Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  "Yes!" Vincent looked questioningly at the taller boy. "You did! Why are you lying? You did, and I know you did."

  The chills were attacking Jake now, causing him to stiffened and form his hands into fists. He was quiet for a time. "Did you tell your uncle that?"

  Vincent stared and then shook his head. "No."

  "Now you're lying you piece of shit! That would have been the first thing you did!" Jake snarled, alarming Vincent who retreated a few steps. Jake noticed this with mixed feelings. Should he be trying to win the brat over? To save his own skin? His demeanor changed as he closed his eyes. He really didn't feel like dying anytime soon. "Hey, kid. Sorry…I'm not trying to scare you, alright?" Hell. How was he supposed to make this work? Fuck! He wanted to scream, but knew he couldn't right now. He opened his eyes. Vincent's gaze was on his shoes again. Jake suddenly realized the boy was as nervous as he was…or even more. He thought that Jake could beat him up again or kill him, right now, without breaking a sweat. This consoled Jake, for some reason and he ran his hand through his short hair. "I didn't mean to hurt you…"

  What? Spoke the wide red eyes, gaping at the teen. How could you not mean to beat the shit out of me?

  Jake's throat twisted with a demented form of humor that he didn't really find to be funny. He chuckled emptily. "It won't happen again." Shit. This sucked.

  "Hey…Jake?" The teen reacted to his real name with a flinch. Vincent looked up at him apprehensively. "You really didn't beat me up because you hate me? Or because I'm ugly?"

  Jake's mouth opened and then he licked his lips, analyzing the boy. There was no confidence in the skinny brat, none at all. The boy was beaten down and lonesome looking. It was sad to look at him like this, with those bruises... He looked like a victim of child abuse. Jake had to turn his eyes away, conscious of his part in the boy's appearance.

  "I don't really care, Jake…I just want to know why."

  Why? Could Jake himself admit it? Then…as he considered the option, looking at the boy again…he felt like he needed to. Vincent would benefit…a lot, if he told the boy…Jake would benefit a lot as well… And then, if the kid thought of him as a friend, he'd never want his uncle to kill him. Jake licked his lips again and watched the red eyes, and then the bruises. "Hey kid, do people make fun of you because of the way you look?"

  Vincent's face darkened a bit and he chewed on his hurt lip. He could only nod.

  Now that he had the answer, it didn't make sense for a moment. Who would dare make fun of W.C.D.'s nephew? …Anyone would. Walter C.D. wasn't going to do anything about it…if he wanted to he could be searching the city, looking for the thug that beat up the brat…but he wasn't. He was content to know that the kid was alive, and that's about it. Jake felt depressed, just thinking about it. He prolonged a blink and took a breath. "Well…yah know…people like to do that, a lot. Happened to me all the time…and still does, sometimes." Vincent's eyes were wide, entranced by the confession. He was completely absorbed by Jake's presence now, and he moved closer to the teen.

  "Why? Why would people do that?" He asked, needing an answer to a question that had plagued him for months. His bleeding lip was twitching as a single red pearl formed.

  "Because I'm big. I'm different. You're different. They feel good when they do it…it's a game for them, like chucking rocks as a mangy stray cat. It's just a game."

  Vincent was standing before the boy now, as if he were a magnetic force drawing him in. The boy really wanted to touch Jake's sleeve, and he didn't know why. "I don't think it's a good game…like the one those big boys were playing back in the room, with the smoke. I think it's a rotten smelling game."

  Jake watched the child, anxiety flushed from his system. He smiled slightly at the words. Yes. Cruelty was like a drug, addictive, harmful, and rotten smelling. He ruffled the back hair and a pale hand caught his sleeve as it left his head. Jake let the boy hold onto it for a while, mesmerized by this strange development.

  "I won't call you Jack-bean anymore if you don't want me too."

  Jake shook his head. "Naw. It's fine…Jack's the human, right?"

  Vincent smiled up at him and then dropped the sleeve, somewhat embarrassed now. He was eleven. He wasn't a little kid anymore. The boy plucked up his courage with this thought and looked at the blue jacket Jake was wearing. "Do you want to be my best friend, Jack-bean? I've never had a best friend…except maybe one."

  Maybe not a best friend…but he's like a little brother I've never had… Jake mused and then took interest in what Vincent had added. "Who was the 'one'?"

  The boy became nervous again and he held onto his own sweatshirt. "Tammy, my babysitter. She was really pretty."

  Jake chuckled and nudged the boy teasingly, aiming to get the kid to start walking back to the hang out with him. "I wouldn't mind having a hot babysitter." He joked, stunning Vincent who tried to laugh as well.

  As they continued to discuss the pretty/hot babysitter, they bypassed the hang out and wandered through the labyrinth and then out into the streets. When someone asked them about Vincent's face and his red eyes, they just said that he had fallen down the stairs and that his eyes were always red. People avoided the two for the most part. They were just jealous because they were all short and didn't have red eyes.

  Gloom and shadow enveloped every form and hid this world from the illuminated city. The creaking of bones, the straining of muscles, the gasping of lungs, and the wild thudding drum of the heart, beating, pulsing blood in every vein, all at once. Diving to the side, the rush of winter air, invigorating when contrasted to the heat of conflict, soothing any aches that were overlooked for the moment.

  Vincent smashed his sharp knuckles into a nose and felt the wet blood spurt into the crevices between his fingers before the foreign body staggered away and hit the ground with weakened knees. The blood soaked up the cold air as the fingers splayed out and Vincent spun to catch hold of a jacket. He used the other teen's momentum to help drive his enemy into the black grime of the concrete, the filth marking the jacket on contact. Vincent gave his stunned foe a kick in the gut. Satisfied by the grunt and gasps for breath that filled his ears afterwards, the red eyes darted about for the next assailant, but none offered themselves to him. The enemy was retreating, yelling to one another as they fled.

  Vincent peered about in the gloom, observing the victory as he coughed into a bloody hand. He eventually picked out Jake among the other boys. As his steps started forward, they halted and shifted back to the teen he had kicked on the ground. Unable to run away, the injured teen was doing his best to protect himself from the trio that had decided to take advantage of his vulnerable position. Their ring of assault was broken when Vincent snarled, tearing a boy away from his place in the ring. The others stopped, throwing glares at Vincent until they realized who he was. Then they backed down and wandered, hesitantly, away while the red eyes burned. "Pathetic vultures." The pale teen muttered, never looking down at the mute and bloodied boy on the ground. The black, starred converse abandoned him and went to catch up with Jake who was turning a corner, about to be lost from sight.

  But, before the pale boy reached the corner, yells started up from the direction the other teens had taken. Vincent heard voices and running feet heading for the back lot of the storage building, made into a natural dead end by the two brick buildings that acted as walls on either side of it. Vincent pivoted, gazing back at the three sides of wall, noticing the teen on the ground as his eyes swept over the area. He picked the wall to his right and took a running start at it. As his shoes dug into the spaces between the bricks, police officers reached the back lot. His hands were pulling him up the wall to help him climb when he heard voices yelling at him. The cops that were just arriving were told to run around to the front of the building, to go to the roof in order to pursue the escaping suspect.

  Why did this wall have to be so damn tall?

  Vincent cursed as his vision became a fuzzy and a trembling hand caught the ledge of a window.
The boy hung from it for a moment, losing his footing as his shoes slipped from the crevices. He was panting and becoming light headed. A savage cough almost cost him his grip on the ledge, bringing a sense of urgency to move his arms and dig his shoes into the bricks. He struggled to conquer the last few feet to reach the roof. The concrete that jutted out from the pattern of brick offered him a place to pull himself up. With a groan, the boy managed to bring himself over this last obstacle and he collapsed, falling onto the flat rooftop, where he lay, gasping for air that darkened his mind. Blindly, he attempted to crawl to his feet. Barely on his knees, he tried to stand. He swerved as he staggered forward and swayed when he stood still. Eventually his knees gave out and the teen hit the concrete of the roof. Vincent closed his eyes and his world became darkness.

  The next thing he knew he was being carried past the back lot where his eyes were allowed to see that it was now empty. Panicking, he jerked and fought the hands that were holding him under his arms and carrying his legs. There were gasps and a struggle to catch Vincent before he hit the ground, but he still fell, hitting his back and busting up his elbow. The boy let out a feral snarl, glowering up at the cops as he tried to get his bearings. He got into a crouch, flattening the pads of his fingers on the asphalt, ready to dive in either direction to find his escape. But he paused, blinking away the murkiness in his mind as he saw that the two uniformed men were waving their hands and speaking to him. The voices finally registered.

  "Hey kid! Hey! Calm down!" "We know you, remember? Chief Richard's boy brought you to the station one time. Calm down!"

  "Vincentimir." An approaching voice turned the pale face to the woman that had a creasing frown on her lips. "You're coming with me…there's no way to connect you to the fight, so it's okay. Sit down…" She motioned with her hands. "You fainted…and you have a fever…"

  Vincent gazed up at her, in a daze. Without knowing what to do and unable to make sense of what was going on, the boy followed her instructions and sat on the ground, taking deep breaths to collect his thoughts. His eyes gazed at his hands in his lap and saw the obvious smear of blood on his knuckles. He scrubbed it off on his jeans as Richard stood over him, pretending not to see. It was obvious from the blood stains and the state of the teens clothes that he had just been involved in the street fight. Whether or not it was gang related was the only question on the cops' minds right now. But, with Richard's persuasion, they had chosen to let Vincent off with a warning that she would give the boy, along with some medicine and a warm meal. Anyone could see from the boy's weak appearance that he was in no state to be hauled back to the station and questioned. He needed to rest…and Richard said he was a good kid.

  "Vincentimir?" Richard touched his shoulder with a gloved hand, but the boy didn't look up.

  "I just need a moment, Chief." He mumbled. The woman nodded and chose to wait for him, telling the other officers to leave the boy in her care.

  Richard took the boy home with her, presenting him with no other alternative (other than being carted off to jail). Vincent understood what she had done for him, so he easily consented and got in her police vehicle.

  "What were you thinking?" Richard demanded, a glare fixed on the road as Vincent sat, slouched, in her passenger seat. Her fingers shifted on the steering wheel. "Going out there…doing THAT in your condition! You're sick! When was the last time you ate a proper meal? You need red meat! That's probably why you fainted, Vincentimir! Your blood needs iron!..." She continued for a time, until her voice gave way to a sigh. Then it was quiet.

  Now the woman spoke calmly, expecting answers. "What did you eat today?"

  Vincent's unfocused eyes were on the dash board. He didn't want to speak, but couldn't refuse. "You have to let me explain…" He said slowly, causing the woman to glance at him as he hid his hands in his sweatshirt's pocket. "I needed to pay the rent…so my water and power were turned off last night. I got the money and paid the rent so everything would be turned back on by tonight. I would have eaten something, because I do have food. I was going to have soup, which is good for sick people, right? I ate some of those dried out noodles earlier today, but they hurt my stomach, so I just decided to wait for the power and water to come back on."

  Richard's expression darkened, her hands tightening on the steering wheel before her. Vincent's landlord had just succeeded in making himself a very powerful enemy. The woman gritted her teeth. "So you haven't eaten anything since last night."

  "I ate a little." The low voice grumbled back. This was humiliating. Vincent slumped deeper into the seat, trying to hide his face in the collar of his sweatshirt. He managed to hide it up to his nose, and he made his bangs cover the rest. Richard noticed, somewhat amused by the odd sight. She decided not to comment for the time being, hoping that he would feel like answering more of her questions if she didn't. The woman stopped at a light and flicked on her turning signal.

  "I see that the blood on your hand wasn't your own."

  Vincent didn't answer, keeping his mouth closed as he shut his eyes.

  The light changed so Richard followed the green SUV in front of her as they both turned. When she was driving in a straight line again she looked at the boy and then the road. "What was the fight about? I'm not going to ask you for any names, unless you'd like to give them to me, but I'm just naturally curious."

  Again, Vincent owed the woman too much to deny her. "Guys doing stupid stuff…so we had to get them to stop."

  "We?" Richard asked with twitching lips. She frowned, though she accepted her assumption. "What gangs were involved in this, Vincentimir? I'd like to know since gang rivalry is dangerous for both the gang members and the people in the area…luckily, the police have managed to keep gang activity low so there aren't any large fights, usually. But, even for the small street gangs…"

  Vincent listened to the woman, his eyes creaking open. She was wrong about most of the stuff she was saying. There weren't multiple small-time street gangs littering the city, sometimes permitting territorial disputes to become contained fights. There was one super-gang, and then two smaller gangs that had recently allied with one another, and now had even combined, towards the edge of the city, primarily the east ghetto area. There was one large gang that was controlling the streets and keeping gang violence at a record low for the area. The police weren't responsible for the regular absence of shoot outs. The one who should get the credit for that…was his uncle. Vincent focused on her voice again when she restated her question.

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Richard stared at the black bangs, listening to the slightly muffled words. "It was just a bunch of punks slinging it out because of…stuff."

  Richard scowled quietly, watching the road. "What kind of stuff, Vincentimir?" Vincent knew that she wasn't buying the bull he was trying to give her, but he stuck by what he had already said, giving a bit of the truth this time.

  "A few punks sprayed graffiti on a few houses and some guy's work, so we went to tell them to cut it out."

  Richard was silent for a time. She didn't approve of anything that was coming out of the teen's mouth at the moment. "If I catch you doing it again, Vincentimir, I'm going to arrest you…you got that? You inform the police about…this kind of harassment or defacement of private property. You don't take matters into your own hands. That's how you get in trouble."

  Red eyes blinked open and then moved to reflect in the side window, looking though it to see the open sky and the passing trees. "If they do it again, I'll tell you Chief." There's no way after the beating they got today that they'll be back anytime soon. Vincent glanced at himself in the side mirror and sat up when he saw how stupid he looked right now. Richard watched him shift around in his seat, out of the corner of her eye. They drove in silence after that. There was no need to push for answers right now. Richard had all night, and more, to do that.

  They parked in the garage, next to Rodriguez's car, and Richard led the way to the kitchen, that seemed to be in use at the moment.
Vincent rounded the curved wall and slowed his pace, reluctant to reveal himself.

  William was rummaging around in the fridge while Rodriguez was gathering the silverware. The scent of food was in the air, making Vincent's stomach shudder and yowl for sustenance. The boy smothered the sound the best he could, but he still thought that the family of blondes heard it. When no one looked at him, he calmed and dropped his hands to his sides. On a second thought, he moved to hide them in his sweatshirt as Richard told Rodriguez to set an extra place.

  The green eyes questioned the woman, so she threw a thumb back at the curved wall where Vincent was idling. Rodriguez flinched and stared at the pale face. Then he returned to the drawer to grab the rest of the silverware, though, he still doubted why they really needed silverware for what they were eating. His mother was so demanding sometimes. He sighed as William finally noticed Vincent and slammed the refrigerator close, jostling the bottles inside, with a startled gasp.

  "Vincent!"

  Richard frowned at the girl, unaware of the shopping trip incident. "You know Vincentimir?"

  William smiled at the boy and then her mother. "Yeah. We ran into him while we were Christmas shopping. I thought he was a ho…"

  "Hey, Vincent?" Rodriguez's loud voice drowned out his sister's, making her pout while Richard knew better than to stick around and allow her daughter to say something she shouldn't. "Wash your hands and help me out with the plates, will you? You remember where they are, up in there." A handful of forks indicated the wooden cabinet as Vincent quietly went to the sink. When he passed William who was grouchily leaving the kitchen to bring the drinks to the table, the girl gasped and stared after him.

  "What happened to your CLOTHES? You're like covered in black gunk!"

  "Thank you for your input, Female Rodriguez." The boy muttered crossly, having wanted to avoid bringing his clothes into consideration. Rodriguez was staring at him with a deepening frown.