by N L Hinkens
Ray frowned as he screwed the cap back on his flask. Was Henry waiting on permission to eat or something? “Go ahead,” he said, smiling encouragingly at him. “You can eat it.”
A confused expression flitted across Henry’s face as he looked more closely at the granola bar in his fist.
It suddenly dawned on Ray that he might need help opening it. “Here, let me get that for you.” He reached out his hand, but Henry let out a piercing wail and jerked the bar away.
“Shhhh!” Ray said, casting a nervous glance around them. He rooted around in his pack for another granola bar and tore it open, then handed it to Henry. He watched in shock as the child gobbled it down in seconds, then held out the other one for Ray to open. Watching him scarf it down just as quickly as the first one, Ray was sobered by the thought that Henry might have been deprived of food. He was thin, but Ray hadn’t noticed just how malnourished he was until now—his oversized pants hiding the dire reality of the situation. Anger bubbled up inside him. How could Tom of all people do this to a child? Hadn’t they suffered enough themselves to know better?
As soon as Henry had satisfied his hunger, Ray persuaded him to drink a little water before setting off again. His hopes began to surge that they were heading in the right direction when they came to a stream and he recognized the spot he’d dropped his GPS at earlier. Henry appeared to be fascinated by the water, peering down at it from Ray’s arms, and craning his neck to look back at it after they crossed over. It struck Ray as odd. Surely, he must have seen streams before. It seemed to fit Ray’s theory that Tom left the boy alone in the cabin when he went out—a prisoner in his loft bed. His stomach knotted at the disturbing thought.
At long last, the Deep Creek Campground parking lot came into view. Ray almost collapsed with relief when he spotted his truck parked where he’d left it. He jogged toward it and unlocked the doors, exhaustion hitting him as the adrenalin oozed from his veins. Henry began to protest the minute he set him in the back seat and attempted to strap him in.
”All right,” Ray said, too weary to argue with him. “You can sit next to me up front. But you can’t sit in my lap. I have to drive.” He buckled Henry in as best he could, resorting to slipping the top half of the seatbelt behind him to avoid it cutting uncomfortably across his throat. When he turned the key in the ignition, Henry tensed, his eyes widening.
“Nothing to be scared of,” Ray promised, winking at him. “This will be fun.”
He pulled out of the parking lot and began the bumpy ride along the dirt track back down to the main road. As he drove, he thought about his next move. He should probably go straight to the authorities, but he questioned if that was the wisest course of action. Naturally, they would dispatch cops to the cabin to question Tom. There was no telling how he would react. He might pull a gun on them too. And what if he told them he wanted to file assault charges against Ray? They could both end up in jail. Then who would be there for Henry? With his mother out of the picture, he’d be dumped into the system, with no guarantee he wouldn’t go from one form of abuse to the next.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Booneville, Ray had formulated a plan. Pick up some clothes for Henry, book a motel room, and get him cleaned up. They could spend the night in anonymity while he thought things through. He wouldn’t make any rash decisions about reporting Tom to the authorities. His head was still spinning from everything that had happened. If it weren’t for the ragged child seated next to him, he’d be tempted to think it had all been a crazy nightmare.
He didn’t dare take Henry to his mother’s place in case any of the neighbors spotted him, and he couldn’t go back to the hotel he’d stayed in last night—there was no way he could sneak him through the lobby in his current condition. He drove slowly down Main Street, eying the stores on either side: Harmon Feed & Supply, The Busy Bean coffee shop, Second Chance thrift store, a Chevron station, a post office, Smith & Buchanan law offices, Delaney Engineering, The Buffalo Gal restaurant, Delia’s Gift Shop, Main Street Mini Mart. Maybe they didn’t have a children’s clothing store. It was either the thrift store or try and wash what Henry was wearing. He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. He couldn’t take Henry into the thrift store in the state he was in, and he couldn’t leave him in the truck either. Someone might catch a glimpse of him and alert the police. One look would be enough to tell an alert citizen that something was terribly wrong.
Ray drove to the far end of town where he’d spotted a small motel on his way in the day before. Judging by the dingy exterior, the staff weren’t likely to be too judgmental about the cleanliness of their clientele. Still, he would leave Henry in the truck while he checked in—better safe than sorry. He pulled up outside the office and switched off the engine. As an afterthought, he removed the keys from the ignition. ”Henry, I need to run inside for a couple of minutes. I want you to wait here. Don’t open the truck door, and don’t look out the window at anybody. In fact, you can hide on the floor if you want.” He felt bad for suggesting it, but he suspected Henry was used to squirreling out of sight on Tom’s command. He unplugged Henry’s seatbelt and squeezed his shoulder. “Be a good boy, I’ll be right back.”
It wasn’t as if he really trusted Henry not to press his face to the glass and stare out at any passersby, but he could keep an eye on him easily enough from the office through the oversized glass window. To his surprise, the minute he stepped inside the motel, Henry slid to the truck floor. Ray twisted his lips. Evidently, the child wasn’t willing to risk the consequences of disobeying an order. Ray dreaded to think what those consequences might have been.
After procuring the room key, he drove to the other end of the motel where he’d requested a room next to the laundry facilities. He grabbed his backpack and, after a quick glance around to make sure no one was ogling them, ushered Henry inside their room. It was standard cheap motel fare, a dark forgiving carpet to disguise every bodily fluid on the spectrum, a heavily patterned bedspread to serve the same function, a pair of mismatched rickety nightstands, an archaic-looking television, an ugly, and extremely loud, wall heater, and a chipped and scarred desk with a lamp that looked like it had been knocked over one too many times.
Ray turned on the television and found a cartoon channel. Henry immediately sank down on the floor and leaned against the end of the bed staring up at the screen with his mouth hanging open. It was obvious he’d never seen a television before. Ray took the opportunity to gently undress him, horrified to see the remnants of bruises on his back. He was tempted to ask Henry about them, but hesitant to upset him—it could wait until morning. By then, he would have made his decision on what to do.
“Stay here,” Ray said to him. ”I’ll be right back.”
He hurried next door to the laundry room and tossed Henry’s clothes, sneakers and all, into the washing machine, trying not to gag at the offensive odor, like the breath of death itself, that emanated from them. As he set the machine to run, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything, other than a granola bar, since breakfast. As soon as he got Henry looking halfway presentable, he would head back out and pick up something to eat. They couldn’t sit inside a restaurant until he got Henry some decent clothes that fit properly. Maybe they should make a run to the thrift store.
His mind was going in circles, wondering if he’d done the right thing. After all, he had no legal claim on Henry. He’d abducted a child—broken the law. Granted, it was his own nephew, but this was the first time he’d set eyes on him. No judge would look favorably on what he’d done, no matter how good his intentions had been. Not to mention the fact that he’d assaulted the child’s father. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he’d inserted himself into a bad situation and made it worse.
By the time he finally coaxed Henry away from the television and into the bath, the water had turned cold. But that was the least of Ray’s concerns. He felt sick to his stomach as he took a closer look at the tell-tale bruise
s on Henry’s tiny torso, confirming what he’d feared most. Tom had been physically abusing his son. His own childhood had turned him into a monster. Bile oozed its way up Ray’s throat. It would have been easier to learn that his brother had overdosed in a gutter somewhere. Tears tracked down his cheeks as he rubbed a washcloth gently over Henry’s back. To his relief, the child seemed to enjoy the sensation, and quickly took to the water, splashing, and playing with the bubbles the cheap bath gel made.
In the end, it took even more persuasion to get Henry out of the bath than it had to get him in. After entertaining himself happily for half an hour, he’d completely soaked the floor, evoking a strong aroma of mold. Judging by the telltale spots in the corners of the ceiling, a half-hearted attempt had been made to paint it over. It didn’t make the prospect of overnighting here any more appealing, and Ray was tempted to abandon his plan and drive back to his own home in Richmond. But until he had come to a firm decision on what to do about Henry, he needed to stay in Booneville.
After dressing him, Ray took Henry by the hand and led him back out to the truck. The clothes he had pulled from the dryer still looked somewhat stained, but they smelled significantly better. They would have to do for now. He drove back through town, debating whether to pick something up at the mini mart or go into a restaurant and order takeout. The latter sounded considerably more appealing—they both needed some real food.
“Okay, listen up,” he said to Henry as he pulled up outside The Buffalo Gal. “We’re going to go inside and pick up something to eat and take it back to our motel room. I want you to be a good boy and hold my hand. If anyone talks to you, pretend I’m your dad. It’s really important, Henry. Do you understand me?”
He gave a solemn nod, his tiny face instantly filling with fear. He knew what Ray was telling him to say was wrong. But he was too young to realize that Ray had his best interests at heart—that the real injustice had been perpetrated on him by his father. Ray’s heart ached when he remembered how Henry had sobbed for his mother. He patted him on the head, smiling down at him to mask the emotions tearing him apart on the inside.
In that moment, he made Henry a silent promise to do whatever it took to find his mother.
27
Between worrying about Henry waking up, and wrestling with what he’d done, Ray barely slept. As soon as it was light out, he slipped quietly out of bed and made himself a cup of cheap coffee on the cracked plastic coffeemaker above the microwave, then headed into the bathroom to get ready. Standing under the low-pressure shower, he reluctantly concluded that he had no choice but to go back to his brother’s cabin and try and reason with him. At a minimum, he needed to let him know his son was safe. The second pressing matter was that of Henry’s mother. He had to find a way to persuade Tom to tell him who she was. It was possible she really had abandoned them, and didn’t want anything more to do with Henry, but Ray needed to hear it from her own mouth.
Henry still hadn’t stirred by the time Ray was showered and dressed. He leaned over the creaky bed and rested a hand gently on Henry’s shoulder. ”Hey, buddy, it’s time to get up.” Despite shaking him several times, he had to resort to lifting him into a sitting position before Henry finally opened his eyes. He blinked uncomprehendingly around his strange surroundings and fixed a sleepy gaze on Ray.
“Are you hungry?” Ray asked, attempting to pull Henry’s shirt over his head. He had no idea if the average four-year-old could dress himself, but he doubted Henry knew how to. Judging by the state his clothes were in, he’d been sleeping in them for an awfully long time.
Henry yawned and pointed to Ray’s backpack.
Ray chuckled. ”You want a granola bar for breakfast? I reckon we can do better than that. Let’s get you dressed and get out of here.”
Fortified by the egg-and-bacon sandwiches they gobbled down in the truck, they set off for the cabin once more. An hour later, they were winding their way up the dirt road to the Deep Creek Campground where Ray had parked the previous day. He’d purchased a new GPS at the gas station and already plugged in the coordinates. He was determined to do whatever it took to make his brother see sense—even if it meant groveling.
The only hitch in his plan was what to do with Henry. He couldn’t risk taking him back up to the cabin in case Tom turned violent. His only option was to leave him in the truck. It wasn’t an ideal solution by a long stretch, but he had picked up some crayons and coloring books at the mini mart to keep him occupied. He was counting on the fact that Henry was used to being left alone for hours on end and complying unquestioningly with whatever he was told to do. When they pulled into the parking lot, Ray could see the anxiety settling in Henry’s expression as it dawned on him where they were.
”Everything’s going to be all right, Henry. I need to go back up to your cabin for a couple of hours, but you can stay here in my truck. You’ll be perfectly safe. I brought you some snacks and coloring books.” He pulled the supplies out of a plastic bag and handed them to Henry. As an afterthought, he leaned over and demonstrated what Henry was supposed to do with the crayons.
“Don’t eat them. Just color the pictures.”
He watched as Henry selected a crayon from the box and began swiping it back and forth over a picture of farmyard animals. As he’d suspected, Henry’s fascination suggested he’d never held a crayon in his hand before.
Ray ruffled his hair to get his attention. ”If you hear another truck or car, I want you to hide on the floor in the back under this blanket, just like you did at your cabin, okay?”
Henry tore his gaze away from the coloring books and glanced at the blanket Ray was pointing at. He gave a distracted nod before turning back to the coloring book in his lap.
“It’s important that you stay here. You can take a nap under the blanket, if you want. Just don’t get out of the truck, for any reason.” Ray hesitated and then handed Henry an empty water bottle. ”Use this if you need to pee. I don’t want you opening the door.”
After double checking the route on the GPS screen, he waved goodbye to Henry and set off at a brisk pace.
A little less than an hour later, he found himself back at his brother’s cabin—this time with no unnecessary detours. The GPS had done its job, and the urgency of getting back to Henry had spurred him on.
“Tom, it’s me, Ray.” He banged his fist on the door, shuffling his feet impatiently as he waited for Tom to answer. He yelled out again, then pushed the door open and peered inside. The first thing he noticed was that the fire hadn’t been lit overnight. The second thing that struck him like a thunderbolt was that Tom was still lying in the same spot he’d left him in.
The hair on the back of Ray’s neck prickled. Even from where he was standing, he could tell something was horribly wrong. “Tom?” he called out, his voice trailing off as he made his way across the floor. He fell on his knees next to his brother, gasping at the ashen hue to his features. Tom’s eyes were closed, but not in the restful pose of sleep. His head was pillowed in a pool of congealed blood. Ray stretched out a trembling hand and touched his forehead, confirming what he knew in his heart.
Tom was dead!
Sinking back on his haunches, Ray dragged his fingers through his hair and let out a guttural scream. His heart was galloping in his chest, his brain racing to catch up with the hard fact staring him in the face—he had killed his brother! Not only that, but he had abducted his child afterward. There was no possibility of talking his way out of this in any court of law. No one would believe his version of events. And even if they did, he would still be found guilty of manslaughter. There was only one place he was going to end up when he got down off this mountain, and that was behind bars. He pressed his fingertips to his temples, desperately trying to untangle his thoughts, almost jumping out of his skin at a sudden knock on the door.
”Tom, you in here?” a familiar voice called out.
Ray scrambled to his feet and spun around as the door swung open. ”Buck! I … “ He broke off, stru
ck dumb by the flinty expression on the man’s face. He watched with mounting dread as Buck strode over to him, his rifle slung over one shoulder. Lips set in a grim line, he eyed Tom’s body stretched out on the floor. After a long moment of silence, he turned to Ray. ”You did this.”
It was more of a statement than a question, but his tone demanded an explanation.
“It … was an accident. We were arguing, and … Tom took a swing at me, so I punched him.” Ray swallowed the thickening knot in his throat before continuing, ”He tripped and fell backward, and he … he hit his head on the bench. It knocked the wind out of him, but I thought he was all right. He groaned and went to sit up. I was afraid he might go for his gun—he’d threatened me with it earlier—so I took off … with Henry.”
Buck narrowed his eyes at him.
“You … knew he had a son, right?” Ray said.
Buck rubbed a hand over his jaw. ”Yeah.” He frowned. “Where’s the kid at?”
Ray wet his lips, trying to buy himself some time to think. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to leaving Henry in the truck. He could be prosecuted for leaving a four-year-old alone. Not that it was any worse than the trouble he was already in. ”He’s … with a friend.”
Ray shifted uncomfortably as Buck’s unswerving gaze bored into him. “Look, I didn’t come here intending to kill Tom, or even fight with him, for that matter. We got into an argument over Henry. He’s been badly neglected. I told Tom it was child abuse to keep him out here without access to education or healthcare. I threatened to report him to the authorities. That’s when he lost it and tried to clock me. I reacted instinctively. You have to believe me; this was a horrible accident.”
Buck shifted his weight to his back leg, staring down at Tom’s body with a pensive look. He tugged on his beard thoughtfully. ”I don’t doubt things went down like you said. I know what a hothead Tom could be.”