Dead of Summer

by A.J. Merlin

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I never intended to kill you.” His smile is sheepish when he says it, shoulders hunching like I’ve caught him doing something oh-so-sweet. “I’d thought, maybe afterward, as long as I could keep you in the dark, that you and I could be the only survivors. Thought maybe…” His other hand comes up so his knuckles can trail along the edge of the ax as I watch.

“I’ve been playing this game for years, and you’re just getting your feet wet in the kiddie pool. Poor, poor Summer. But I can’t feel too badly for you…” With that, he licks a quick, hot stripe up my jaw, and shoves me away from him with a laugh on his lips. “After all, you fucking volunteered.”

“I don’t like losing my toys. And more than that? I can’t stand when other people touch what’s mine.” The way he says it, the way he growls the word mine only a few inches from my face, has me frozen in surprise and confusion.

“I came back because I’m in love with you, Summer Walsh. And you’d better understand real quick that I’m going to make sure you feel the same before these kids go home. No matter what I have to do to make that happen.”

“All mine, for the rest of your life. I don’t really believe in an afterlife, by the way. But if there is one, you’re mine there as well.” “What if we go to separate places in the afterlife?” I ask, scoffing a low laugh. “Last I checked, heaven isn’t for murderers.” “Then I’ll just have to drag you down to hell with me.”

Dan thinks about it, then shakes his head before giving a slightly apologetic grunt. That seems to be how Dan mostly communicates; in grunts, sighs, and rolling of his eyes. It’s admirable, and I hope when I’m old and crotchety, I can learn the language.

No one has ever tried to kill me before, and in my opinion, I’m handling it pretty well. But I’ve always been a master of compartmentalization—I can thank my dad for that. Abuse makes for one hell of a motivator to get mental shit in order as much one can.