Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Lennox

I didn't expect the books to still be here. I should have, since we saw that careful stack in the hallway, and book pages littered throughout. But it still takes me by surprise, the dusky colored bindings, most of them still stacked neatly on the shelves.

The room is shaped like a star. Tables and overturned chairs are in a haphazard pile in the middle, and bookshelves rise on the sides, over our heads, in the two-story room. The bookshelves fold into the points. It is the most beautifully bizarre library I've ever seen. The smell of old paper and leather is so strong that it almost overrides the dust and the must, like the door hasn't been opened for thirty years.

I wonder who last closed it. The final person who shut this room, all those years ago, before I was even born, closing off these books. Whomever they were, I feel this odd brush of connection with them.

I step over the threshold first, onto the wood floor—exposed and not carpeted. Dust is slick under my shoes, the print of my footsteps in the light from my phone.

Light wells from deeper in the room—from a skylight, a tremendous circle in the center of the star, but it's not enough to actually see, just a glow.

"Eerie," Reed whispers. He's stepped in next to me, leaving the dolly at the door, his flashlight scanning over the bookshelves, covering one point of the star after another. Carefully and systematically. "Eerie as fuck, but beautiful."

I swallow. My heart rate has slowed, but it's still thick. I don't know if it's going to calm down until we leave. "It is beautiful."

My fingers itch to draw. It's almost otherworldly, the library and the books, the drifts of dust, the diffused glow from the skylight, and the way that it almost paints Reed, his jaw still lit from underneath, one arm dark from those tattoos. It's all beautiful.

But what is beauty?

In art, it's symmetry and contrast, color and negative space. Everything is broken down into smaller elements, and the beauty is in those.

I rub at the side of my neck, my eyes keep tracing him. How he stands, how he moves. Why the fuck does he offset me so much? It can't just be looking like Archer. Because Reed doesn't even really look like him. The only thing they share is that body and a ghost of a scent that I've made up in my head.

Reed's flashlight sweeps the closest star point. "It's just us in here."

"No wombats?"

"I think we're safe."

"Bold statement."

He laughs softly. "I suppose so."

My hand falls from my neck. An electric charge bolts through me at making him laugh. What the fuck is that?

I clear my throat. "We should get started."

"Alright." He turns and strolls back to the dolly. His voice is muffled as it comes from over his shoulder. "What do you need?"

I tip my chin toward the tables. "We should pull some of those out. Set them up."

He nods, crossing toward me with the dolly behind him. He sets it aside and we get to work. We upright some tables and set them together, working in the light of our phones.

We work well together.

I don't know why that vaguely annoys me.

We're setting the last of the tables on its feet and scooting it against the others when he looks up. "How did you get started doing this?"

I pull boxes off the dolly, working quickly to find the one I need. Why does he want to know?

"My brother," I say. It only takes me a minute to get the lights set up, clicking on the battery packs, and a more solid illumination fills the room, softer white, welling out from the table, but it doesn't go far—leaving the bookshelves in shadow. Our eerie location is not lost on me. There's still a warmth across the back of my shoulders, and a jump in my chest every time I catch something out of the corner of my eye.

"So, what was the first one?" Reed looks at me from across the table, his hat drawn low so that his eyes are mostly still in shadows. The small gauges in his ears are dark. I don't know how larger they are—maybe ten millimeters.

"We started in our basement as kids." I wipe my hand over the table and come away with a thick layer of dust. I brush it off on my jeans and then dig for some paper towels. Reed steps forward, takes them from me and pulls off a wad to wipe the table. I let him, going back to the boxes and sorting out all our shit, while I half-watch his arm move as he wipes the table. As soon as he's done, I set out homemade props and equipment, makeup kits and clothing, and the mics and lights that we've acquired over the years.

"It was just Jamie and me." I unfold my makeup kit. "Making shaky found footage horror skits with our phones." I smile. I haven't thought of that first film Jamie and I made in so long. I'm a year older than him, so I got a phone first, and he begged and begged and begged to make a movie with it. "Our first one was only thirty-four seconds long." I glance up at him. "Do you have siblings?"

I stiffen. Why did I just ask him that?

He licks his lips, pausing before he answers.

"Was that a difficult question?" I ask him. I think I intended to snap the question at him, but it comes out quiet and serious. Maybe it is a difficult question. I don't know anything about him.

"No," he finally says, balling up the paper towels, his fingers crushing it down. He has a tattoo on the back of his index finger as well, a small fish tattoo between his first and second knuckle, like a koi. "I have a brother. Although, I'd never, in my entire motherfucking life, make a movie with him."

I pause, my hands over my kit. "Why not?"

He looks down, the brim of his hat dropping across eyes as he studies the kit I've opened. "I just wouldn't do it. So you do the makeup?"

I set aside some prosthetics. "Do you always avoid questions about yourself?"

"Whenever I can."

"That's not a very good way to communicate with people."

He nods. "So, how did you get started in makeup?"

I press my lips because I'm on the cusp of telling him to go fuck himself. But when I open my mouth, I find myself talking about Jamie.

"My brother would think up all these ideas," I say, "and I'd help him storyboard it out, and then we'd try our best with Halloween makeup and lighting. And it was pretty clear from our first attempts that one of us had to get better at lighting, and the other had to get better at makeup. Makeup ended up being me."

"And you liked it?"

"Yes, I liked it."

I fucking loved it. But for some reason, saying that feels like I'd be putting myself out there, on display for him to critique. But I did love it. I inhaled YouTube videos like they were air, grasping for any new information I could get, and practicing on anyone who would sit in a chair for more than five minutes. It's like bringing art to life on someone's face, on someone's being. The transition that makeup can make, the jaw dropping possibilities.

I won't get to do much of that kind of work for this film. This one is more the typical spread of bruises, cuts, blood, and the descent of these characters—that Jamie has created for us—into tiredness, fear, and despair. But there's artistry in that, too. And science. The structure of the human body, the human face, and how these injuries occur, the transformation. I love it all.

Besides, it's a fucking blast to put blood and guts on a person.

"After we moved to Boston," I continue, "Jamie enrolled in film school. And that's where he met Indy."

Reed stiffens. "I didn't know she went to film school."

I eyeball him. "She did. For two years."

It's interesting he doesn't know that.

He tilts his head, watching as I organize shit. "But you didn't go?"

"No." I set out some color palettes for bruising, and he studies it. Or maybe he's watching my fingers as they move, the battery lights warming over chipped nail polish and words in faded Sharpie on the backs of my hands.

"Why?" he asks.

I sort foundations and concealers, eyeshadow and liners. Fake homemade blood and setting powder. "It's always been him."

Reed's silent for a moment, and I guess I am too. His questions… they pull things up. I fucking love my bother. I think that's pretty obvious. We're more than brothers, we're also best friends. He's not just my brother by blood, he is also my brother by choice. They say that you choose a family, and I choose Jamie.

And the thought of leaving him?

Is that something I would ever choose?

I sort out the brushes. I'm decent at drawing. I'm decent at makeup. But am I really good at either? I can sell illustrations on Fiverr. I can design makeup for low-budget horror films that take place mostly in the dark.

What if I could do more?

I'm not like my brother, who knew from that very first thirty-four seconds what he wanted to do.

Despite everything thrown at him—growing up how and where we did with my need to get out at the first opportunity after the shit storm that happened with Archer, and his struggle with food and ARFID, and his fight with self-doubt, and everything that comes with having a wildly creative outlook on the world, like he does—he still went to film school and graduated last year. He still fought to get us in this building to film. He plans and organizes, he puts himself out there to producers and directors he admires. He keeps pushing forward with this foolhardy determination that is breathtaking.

I stretch over the table to line everything up. "Jamie met the others in film school, and we all just clicked. This is our third bigger production together. The last one we did over at Old Harbor Park, in the middle of the night, when we weren't supposed to be there. And we got chased out by the cops more than a few times. And the first one, we did in the apartment he and I share with Indy…"

Reed scrunches the wad of paper towels in his hand. "It's different from what I'm used to."

My fingers pause. "What do you mean by that?"

He smiles, gesturing around. "Just all of this. My life is focused on something else."

"Water polo?"

Tension flits up his jaw again. "That about sums it up."

"That's most of your life?"

His hands sink into his pockets. "That's all of my life."

I press my lips. "So, what do you and Indy have in common?"

"Honestly?" His brows pinch together. "Nothing."

"Then why are you with her?"

He hesitates.

And that does not sit well with me. Not at fucking all.

I step back from the table. "Indy's a really good person. Like a phenomenally good person. And?—"

"I know." His words are steady, cutting firmly over the top of mine. "And I like her."

"You better." I shake my head. This conversation is making me uneasy.

Shit, what am I feeling? I mean, obviously I know why someone would like Indy. She's big hearted and fun. She's had guys around before, and it's never once sparked any kind of emotion in me other than just the desire to see her happy.

I stare at Reed for a long minute, just taking him in, the unreadableness of his eyes, the cut of that sharp jaw, the slight downturn of his lips, the sense of his height and body, the beauty all shoved into this athletic, well-built physical package.

I don't even know what Indy thinks of him. Maybe she just wants to bone him. He is really fucking hot. Maybe she already has. I don't know.

Why do I care?

She's an adult. She takes care of herself. She can date or fuck whomever she wants.

It's just…

I rub at the side of my neck. We're alone in the vastness of the library. In the middle of this horror of a hotel with the dense smell of books and a mystery-wombat that might be preparing to spring on us at any moment.

The level of surreal-ness is colossal. A shiver crosses the back of my shoulders.

Men like him are?—

" Whoa !" A voice from the door makes both of us jump. Jonas blinking in from the doorway.

"Holy hell. Would you look at this place?" Indy's there too, eyes wide as she takes in the bounds of the library. Umar is next to her, just as slack jawed.

Shit, I forgot about other people. I mean, I knew that other people were in the building; I was just talking about them too, but in the denseness of the library, it had somehow felt like everything folded down to just Reed and me.

"There are so many books." Indy wrinkles her nose as she steps inside. "And it stinks in here."

Reed clears his throat. "I'll see if there're some windows to open."

He heads toward the back, disappearing down one of the star points, his flashlight playing over bookshelves, reaching up to flip his hat backwards as he walks. That damn fucking walk.

"Lenn. I missed you." Indy nudges my shoulder with hers as she stops by me. She's still scanning the room, although her gaze settles on the point of the star where Reed disappeared. She looks that way for a moment, then shrugs, turning back to me. "There are some seriously weird paintings by the elevators." She winks. "You'd love them."

"I'll put it on my agenda."

She laughs. "You'd better."

Behind her, Umar is scanning the entire room with his flashlight, like Reed did earlier, in that methodological way.

I go back to setting up my shit, trying to get caught up, as Jamie and the rest of the crew filter in, all of them with the same kind of awed comments. A drift of a breeze wells through the room, and a minute later, Reed appears from the star point. I guess he found a window.

He heads over to Indy as soon as he's back, leaning in to say something to her, his voice too soft to hear. She smiles, tipping her head back.

I focus on unpacking the last of the boxes, catching Jamie's eyes as he comes in and stops next to me.

"Jonas for makeup first, then Indy," he confirms.

I nod. We've already been over this. I know what to do. We're attempting to film in order, and they're the first ones on screen. Just a bit of smoothing for both. Cleaning up Indy's graphic eyeliner. We won't get to any cuts or bruising until later tonight.

"Shouldn't take longer than a few minutes," I tell him, then nod to Jonas since he's right next to me. Then I lean closer to Jamie. "Reed saw something."

Jamie blinks. "What?"

"I dunno. An animal?"

"We'll need to keep that in mind."

"Yeah."

Jonas slips into the higher folding chair I've set up, and I tug off my hoodie and then get to work, my focus dialing in, all my attention moving to him. That tightness across my chest loosens slowly, the world slips away.

I forget, I guess. For a few minutes, it's just Jonas and me. Him sitting across from me, my brushes on his face. I see each part of him in such a specific detail, the shape of his eyes, the rise of his cheekbones, the line between his lip and skin.

I work fast, and then Indy is hopping into my chair, and I don't glance up. I keep my attention on her, fixing the edges of her eyeliner. She always tells Jamie she can go without it, but he never wants her to. He likes her being as she is.

I'm just finishing on the outline of her lips when her eyes flit to the side and then back to me, and she leans in. "So, what do you think?"

"Of what?" I set the pencil down.

She tilts her head to the left, and I don't have to look to guess who she's gesturing to. "Of Reed."

Fuck, I stiffen. Head to toe, stiffen.

"Lenn?" She's looking up at me.

"Yeah?" I'm sorting colors like I don't already know what I'm going to use. Just a nearly natural shade.

"What do you think?"

Uh… "He's attractive."

She tugs on the side of my t-shirt. "But what do you think ?"

I look back at her, hesitating. "I don't want to?—"

"Come on , Lenn." She rolls her eyes. "It's you and me. You know I'm not going to be weird about it. I'd rather know the truth."

I sigh. "I don't really have a thought. Do you like him? Is it something serious?"

"I don't know yet." Her lips press. "He's a bit aloof sometimes. But I like him. Do you ever get the feeling like you really want to know someone? Like they're this big mystery and you want to peel it back to find out the answers?"

I bend and focus on her lips. "So, your plan is to peel him?"

She grins. "Yes, absolutely . If he lets me. I mean, we haven't even kissed yet." She winks at me and then loosens her lips, letting me smooth on color.

I focus on the details.

I don't think. I don't wonder. I don't question.

I just put on her makeup and ignore every other thought in my head.