“I want to invite you and Sean and Andrew inside for a pizza party.”
Eric looked suspicious. “Why? We ain’t your friends.”
Damn right you ain’t my friends.
“My father is making me do it. He thinks you’ll be my friends if I invite you to a party. I told him you wouldn’t, but he said everyone likes pizza. He said you could have as much as you want, too.” He told the lie so easily that he surprised himself.
Eric didn’t know that neither Hoyt nor Pam gave a shit if The Boy had friends. Eric’s parents threw birthday parties for him every year. The Boy could tell by his expression that Eric wanted to tell him to go to hell, but free pizza proved too hard for him to turn down.
“All right, I’ll get the other guys, but,” Eric moved so close that The Boy could smell the milk and cereal he had eaten for breakfast, “we ain’t never gonna be friends. No matter what your faggity-ass daddy wants.”
The Boy felt the air leave his body as if he had been punched in the stomach. He watched Eric jog off toward the tetherball court. The Boy felt so angry that he was tempted to yell out that Hoyt wasn’t faggity, but he changed his mind.
Hoyt wouldn’t like it if he got his ass kicked again, so he stifled his rage and walked back toward the building. He was almost at the teachers’ lounge when he heard the loud footfalls and the giggles from Sean and Andrew, the boys who always seemed to follow Eric. Hoyt was on his second piece of pizza, he hadn’t removed his feet from the chair, even though Ms. Carter was in the room now.
“This is a phenomenal idea, Mr. Pokorney.”
“What can I say?” Hoyt was giving her his best smile. “I know boys, and what boy can turn down free pizza? I just hope this will help Junior get along better.”
“He’s a lucky boy to have such an understanding father.” The Boy looked down at the floor and then at Hoyt. What if she smelled the pee or suspected what they’d done? What do they do to people who pee in other people’s food?
“They comin’, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” The Boy answered. He had to move aside to avoid being pushed up against the wall as the three excited boys raced into the room. The shortest of the three was two inches taller than The Boy. Hoyt stood up. He towered over them—at least he would for a few more years.
He gave them his Hollywood grin. “Have at it, boys. We don’t want it getting cold.”
Eric elbowed his way toward the pepperoni and picked up a large slice. The Boy picked up his plate and began eating as the other two boys picked up slices from the box with his “special toppings.” The other three boys stuffed pizza in their mouth faster than they could chew.
“Hey now, slow it down, boys,” Hoyt said and laughed loudly. “There’s plenty of pizza for everyone. Take your time and enjoy it. This is good stuff, ain’t it?” All three heads bobbed like the figurines they sometimes gave away at the Beavers games.
Hoyt winked at The Boy and joy flashed through his heart. So this was revenge. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
“So, Ms. Carter,” Hoyt was saying, “aren’t you going to have a slice?” The Boy stopped chewing and sat up straight. What was Hoyt doing?
“No, I can’t. I have to watch what I eat.”
Hoyt looked surprised. “You do? What for? You look fantastic.” The Boy felt ill. He didn’t want Ms. Carter eating pizza that he and Hoyt had peed on. He liked Ms. Carter. He had told Hoyt that.
Ms. Carter laughed, but shook her head.
Relieved, The Boy took another bite of his pizza. He had two slices left on his plate, while Eric and Sean were already on their third.
“You know, on second thought that does look good. Maybe I will have some.”
“Try that there combination. It’s my favorite,” Hoyt said, his mouth full of pizza.
The pizza felt thick and hard to swallow. He felt sick. He looked at Hoyt, but Hoyt was too busy smiling at Ms. Carter. Hoyt picked up his last slice and bit into it. The Boy dropped his half-eaten slice back on his plate
“What’s the matter, boy? You full already?”
“Yes, sir,” he said. He could not tear his eyes from Ms. Carter, who had bitten into her pizza while listening to something Sean was saying. She chewed for what seemed like forever before taking another large bite.
Chapter Sixteen
He awakened to a cacophony of gunfire. He was slumped forward, his forehead resting on his arm. He cut off a moan when white hot pain shot down his throat. His head and the back of his neck were so painful that he thought about just falling back into oblivion so that he wouldn’t have to deal with it. He remembered the bat coming toward his face, and his eyes flew open.
He focused on his hands first. A girl he’d dated in college—he could no longer remember her name—had called them beautiful. He agreed with her. They were beautiful as hands go, but he had kept his opinion to himself. His hands hung limp and pale, encircled by a pair of silver handcuffs encrusted with dried blood—his blood.
More gunshots blared from a TV in the front room. He forced himself to straighten so that he could see through the open door. Reddish brown droplets marred the light-colored carpet along the hallway. He had misjudged the boy in more ways than one. He wouldn’t have guessed that the boy’s frail body would be strong enough to drag his dead weight into this room. He must not have been strong enough to lift him on to the bed, or he hadn’t tried, because Abe half sat, half lay on the floor, both hands cuffed to the bedpost. Judging from the ache in his shoulder blades he had been that way for a long time. Other pains besides the ones in his head and neck made themselves known, and he was finding it hard to concentrate.
The TV had not ceased its endless ricocheting gunfire. He craned his neck to see through the open door and down the hallway. The TV went silent, and the upper body of the boy, Jake, appeared as he leaned back on his elbows to look down the short hall into the room where Abe was held prisoner. Abe wondered how many times he had stared down that hallway at him while he was unconscious.
“You’re awake.” His voice sounded lazy, as if he had just awakened from a short nap. Fear kept Abe from answering him. Jake stretched, stood up, and started toward him.
The swelling around Abe’s eye made it impossible for him to see detail, but he could tell the boy was holding something in his hand. A gun. Please tell me he doesn’t have a gun. Jake propped one bony shoulder on the door frame. He tapped something against his pant leg and Abe realized from the sound more than the sight of it that it wasn’t a gun. He squinted until he made out the colored buttons of a wireless controller.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.” Jake’s answer was too matter-of-fact for Abe’s liking.
Abe suppressed a shudder. What the hell had he done? Why hadn’t he listened to Gregory? He had been too cocky—so sure that he could handle things. And now…now he could be about to lose his life.
“Son, did you kill that woman in my clinic?”
Jake held the game controller in front of him and began pressing the buttons as if he were sitting in front of a TV playing a game. It went on long enough that Abe wondered if he had forgotten he had been asked a question. Jake dropped the controller and slouched back against the door frame and said, “Yep.”
“Why?” Abe’s throat closed around the word. He wanted to lay his head down on his arm. He couldn’t care less about the hooker. He cared about his research, and now thanks to a mistake—an oversight named Jake—he was finished.
Jake acted as if he hadn’t heard the question and continued to study Abe. “Are you a doctor?”
Abe almost didn’t answer, but he was too curious not to. “Yes, I am. I want to try to help you.”
Jake slanted his head to the side. They could have been discussing football or some other mundane topic. The boy seemed unmoved by anything he had done. Abe’s heart gave a hard thump. He had to keep him talking.
“I used to want to be a doctor.”
“Why did you change your mind?�
� Abe was sure he was in shock, although his mouth seemed to making the right sounds. What happened? How did it all go wrong? He had checked the backgrounds of all of them, even the hooker. He had made sure that none of them would be a threat to the others.
Jake laughed and his genuine amusement sent cold fingers creeping down Abe’s spine. “What difference does it make now? Everyone’s asleep; who needs doctors?”
“Jake, why would you do that to your parents?”
Jake’s thin body stiffened. “Don’t fucking call me that.” His voice held an icy threat. No, a promise. Abe felt off kilter, as if he had taken a wrong step and had realized it too late to save himself from a fall. He was very aware of his inability to protect himself. So he stayed quiet until Jake appeared to relax.
Abe kept his tone contrite. “I’m sorry. I thought that was your name. What would you like me to call you?”
“You hungry?” Jake asked, once again ignoring Abe’s question and asking his own.
Abe wanted to say “no.” His stomach churned at the thought of putting anything in it. “Yes,” he said. Eating would give the appearance of calm, and it would buy him more time.
Jake pushed away from the door frame and stretched his arms above his head, fingers entwined. “You’re not really hungry, are you?” he asked as he dropped his hands to his sides and let out a great burst of air that Abe was sure was meant to sound like a disinterested sigh.
“I haven’t eaten in a few days.” That part was true, he hadn’t eaten in days and that wasn’t helping his head any, either.
Jake looked like a typical bored teenager, but Abe wasn’t fooled. He was a chameleon, capable of going from innocent to lethal in seconds. Is that how he had gotten to Reba Stefani? Had she been relieved when her door opened to reveal this frail-looking boy? Abe wondered if she had been as afraid as he was now when she looked into those calm eyes for the last time. A shiver traveled through his body as he remembered lifting Jake’s eyelid and shining a penlight into each of his eyes. They hadn’t seemed any different from countless other teen boys’. They seemed evil and serpentine now.
“I’ll make us something to eat, soon,” he said. “First I want to know something.” Jake walked into the room and squatted close to Abe. Abe forced himself to continue to breathe. “Did you do all this? Make everyone go to asleep?”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” He could have explained more, and he would, if he had to kill more time, but for right now, his main objective was to get little Jake a safe distance away from him.
“Wow!” Jake looked around the room as if he were seeing the wallpaper for the first time. “I can’t believe this shit. How much money they paying you?”
“They? They who?”
“Somebody’s got to be paying you for this. Doctors make good money, right? I bet you’re rich. Are you a surgeon?”
“Yes, I’m trained as a surgeon, but I’m not rich. I’m a researcher.”
The look on Jake’s face told Abe that he didn’t believe him, and in truth, it had been a partial lie. While it was true that as a researcher his salary wasn’t as high as a specialized surgeon, he was considered wealthy by most people’s standards. He had, to coin a phrase, married well.
“How much are you going to charge the government?”
“Charge the government?” Abe caught Jake’s look of exasperation.
“Yeah, you’re going to make them pay for this, right?”
“It doesn’t work like that. You have to prove that your research is viable first. And then you can get a grant.”
“I bet somebody is going to pay you a lot for this.”
“It’s not about that. My research is supposed to help…” Abe stopped speaking because he could tell Jake wasn’t listening.
“I can’t believe anyone could do something this cool. It’s like being inside a video game.”
Cool? He had never been called cool before. There may have been a time in his life when he would have been flattered by a teenager’s admiration. But that phase in his life had passed a long time ago.
“Like being inside a video game,” Jake had said. It was as if he had no concept of the consequences of his actions, because none of it was real.
“I haven’t been to the store. Peanut butter, okay?”
“What?”
“You eat peanut butter?”
“That’s fine, thank you.” Abe hated peanut butter, but he wouldn’t do anything to piss Jake off. Jake walked away without another word. Every so often music from the video game Jake had been playing blared its mindless audio loop. Abe could hear cabinets and the refrigerator door being opened and slammed shut.
He had no idea how much time he had left. He did know that the longer he kept Jake talking, the longer he kept the boy occupied, the better. Jake returned carrying a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk.
Jake sat down so close to him that Abe could smell the odor of Jake’s unwashed body mingled with the peanut butter. Jake held the sandwich up to Abe’s mouth, his face expressionless with the exception of the slight hint of boredom. Abe couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that he had done this before.
He leaned forward to take a bite. He tried to ignore the dirt-encrusted nails that held the bread. His stomach protested the food. Abe pushed the vision of Reba Stefani to the back of his mind. Had the hands that made this sandwich been washed after killing her? Would they kill him, too? He hadn’t been wrong about this boy’s parents.
They were good people who couldn’t understand why their son was in a coma.
“I wanted to see if she would die.”
Abe stopped chewing; peanut butter and white bread melded his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
“You saw Mother and Father?”
Abe grunted and forced the food down, thankful when the lump went down his esophagus after a scary pause. The boy offered him some of the milk. He drank it, not because he was thirsty, but because it was something to do, something to give him more time.
Jake put the plate on the floor next to the half-empty glass of milk. “I’m going to go finish my game.” He stopped in the doorway, his head cocked to the side again. Abe thought he looked like a small mongrel dog that had grown lean and mean from years on his own. His left hand cupped his crotch.
“They left me in that place alone.” His voice sounded young and hurt. “I had to walk all the way home and I found them sleeping. I cut and cut, but they kept breathing. No matter what I did, they kept breathing. That’s why I cut her open. I wanted to see if she would keep breathing, too.”
Abe inhaled, horrified.
When he spoke again, Jake’s voice reminded Abe of a small child—perhaps a boy of seven.
“How come she stopped breathing? What did you do to us?”
*
I won’t do this to her. I won’t leave her here alone. She couldn’t open her eyes or move yet, but she took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of coconut. “I hear you, baby.” Troy’s voice had gone hoarse in its excitement. “You just have to open your eyes now.”
“Troy.”
“I’m right here, I’m right here.” Her words sounded like a moan.
“Didn’t leave.” Emma forced out.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You just open those beautiful eyes for me, okay?”
She was careful to keep her voice soft as she held her so close she could feel her breath on her ear. Peaches and coconuts enveloped Emma and she reached for it. Took it into her core and used it as a tether to the present.
“I am so sorry that you got stuck here with a weak ass like me. I was so scared of you, Emma. Scared that I might have to let my relationship with Patricia go. I was a coward.” Troy buried her face in Emma’s neck. Emma realized then that they were both lying on the floor.
“Did I pass out?”
Troy leaned forward as if her head was too heavy for her to lift.
“Look at me, please.”
Troy sat up, and Emma could see her red, swolle
n eyes. Troy looked away first. “I couldn’t wake you up.”
Emma put her hand up to Troy’s cheek, hating how contorted and pained her face looked. “Help me sit up, all right?”
Emma noticed that Troy’s hands were shaking as she helped her sit up. Emma swallowed; the pain had receded a great deal but the dull ache between her eyes persisted.
“Is your head hurting?”
“Not as much as before. I’m a little stiff, though.”
“I was too afraid to move you.”
Emma searched Troy’s face. “Stop blaming yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“Now you’re not telling the truth,” Emma said and she leaned back as if Troy had taken a swing at her. “Don’t lie to me, please. I can tell.”
“I forgot about that.” Troy looked so abashed that Emma had to smile.
“Good,” she said. “It means you’re getting used to it.”
“Do you think you can stand?” Troy looked toward the window seat. “You’d be more comfortable up there.”
“In a few minutes I’ll try, all right?”
Fear was rolling off Troy in fits and waves. So much so that Emma wondered if Troy had even heard her.
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
Troy looked as if she wanted to speak, but nothing came out at first. “I was scared you wouldn’t wake up.”
“No, this happens sometimes. It’s my body’s way of dealing with the pain from the migraines.”
Troy touched the scar on the side of Emma’s neck. “I was so scared.”
“Listen to me. I won’t, of my own free will, leave you, unless you ask me to. All right?” Emma wished she could say more. There will be time for that after we’re safe. A feeling of slow understanding overpowered Troy’s fear.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“Yes, I do,” Emma said.
“I’m the one who should be comforting you.” Troy laughed. “Damn, look at me.” She brushed hard at the side of her face with one hand but didn’t release her grip on Emma’s fingers. “I won’t leave you, either.”
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