The Bad Seed

by Lee Hayes

  Got him.

  Cross suddenly looked away and stood up. He moved behind Brandon and over into the kitchen area.

  “Brandon, you really need to talk to your parents about how you’re feeling. They can’t help you, or get you some help, if they don’t know what you’re going through.”

  “Don’t you get it?” he said as he rose quickly in mock indignation. “They don’t care about me. I am not my brother. They loved him; they don’t give a fuck about me.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “Yes, I can. I can feel it. They ain’t never around and when they are, they never talk to me. When they look at me, it’s like they’re looking right through me. Trust me; I get no love from them. Fuck Julia and William.”

  Suddenly, tears began to flow down Brandon’s face; it was as if his emotions had breached a great levee and his pain had spilled out. Gone were the crocodile tears that he used as a ploy to lure Cross into his web. The tears that streamed down his face were the result of an imagined pain so perfectly envisioned that it had become almost a permanent part of Brandon’s disposition. The severity of his tears shocked him. He didn’t know he could cry so hard on cue.

  And so, the greatest pretender of them all put forth his greatest performance. He, who had grown masterful at pretense and subterfuge, found himself weeping. This perfect chameleon, who had convinced himself that he could always hide his true nature in plain sight, worked this moment. His machinations would win the night, or so he hoped.

  Alone.

  Cross took a seat next to him and pulled him into his arms, but his sheltering arms couldn’t stop the pain.

  Cross held the shaking child in his arms, with his head planted firmly on his shoulder. Brandon’s entire body, usually as firm and strong as aged oak, was hobbled in concert with the ploy.

  “I’m so sorry. There I go again, crying like a little girl,” he said as he pulled away. “You must think I’m a freak. All I’ve done the last two weeks is cry.”

  “It’s okay for a man to cry. We have pain, too. Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

  Brandon wiped the tears from his face. “Tell that to my father.”

  “Your father ain’t here.”

  Brandon found something comforting in the brown eyes of Cross as he stared into them; he felt mesmerized by their purity and beauty. The air they shared became charged with something more than grief and empathy. Brandon felt it; it was like fire in his bones and he hoped Cross felt it, too. No, he was sure that Cross felt it. He could see it in his eyes. This man cared for him—maybe even loved him. Then, Brandon went for it. He leaned in quickly and planted his moist lips on Cross, causing a reaction from Cross that he hadn’t anticipated. Cross leapt up from the couch as if he had touched something so hot that it burned more than his skin.

  “Brandon! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he exclaimed.

  “Cross, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “You need to leave…now!” Cross’s eyes tightened into hardened beads and his whole face sunk into itself.

  “Mr. Jones, please—”

  “Brandon, what have you done?” The hurt in Cross’s voice stung Brandon’s ears. “First, you show up at my house unannounced when I invited you only to call if you needed someone to talk to. Then, you pull this shit. This is not okay!”

  “I know, I know. I made a mistake. It’s just you were being so kind to me I thought…most men who are nice to me want to… and I thought you wanted to…”

  “To what? To have sex with you? Have you lost your damn mind?”

  “You told me that you cared about me.”

  “And I do; just not in that way. Brandon, you need some help.”

  “Are you going to call my parents? Please, don’t do that. You don’t know my dad. You don’t know what he’ll do to me.”

  Cross paused. “What are you saying?” Brandon pointed at a small, circular dark scar on his right forearm. “What is that?”

  “A cigar burn. I got that on Christmas two years ago and what a merry Christmas it was.”

  Cross took a deep breath and eyed the mark.

  “Brandon, if what you’re saying is true, then we need to get you some help.”

  Brandon’s tone changed from frantic to solemn. “I don’t need help. I can handle it, but if you tell anyone about this, I’ll have to run away because my dad will kill me. You can’t protect me. The school can’t protect me. I swear to God, if you tell, I’ll leave and no one will ever see me again.” Brandon’s words latched onto Cross like a noose around the neck. “I am sorry for what I did. I really am.” Before Cross could utter another word, Brandon had moved to the front door and had his hand on the knob. He paused, with his back to the Cross. “I’ll die if you tell anyone. I’ll die.”

  Brandon stepped out and closed the door behind him. His quest to conquer had ended abruptly and badly. He stood on the porch and contemplated his next move. He was sure that Cross would not tell anyone about their kiss; he could see that much in Cross’s eyes. He could tell that Cross believed his lies about his father and his threat to run away or die and he knew that Cross wouldn’t risk that, but he didn’t know what Cross would do next. The burn mark played perfectly into his story of abuse. On the Christmas in question, he had purposely burned himself with a cigarette just to see if he could withstand the pain.

  In spite of this major setback, Brandon remained undeterred in his quest. He still had to have Cross. It may take a little longer and he’d have to be a bit more clever, but it would be done. Besides, he had gotten his first taste of Cross and it was sweet; the night was not a complete loss.

  And, in that brief moment when lips met lips, he had felt something in Cross stir.

  “It’s just a matter of time,” he said to himself as he opened his car door and stepped into his black Dodge Charger with the big rims and dark, tinted windows. He popped the key in the ignition and shuffled the CDs around in the changer. He needed to hear something pounding—something hard-hitting to take the edge off. He pressed “play” and soon the beat pumped through his sound system and he bobbed his head back and forth in rhythm.

  He loved Cross’s fiery display of righteous indignation and, when the time came that they would be naked together, that same fire would fuel their ecstasy and take them both to new heights. Brandon’s desire and determination remained undeterred and through Cross’s pretend protests, he could see that Cross was attracted to him, even if he was afraid to admit it. The constant desire in Cross’s eyes betrayed the protest on his lips. He would have Cross. He was ready to pay any price, bear any burden, and make any sacrifice to conquer him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Cross stood in the middle room, stunned into immobility and watched Brandon dart out of his house. This bizarre evening had ended even more bizarrely. First, Brandon shows up at his house unexpectedly and then tries to seduce him—Cross hadn’t seen this coming. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t imagine that Brandon would step so boldly across the line. Sure, in the recesses of his mind, he had always suspected that Brandon had a small, harmless crush on him; it was not uncommon for students to connect with a teacher. Cross wondered was there something in his behavior that had elicited this reaction from Brandon? Had he done something, said something that was inappropriate?

  When he was finally able to move, he walked over to the door and bolted the lock, hoping to keep out any more interlopers. Cross had a careless habit of locking the door but not arming his alarm system. This time, however, he armed it as a precaution and walked over to the kitchen. He picked up the phone and dialed.

  “’Sup, Cross? What’s going on?” Lorenzo said when he picked up after a few rings.

  “Not much. Just sitting at home bored,” he lied.

  “Geesh, when are you going to get out and live a little? You’re gonna look up one day and find that life has passed you by.”

  “Can you just back off a bit? Every time we talk, you say the same shit. Giv
e it a rest. Damn—”

  Cross’s words punched with the force of a man who had reached his limit. He took umbrage at Lorenzo’s incessant needling and criticisms of his life. Tonight was certainly not the night for Lorenzo’s jabs.

  “My bad, Cross. I was only joking. Shit.”

  “Your joke is getting old.” An awkward silence settled on the line, forcing both men to retreat a bit. Finally, Lorenzo broke the silence.

  “Okay, something is going on; I haven’t heard you sound so pissed off in months. Instead of biting my head off, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Cross inhaled deeply and tried to gather his thoughts. There was a part of him that leaned toward full disclosure, but his cautious nature suspected that, instead of support, he’d only get judgment and condemnation. Somehow, Lorenzo would twist the scenario around and make Cross feel as if he was the one that had erred.

  “It’s been a rough day; that’s all.”

  “The kids are driving you crazy, aren’t they? See, I knew this teaching shit would get on your nerves sooner or later. What happened? Did one of them cuss you out? Threaten you? Steal from you?”

  “No, no, and no. It’s nothing like that.”

  “One of those country boys roll up on you?” he said with a laugh. Then, there was silence again on the phone. “Cross…Cross? You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Shit. You didn’t answer my last question. Did some little girl try to run up on you? Or, was it some little boy?”

  “He’s far from a little boy; trust me.”

  “Oh fuck, what happened?”

  Cross wanted to hold his tongue out of fear of censure, but the sound of a familiar voice began to coax the truth out of him.

  “Well,” he began softly, “one of my students has been having some serious issues with his parents and dealing with the death of his brother. I’ve noticed lately that he’s distracted and his grades have been falling. I gave him my number to call me over the weekend, in case he needed to talk. I mean, this kid has a lot of potential, and I’m really worried about him. It would be a shame if he messed up so close to graduation. I wanted to make sure that he knew that he had someone who would listen when he needed to talk.”

  “What’s wrong with his parents? Why can’t he talk to them?”

  “He said they’ve been out of town for a long time and even when they’re home, they don’t listen to him. Anyway, tonight I was upstairs in the shower when I heard my doorbell ring. I came downstairs and found him standing in the foyer.”

  “What, he showed up at your house? How did he get in? How the hell did he know where you live?” The shock in Lorenzo’s voice rang out like an alarm in the still of night.

  “I left the door unlocked and it’s not hard to find out an address nowadays. When I came downstairs, he was standing there. He looked a mess. Something was wrong so I told him to come in.”

  “Pleaaaase, tell me you didn’t invite that child into your house!”

  “Stop screaming. He needed help. You should have seen the look on his face. His eyes were wild, kinda like he was high. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You were supposed to call somebody. Isn’t there a protocol for shit like this?”

  “If there is, I don’t know what it is. I only wanted to help the boy; find out what was wrong.”

  “And did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Did you find out what was wrong with him?”

  “Yeah, while he was telling me the story, he kinda…kissed me.”

  “Oh. My. God! He did what?”

  “He kissed me, but he was confused. He was looking for someone to love him and he got his feelings mixed up.”

  “Oh, hell no. You stop acting like some therapist. You are a writer; not a doctor. You don’t know what that boy was thinking. For all you know, he could’ve planned the entire thing. You need to get on the phone right now and call somebody, his parents, the principal…somebody…now!”

  “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “He said that if his dad found out what happened, he’d kill him or he’d run away. I can’t have that on my conscience.”

  “Are you serious? That boy is probably playing you like a fucking fiddle. Cross, you are smarter than this. Don’t fall for this game.”

  “You didn’t see the fear in his eyes, or the sound of his voice. He was truly scared. And, don’t you think I recognize when I’m being played. I’m not as naïve as you think I am.”

  “You are not responsible for this boy; this child. If you think there is some merit to what he said, then clearly he doesn’t need to be in the house with this father. You need to call social services or something. You can’t handle this yourself.”

  Cross closed his eyes and began tuning out the hysteria that had taken full control of Lorenzo. Just as he suspected in the beginning, he regretted this conversation. He shouldn’t have confessed his secret. Lorenzo’s speaking had gone from 0 to 60 in 5.5 seconds and he barked out an endless chain of you-need-tos and you-should’ve-known-betters. Now, not only did he have to deal with Brandon, but he had to deal with Lorenzo’s tirades.

  “Cross! Cross! Do you hear me?”

  “Yeah; it’s kinda hard not to, with you screaming in my ear.”

  “Don’t be an ass. I’m trying to save you. I’m not the one having an affair with a child.”

  “We’re not having an affair!”

  “That may be true, but wait until the rumors start. If you don’t handle this and the word gets out, not only will it ruin your little teaching career, but your writing career will be over, too! Your face will be plastered across every newspaper from here to Timbuktu. I can see the headlines now: Bestselling author Cross Jones caught in illicit affair with a male high school student. Your book sales will sink faster than the Titanic.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”

  “Not at all. Don’t you think you’re being too calm? You write books for teenagers. What do you think will happen to your career when the book-buying public gets word that you’re using your status to seduce teenaged boys?

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “Doesn’t matter. That’s what the story will be. The media will crucify you. Cross, you need to handle this and don’t try to be Superman and save the world. You need to save yourself.”

  “Whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Cross hung up the phone without giving Lorenzo a second to respond. Before he could put the phone back on its base, it rang again. Lorenzo was calling back, but Cross had had enough of him for one night. His ears could not take one more jab.

  Cross rubbed his hands with his face. In his heart, he realized that Lorenzo was right. It was all about CYA—covering your ass. This incendiary situation certainly had the potential to burn down the entire house and his career. Then, he thought about Brandon’s haunting words: “I’ll die if you tell anyone.” Cross was at a complete loss. Part of him wanted to help—to protect this boy from whatever demons haunted him—but another part of him agreed fully with Lorenzo. It wasn’t his responsibility.

  But, doesn’t it take the whole village to raise a child?

  CHAPTER 8

  Cross was awakened by the brightness of the room. The night had passed, giving way to a beautiful spring morning. The sun’s glimmering rays filled the room and caused him to stir. He followed his usual Saturday morning routine. He got up, turned on the television to crack open the silence that enveloped the house, and scrambled downstairs for a cup of orange juice. After about half an hour, the soles of his Nikes hit the pavement as he started his three-mile run. He didn’t feel like going to the gym so he decided to change up his routine and jog instead. After the run, he came home, showered, ate a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries, and ran some errands, which included picking up fresh fruits and vegetables from the open air market right in the center of town. He returned, cooked lunc
h, and rested a bit before catching the latest movie at the Cineplex. He busied himself so that he wouldn’t have to think about his troubles. He wanted all thoughts of Brandon out of his head.

  Later that evening, after he finished staring at his computer trying to finish his novel, Cross settled in for the long, quiet evening at home. He readied himself for a True Blood marathon on HBO as the phone rang. He reached over and grabbed the phone off the hook before checking the caller ID.

  “It’s Saturday night and something tells me that you are stretched out across the couch. I want you to get your ass up and get out of the damn house. Go out and have a drink, meet a man, and have wild sex!”

  “Lorenzo? What do you want now? Why are you harassing me…again?”

  “I am calling because I am your savior, arriving just in time to resurrect your social life. And, I wanted to apologize. Maybe I was a bit hard on you last night. I know you have this S on your chest and you feel like you can save the world. Maybe you can help this boy; you just have to be careful how you do it. You’re my best friend and I worry about you; that’s all.”