Mouth Full of Ashes

1

If Callie had known what would happen, she would have paid less attention to the radio station, would have focused more on the light in her sister’s eyes, on the curve of her mouth as she smiled. On her freckles. On her friendship bracelet, which Callie and her brother had the other pieces of.

But the tragedy of life is never knowing what comes next.

Would you rather eat only ice cream for the rest of your life, or cake? Callie’s sister Becca asked.

This is the worst game I’ve ever played, said Callie’s brother Ramsay. "These questions are supposed to be morbid, Becs. Come on now."

Ice cream, for sure, Callie answered. But Ramsay’s right. You’re supposed to ask something dark and a little tricky. You know that.

Becca sighed. It doesn’t feel like the right vibe for that. I’m relaxed from a day in the sun.

You’re the only one who didn’t get burned, Callie said.

I reapplied my sunscreen. It’s not my fault neither of you listened to me.

Would you rather die in a car crash or a fire? Ramsay asked.

Maybe Becca’s right, Callie said. It’s not the right vibe.

Callie and her siblings had stayed at the beach until the sky turned pink and purple as the sun set, and storm clouds loomed on the horizon. All the other beachgoers had left.

Callie and Becca sat back-to-back on the beach blanket. Beside them, Ramsay lounged in a folding chair with his legs stretched out and his feet in the sand. The oldest of the group, Callie had straight, shoulder-length brown hair and intense brown eyes. Her upturned nose scrunched when she laughed. She’d graduated from high school three years earlier and had next to nothing to show for it. She didn’t know what to do for a living.

Becca, meanwhile, had dropped out of high school this past year—her and Ramsay’s senior year—to pursue cosmetology school. Her face was softer than Callie’s, and kinder. They shared the same eyes, but that was where the similarities between them ended. Becca’s hair was reddish brown and curled over her collarbone. The wind whipped strands of it around her face.

Ramsay was pure ginger, with unruly red hair, freckles, and brown eyes that looked almost orange in the sunlight. His nose was crooked where a jock had broken it the year before, but rather than tough, it made him look reckless.

They were so white that after a day in the sun, they should’ve been red as lobsters. Only Ramsay and Callie were sunburned. Becca’s sole affliction was her stomach hurt from laughing.

Becca was the first one to address the fast-approaching clouds. Let’s leave before the rain starts.

Let’s stay a little longer, Ramsay replied.

Becca groaned. That’s what you said an hour ago. I have class in the morning, Ram.

He rolled his eyes. Beauty school barely counts.

Callie laughed, and Becca scoffed, leaning over to punch his arm. Not enough school for your face, Becca countered.

You’re twins, Callie pointed out.

Not identical. Becca said, laughing.

Ramsay leaned over and shoved Becca’s shoulder. The sun had even burned his scalp, a salmon glow peeking through his hair.

I’ll drive, okay? We’ll be back before you turn into a pumpkin, I promise.

Becca rolled her eyes. I’d feel better if Callie drove.

Why? Because I drive like a grandma? Callie asked.

Doesn’t make us love you any less, said Ramsay.

They stood, shook the sand out of the blanket, folded up the chair, grabbed the cooler, and trekked back to Ramsay’s Honda Pilot.

Callie offered to drive, but Ramsay declined, sliding into the driver’s seat. Becca sat beside her brother in the passenger seat and Callie climbed into the back. Before he could start the engine, Ramsay’s phone pinged.

Storm will be bad. Guess we should’ve left sooner, he said, frowning down at the screen.

Becca huffed but said nothing as Ramsay started the Pilot. They drove out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Ramsay fiddled with the radio, but Becca pushed his hand away and tuned the station to NPR. The host droned on about unrest in the Middle East, some report that Callie only half listened to.

One minute, the sky was overcast, and Ramsay had no trouble driving. The next, the sky opened, and Ramsay swore as rain flooded the roads. He had a white-knuckled grip on the wheel, but he still smiled at Callie in the rearview mirror. She always scowled at him when he drove. Later, the memory of the faces she’d pulled would rack her with even more guilt.

You’re safe with me, he promised. Eyes on the road. Hands at ten and two.

Pay attention, Becca chided.

Ramsay rolled his eyes. On the radio, NPR dissolved into broken static. Becca reached for the dial, but Ramsay swatted her hand away. Uh-uh, you chose last time. Now it’s my—

"Ramsay!"

Callie wasn’t sure the scream was hers until Ramsay’s eyes widened in the mirror, illuminated by the flash of headlights. They’d traveled over the line into oncoming traffic, close enough to see the terrified people in the other car. Ramsay jerked the wheel to the right and overcompensated. The car screeched, tilted, Becca gasped—

And Callie’s world flipped with the car. The front airbags exploded in clouds of white. The screech of metal on pavement, blaring horns, and crash of shattering glass overwhelmed her, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

If only Callie had driven instead.

If only it hadn’t rained.

If only they’d left earlier, as they’d planned.

If only one of those factors had been different, Callie wouldn’t have blacked out upside-down in the backseat, slammed forward in her seatbelt so hard she cracked a rib.

She woke to the acrid stench of gasoline and motor oil, the sounds of sobbing and sirens, and the copper taste of blood, thick and heavy on her tongue.

Where…?

Callie tried to move, but the seatbelt kept her pinned in place and her ribs protested the effort. Sharp pain flared up her side and spread across her chest. The dashboard pinged—the car thought a door had been left open. Intermittent flashes of red light made the cabin pulse like a heartbeat. Glass tinkled as someone moved. Ramsay groaned, but that was good. He was still alive. Also upside down, he struggled to unclip his seatbelt before giving up.

Callie, Ramsay croaked.

Yeah, Ram, she said. I’m here.

Becca, he ventured.

Callie froze. Something told her not to look for their sister, that she was better off not knowing, but she had to know. She had to.

Ram, be careful, she said. Don’t move her too—

Ramsay touched Becca’s shoulder. She leaned out the window, making it impossible to see her head or face. Ramsay shook Becca. No response.

He looked back at Callie, eyes pleading, asking what neither one of them wanted to answer.

Try again. Callie’s voice was hoarse. A little harder.

Becca. Ramsay shook her shoulder more insistently. Becca made no sound, and he tried again. "Becs, please, I need you. We need you."

Callie’s vision tunneled. She fought the urge to pass out. She had to know what had happened to Becca, if she was—

Alive.

Ramsay surged forward in his seat. He grabbed Becca’s shoulder with both hands and pulled her into the cabin. She slumped against the dashboard.

Becca’s head was gone.

Callie clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream and looked out the window. The red light continued to flash, draping her sister’s severed head in a crimson glow as it lay in a sea of broken safety glass, revealing an expression of terror on Becca’s face that equaled Callie’s own.

2

In the three months since the accident, Callie’s mom Susan had upended the family’s lives and moved them out of the city. Callie was twenty-one, and Ramsay was eighteen. They could’ve stayed behind. But they were as low on funds as they were on morale, and their mother needed them. So they went.

Here in Neap Bay, California, where Susan had grown up, the air smelled like fried food, cigarettes, and booze. Callie and Ramsay stood in line to get tickets to enter the Starlight Boardwalk, where their mother worked. It was the only decent place to hang out in Neap Bay unless they wanted to spend money at the strip mall.

Callie wore cutoff denim shorts, a white T-shirt, and red Converse sneakers. Ramsay’s ensemble consisted of tan shorts, a plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and Birkenstocks.

We should’ve asked Mom if she could get us in, said Callie. The salty breeze coming off the ocean mussed her newly bleached blonde bob and settled on her skin. Neap Bay was drying her out. That would’ve been easier.

And cheaper, said Ramsay. But Mom can’t know we’re here.

Callie frowned. Why not?

Because then she’d ask me why I wanted to meet up with some stranger from the Internet, he hissed.

Wait, Callie said. "You’re giving him a second chance? Ramsay, you told me—"

I know what I told you, he said. How else was I supposed to get you to drive me here?

Callie sighed. "So… there isn’t a showing of The Lost Boys on a big screen over the boardwalk."

Nope, but if I’m lucky, you might get to see some biting.

She wished she had something she could’ve hit him with. I can’t believe you.

Really? he asked.

Okay, I can. I just don’t want to.

Callie was an avid horror fan whose latest fascination was vampires. The last movie they watched before Becca died had been The Hunger, which had sparked Callie’s thirst for more vampire content. In the months since, she’d devoured everything from Fright Night to The Lost Boys with no plans of slowing down.

Couldn’t have gotten here without you, said Ramsay. I’m doing the whole ‘no driving’ thing now, remember?

The guy who stood you up last time doesn’t have a car? asked Callie. Yet another point against him.

"He’s nice, Ramsay said, and he’s not bad to look at. Met him on Grindr. Give him a shot."

I guess if you are, I have no choice, she said.

As the line moved up, Callie’s eyes fell on the telephone pole beside her. It was littered with chewed-up gum and posters of young people that cried MISSING at the top. She’d seen some like them the few times she went into town, but the amount of them surprised her. Neap Bay had its share of secrets.

Earth to Callie, Ramsay said. She snapped out of her reverie, realizing her inattention had created a gap in the line. Ramsay had moved up without her. She offered him a sheepish look and scooted up beside him.

They’d finally reached the ticket booth. The attendant took their money and slid their tickets out from under the window. Callie pocketed the change and examined the ticket carefully: STARLIGHT BOARDWALK. ADMIT ONE.