by G. R. Lyons
He didn't understand any of it, but he knew it worked. One of his scars had started to slough away before the strain of effort became too much, and they'd stopped. But at least he knew it was possible.
He couldn't wait to try again.
“Hi,” he whispered back.
“I was hoping you might come out today,” Deyn said, wandering over to sit nearby. “I came back to see the garden again, and thought of going inside to see you, but…I didn't want to invade your space inside.”
“Oh.” Colby hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug.
“You see, my stepson–” the ghost began, then laughed. “Gods, that seems such a strange thing to call an eighty-three-year-old man…”
Colby tilted his head, not sure he understood what she meant.
Deyn waved a hand. “Anyway, he's always had some pretty intense social anxiety issues, so I understand not just popping in unannounced. Especially indoors.”
“Oh.” Colby nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
Deyn nodded back. “Still, I hope I'm not disturbing you.”
Colby shook his head. “I was just thinking…”
“Yes?”
Colby fidgeted. “I wanted to try some more…”
Deyn smiled at him. “Of course. I'd love to help.”
Colby smiled back, and scooted closer. He slowly reached out and took the ghost's hands, and they closed their eyes. He felt the weird pressure in his head when Deyn slipped inside, some sort of advanced telepathy that allowed her to not only read his mind and hear his thoughts but actually travel deeper into his brain, into the parts that controlled his body. There was so much of it he didn't understand, but if he focused, it was easy enough to follow along with her mind as she led him down into the tiny parts that made up his skin and blood and other inside pieces, all the way down until they encountered one of his scars.
Deyn patiently showed him how to tell his body to kill off the cells he didn't want and make new ones in their place, slowly but surely recreating the skin so that the scarred tissue disappeared and new, healthy skin took over. It was exhausting work for someone like him with little practice—Deyn said she'd been able to do the same thing with her own body in a matter of seconds when she was alive—but when they finally stopped, and Colby looked down, one of the scars was completely gone.
He stared at the spot, running his fingers across the skin over and over. There wasn't a hint of discoloration or roughness. It was like the scar had never been there.
Colby looked at Deyn, tears springing to his eyes as he smiled gratefully at her. A little bit of Bad Man had been banished from his body. He couldn't wait to make the rest of it go away.
And he couldn't wait to show Vic.
* * *
VIC CREPT down the dark alley, eyes narrowed as he scanned the shadowy nooks. He came to a stop, listening. Feeling. Sensing out the boy's presence.
And trying with all his might not to think of Cam. The setting was too eerily familiar.
A moment later, he could tell exactly where the boy was hiding. There was neither movement nor sound, but somehow Vic was absolutely certain that Hunter had wedged himself into the tight space between a garbage bin and a stack of pallets.
Vic crouched down, making his height less intimidating. “Hunter? My name is Victor Lucius, but you can call me Vic. I'm here to help you.”
There was no reply, but Vic hadn't expected one right away.
“I know you're scared, champ,” Vic murmured. “But it's gonna be alright. You don't have to keep running. I can get you somewhere safe. Wherever you want to go. A convalescent home, or a foster family. Whatever you prefer.” He paused, catching a hint of motion in the dark. “We'll get you some food and some clothes. You can have a real life. Start over.”
A head tentatively poked out from behind the stack of pallets.
Vic offered the boy a soft smile. “Hey, there, kiddo. Here.” Vic reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water. He held it out to the boy, who eyed it with obvious need.
Like so many other kids who got out of Westfield City, Hunter had escaped his abusive home and—by lucky chance—run into an insurance agent who promised to get Hunter the help he needed. The boy had started to open up and talk about the horrors he'd endured, about why he'd run away from the walled city, but then he'd spooked and run away again, not quite ready to trust anyone.
Vic had come south, expecting to find the boy sitting in the insurance office with the case agent who had called Vic in. Instead, he'd showed up to find the agent in a state of panic since Hunter had bolted, so Vic had immediately hit the streets, using his strange, sixth sense to find the boy.
Considering what the agent had told Vic about the boy's life, Vic couldn't blame him for running again. Even if he hadn't heard about Hunter's trauma in particular, Vic would have been able to guess. All his darkest cases seemed to come out of Westfield, so it didn't take much imagination to figure out what the boy had suffered, hunger and thirst being the least of those yet the quickest and easiest for Vic to solve.
And between having no money and shying away from people, Hunter probably hadn't been able to get a drop of water—to say nothing of food—in at least a couple days.
Vic waited, watching the boy. Finally, Hunter darted out from his hiding spot and snatched the bottle from his hand. He scurried back into the shadows, wrenched off the cap, and tipped the bottle back, chugging the entire contents in one go, leaving him panting as he shrank from Vic again.
“A-Are you gonna fuck me now?” the boy asked.
“What?” Vic gasped. He cringed, the very thought making him ill. The fact that the poor boy assumed he had to pay for water with his body was a tragedy in and of itself. Then again, Colby had been the same way. As had many of the other kids Vic had rescued over the years. “No, champ,” Vic murmured. “Never. No one's ever gonna touch you like that again.”
Hunter whimpered, his hands clutching the corner of the pallets as he peeked out at Vic. “But–” He frowned, looking suddenly confused.
“I promise, kiddo,” Vic went on. “I won't hurt you.” He paused, his hand automatically going into his pocket, his fingers desperately clutching Cam's blood-stained bracelet. The familiar presence grounded him. “Tell you what: I saw a diner around the corner. How about you follow me, and I'll get you a burger or something? It's way past dinnertime, and you must be hungry.”
Then Vic waited, maintaining eye contact. He saw the play of emotions cross Hunter's face, saw him considering whether to trust Vic, saw him weighing his fear against his need to simply survive.
Wrong though the thought might be, the sight made Vic so grateful for Colby's progress. His sweet boy was coming back to life. With any luck, the same would be possible for Hunter someday.
Keeping his eyes on Vic, Hunter slowly emerged from his hiding spot. His whole body trembled as he stood there, whether from fear, hunger, or exhaustion, Vic couldn't tell. Probably a combination of all three. Finally, Hunter gave a tentative nod.
Vic smiled with relief, and slowly rose, not wanting to frighten the boy. And, unlike Colby, this one actually was a boy. Hunter claimed to be sixteen, and he was small for his age, making Vic a giant beside him. Vic gestured at the end of the alley and turned away.
After a moment, he heard the sound of tentative footsteps following him.
They were seated in a quiet corner of the diner, and Vic watched Hunter look around warily as the waitress hurried off to fill their drink orders.
“You alright, champ?”
Hunter's gaze flicked up to Vic's face. Vic could almost see a dozen different questions get considered and discarded as the boy looked at him, until he finally asked, “Why are you helping me?”
Vic gave a slow nod. He'd expected the question. It usually always came at some point, the poor kids unable to conceive of a person who actually wanted to do good after experiencing so many people who were bad. For once, though, the question didn't carry quite the heavy weight that it n
ormally did. His worst case ever was slowly but surely finding a happy conclusion, and Vic felt like he was on the verge of finally shaking off the mantle of guilt he'd carried ever since he'd found Cam. He wasn't quite there—and he wasn't sure what it would take to finally get him over the edge—but he was close.
Reaching for Cam's bracelet, Vic looked at Hunter and said, “I failed to protect my little brother, and someone hurt him. Abused him sexually for two days and then left him for dead. I found his body, and I've been finding abused kids ever since.”
“Oh.” Hunter blinked at him, then studied his eyes, seemingly looking for truth. The boy gave a nod, apparently satisfied that Vic was being honest. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.
Vic gave the boy a smile. “Thanks, kiddo.”
Hunter fiddled with the silverware as he stared down at the table, then he jumped up and ran for the door.
“Hunter!” Vic called. The boy didn't stop, so Vic threw down some money to cover the food they'd ordered and ran after him. “Hunter, wait!”
He caught up to Hunter on the sidewalk, but the boy kept running.
“Hunter–”
“I have to go.”
“Hunter, wait. Just let me help–”
“No.” Hunter stopped for just a second, then continued on at a fast walk, gasping for breath. Vic stuck close to his side, waiting, and Hunter finally continued, “I have to find him.”
“Who?”
“You found your brother. I have to go find–”
Vic waited, but Hunter didn't continue. “Hunter? Did your brother escape, too? Is he out here, somewhere?”
Hunter shook his head tightly. “No, I don't have a brother. Just my–” He glanced up at Vic as he kept moving. “My best friend.” He stopped and turned to Vic with a shadow of grief crossing his features. “They told me he was dead,” the boy said, tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes. “But he's not. He can't be. He can't be dead. I don't believe it. He had to have gotten out like I did. He had to.” He paused, then mumbled, “But why he ran away without me…”
“Alright, alright,” Vic murmured, crouching down and rubbing the boy's arms while Hunter fought his tears. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“About a year ago,” Hunter cried.
Vic thought back. He'd had three rescues in that area from around that time. “Can you tell me his name? Maybe he was one of my cases. I could tell you where he is.”
Hunter opened his mouth like he was going to answer, then he choked out a sob and took off again.
“Hunter!”
“I'm going to find him and you can't stop me!” Hunter yelled.
“Hunter, wait, please!”
Hunter slowed and turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest.
Vic reached into his bag and pulled out the prepaid phone he'd brought along. “Take this. Go find your friend, if that's what you have to do. But if you ever want help, call me. Please. Anytime. My number is in the contacts.”
Hunter took the phone, gave Vic a hesitant look, then nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Vic.”
“I can help you find him–”
Hunter shook his head and started walking backwards. “I have to do this on my own.”
Vic nodded, about to let the boy go, then quickly dug out some coins and stuffed them into Hunter's hand.
Hunter looked at the coins curiously, and no wonder. Money wasn't used in Westfield, where everyone was poor and everything was shared. Including the bodies of children.
“Silver,” Vic explained. “For food and shelter.”
Hunter gave a slight nod as he eyed the coins with suspicion, but stuffed them into his pocket anyway. He looked up at Vic, smiling gratefully through his tears, and took off again, sprinting down an unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar city, in search of his lost friend.
Vic watched him go, forcing himself not to go after the boy. Kids did that sometimes. Usually, Vic could talk them around, but the steel in Hunter's eyes had been undeniable. There was no stopping the boy.
He only hoped that, someday, Hunter would call.
Vic reached for his phone, then headed back to the hotel first, wanting quiet and privacy before he made a call of his own. He barely had the door shut before he hit Send.
Colby's face showed on the screen, and the boy smiled as he gasped. “Vic!”
Vic sank onto the end of the bed and grinned. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“I did it! I answered the call.”
“Yeah, you did. We'll have you using all sorts of technology in no time.”
Colby giggled, and Vic's heart swelled at the sound.
“How are you?” Vic asked. “Did you have a good day?”
Colby nodded. “Look!” He jumped up, the view going erratic for a moment while the boy got himself situated, then Colby held the tablet with one hand while he used the other to lift the hem of his t-shirt a few inches, showing his belly. The fact that Colby had voluntarily showed more skin had Vic so stunned that, for a moment, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be seeing.
Then it hit him. One of Colby's scars was gone. A particularly nasty burn scar that he'd gotten when Ahriman had been angry and forced himself on Colby while still holding a lit cigarette in his hand, the burning end jabbed into Colby's belly while Ahriman kept a bruising hold on Colby's waist. Vic had nearly lost his lunch when Colby had explained that one to him.
But now there was no sign of it. Colby's skin was free of blemish where the scar had once been. It was like it had never existed.
Vic smiled. “Sweetheart, that's wonderful!”
Colby tilted the screen back up so Vic could see his face. His lovely, grinning face, those big, beautiful eyes bright and happy.
“It's gone, Vic! It took a long time, but it's gone. And I can do the others. I can make them all go away!”
Vic kept smiling so hard, his cheeks ached, and he had to swallow down emotion. “I'm so happy for you.”
Colby giggled again.
“How are the dogs?” Vic asked. “Are they behaving for you?”
Colby nodded. “We went out to the backyard for a while.”
“You did?” Vic's heart swelled again. His sweet boy was getting so brave. “Did you have fun?”
Colby nodded again.
“Good,” Vic said, then saw Sharma nose his way into view, draping himself over Colby's lap. Then Vic finally noticed where Colby was. “Are you in my bed?” Vic asked, struggling not to laugh.
Colby ducked his head. “Yeah?”
“No, that's fine, sweetheart. If you feel safer there, that's fine.”
Colby smiled again, then settled down on his side and lay the edge of his tablet against the pillow. Unable to resist, Vic scooted up the bed and did the same, lying down to face him even though they were hundreds of miles apart.
“I miss you,” he murmured.
“I miss you, too,” Colby whispered, then he gasped. “Did you save Hunter?”
Vic sighed. “Not quite.”
Colby whimpered, his eyes going wide with worry.
“No, he's alive,” Vic rushed to assure him. “But he said his friend was missing, too, so he wanted to go find him.”
“Oh.” Colby frowned. “Poor Hunter.”
“Yeah.”
“I'm sorry, Vic.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Vic checked his watch. “But that means I can probably come home tomorrow if I can get my flight changed.”
Colby's eyes brightened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Why don't you go get some sleep, and I'll call you in the morning and let you know.”
“Alright,” Colby said around a yawn.
Vic chuckled. “Sweet dreams, my sweet boy.”
“Goodnight, Vic,” Colby whispered.
“Goodnight.” Vic ended the call, then switched apps on his phone and looked into getting his flight changed. He couldn't wait to get home and see his boy.
Chapter 22
COLBY LOOKED at the clock. He was still le
arning how to understand the numbers, but he knew Vic said his flight would arrive at half one in the afternoon, and that was what the clock showed right then. At least, Colby was pretty sure. If he was right, it meant Vic would be home soon. The man just had to drive from the airport.
Of course, Colby had no idea what flight and airport and all that meant, but he knew it took time to drive to places, so he still had to wait for Vic to arrive home. He looked all around. The bed was made, and the kitchen was clean, but he wanted to do something more. Something to cheer up Vic after his rescue mission hadn't gone quite the way he'd wanted.
Colby glanced out the front window, spotting the mail man. He shrank back, sinking his fingers into Sharma's fur when the dog sat beside him, wagging his tail. Vic hadn't said anything about bringing in the mail—that was always Vic's job since Colby couldn't find the nerve to go out there, not when Bad Man could show up just beyond the mailbox—so Colby had seen the mail arrive yesterday and let it sit out there overnight. Now there was more mail to bring inside.
Maybe he could be brave, just this once. It was only a short walk. Just down to the curb and back. Colby could go out there, grab the mail, and run right back into the house. Bad Man might not even be there. Maybe he was off somewhere else. And even if he was there, Colby could get away before Bad Man had much of a chance to say anything.
He could face that, right?
Besides, even if Bad Man had practiced enough to be tangible, he couldn't be strong enough to drag Colby away. Colby could get free if the ghost touched him.
But first, he had to be brave enough to walk out that front door.
Colby clung to Sharma and looked around. Patches was bouncing around wildly, missing Cam. The ghost had left to greet Vic at the airport, wanting some alone time with his brother. Apparently, it was what they did after most of Vic's rescue missions. Cam wouldn't actually go on the mission himself, the sight of another abused or neglected child being too upsetting for him, but he'd meet Vic on the way back and they'd recover together.