SICARII: Part III

by Adrienne Wilder

  A million words stumbled in Sam’s mind, none of them willing to come out of his mouth. And with each second, Roshan’s expression crumbled more.

  Sam had to say something. Anything. “Thank you.” He winced. Okay, that was lame, but at least Roshan quit looking at him like he’d crushed his heart.

  For some reason, that jarred loose Sam’s voice. “That was…nice.”

  Roshan gave him a doubtful look. “It’s okay to tell me you didn’t—”

  “No. I did, it’s just. You surprised me.” Sam finally drew a full breath. “I’ve just never kissed anyone before.” Other than his mother and sisters, and probably his dad when he was small, but none of those counted because they were nowhere near the same thing.

  “Oh.” The blush returned to Roshan’s face.

  “Can…” And if Sam thought what he’d said before was lame, he knew, for a fact, what he was about to say would be even worse. “Can we try again?” And he even managed not to squeak.

  A shy smile spread over Roshan’s lips. Lips that were about to touch Sam’s.

  Roshan leaned forward, and Sam met him halfway. Again, warmth, softness, and yeah…the spice.

  The tingle was definitely the kiss.

  Roshan pulled away. “You want to go sit?”

  “Sure. But make sure you watch your step.”

  Roshan made a show of digging his toes into the mud. Sam walked with him. Halfway, their hands wound up entangled. They got to the dock and walked to the end.

  “I like it here.” Roshan sat and dangled his legs over the edge.

  Sam did too. Especially with Roshan. Funny how everything seemed brighter, the smells stronger, the very sound of chirping frogs and birdsong, louder.

  “Thanks for showing this place to me.” There was enough awe in Roshan’s voice to make Sam look at him. “Thanks for being my friend.”

  But Sam wanted more than to be his friend. “Do you think…” A lump formed in Sam’s throat and the temperature in the air went up twenty degrees. “Do you think maybe we could go to the dance together?”

  “Dance?”

  “The Spring Dance. We can go as friends, and it’s okay if you don’t want to go with me, or at all. It will probably be boring and—”

  “Yes.”

  Sam’s inhale lodged in his throat. Had he really expected Roshan to say yes?

  “We’ll probably have to dress in something fancy, which means it will probably be uncomf—”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you—”

  “Yes.” Roshan bit his bottom lip. “There’s just one problem.”

  Sam was pretty sure the hard thump in his chest was his heart about to quit. “What?”

  “I don’t know how to dance.”

  Tension Sam didn’t even register melted from his shoulders. “Don’t worry, neither do I.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “Stand around like everyone else and pretend to have fun.” Sam laughed, but Roshan didn’t.

  “I don’t think I’d have to pretend.” And the way Roshan looked at Sam had him staring at the tips of his mud clogged toes where he dangled his feet inches from the water.

  “Me either. I—”

  A harsh bray of cruel laughter jerked Sam’s attention. Karl Delinsky emerged from the wall of cattails where the path ended at the green patch next to the pond. Stan followed him, but Todd Bowen stopped when the tips of his crutches sank into the soft ground.

  “Well, well, well, looky here, two faggots.” Karl swung a baseball bat back and forth at his side.

  Sam got to his feet. Roshan stood too, and Sam moved in front of him.

  “What are you going to do, Sam. Protect your little boyfriend?” Karl swung the bat with more arc as if practicing to hit an oncoming ball.

  Or Sam’s head.

  He was pretty sure it was his head.

  If Karl hit him with the bat, Sam wouldn’t get up. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it. This was exactly the kind of situation when he needed to call for help, but his bookbag with his phone was all the way at the top of the hill.

  Todd cupped his hands around his mouth. “Break his legs first.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna break his legs, all right.” Karl twisted his mouth up into a cruel smile. “Then I’m gonna break his arms. And while little Sammy lies there crying like a pussy, I’m gonna do the same to the Towel Head.” Karl swung the bat hard enough to make the air whistle. “What do you think of that, faggots?”

  And because Sam didn’t know how to fight, he didn’t stand a chance at stopping Karl. He would have if Marcel had taught him, but he couldn’t because he only knew how to kill.

  Partially blind, deaf, and crippled, would he have been able to even if he could?

  An old man who probably couldn’t even defend himself.

  That’s what Sam’s eyes told him, but his instincts said something completely different.

  Sam pushed Roshan back toward the edge of the dock and turned his head a little. “Jump off.”

  “I can’t swim.” Roshan trembled so hard the vibration rode up Sam’s back.

  “Hang onto the dock. It gets shallow quick, then make a run for it. Stay close to the bank. He’s heavier, he’ll sink. He won’t be able to follow you.” Sam met Roshan’s terrified gaze before sliding his attention back to Karl.

  “Please, Roshan.” Sam could only hope he heard him.

  Karl stepped onto the dock, planks creaking under his shoes. It put some distance between him and Stan, who waited at the end. If Sam could get by, he could get to his phone.

  The gap wasn’t very big, and it would only work if Sam avoided getting struck in the temple. But there wasn’t enough dock width for Sam to go around Karl, so he would get hit.

  The best he could hope for was getting close enough to avoid the end of the bat and take the impact closer to Karl’s grip.

  It was a stupid plan, but the only one Sam had.

  Another look back, and Roshan nodded.

  Sam bent his knees. “Now.” Sam only had one chance at this, and timing was everything. He charged, pushing forward with every bit of strength in his legs, driving splinters into his feet and tearing his toenails.

  There was less than a second of surprise on Karl’s face before he raised the bat. Sam had to put himself where the bat would have the least momentum.

  The air whistled. Instead of ducking away from Karl, Sam raised his arms, guarding his head. Pain collided with Sam’s upper arm, and he didn’t fight the push of the blow, riding it down until he hit the ground.

  Stan was faster than Sam expected, and his escape route closed. One of the two boys crowed in excitement.

  Sam didn’t know if it was the bat or someone’s foot striking him in the lower back close to his hip. The roar of agony shoved a cry out of his throat, and laughter surrounded him. Another strike landed on Sam’s thigh. The pain muted under an odd burn, like nerves doused in acid.

  Sam curled into a ball, tucking his head under his arms. The impact against his ribs sent his breath out in a whoosh, and the second cut off his attempt to draw another.

  Black spots danced in front of Sam’s eyes, and tears soaked his cheeks. He could only hope Roshan was able to get away.

  The volley of hits paused. One of the boys leaned down, his shadow blocking out the sun for a moment as he hovered over him.

  Anything can be a weapon.

  “You like that, faggot boy?” Karl leaned close enough for sweat to drip on Sam’s forearm.

  Anything can be a weapon.

  Sam didn’t have to fake the whimpers of pain, but he didn’t hold back either.

  “You want some more?” Karl practically squealed with laughter. “Or maybe you’d like that bat shoved up your ass.” And the venom in his voice said he didn’t mean it as a joke.

  Anything can be a weapon.

  Even weakness.

  Closer, a slimy wad of spit and mucus landed on Sam’s forearm.

  Sam didn’t kno
w where he found the strength, but he jerked himself off the ground, slamming his head into Karl’s face.

  A thunk rattled against the dock, the bat rolled away. Karl fell on his ass, hands over his nose and mouth. Crimson leaked from under his palms.

  Stan looked at him, and Sam kicked between the boy’s wide stance, driving his heel into his crotch. Stan howled and went to his knees. The action rekindled the pain in Sam’s hip, but he ignored it, shoving both feet out, mule-kicking Stan in the throat. Saliva sprayed from behind his clenched his teeth, followed by a wet choking hiss.

  Karl got to his knees.

  Pure hate burned in his eyes and blood-colored his grin as he went for the bat close to Sam who grabbed it and pushed himself up.

  Todd turned on his crutches and limped back into the reeds.

  Now it was just Sam, Karl, and Stan lying on the ground too busy trying to breathe, chest heaving, eyes closed. Sam couldn’t be sure the kid was conscious.

  Sam stood, his hip protesting, his leg echoing from the hits he’d taken. He adjusted his hold on the bat. It would only take one hit. One good strike.

  “This ends, okay? Now. You leave us alone.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’m going to make you.”

  Karl tried to smile, but it fell. “You’re too chickenshit.”

  “Yeah, well, it apparently takes a whole truckload of chicken shit to bash someone’s head in with a bat.” He took a step closer.

  Karl flinched. “You won’t.”

  “You sure?”

  When Karl met Sam’s gaze, the shadows in his eyes spoke of darker things. Things Karl feared. Things bigger than Sam.

  That whatever drove his hate was fed on a daily basis, and he let it rule him.

  Change him.

  No, Karl wouldn’t stop because he couldn’t.

  And there was only one way to end the kind of destruction Karl created.

  Sam could make sure the other boy never hurt anyone again. Not him. Not Roshan. And who would blame Sam? Who would fault him?

  Sam raised the bat, and an expression close to resignation swept across Karl’s face. As if he’d been waiting for this moment. Maybe even on some deep level hoping his actions would finally drive another person to end what he was powerless to change.

  Actions that made him.

  All Sam had to do was let it happen.

  But the decision would change Sam.

  The only question left: was it worth it?

  Pure rage poured out of Sam in a war cry. He swung low, and the bat whooshed over Karl’s head and connected with the dock post beside him. Chips of wood flaked off. Sam drew back and hit it again and again. Each strike, Karl coward and yelled like he’d felt the blow.

  With a loud crack, the bat splintered, and the top half twirled away, landing in the pond with a soft splash.

  It wasn’t enough. Sam expelled one more scream and flung the handle, sending it in a spin across the pond where it landed close to the other bank.

  Karl raised a trembling hand, touching his cheek, where scratches from the cast-off were just deep enough to draw blood. Tears filled his eyes, and a puddle of urine pooled under his thighs.

  “No more, Karl. Leave me alone. Leave Roshan alone. Just…just no more.” Sam staggered to where his backpack lay before he collapsed.

  7

  Ben didn’t know if it was taking the taxi that made him feel like a ten-year-old chauffeured by a parent, or Jacob’s choice of dating locations.

  Garish neon lights drew out the likeness of a well-known space opera starship. Tiny flashing points created a hyperspace effect on the sign high above the building ostracized to the edge of the outlet mall parking lot. Chimes, bells, laser fire mixed with the computerized monster screams echoed from beyond the blacked-out windows.

  “An arcade?” Ben paid the driver and got out.

  Jacob followed. “Yeah, it was the only place I could think of that might be fun.”

  “Fun, huh?”

  “Plus.” Jacob shrugged. “I’ve never been to one.”

  Ben almost challenged the claim, but the knowledge of how young Jacob had been when he’d lost his chance at childhood made him snap his mouth shut. Hell, with Jacob’s parents, he’d probably never been allowed to have one to begin with.

  “If you don’t want to go in, we can walk to a bar. It’s just a few—”

  “No, this is…” Ben didn’t stop the dopy grin spreading across his face. “Perfect.”

  When was the last time Ben had gone to an arcade? He hadn’t been a regular as a kid, but his uncle had splurged a few times on Ben’s birthday and let him loose with ten dollars in quarters, which he happily spent on stupid racecar simulators, first-person shooters, and his favorite… “You think they’ve got Skee-Ball?”

  “Don’t know. I guess they would. I mean, if that’s the norm.” Jacob worried his bottom lip. “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Yeah, it’s just…hell, I didn’t think there were any arcades left.” Not with the invention of home game consoles.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but this town is about thirty years or more behind the rest of the world and too cheap for a YMCA.”

  “No, I noticed.” Ben had had a good look at the town square and the inside of the sheriff department. “But it’s just, what? Ten miles to downtown?”

  “Yeah, ten miles, across two major highways. Even if kids were inclined to walk that far, they couldn’t.”

  He had a point.

  “Hope they have a change machine,” Ben said.

  Jacob huffed. “The town’s old but not that old.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Jacob knocked him in the shoulder, “C’mon.”

  They started toward the building.

  “Wait.” Ben stopped with his foot on the sidewalk.

  Jacob stopped too. “What?”

  “Since we’re doing the whole preteen date theme here, should we, you know, do the whole hand-holding gig?” Ben had meant it as a joke until Jacob shifted his gaze to watch a group of teenagers perched on the hood of an old Cadillac, drinking beer, but not quick enough to hide the flash of regret.

  Ben reached out and took Jacob’s hand. He startled.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, not at all.” Jacob pushed his fingers between Ben’s.

  His mouth twitched, but it was the thousand thank yous reflecting in his eyes that set Ben’s chest on fire.

  “If they don’t have Skee, you want to play pinball?” He tugged Jacob closer.

  “Not sure they have games that old.”

  “Classics never get old.”

  “You’ve clearly never listened to the Osborn Brothers.” Jacob laughed soft, almost shy.

  It fit him perfectly.

  Ben towed Jacob toward the door, where he pulled instead of pushed, and Jacob wound up tumbling into him.

  Ben busted out laughing, and so did Jacob, but it quickly fizzled under the closeness of his body, and the subtle green tea soap he used. Beneath the offensive neon, the blue of Jacob’s eyes turned a deep shade of violet, and the points of light from the sign reflected back as stars.

  Ben cupped Jacob’s cheek. It still amazed Ben how a man, a very masculine man, could still be so beautifully elegant.

  “We should probably go in.” Jacob exhaled a shudder.

  “Yeah.” Ben traced Jacob’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Probably.” He leaned closer, and so did Jacob. At nearly the same height, it didn’t take much effort to put their mouths together.

  Just the barest tip of Jacob’s tongue darted from between his velvet lips, but it was enough to make Ben whimper.

  Jacob smiled. “I like it when you make those sounds.”

  “Okay.” Ben leaned in again, intent on stealing another kiss.

  The other half of the double doors opened, and a girl with blue hair gave them both a once over. “Jesus, get a room.” She trotted
out with a couple other kids dressed in a mishmash of combat boots and flannel shirts. They ran out to the curb where a station wagon pulled up.

  “Is that what you’d rather do?” Jacob tightened his hold on Ben’s hand.

  What could be better than someplace private, somewhere he could strip Jacob down and taste every inch of him? To have his cock in his ass again, or maybe this time, Jacob would let Ben see what it felt like to fuck a man.

  There wasn’t much.

  But Ben could think of one.

  He opened the door. There was a moment of confusion on Jacob’s face, but it quickly morphed into surprise.

  Then it happened.

  That better-than-anything moment.

  He smiled.

  Ben led the way into the dimly lit room filled with a volley of electronic noises. The clack of wood on wood echoed from between the ping of mechanical flippers and modern sound effects.

  Grappling games lined the wall on the right with fat stuffed animals filling their glass boxes. A few kids made hopeless attempts to snag the brightly colored toys. Large driving simulation games, some cars, others motorcycles, and at least three snowmobiles. Poorly sculpted replicas faced the screens showing a first-person view of everything from roads, to water, to snowy mountainsides.

  More games lined the walls. Most of them a creation born in the late eighties with their dragons, street fighters, and maze runners.

  The wooden clacking grew louder.

  Long elevated alleys faced the back wall. Hooded nets held back the balls that clipped the ridges guarding the holes in the top end. Worn spots showed black through the green of the felt covering the ramp, and most of the numbers painted on the material had faded, but it didn’t stop the kids playing from enjoying themselves.

  Bells went off, and a board above the lanes flashed up a high score only to be drowned out by the over-zealous cheers found in teenagers high on freedom.

  A few glanced at Ben and Jacob before returning to their game.

  Ben dug a twenty out of his pocket. “Do you see a change machine?”

  Jacob watched the chaos of screens flashing from the cabinets.

  “Hey.”

  Jacob blinked a few times then looked at Ben with a smile wider than he’d ever seen. “Yeah?”