with an unreadable expression.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cMr. Giorgetti\u2014\u201d Ferris finally found his voice. He was the man Demos called Uncle Victor. <\/span><\/p>\nThe man folded his arms, leaning back onto the trunk of the car. \u201cFerris.\u201d He adjusted his glasses. \u201cYou don\u2019t like upsetting others, do you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris was silent, only shaking his head.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t want to frighten your mom or dad, right?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nHe shook his head again.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cSo you understand exactly what you saw in that trunk, correct?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cNothing,\u201d Ferris said, his tone flat.<\/span><\/p>\nThe corner of Victor\u2019s lip quirked, a slight smile. \u201cYou\u2019re quick.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris didn\u2019t respond. His heart was still pounding in his ears. Victor reached forward to put a hand on his shoulder. Ferris almost flinched, but stopped himself.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYou have to promise me that you\u2019ll never tell anyone.\u201d The hand on his shoulder tightened. \u201cNot Demos, not even your dog. You got me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYes.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\nVictor sighed, then lowered his voice. \u201cIf it makes you feel any better, he deserved it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris nodded, pretending to understand. Victor was friends with his father. It had been that way as long as Ferris could remember\u2014house visits, dinners, drives. They were friends.<\/span><\/p>\nIf they hadn\u2019t been\u2014<\/span><\/p>\nHis next breath shuddered as it filled his chest. What would Victor have done? Would Ferris have ended up just like that body\u2014pale and rotting in the trunk of a car?<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGet back inside, you\u2019ll catch a cold.\u201d Victor gestured toward the entrance.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOkay.\u201d Ferris stepped away slowly, taking a moment before actually walking properly. He avoided any second glances at the car, keeping his eyes straight ahead. <\/span><\/p>\nVictor watched until he was out of sight, then patted his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Tugging one out with his teeth, he cupped his hand to light it. Behind him, perched on the car trunk, Rocco began to clean his ears.<\/span><\/p>\nVictor clicked the lighter shut.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cThis is why you\u2019re an indoor cat.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n#<\/span><\/p>\nEverything was dark. It took Ferris a moment to realize that a simple solution would be to open his eyes. He squinted. The sun was bright on the snow, burning his eyes as if he were staring into a light bulb. His pupils adjusted, shrinking back within his irises. When he looked around, all he could see was a massive field of snow and a grouping of trees on the horizon. They were white birch\u2014crooked, skeletal hands reaching up out of the earth.<\/span><\/p>\nSomehow, in spite of the snow, the air wasn\u2019t cold. As he trudged through the snow, his long, red scarf trailed along behind him. The crunching of his footsteps was the only thing he could hear.<\/span><\/p>\nAs he walked, he noticed a portion of snow that rose up and down\u2014breathing. The white pile shifted, then sat up straight. It was an ivory cat. Its ears twitched and it sniffed the air before pouncing off through the snow.<\/span><\/p>\nFerris followed, jogging after it at a flimsy pace. He stumbled, not used to running through thick snow. His breath came up short, puffing into the air as the cat ran faster\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n\u2014and disappeared.<\/span><\/p>\nHe stopped, panting and staring down at the empty patch of snow. Before he could question the strangeness, liquid started to bubble up from the same spot. It was red\u2014dark red. He narrowed his eyes at the growing pool, taking a step closer.<\/span><\/p>\nSomething appeared to be surfacing. Red trails seeped away from its features until he saw two white eyes and a swollen, pale face\u2014blood, it was blood. Ferris’ breath caught and he staggered back. The corpse pulled itself out, clawing the surrounding snow in a stiff, exaggerated effort. Blood stained the white as it dragged itself closer. Ferris was frozen. His pulse began to echo in the back of his head. He opened his mouth, but hands reached for him before he could make a sound. Tight, dead fingers grasped his legs and he slipped backwards into the snow with a shout.<\/span><\/p>\nFerris\u2019 body tensed before he realized\u2014he was in his bed. Taking in sharp breaths of air, noticed that he\u2019d been gripping the sheets. His knuckles were white from holding too hard and his skin was burning.<\/span><\/p>\nFor a long time, he couldn\u2019t move. The fear was holding him down, sitting on his chest and paralyzing him to the tips of his fingers. Finally, he managed to put his hand over his mouth. Stanley was still sleeping on the end of his bed, curled up and unaware of the nightmare. It was only a dream\u2014one he\u2019d had many times before. <\/span><\/p>\nHe couldn\u2019t get those eyes out of his head. Two years later, he still had a vivid memory of them. His stomach tightened. Patting the nightstand, he grabbed the frames of his glasses, then stood.<\/span><\/p>\nThe bathroom light turned on with a click. Ferris looked at himself in the mirror, not at all pleased with the battered face that looked back. He twisted the faucet handle, cupping his hand underneath the running water and touching it to his jaw and neck. His skin still felt too hot, his stomach too tight. There wasn\u2019t anything he could do or anyone he could tell. He could only hope the memory would someday fade.<\/span><\/p>\nHe never wanted to see those eyes again.<\/span><\/p>\n#<\/span><\/p>\nDemos was not good at math. He excelled at cooking, or as he liked to put it, the culinary arts. He also had a wonderful singing voice, an impeccable sense of fashion, and the devastating inability to comprehend simple numbers. Ferris, on the other hand, could neither cook, sing, nor dress himself in anything but forgettable combinations of jeans and sweaters. He had, however, been banned from participating in the school\u2019s jellybean jar contest. Apparently counting cubic centimeters per gallon while accounting for bean surface irregularities was “cheating<\/i>.”<\/span><\/p>\nFor this reason, he was seated on Demos\u2019 bedroom floor, surrounded by scattered worksheets and notebooks that had never been opened. They had an approaching midterm and, once again, Ferris was Demos\u2019 only hope.<\/span><\/p>\n“Multiply 1\/2 to row three and add it to row two,\u201d Ferris said. There was an open book in his lap, a calculator resting on top of the pages.<\/span><\/p>\nDemos presented his own calculator. “Is this right?” <\/span><\/p>\n“Yes,” Ferris said. \u201cFor once.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThe room was silent for a minute; only the sound of pencils scratching on paper could be heard. Though they were working, the air was as tense and stale as an interrogation room. They spoke in brief questions and single-word replies, otherwise silent.<\/span><\/p>\nThe silence was maddening. Without noise, without a distraction, all Ferris could think of was his classmate\u2019s voice.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cThe car chased them down.\u201d<\/i><\/span><\/p>\nFerris had tried, and failed, four times to ask his friend about it. He took a breath, opened his mouth, then closed it. Five times. His eyes fell back to the calculator.<\/span><\/p>\nNo, this was stupid. <\/span><\/p>\nFerris straightened himself and spoke. “Is there something you want to tell me?”<\/span><\/p>\nDemos picked up his head. “Tell you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n“We\u2019re not kids anymore,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cWe need to talk about this.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n“Aw.\u201d Demos tapped his pen against his smirk. \u201cAre you confessing your love for me?”<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2019m serious. You know exactly what I\u2019m talking about.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nAt this, Demos\u2019 expression soured and he averted his eyes. \u201cI really don\u2019t.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cSo you\u2019re telling me that it\u2019s a coincidence that those guys are in the hospital?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWhat guys? I didn\u2019t hear about that.\u201d Demos\u2019 voice grew softer with every word, farther away, falling.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d Ferris\u2019 eyes narrowed. \u201cI thought we were friends. Why are you lying to me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cJust drop it. It\u2019s not what you think.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris took in a sharp breath. It was those late-night meetings in hushed voices, the body in the trunk, the dead eyes that still followed him in his sleep, that voice, again, whispering, \u201cThe car chased them down.<\/i>\u201d There was nothing else it could be. He knew what it was\u2014what it had always been.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cHow fucking stupid do you think I am?\u201d Ferris said. \u201cYou\u2019d have to be blind not to realize that your family is in the mafia<\/i>!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nSomething snapped behind Demos\u2019 eyes. He stared back, his expression unreadable, his body stone-still. The room froze along with him, dead quiet and cold. There was something haunted in his gaze, in his single, shuddering breath.<\/span><\/p>\nDemos made to stand.<\/span><\/p>\nThere was a slap as Ferris caught his wrist, fingers tight. He couldn\u2019t leave\u2014not like this.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWhy?\u201d Ferris said. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you just tell me the truth?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cBecause\u2014\u201d Demos\u2019 features weakened. \u201cYou\u2019re my only friend.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris could only stare. His fingers opened, freeing his friend\u2019s wrist. Demos kept his eyes averted, then swallowed. They were quiet for a moment.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cWhat?\u201d Ferris asked.<\/span><\/p>\nDemos\u2019 face had reddened and he drew his hand to the back of his neck. \u201cI didn\u2019t have a lot of friends in Italy. They all knew,\u201d he said. \u201cBut here, nobody really knows. They think it, but they don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris said nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI didn\u2019t want you to get scared,\u201d Demos said. \u201cI didn\u2019t want you to leave.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cBut,\u201d Ferris said, \u201cyou\u2019re my<\/i> only friend, too.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThe room fell silent. Both boys dared a glance at one another.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOh my God,\u201d Demos said. \u201cWe\u2019re pathetic.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris clamped his fist over his mouth, fighting the tremble in his shoulders. It was no use. He and Demos only lasted a moment before bursting into laughter. It was the best kind of laugh; the kind that made you red, that hurt every corner of your face, that ached deep down but, somehow felt so good. The sound carried out of the room and into the hall, inciting an angry call from Victor.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI don\u2019t hear studying!<\/i>\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cSorry!\u201d Demos called back. He\u2019d regained control of himself. The room was quiet once more and both he and Ferris glanced at one another. That was right\u2014this wasn\u2019t over. There was still that question in the air, the answer Ferris hadn\u2019t gotten.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI promise I won\u2019t be scared,\u201d Ferris said, \u201cif you promise to tell me the truth.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nDemos looked down at his hands. He thought for a moment, his eyes still as he willed himself to reply. Finally, he picked up his head.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nDemos spoke. He spoke, and didn\u2019t stop speaking until everything he knew was on the table. On the canvas was the hierarchy, strokes painted in black, lines leading higher and higher to a single man at the top\u2014his grandfather, Gino. There was a line of men, of greed, of territories marked in red. Hands exchanging money, policemen pocketing bribes, and a trail of destruction marked the wake of the Giorgetti empire. It had been built with blood, fear, and sacrifice, leaving Gino with a world of power in his fist.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cAnd it was Nicky,\u201d Demos said. \u201cHe ran them over with his car. He works for Uncle Victor.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOh.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOh?<\/i>\u201d Demos said. \u201cYou promised you wouldn\u2019t be scared.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2019m not scared.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cIt\u2019s just\u2014it\u2019s a lot.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nIt was a lot. Ferris had spent his entire life in the dark, an opaque wall between him and this world. Demos, it seemed, had no such wall. There had been no fear in his voice, no guilt. He was a part of this. <\/span><\/p>\nHe wanted this.<\/span><\/p>\nBut Ferris wasn\u2019t sure if he<\/i> wanted this. He wasn\u2019t sure if those boys deserved to be in the hospital, if it was right for an adult to mow children over with a two-ton vehicle. He didn\u2019t know if that man in the trunk deserved to die, or if it was right for anyone, anywhere, to hold this type of power.<\/span><\/p>\nWhat Ferris did<\/i> know was that Demos was his friend\u2014his vain, spoiled friend. His only<\/i> friend. The one he trusted, the one who was there for him, who stood up for him. With Demos, he never had to pretend to be someone else. He could be as studious and boring as he wanted and Demos would still be there, through every second of it.<\/span><\/p>\nIf Ferris was sure of anything, it was that he didn\u2019t want that to change. <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cYeah,\u201d Demos said. \u201cSo\u2014\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n\u201cSo pick up your calculator and finish the question.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2014what?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOh, sorry,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cDid you think this confession would get you out of math homework?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nThere was a hint of a smile in the corner of Demos\u2019 mouth. The tension in his eyes was gone, replaced by something warmer.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cOkay. Whatever you say.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cGood. Now multiply E and D again\u2014and get it right this time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nDemos returned to his scratch paper, finger tailing down the page until he found the problem in question. It was the first time Ferris had ever seen him look pleased to do schoolwork.<\/span><\/p>\n\u201cI\u2019ll try my best, but\u2014\u201d Demos said. \u201cBut no promises.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\nFerris watched him for a moment. Trying his best\u2014it was all either of them could do. But at least, after everything, they would be trying together.<\/span><\/p>\n
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