“Nah.”
“Charlie—”
“Not this time, Jake,” I said. “I did what I needed to do.”
“You can’t let him ignore you, man.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s wrong. Because he’s your dad.”
He may have been right, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care about anything. I just wanted to go home, back to Mom and her soon-to-be-husband, Rick, and Leo Gonzalez and my Human Squid life. I wanted to go back and pretend none of this stuff had ever happened. I was going to say this to Jake, but then I remembered his own plan, to go see his uncle. Maybe I could delay going home just a little longer. Maybe helping him would be a way I could forget this whole mess.
“How about we go see Uncle Bruce?” I said.
“Huh?” he said. He stared at me blankly.
“In Cheyenne?”
“What? Oh right, right. Yeah, my uncle.”
Suddenly I realized what I should have realized right from the first. “You made him up, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“He doesn’t exist.”
“Sure he does!”
“Come on, Jake, admit it.”
He turned and started walking. I got up and followed him. I wasn’t going to let it drop. He had spit out one lie after another, and I wanted the truth. “Why’d you want to come here?” I said.
“I told you, two birds with one stone. Help you and help me.”
“Okay, then let’s go see your uncle.”
“I changed my mind,” Jake said. “I don’t really think he’s going to help me.”
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Think whatever you want,” Jake said. “I’m just going to make it on my own.”
“We don’t have any money.”
“Small problem. You really should go back to your dad, Charlie. He’s going to be looking for you. You may not like him, but at least he’s there waiting for you. At least he can help you get home. I can’t help you at all.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
I had a flash of insight. “What happened with your dad?” I said.
He stopped and looked at me, the cigarette dangling limply from his mouth.
“What?” he said.
“Something happened with your dad.”
“What are you talking about? I told you, he’s a loser.”
“Did he get married again?”
“I think you’d better drop it.”
“Did he have a new kid, like my dad did?”
“Charlie—”
“Did he go to jail or something? Tell me. There’s some reason you really want me to work things out with my dad. If you’d just tell me—”
“SHUT UP!”
He screamed it in my face and gave me a good shove. It wasn’t enough to hurt me, but it did make me stagger backward. The look in his eyes made me realize that if I pressed it any more, he’d probably go berserk. He glared at me a little longer, then turned and stalked away. I followed, hanging back a few steps.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Go home,” he said.
“My home is in Oregon.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I want to help you.”
“Nobody can help me,” Jake said. “Just leave me alone.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I need some money.”
With a chill, I remembered the gun in his jacket pocket. I didn’t want him to do anything stupid. “How?”
“I have an idea.”
“Jake—”
“Don’t worry, it’s not something illegal. Well, not really.”
“Jake, come on.” I could clearly see the bulge of the gun in his inside jacket pocket, and it scared me, thinking of him using it. “You don’t want to get arrested or anything.”
“I’m not going to get arrested. Trust me, man. Go back to your dad. He’ll get you back to Oregon.”
“You should come with me,” I said. “We’ll go home together.”
“I’m not going back there,” Jake said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m not going back there.”
I decided to stay with him. No way I was going to let him get into any serious trouble. If that was the only thing I accomplished on this trip, at least it would be something. I figured at any moment Dad would probably round the corner in his car, and then I’d be able to convince Jake to come with me.
Jake stopped at the driveway of a big brick house, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out on the sidewalk.
“This should do,” he said, smiling.
“What should do?”
“Just be quiet and let me do the talking.”
Straightening his hair and smoothing out his clothes, he walked up the driveway to the doors. He rang the doorbell, then gave me a wink. After a moment, I heard movement inside the house. I saw a shadow pass by the colored opaque glass, and then the door opened. A middle-aged woman, her hair too blond to be real, answered the door.
“Yes?” she said.
“Hello, ma’am,” Jake said, pitching his voice a little higher. “I’m Jimmy James Johnson of Denver Christian Academy, and I’m raising money to help send Bibles to poor children in Afghanistan. One five-dollar bill will pay for five Bibles, ma’am, at the discount the publisher’s giving us. Would you like to donate? We sure could use your help.”
I almost laughed. No way this would work. But sure enough, the woman went to get her purse, and Jake walked away from that house with a crisp new ten-dollar bill. We hit three more houses where people were home, and even though the guilt gnawed at me for taking people’s money, I was blown away by how sincere Jake sounded with his spiel. Dad never showed up in his car. At the next house, a two-story white one with white pillars flanking the front steps, nobody answered, but Jake stopped when we were passing the garage.
“Whoa,” he said.
He was looking into the dark windows of the garage doors. I stepped up next to him and saw what he saw: a shiny yellow Corvette.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” I said, and started to walk away. When I realized Jake wasn’t joining me, I stopped. He was still standing there, cupping his hands on either side of his face so he could get a better look.
“I gotta drive it,” he said.
“Oh no,” I said.
“Oh yes,” he said. “Come on, let’s go back to the front door.”
“There’s no one home!”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he said.
“What?”
He didn’t answer. Following him, I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. Luckily, the tall hedge in front of their yard shielded the house from all but a few houses across the street, and I didn’t see anyone over there. Jake rang the doorbell again. When no one answered, he rapped on the door. Still no one came to the door. He smiled like a little gremlin and walked across the bark dust in front of the house, trying the windows as he went.
“Jake!” I said.
He brought a finger to his lips. “We’ll just take it for a test drive around the block,” he whispered. “They won’t even know it.”
“You can’t do this!”
He disappeared around the corner of the house. I stood there a moment longer, hating that he was getting me into this, that we were going to add breaking and entering to our list of accomplishments, then sprinted after him. He was trying a smaller window on the back side, one with foggy glass, and when I got there, I saw the window slide open. He smiled at me. There was a high wooden fence that separated the house from the one next door, and I heard children playing in the backyard behind the neighbor’s house. There was one tiny window on the neighbor’s house, high up, and it was dark. I imagined someone standing there in the dark watching us. No way to know for sure.
Jake was already climbing into the house with the Corvette when I reached him.
“Don’t!” I whispered urgently. “There might be an alarm
.”
“The window was cracked open already.”
“It might be a motion detector.”
He flopped through, landing with a grunt on the inside. “Don’t think so,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause there’s a fluffy orange cat sitting in here, purring. She’d set off any alarm.” His face appeared in the open window. “You coming or not?”
“No way,” I said.
“Okay, suit yourself.”
I watched him disappear from the bathroom out into a bedroom.
“Jake!” I called after him.
He didn’t answer.
“Jake!”
Still nothing. I stood there, agonizing about the right thing to do. The kids next door were screeching and laughing, chasing each other around the yard from the sounds of it. A car passed on the street, out of my view, but it still made me drop to a crouch. I could just wait to see if Jake managed to get the keys to the Corvette, or I could go in and try to stop him. I had to get him out of that house. I’d gone with him on a joyride with Mr. Harkin’s Mustang, but that had been a life-and-death thing, a way to avoid getting my face ripped off by Leo. This wasn’t at all the same. I had visions of dozens of police cars showing up at any minute, triggered by a silent alarm. If I stayed outside, I was innocent of any wrongdoing, but then I was leaving Jake high and dry.
I had to stop him.
It took a bit of effort, but I managed to struggle into the house, landing on a plush bathroom mat in the dark bathroom, lit only from the daylight coming from the window. When I turned, I looked right into the glowing eyes of an orange tabby, and I let out a little yelp. The cat cocked its head at me and purred.
I tiptoed quickly into a huge master bedroom, past a four-poster bed and ornate, dark-stained furniture littered with junk. I saw a person approaching me from across the room, and froze, terrified, then realized it was my own reflection in a mirror. A voice in my head screamed, You shouldn’t be here! Heart pounding, I walked through a dark hall and into a living room with a high vaulted ceiling, the skylights and the glass patio doors filling the room with natural light. It seemed very empty, with a tan couch and a grand piano down at one end, the rest of the hardwood floor covered only by a rug that made me think of one of those mandala pictures Tibetan monks create, the ones with all the intricate geometrical patterns.
I was about to continue into what looked like the dining room when I finally noticed Jake on the other side of the piano, his back to me. The propped-open piano lid was practically blocking him from view.
“Jake!” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. I walked toward him and saw that he was staring at the silver-framed pictures decorating the wall.
“Jake, we have to get out of here,” I said. Even whispering, my voice echoed in the cavernous room.
Still, he didn’t say anything. I stepped up next to him. I noticed that he was looking at one picture in particular, a large one in the center of the others that showed three people standing on a wooden bridge in front of a waterfall—a man, a woman, and a smiling teenage boy who looked about our age.
“You know them?” I said.
Jake shook his head.
“Jake,” I said, “we really should—”
“They look happy,” Jake said finally. “You think they look happy?”
I looked at the picture again. They did look happy, but not any more than anyone else in front of a camera, their smiles plastic, their eyes dull. “I guess,” I said. “But we need to get out—”
“My dad’s dead,” Jake said.
His voice was so flat that at first I thought he might be joking, but then he burst into tears. It was such a violent outburst of emotion, especially for Jake, that I stood there paralyzed, watching him. He sobbed like a little boy, a wail that would have woken anyone in the house if there had been anyone there. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should try to comfort him or try to pretend I hadn’t noticed. In the end, I didn’t have to decide, because he turned to me and hugged me, burying his face in my shirt.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey, man, it’s all right.”
While he cried, I patted him on the back, so overwhelmed by his outpouring of emotion that I even forgot to be awkward and embarrassed at hugging another boy. Having your dad die was rough, no matter what kind of father he’d been.
“Died . . . in a . . . bar fight,” Jake said between shuddering breaths. “Found out . . . last week.”
“Oh man, I’m sorry,” I said.
“I . . . hate him. Hate him.”
“Okay.”
“I wish he’d never been born.”
I held him until the crying stopped. Sniffling, he pulled away from me, wiping at his eyes.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You probably think I’m a total wuss.”
“Nah.”
“I just thought, I don’t know, if we saw your dad . . .”
He didn’t finish the sentence, just ending it with a little shrug, but something clicked in my head anyway and I finally understood Jake a little better. As much as he said he hated his father, he’d probably been hoping for years that his dad would come home and make things right. That his dad would patch their lives back together and they’d be a family again. It didn’t make any sense, but I knew it was true because I felt it too sometimes, the hope that some miracle would occur that would magically make my parents get back together and put our lives back where they had been before, as if nothing had happened. That’s why it had been so important to him that I see my dad. He was hoping I could have what he couldn’t—even if deep down he must have known, just as I did, that it was impossible.
“Jake—” I began.
“Hey!”
It was a shout from across the room, and we both jerked back as if a bomb had exploded between us. I turned and there was this kid, this twenty-year-old kid, wild-eyed and half-naked, standing on the other side of the room. He was skinny and tall, barefoot, dressed in blue boxers and a white tank top. His eyes were bloodshot, no white in them at all, just pink, and he had what looked like dried blood around one nostril. He was so thin and wasted that it took me a second to realize it was the same kid as in the picture.
“Whatareyoudoinginmyhouse?” The kid’s words all ran together, slurred and barely understandable.
Jake raised his hands. “We’re leaving,” he said. “We’re leaving right now.”
“I’mgonnakillyou!” the kid said.
“Wait a minute—” Jake started.
But the kid lowered his head and charged like a bull. Jake and I ran behind the piano, and the kid followed, screaming. We circled around the piano and headed out of the room, me right on Jake’s heels. Then I was tackled from behind. My nose smashed into the carpet, making my eyes water.
Before I could get my wits about me, the kid grabbed my hair and started ramming my face into the carpet, him still screaming the whole time. I tasted blood in my mouth. The world started to go dark. Then I heard Jake shout and felt the kid go tumbling off of me.
The world spinning, my ears ringing, I was only vaguely aware of what was happening around me, but I heard the sounds of struggle. Something glass or ceramic fell to the floor and smashed. I managed to roll over and sit up, blinking through tears and sweat, and saw Jake throwing the kid against the wall. Two decorative plates fell from the wall and smashed to the hardwood floor. The earlier sound had come from a white vase that had been sitting on an end table and fallen to the floor as well.
The kid was crumpled over on himself, on his back, his legs over his body, and he lay there dazed and panting.
“Just—just stay there!” Jake cried. There was a red jagged gash that looked like lightning on his neck. The front of his shirt was torn straight down the middle, exposing his bony ribs.
The kid shook his head like he was trying to throw off his confusion. “Gonnakillyouasshole!” he shouted.
> This is the part where we were supposed to run. But Jake didn’t do that. He jerked the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at the kid. I heard the click of the safety. It was like the world suddenly changed, everything becoming quiet. Even the kid’s heavy breathing stopped, his bloodshot eyes growing wide.
“Now listen,” Jake said. “We’re leaving. You just let us go.”
“Jake—” I said.
“Shut up, Charlie,” Jake said. He never looked away from the kid. “We’re leaving, you understand? We’re leaving and you’re just gonna sit there.”
Jake started to back away. For a moment, the kid just glared at us, and I thought he was actually going to let us go. Jake glanced at me and was about to say something when the kid let out a shriek that didn’t even sound human and, in a wild flailing of arms and legs, came charging at Jake again. The gun came up, and I thought, Here it comes, it’s going to go off, but Jake didn’t fire. The kid plowed into him and they went down right at my feet, the gun clattering to the floor.
“Gonnakillyougonnakillyougonnakillyou!” the kid screamed.
The kid let loose with a hurricane of blows, pummeling Jake on his face and chest. Jake raised his arms, trying to resist, trying to protect himself, but the onslaught was overpowering, like trying to fight an ocean wave. I yelled for the kid to stop, but he went on punching, and Jake’s face got redder. His neck got rubbery, like there were no bones in it anymore, and his face bounced from side to side with each blow. The kid was going to kill Jake. He was going to kill him right in front of me.
I did the only thing I could do to stop it. I lunged for the gun. I picked it up. I pointed it at the kid.
“Stop!” I shouted. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
There must have been something in my voice, something that penetrated the kid’s madness, because the frenzy stopped. The kid, breathing hard, fists bloodied, turned and looked at me. Jake, his face a mess, let out a little moan and his head rolled a little side to side.
“Now—now you just let him go,” I said. My voice warbled and my voice felt tight. The gun trembled in my hand. I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d never even held a gun, much less fired one. “Just—just let him go.”
The kid stared at me, breathing through his nose like some kind of beast. There are moments when your life spins on a wheel, when the choices you make forever change the person you are and the person you will become. I got into Mr. Harkin’s Mustang and life was never the same, never would be the same. Now I held a gun and my finger was on the trigger. I could feel the rest of the world disappearing around me. It was just me, the kid, and Jake. And the gun. The gun, cold and heavy, was the only thing that still felt real. Something was happening. The wheel was spinning. Something was going to change.
The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys Page 15