Greyson Gray

by B. C. Tweedt

  Jarryd’s face spoke, despite being squished in the man’s hand. “I’m Rocky. My friend Nolan and I were just looking for a bathroom. They’re all so busy outside. We just followed some other kids down here and – ”

  The man dropped Jarryd’s face back in the dirt. When he came back up, he was breathless and smiling. For the longest time, he turned on his heels, stroking his chin, and thinking. He wandered over to SnakeSkin, whispered something in his ear, and then watched as the cowboy and two other men used the elevator to leave. Finally, turning back, he nodded to himself. “Fate,” he said, as if it was something to be worshipped. “Fate has brought you to me.”

  Greyson desperately fought the panic. He knows.

  The middle-aged man was worn from age and weather. His skin was dark and thick, with signs of scars and wrinkles both, but his dark-grey jacket with raised collar and military shoulder loops dignified him with an air of superiority. His eyes were hidden within deep eye sockets and drooping eyelids. But they were not tired eyes; they were calm, with the confidence of wisdom and power. They were staring at him now, almost sparkling with curiosity.

  “And Fate, has its reasons. But what are they? Why are you here?”

  Greyson choked down a gulp, not finding much saliva in his mouth anymore.

  “I-I was looking for a bathroom.”

  The man erupted in laughter and the men standing around him began to laugh as well. “Funny. Funny boy. My boy is funny, too. I believe you have met. You chased him through the carnival, did you not?”

  Greyson licked his dry lips, coming away with dirt. He spit at it, trying to ignore what the man was saying. But is it true? The teenaged Plurb is his son?

  “Going to play it quiet?”

  “No. I just don’t know what you’re talking about. What was in my back?”

  The man smiled. “You’re not a good liar, kid.”

  “What was in my back?”

  “You know very well what it is, Greyson. Did Kip tell you he put it in you? Or did he drug you first?”

  He couldn’t breathe. It was like he was underwater, too frightened to take a breath for fear of sucking in a lung full of briny salt water. Would Kip really have done that? Why? Is that how he knew I had snuck into the fair?

  “Ah. So he didn’t tell you. Fitting.”

  The man whispered into the ear of the technician; he began typing.

  “Do you know who I am, Greyson?”

  “My name’s Nolan. And no! Take me to back to my parents. They said I should be back by four or they’d…”

  The man leaned in close, as close as he’d been the day he picked Greyson up in his arms, pretending to be his father.

  “Tell me who I am or I’ll cut more out of you then a GPS tracker.”

  Greyson had to stop his charade. He hated saying his name, but it was of no use. “Everett Oliver Emory.”

  Everett smiled and backed away, clapping his hands. “Very good. Thank you. Now I will return to you your tracker. With a little tweak.”

  The man at the computer plucked the tracker from the device and gave it to the soldier who had cut it from him.

  “Lean forward.”

  Greyson leaned forward and gritted his teeth. The pain spiraled through him like a tetanus shot, but it was over quick. The flesh-colored tracker pressed into his skin and the muscle underneath, but it was so thin, he hadn’t even felt it before.

  “Now wash him and glue him up. He needs to look nice when we send him back. He’s not the one we’re looking for.”

  What? Is he playing with me? Maybe it’s some interrogation game?

  “For your information, the tweak is just an additional frequency and a slight coordinate adjustment. In laymen’s terms, we know where you are now at all times, too. And better yet, the FBI will be off by half a mile. That is, if they ever come looking for you. Right now, they have no reason to believe you’re having nothing but fun at the fair with your good old pal, Kip.”

  The soldier returned with a wet washcloth and began wiping the blood from his back. Greyson stared straight ahead, until he caught Jarryd’s eyes watching him from below. He looked really uncomfortable, lying in the dirt. But the soldiers were failing to watch him well. Perhaps he could come in handy.

  “You know why Kip didn’t tell you he implanted an electronic surveillance device in your body? Huh?”

  “No.”

  “Because you’re bait!” He spat the word, laughing under his breath. “And he brought you here to lure me out. If I bit, he’d know exactly where I was.”

  Bait. Bait. The word wrestled its way through his thoughts. Kip? Would he do that to me? Is that why he’s been training me? To prepare me for what he knew was coming?

  “And it almost worked. You almost called in the whole army of them. But it fell through the crack, didn’t it? Literally.”

  Greyson eyed the crack where the clicker had fallen.

  “He’s been giving you more free rein than usual, right? Giving you your space? Reeling you out into deeper waters?”

  He felt sick.

  “That, Greyson, is what this government thinks of its people. Worms. Nothing but worms on a hook. Bait to get what they want. Even if you get eaten. It’s because they’re scared. They’re worried about a new predator. An invasive species that threatens their reign on top of the food chain. And they thought they could use you to get to me.”

  Jarryd crawled just a little closer toward the doorway. It was so slow, he had barely noticed. Only the drag marks he left behind in the dirt gave it away.

  “The hero of Morris. After what you did for them, this is how they would repay you.”

  Everett began turning toward Jarryd. I have to distract him.

  “Yeah? So? If he would have asked, I would have done it. Anything to stop you from killing innocent people.”

  Everett whistled to himself, feigning being impressed. “Oh, you’re so valiant. And I know. Killing innocent people is horrible, and it seems wrong. But if that was your only standard, then this country would be condemned as murderous – even genocidal. Carpet bombing German cities. Nuking Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Massacres in Vietnam. Drone strikes in Pakistan. All killed innocent and guilty alike. It’s the fog of war. And they’d say it’s sad, but necessary.”

  Greyson glanced at Jarryd inching forward.

  “Killing innocents is not wrong in itself,” Emory continued. “For one, who declares someone to be innocent? You? Me? The government?”

  Greyson stuttered, trying to think of an answer, but he didn’t have one.

  “And would you kill one ‘innocent’ person to save a hundred? A thousand?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Couldn’t I say you were wrong because you chose not to save a thousand people when you could have?”

  The man was asking questions too quick. He had no time to think.

  “Then what is right? What is wrong? What is true? I’ll tell you who is. The many. Pluribus.”

  Everett was lost in his own passion, smiling and seemingly seeing visions in the space around him.

  “We the People. We decide what is right and we declare it to be so. Sway the people, and you sway the truth. You survive the war, your side chooses who was the hero and who was the villain.”

  Greyson took in a deep breath and tried to fit in another glance at Jarryd. Another foot and he’d be able to reach it.

  “Benedict Arnold. One of history’s evil men. A traitor to America! But what if England had won? He’d be hailed as a hero who had seen the light. And what about the American revolutionaries? Branded as terrorists by England, as patriots by the Americans. Who do you believe? Were they not both? But the winner gets to choose. And might makes right.”

  “You’re wrong. Killing innocent people is always wrong!”

  Everett scoffed. “Innocent. There’s that word again. So you’re the judge, the jury, and…the executioner?”

  Greyson looked away. I judged…and killed his brother.

&nbs
p; Everett smirked. “So you say you would sacrifice yourself to bring me in? Because you think I’m the bad guy.”

  “Heck yeah.”

  “Heck yeah,” he mocked, laughing. But what if in a few years, when this government has fallen and once again the people rule, I’m the hero? You would be the boy who tried to kill George Washington. You would be the confederate who tried to kill Lincoln. Would you not?”

  “But I’d do it because it’s right!”

  “For what you think is right. Exactly. And so am I.“

  Everett smirked as Greyson cringed. The words disgusted him. He’s wrong. He couldn’t debate him, but he was just wrong. Right was right, no matter the winner, no matter how wrong he was about what was right.

  “So, the winner chooses what is right?” Greyson asked.

  Everett was amused. “Right.”

  “Then I better frickin’ win.”

  Everett’s eyes narrowed and a grin played at the corner of his lips. “Greyson? Can I talk with you personally?”

  “Sorry. I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

  Everett grabbed another chair and sat in front of him, with his back to Jarryd. “You killed my brother.”

  Greyson’s throat seized up and his lip began to quiver as he felt the thick liquid glue being squeezed onto his wound from behind. Everett watched him, narrowing his eyes and staring relentlessly. Greyson tried to avoid eye contact.

  “You did know that I knew that, right?” He cocked his head inquisitively. “You know that I know everything, right?”

  Greyson nodded sheepishly. Except that I was here.

  “They call me the Eye of Eyes for a reason. I have eyes all over the world – in governments of countries you’ve never heard of and in every branch of this blessed government. Not to mention the CIA, the FBI, the DEA. The gist of it is I know where you live. I know where your friends live. I know hundreds of ways to kill you. Yet I have not. Why?”

  “Because you like me.”

  Jarryd’s hand nearly reached the crack.

  “Close. Because I understand you,” he pushed his finger into Greyson’s chest. “I understand you were defending what was precious to you. You were fighting for what you thought was right. And you won. In a sense, I’m proud of you.” He bent down to look him in the eye, sighing. “You and I, Greyson, we want and love the same things. Freedom…family. But perhaps I am just more willing than you to take extreme measures to save those things. To protect them.””

  Trying to understand this man was making his head hurt.

  “I’d be proud to call you my son. But I know that would make you rather angry.”

  You said it.

  “So let me tell you, son, I’ve tried other methods of persuading this country – to turn them from their sins – but they wouldn’t listen. And if I can’t move heaven, I will raise hell. It may appear evil for a time, but good will result.” He shrugged at himself with a glimmer in his eyes. “So, yes, I want to kill you. But yes, I will spare you. It is my act of mercy – my penance – may it pay for my sins today.”

  He stood up, shoving his chair back into Jarryd’s crawling figure. A look of amusement came over Everett’s face as he saw Jarryd’s progress.

  He had been so close.

  “Pick this kid up. Clean him up. And give Greyson his shirt.”

  His soldiers followed his orders and soon the boys were standing side by side, staring down the Eye of Eyes.

  “Now boys. I’m letting you go for some very good reasons. One, my act of mercy – an atonement. Two, I’m in a rush and imagine you are on a curfew as well. Four o’clock you said? And three, you will report back to your FBI friend and let him know that all is well. We wouldn’t want him to get suspicious.”

  He grabbed Jarryd’s chin.

  “Here are the conditions. If you tell one soul about this, my mercy is rescinded. I will kill you, your families, and your friends. And if for any reason I do not get what I want out of this day, I will blame you. Understand?”

  Jarryd nodded, still squished in the man’s grip.

  Everett released him and moved to Greyson. And then suddenly, as if he knew he was about to change Greyson’s life, he smiled, grabbed the boy’s chin, and leaned in right next to his ear. Hidden from Jarryd, he whispered the words that that burned away everything else.

  “I…know where your father is.”

  Chapter 16

  The words had seared into his mind, emptying him of all other reality. He barely felt the man’s rough fingers on his chin that forced him to look straight ahead. The warm breeze of his voice came again to his ear.

  “If…I get what I want today, and if…Fate brings us together again…I’ll tell you where he is. Deal?”

  He released Greyson harshly and moved away. “Retrieve their clicker from the crack and set its signal to ours as well; then give them their things, and get them out of here.”

  He’ll tell me where he is. He’ll tell me where Dad is.

  Greyson was frozen in disbelief as the soldiers followed orders. Then in a rush of commotion his pack was snapped around his waist, the papers replaced with the clicker inside the pack, and his shirt thrown over his shoulder; but he couldn’t move.

  “Greyson, let’s go,” Jarryd muttered as the elevator opened.

  He followed hesitantly, like he was sleepwalking. Part of him wanted to stay with Emory – to hear more about his father. The only thing he could think about was the whispers. The whispers blowing in his ear exactly what he wanted to hear. I know where your father is. I’ll tell you where he is.

  He felt the words still tickling his eardrums, bouncing around like a shoe in a dryer. The banging was all he could hear.

  A soldier had pulled him into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. He stared dreamily into the giant room one last time and caught the eyes of the boy, Everett’s son, who stood taking instructions from his father. The whole cadre of Plurb children was there, staring at him. The redhead’s nostrils flared as she gripped the whip hanging from her belt loop.

  But their glares had no effect on him. There was no doubt they’d be watching him, making sure he told no one, but it was useless. He would never tell. He couldn’t. I know where your father is. I’ll tell you where he is.

  The doors slid shut.

  --------------------

  SnakeSkin knew when he was being watched. And he didn’t like it. Especially by amateurs. Sitting on a bench, pretending to read newspapers wouldn’t cut it. He would love to kill the stupid things, but he had his orders. These weren’t his targets.

  Everett’s orders were clear.

  “Find the bodyguard. Kill him.”

  ---------------------

  Kip stared across the plastic table at Greyson’s mother. Her hair was frazzled and her eyes were tired from lack of sleep, but she was still an attractive woman. When she wasn’t frowning in concern or squinting in determined thought, her still-youthful face seemed innocent and pure, the same sense he got from Greyson. They didn’t deserve to be in this mess.

  “So what does it all mean?” she asked, elbows on the stacks of papers in front of her.

  He smiled and reached for her hand, taking her fingers in his. He felt the cold metal of her ring. “It means you can stop searching.”

  She looked into his eyes as tears welled in the bottom of hers. Her lips quivered and she took in quick breaths through her nose.

  Buzz!

  Kip’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored it for a moment, caressing her hand and comforting her with his eyes. Then, reaching in to his pocket with his free hand, he took it out and read the message.

  Everything is alright. See you at speech.

  Kip furrowed his brow. Odd. He’d turned the corner of responsibility fast for a pre-teen boy.

  “How do I tell him?” his mom asked with a waver in her voice.

  It was a few seconds before Kip could answer. “We show him.”

  -------------------

/>   The boys wandered out into the sun-draped street, drowsy with emotional fatigue and plagued with an infection of worry too intense for small, twelve-year-old bodies. A thick haze covered their perception of the outside world as their inner thoughts demanded their focus to comprehend what had just happened. Greyson’s mind was already on hyper-drive, running through all of his options, but it kept returning to the same thought. Dad could be out there, right now. Once so far away, he now seemed tantalizingly close.

  “Nolan! Jarryd!” Nick was overjoyed to see them emerge unscathed. He hugged them both, losing some of his reserved manner in the process. “I was about to do it! I was stinkin’ worried. I was that close! What happened? Are you okay?”

  Greyson nodded, his mouth still hanging slightly open and his eyes looking elsewhere. Nick gave him a weird look and turned to Jarryd for answers.

  “Yeah, we’re fine. We just got lost in there,” Jarryd began, making it up as he went. “Found a weird basement. It was pretty scary. Thought we’d be buried, you know? Like the legend?”

  “Oh.” Nick didn’t know what to make of the story. He could tell when his brother was making things up. But what was he covering for?

  While they were speaking, Greyson’s mind kept reeling. There were too many things going on at once and he didn’t know what to think about any of them, like a blind boy given keys to a car and told to drive to Alaska. He didn’t know where to start and who to believe. Could it be true, what Emory had said – what he had promised? It had to be. Why would he make it up? And how will we ever see each other again? Can I make it happen, or is it really up to ‘Fate’?

  “G-Greyson!” Liam ran up and hugged Greyson, snapping him out of his daydream.

  “Liam. Hi. We’re alive, don’t worry.”

  “Y-yeah! W-w-we were about to c-c-call the c-c-cops!”

  “My finger was literally on the call button when you came out that door,” Nick said, still holding his phone. “I didn’t know what I was going to say.”

  “Well, should we call them now, Greyson?” Jarryd asked.

  Nick and Liam looked at him, confused.

  Greyson took in a deep breath and grimaced as the wound in his back stretched. He didn’t know what to say and they were all looking to him. They had to do two things at once and both were screaming at him. STOP THE ATTACK! Shout on the rooftops, call the FBI, and don’t stop for anything! Do the good that has to be done no matter how hard it is!