Greyson Gray

by B. C. Tweedt

  Greyson looked to his right, but the porch was empty. He had forgotten for a moment that Kip had left to make a call. Though it was not frequent, Kip did have to leave him alone at times – in the bathroom and at bedtime for instance. But lately he had been letting Greyson get more and more time alone, perhaps preparing him for the inevitable day when he would have to leave altogether. Who would want to babysit a 12-year-old for months when there was the whole world at his fingertips? He was single, healthy, and decently good-looking – for a 40 or 50 year old. He probably had better things to do.

  Looking back at the scarecrow they had built themselves to serve as target practice, rising alone above the stalks of corn, he felt its loneliness. The farmland was burgeoned with an ocean of giant, green corn stalks that rose and fell in waves for acres in every direction. The corn had risen several feet since he had arrived, further engulfing their little farmhouse into an isolated valley every day. If it weren’t for the cool breeze and brightening skies, it would be quite depressing.

  Bored, Greyson drew another shot from his red fanny pack and pegged the scarecrow in the groin.

  “I think that’s your best weapon.”

  Kip had snuck up on him again, trying to prove something each time. Greyson had to be aware of his surroundings – each sound, every curious movement.

  “I think so, too. But it doesn’t fit in my pack.”

  A look of recognition perked Kip’s eyes and he held out what looked like a small, white sugar cookie. “Take this. It fits in your pack and should be your first go-to weapon.”

  Greyson took it and examined it. It had one thumb-sized button in the middle and a small, unlit light indicator. “What happens when I press the button? Does it explode? Shoot a laser?”

  He pointed it at Kip, but he didn’t flinch.

  “No. It is more lethal than that. It brings me to wherever you are.”

  Disappointed, Greyson put it in his pack. “Cool. Thanks.”

  Kip looked down on him. “I know, I know. Lame. But you have to promise me. If I’m not around, any sign of trouble – even if you think it’s most likely nothing at all – you push that, ok? Or, I guess, even if you see some new great food-on-a-stick that you want me to try.”

  They laughed, but after a moment Greyson paused. “You’re going to let me go off by myself there?”

  “A little.”

  “What are the chances he’d be there, right?”

  “Exactly.” Thinking to himself, Kip sat next to him on the rickety swing chair. It creaked and moaned, threatening to tear the hooks from the porch ceiling. They both looked up and then shared a look of danger.

  “Don’t panic,” Greyson whispered. “Right?”

  The ceiling cracked and Kip jumped to his feet just as the chair slammed to the floor with Greyson in it. He sat frozen for a moment, jarred in pain and humiliation. “Ow!”

  His mom came running out from the house. “What happened?”

  Kip reached down. “Yeah. What happened, Nolan?”

  Shaking his head, Greyson spat at the dust that had plumed from the crash of wood on wood. “I think I hesitated again.” He reached for Kip’s hand and was pulled to his feet and into his mother’s arms, being squeezed tight into her chest.

  “I’m okay, Mom. Seriously. It was just a little fall.”

  Releasing the hug, his mom held the back of his neck and looked at him. Her eyes had begun to tear.

  What’s wrong? She had seen Kip do worse things to him before, on purpose. She’d flinch and grimace, but never come rushing over to him, babying him or crying. Dad had never allowed her to do that.

  “I…I’m just scared, Greys.” She sniffed, examining his face and pulling him into a hug again. His hat’s bill pressed against her, almost tipping off the back of his head. “The last time we went somewhere, I almost lost you.”

  “But Mom…”

  “…and I can’t lose you.”

  “You’re going with, right?”

  “Yes. I am. But I know you. And I knew your dad.” She smiled and wiped at her tears. “You’re drawn to trouble or it’s drawn to you – it’s just in your blood. And there’s nothing that can stop you. Kip doesn’t understand, but I do.”

  He was the first to see them. “They’re here!”

  The vehicle could be seen a half-mile away, kicking up a trail of dust along the gravel road. He started to shimmy away from his mom’s hug, but she held him again by the cheeks.

  “Greys. Always say goodbye to me, okay? And always make it a good one, just in case. Promise?” She held out her pinky, and rolling his eyes, he grabbed it with his. After two shakes, she leaned in and kissed the top of his hat. He hugged her, said goodbye, and hurried out to meet the van.

  When it arrived, the first to get out was a figure with smooth legs and long hair. But it wasn’t whom Greyson had expected.

  “GreyHun!”

  Jarryd ran to him and wrapped him up in a bear hug and squeezed. He suddenly released, startled. “Oh. Your bone’s all good now, right?”

  “Yeah, all good!”

  They smiled at each other. Greyson had missed his goofy friend’s chubby cheeks and large front teeth. They hugged again and Greyson was able to look past him. A beautiful girl with a blonde ponytail and a coy smile emerged from the front passenger door. She shot him a side-glance and walked first to his mother.

  “Whoa!” Jarryd startled from the second hug and took two steps back. “Who is that guy?”

  Kip stood a few yards back with his feet apart and arms clasped behind him, a menacing look on his face. He resembled a bouncer or a secret service agent with serious rage issues. Greyson realized that he had gotten used to his presence, but it would take a while for the others.

  “That’s my bodyguard – Kip.”

  “Oh,” Jarryd squinted at him in a half-glare. Then he suddenly turned to Greyson. “I’ve missed you, man! What have you been up to?”

  Before he could respond, another boy was latched on his torso. “I’ve m-m-missed you, t-too!”

  “Liam? Liam!”

  Greyson latched onto him as well. He couldn’t believe it! All his best friends were here. “Nick!”

  The first thing Greyson noticed was that Jarryd’s almost-identical twin had cut his hair short. Not buzzed like Liam’s, but much shorter than Jarryd’s, which covered his ears and fell to his eyebrows. Something had definitely changed him over the summer to set him further apart from his brother, besides his cheeks being thinner and front teeth smaller. Nick smiled at Greyson and offered his fist to pound. “Sup? What you been up to?”

  Greyson was focused on Sydney. She had finished hugging his mom and was now engaged in small talk. Greyson exchanged awkward glances with her, not knowing whether or not to abandon his guy friends to make the first move for a hug or to wait for her to come. They hadn’t ended on the best of notes, but then again, the half-eaten chocolate kiss she’d given him was still safely stored in a Ziploc underneath his mattress. She’ll come to me, right?

  “Greyson?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve been hanging with Kip, riding dirt bikes and shooting scarecrows.”

  The boys looked at him.

  “What?”

  “R-really?” Liam asked, skeptically glancing at Kip.

  “Yeah. He’s been training me. I’ll introduce him. Kip?”

  Kip walked over to them, standing a full foot and half over most of them. He looked down at Greyson and then at each one of the boys. “Do you want me to kill them, sir?”

  Greyson laughed. The boys didn’t.

  “No, no. Not yet. Introduce yourself.” He snuck another look at Sydney.

  “Hi. I’m Agent Kip. Nice to meet you all.”

  He smiled his bright white smile and whatever tension there was faded away.

  “You really training Greyson? To be a spy?”

  “No. I’m training him to survive. Dirt bikes, while excellent vehicles for any evasion or pursuit, are very unlikely to ever come into use
. The principles behind the training, though, can be handy in all circumstances. In fact…”

  Greyson began to tune him out. Sydney’s parents had joined Sydney in the conversation with his mother. He focused in, squinting and straining to read their lips even though he had no idea how.

  “Your son is so handsome! Why doesn’t my daughter just marry him now?”

  “Oh, what a delightful idea! But first they need to make out.”

  “Why, of course. How silly of me to forget. Do you have your chapstick, Sydney?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Good! If you make out so long, you can begin to get chapped.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you will be. Such a fine young man with such a bulging fanny pack will keep you safe.”

  “Right. If I don’t kill him for staring at me.”

  Greyson startled and averted his eyes. What can I learn from this?

  I suck at lip reading. But it’s fun.

  “…Nolan can tell you more about it on the ride,” Kip finished. He had explained much of the summer and his name change. “But let’s get on the road.”

  The twins and Liam filed into the van, Kip and his mother choosing Kip’s SUV instead. They would follow behind. Greyson smiled as Kip opened the door for his mom. And suddenly he remembered. Sports camp. Opening doors for others. Being selfless. Getting looks from the ladies.

  He jumped at the chance to open Sydney’s door for her. “After you.”

  Sydney smiled and stopped before getting in. She leaned in for an awkward hug and patted him twice on the back. “Thanks. Good to see you.”

  “Me, too.”

  Stupid.

  She laughed, climbed in, and shut the door before he could join her. Click. The doors locked from the inside.

  “Hey!”

  Sydney smirked at him through the window as it rolled down a few inches. “Want in?”

  “Yeah. Duh.”

  “Then dance.”

  “Uh…what?”

  “You want in, you dance. Like you mean it.”

  By now the whole car was watching him from inside. Even her parents.

  “No!” He scoffed. “I don’t dance. I told you that.”

  “Then ride with your mom.”

  She rolled up the window and pursed her lips.

  Jarryd encouraged him from inside by doing the “Travolta” and “eggbeater” followed by the “chicken.”

  Greyson looked around, felt at his fanny pack. Should I press the emergency button? Kip could bash the window in, unlock the door, and…problem solved.

  “Come on!” Sydney begged, muffled behind the window. “For me?”

  Dang her frickin’ blue eyes! That new energy was back, and it surged through his lungs. And he had no other choice. He turned his hat and fanny pack backward, bent his knees and swung his hips to the left and right. Then he put his hands out to his sides like a little teacup and teetered back and forth, pumping his eyebrows as the van erupted in laughter and applause.

  The locks unclicked and he swung open the door to more cheers. His cheeks burning red and the energy still rushing through him, he smiled shyly.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Nice moves.”

  “Nice face,” he retorted, still angry for the embarrassment.

  Her face, though nice, turned sour. “You haven’t changed much.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” he replied coolly as the van started down the gravel road.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “You mean ‘yes’.”

  “No. I mean what I say. And I said ‘no’.”

  “Since when do girls mean what they say?”

  “Since forever. Boys just don’t listen.”

  “What?”

  “I said boys don’t listen.”

  “What?”

  “Ugh! You are such a…a…”

  “A boy?”

  “I was thinking something worse.”

  “You mean something better.”

  “Ugh! What is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Yeah! What?”

  She looks perturbed. Change the mood. Quick. “Nothing. Just happy to be with you.”

  “Oh, nothing?” She paused, and her furrowed brow unclenched. “Wait. Really?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for inviting me.”

  She smiled and her eyes seemed to glisten. “Well, uh…you’re welcome. But it really was Jarryd’s idea.”

  Jarryd leaned up from the back row. “That’s right my main man. My bro was watching all the crazy news and said something about how you were probably out taking revenge on all these pesky terrorists, and I was like, ‘nah, he’s probably bored out of his briefs just waiting for us to call him.’ And behold. I was right.”

  “Yeah. Kip kept me busy, but I missed you guys a lot.”

  “W-we m-missed you, t-too.”

  Greyson noticed Sydney nodding in agreement – and his heart jumped. Without a picture, he’d nearly forgotten how attractive she was – especially when blushing, smiling, annoyed, or angry. Her face was what he had missed the most.

  --------------------

  The assassin’s face was peeling. He picked at a large flake of lip-skin and pulled it off. Ever since the incident with radiation poisoning in Pakistan his skin had been deteriorating. And for someone with a reputation as he had, putting on lip balm or face lotion would betray who he was – a fearsome killer. And it seemed that the cracked lips and the flaking white skin added to the desired effect he had when others first saw him.

  The effect was true today as he strode through their headquarters, hidden in plain sight in the heart of the fairgrounds. Many pawns were working feverishly – some typing on computers, others preparing fuel canisters and most others running around on some errand or trying to look important. No matter what the idiots were doing, they would try to sneak a peek at him. Sideways glances. Some blatant stares. But they would all look at him. These were not professionals – farmers, plumbers, construction workers, and police officers mostly. Volunteers for the cause. Freedom from tyranny!

  The assassin snickered to himself and swiped his card by the elevator to which only the professionals were granted access. He could feel the things watching him from behind, hoping to see what went on behind the veil.

  Of course there had to be professionals. There were only a few, and most had hidden themselves from the eyes of the masses, even these people who were supposed to be their comrades. The assassin had worked with them all in the last two decades – and he didn’t like any of them. Especially the Arabs. Or the Cuban. The Russians he understood, but hated. And the Chinese - they would get what was coming to them. But they were together for a purpose. And their purpose would keep him in business for a very long time.

  Chapter 4

  Wednesday Morning

  “Paaaaapeeeeer! Paaaaapeeeeeer!””

  The voice reached Greyson’s ears through the sheets. He stirred, but the weight of the morning was still trapping him in his dreams. His foot pushed at the soft mattress as he tried to stop his momentum. But he was weak in the dream, helpless to stop what was happening. A worry crossed his brow and his lips moved as if uttering someone’s name.

  “Paaaaaapeeeeer!”

  The paperboy had gotten closer to the camper in which he slept, and the noise easily filtered in through the open windows and closed shades flapping with the cool breeze. But Greyson still was not woken. His eyes shook underneath his eyelids and he pressed his face into the pillow, squirming and grabbing at the sheets. He began to mutter something indiscernible but riddled with fear and sadness. Sucking in a sharp breath, he pushed up on the mattress and woke with a start.

  “PAAAAAAPEEEEER!”

  Greyson froze, bare-chested in the pushup position, his muscles rigid and a string of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. His eyes, wide open and startled, snapped around the room, and he jum
ped to his feet, trying to orient himself. Half between the dream and reality, he didn’t want to lose his footing again.

  “Paaaaaaapeeeeeer!”

  The paperboy had finally passed on the road outside and Greyson dropped to the mattress again. He was safe. It was only a dream. Only a dream, he repeated to himself. He hadn’t died yet.

  And all of a sudden he couldn’t remember the dream – only the overwhelming fear that had engulfed him. He remembered the helplessness, the feeling of being out of control, desperate, about to die, but without any hope. Maybe he had been falling somewhere. But where?

  Water. He felt like there had been water – deep blue and far beneath him. The drop had taken far too long, but now he could remember it. He had been on a bridge and the wind had been howling, whipping at him, and his feet couldn’t find a grip.

  Why that dream? Of all that had happened at camp a few weeks ago giving me material for these dreams of death, why a bridge? Why not a knife cutting into my side? Or bullets ricocheting all around me? Or an SUV toppling toward me like a massive boulder?

  He rolled over and tried to slow his breathing for a few moments. The sun had begun to lighten the inside of the camper, revealing the disorder of his bed. Sheets were strewn left and right, yesterday’s clothes were on the floor, his suitcase open and at his feet, and his hat and fanny pack had been shoved somewhere out of sight.

  Taking a deep breath and wiping the sleep from his eyes, he started his morning workout there on his mattress because there wasn’t much floor space in the cramped camper. Sit-ups, push-ups, stretches, and repeat. Nothing spectacular, but enough to break a sweat and to keep him in shape despite the horrible, yet delicious diet he hoped he’d be getting at the fair.

  After the workout, he glanced at his watch. Kip would be along in a few minutes to escort him on a run around the campgrounds, which would be their home for the next few days.

  The bed creaked as he finally left it, making his way to the “dining room” area where his sleeping mother occupied a small table and booth. She had fallen asleep on a stack of papers – which were no longer a stack – and her laptop. The sight of a few crumpled tissues made Greyson cringe. He had cried with her before – many times – but last night he had just sided up to her, stroking her arm and staring blankly ahead. He hadn’t been able to cry. He had told himself that it only made sense that he didn’t cry as much as she did anymore. She had known his dad – loved him – for far longer than he had. She had more memories to haunt her than he had, and less of a life ahead of her.