Bait (14 page)

Defiantly, Diego drew a deeper breath and once again lifted the pillow, screaming harder, louder.

“That’s a bit better,” Vidas said. “But I know you’ve got more in there. Come on! Think about Mac. Really let it out!”

With the mention of Mac, Diego returned the cushion to his face, no longer caring if anybody heard. He screamed long and hard, stopped, and screamed more. It felt crazy and stupid—and so good that he didn’t stop…till he was exhausted. When at last he brought the pillow down, his whole body tingled.

“How’re you feeling?” Vidas asked.

Diego couldn’t tell if Vidas intended the question to annoy him, but it made him once again put the cushion to his face. Maybe this wasn’t such a lame idea.

He biked home that afternoon feeling both calm and exhilarated, laughing each time he recalled Vidas holding the pillow to his face, looking so kooky. He liked Vidas. He felt safe with him. He trusted him. More than he’d ever trusted anybody.

O
N
S
ATURDAY MORNING AT
T
HE
P
ET
S
TOP
,
Diego had to tend to a steady stream of customers since the regular cashier had called in sick. By the time he could finally take his lunch break, he was starved. He dodged through the mall crowds, past strollers and screaming kids, to the food court and was bolting down a burger and fries when he unexpectedly spotted Vidas.

At first Diego didn’t recognize him; he looked so different in jeans and a T-shirt: younger, like an ordinary guy, not at all like a PO. Beside him, holding his hands, were the little curly-haired girl and the boy with glasses from the desk photos.

Maybe now,
Diego thought,
I’ll see his wife.

He swallowed his last burger bite and started to walk over, calling out, “Hey, Mr. Vidas!”

Vidas didn’t hear him as he sat his kids down at a table. Just then, the blond guy who stood next to Vidas in the photo carried over a tray of food. Something about how he leaned over Vidas, joking with the kids, and the way Vidas and the kids smiled back, so close, so at ease, stopped Diego in his tracks.

A wave of realization swept over him: Vidas had no wife; this
guy
was his “partner.” Diego knew it, as surely as he’d ever known anything. That’s why Vidas had evaded his questions, why he didn’t want to talk about himself. The man that Diego had opened up to with his most shameful secrets was gay.

The floor seemed to tilt and sway beneath Diego’s feet. The entire mall was spinning. He’d trusted Vidas, just as he’d trusted Mac and his mom. And just like Mac and his mom, Vidas had betrayed him.

From the table where he was sitting, Vidas casually glanced up. At the sight of Diego standing so close, he seemed startled. “Oh, hi, Diego. I didn’t see you.”

Diego stared openmouthed, unable to respond, heart pounding.

“This is one of my probationers,” Vidas explained to the blond guy.

“Oh, hi.” The guy smiled. “How’re you doing?”

Diego’s stomach gave a lurch; he felt sick. He had to get away. He turned and bumped into a chair that crashed onto the floor. Flustered, he left it there and hurried away through the mall.

“You look white as chalk,” Mrs. Patel told him back at the shop. She pressed the flat of her fingers on Diego’s forehead. “Do you feel ill?”

He wanted to say yes and go home, but he remembered they were already shorthanded.

“I’m okay,” he lied, hoping the work would take his mind off of Vidas. But each time the flow of customers slowed, the image of Vidas and the blond guy intruded back into his thoughts. And as the afternoon progressed, his shock hardened into suspicion—and anger.

Why hadn’t Vidas been honest with him? Was he setting Diego up, waiting to make a move on him? He’d been stupid to trust Vidas. He should never have opened up to him. Never.

At six o’clock, when Diego’s shift ended, he checked with Mrs. Patel to see if she needed anything else.

“No, thanks,” she told him. “I think you need to go rest. You look stressed.”

Diego nodded, eager to get home. But outside the store, Kenny was waiting for him on a mall bench. In the wake of seeing Vidas, Diego had completely forgotten his plans to go with Kenny to a movie.

“’Sup?” Kenny said, standing to greet him. “How was work?”

“All right. Look, I don’t feel like doing anything. I’m going home.”

“Why?” Kenny peered into Diego’s face. “What’s the matter?”

Diego stared back at him, his stomach churning with anxiety, and blurted out, “Vidas is gay!”

He expected Kenny would react with the same outrage he felt. But Kenny merely studied him a moment and gave a shrug. “So?”

“So?”
Diego shouted. “Did you hear what I said? The guy’s a faggot!”

Kenny frowned at Diego as a group of people walked past, staring at them.

“What’s the big deal?” Kenny asked in a calm voice. “You said he’s helping you, right?”

“Yeah! Now I know why.”

“What do you mean?” Kenny asked.

“Aren’t you listening?” Diego snapped. “He’s a pervert!”

Kenny pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking concerned. “Did he try to do something to you?”

“No.” Diego crossed his arms. “But I’m not going to wait around till he does.”

Kenny shook his head. “Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s going to try anything.”

“Why are you defending him?” Diego snapped.

Kenny leaned back a little. “I’m not defending him.”

“Yeah, you are!” The words that followed shot out of Diego’s mouth as though fired by an impulse beyond his control. “What, are you a faggot too?”

He didn’t know why he said it; he knew that Kenny wasn’t gay. But how could he be sure? Who could he trust anymore?

Kenny winced, his eyes filling with hurt. Then slowly, he straightened himself up.

“You know, Diego, all these years I kept thinking that one day you’d stop blowing up at people, that one day you’d change.”

Diego stood stiff, trying not to show the pain he felt at what Kenny was saying.

“I stuck with you,” Kenny continued, his voice breaking, “no matter what. But there’s only so much I can take. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Tears brimmed in his eyes as he turned away.

“Wait!” Diego reached out to grab him, suddenly scared. “Where you going?”

“No!” Kenny recoiled. “You’re on your own now. I’ve had it.”

As Diego watched him walk away, his anger returned. “Go ahead, leave!” he shouted, even as he felt his heart sink. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody!”

He hoped Kenny would turn around and come back. But Kenny kept walking, disappearing into the mall crowd. Diego wanted to run after him, tell him that he hadn’t meant to call him a faggot. But he remained where he stood, ashamed at the realization that he’d done to his best friend the very thing that enraged him if anyone did it to him.

When he arrived home, his mom was still at work and Eddie was at the neighbors. It was probably best that way, so he didn’t have to deal with anybody.

He grabbed some chips and a soda and carried them to his room, wanting to hide from the world.

“Go away!” he told his mom when she came home and knocked on his door. After that, Eddie poked his head in, asking, “You want to play a game?”

“Not tonight,” Diego mumbled, to avoid lashing out at him, too.

Eddie backed out, crestfallen, leaving Diego even more frustrated. Why would anybody want to be with him? He didn’t even want to put up with himself. He jammed his headphones into his ears and blasted some death-metal music as loud as he could stand it, until sometime after midnight when he climbed into bed.

Sleep came fitfully, bringing with it the nightmare shark, its fin rising from beneath the ocean’s surface. Diego woke up gasping, terrified—and angry. He was sick of the nightmare.

As his breath slowed, he crept from bed and walked to the window. Outside, a sliver of new moon shone dimly through a haze of clouds. A stillness hung in the air. It seemed as though nothing was moving; the entire world was asleep. And yet some force, some presence was pulling at him. He could feel it.

The eerie silence, combined with the shark dream, made him recall the magazine article he’d read in detention about the scuba diver who’d come face-to-face with a shark.

The diver described how he’d been exploring a reef when in a single instant all the fish scattered between the corals, and the ocean turned uncannily still. The next moment, the diver sensed a presence behind him. He turned to see a ten-foot shark charging at him.

Trapped by the reef with no hope of escape, some defensive instinct took hold of the diver. Without thinking, he charged back. And as he swam toward the shark, the beast veered and fled.

Diego wished he could do the same thing in his dreams: face the shark head-on. Be done with it. But how could he take on a nightmare over which he had no control?

He gazed out his bedroom window into the night, feeling the strange unseen force pulling at him, beckoning. Maybe he
could
face the shark.

With a sudden irrational sense of purpose, he climbed into his jeans, shoved his sneakers on, tugged a hoodie over his T-shirt, and stole out of the room.

D
IEGO QUIETLY CLOSED HIS BEDROOM DOOR
and padded down the hallway carpet, unsure of exactly what he was going to do. He knew only that he had to do something; he couldn’t go on with life as it was.

Passing by the kitchen phone, he paused an instant and pulled the name card from his wallet. Knowing Vidas wouldn’t be in his office, he dialed, and waited until the voicemail greeting finished. The he left his message.

“I trusted you,” Diego said, his voice shaking, and hung up.

Outside, a drizzly rain had started. Diego pedaled stealthily down the driveway, wiping the raindrops from his eyes, undeterred; he was going to get wet anyway. The street was silent and lonely. Houses were dark, lit only by porch lights.

He knew he was violating probation by being out after his curfew. Hopefully no police car would stop him. He kept to the side streets and when he finally reached the Laguna Madre causeway, he cycled as fast as he could toward the beach.

By the time he reached the dunes, he was panting and sweaty. He chucked his bike against a lamppost, not bothering to lock it, peeled off his sneakers, and trudged toward the sound of the surf. On top of the dune he paused to survey the nighttime scene.

The cloud cover had grown heavier, obscuring any hint of moon. Across the gulf, the horizon flashed with sporadic bursts of lightning. A steady wind was blowing from offshore, sprinkling him with raindrops, while waves pounded the beach, one after another, sending up a salty mist. The red-and-white lifeguard stand stood empty. Not another soul was on the beach.

From the water came the tug that had called to him. Was it the shark? Something was out there. He could sense it. And whatever it might be, he felt ready to face it.

He unsnapped his belt buckle, let his jeans drop, kicked them off his ankles, and tossed them beneath the guard stand. Then he pulled his hoodie and T-shirt off, leaving him standing in only his boxers. Around his neck hung the shark’s tooth. The offshore lightning illuminated the scars up and down his arms and chest. Raindrops chilled his bare skin, the ocean’s spray glistening on his body. As a wave crashed onto the beach, a sense of wildness overcame him.

“I’m not afraid of you!” he shouted toward the ocean. “I’m not afraid of anything!”

Taking a breath, he sprang across the sand toward the surf. Compared to the cool air, the seawater at first felt warm beneath his soles. But as he strode in deeper, his breath caught. The ocean was way colder than he’d thought it would be.

Plunging headfirst into a wave, his muscles tingled. The water engulfed him, invigorating his entire body. When he surfaced, goose pimples dotted his skin.

He reached out his arms and began kicking and stroking away from shore while wave after salty wave crashed over him. He’d always been a good swimmer—ever since Mac taught him. He wondered now: Was it Mac calling him out to sea?

Warmed by his movements, he charged blindly into the oncoming waves, water rolling over his head, until he made it past the surf line. Pausing to catch his breath, he tried to stand but it was too deep to touch bottom. His legs cycled beneath him as he gazed back toward shore. A string of streetlamps outlined the dunes. Far behind them, the city lights made the sky glow orange.

He spun around to view the opposite direction. The gulf waters stretched forever, like in his dreams—except in his dreams it had been daylight, not cold and dark like this. If there were a shark out here, he’d never be able to see it.

“Are you out here?” He slapped the water with his hands and waited.

Only the icy wind replied, howling across the water and whipping at his hair. He was utterly alone. To ward off the cold, he began to swim again, gulping air and kicking harder.

With each stroke, the waves bobbed his body up and down. The monotonous motion allowed his mind to wander, thinking how he’d always loved the ocean…remembering his grandma taking him down to the beach…imagining his real dad, smiling like in the photo, ready to conquer the world…and thinking how different his life might’ve been if his grandma and dad hadn’t left him….

As he swam, his arms began to ache from cold. He wouldn’t be able to stand this frigid water for long. If the shark was coming for him, it had better come soon.

He’d opened his mouth to take a breath when a whitecap caught him full-on, pouring a wave of seawater down his throat. He burst out coughing, splashing to stay afloat. When he looked toward shore, he noticed the lights were a lot smaller than before. How had he gotten so far out so fast?

As his legs cycled beneath him, something large and solid bumped one foot. Instantly, his knees jerked up to his chest. His mind flashed to stories of how a shark first bumped a victim before an attack.

“Come on!” he whispered, keeping his knees up close to his chest. “I’m not afraid of you.” He whirled around, peering at the dark water surrounding him. “Do you hear me? I’m not afraid anymore!”

Then he saw it: the shadowy form far larger than he’d imagined, moving rapidly through the ocean straight toward him. His heart beat furiously, blood pounding in his ears. He braced himself for the slam of the creature’s jaws, the teeth tearing his flesh.

The impact knocked him back. A huge wave buried him beneath the water, spinning him head over heels and streaming past him. He clawed and fought up to the surface, gulping for breath and sputtering seawater.

Wiping his face, he checked his body for wounds from the attack. But there weren’t any. He spun around and scanned the surface, searching for the form he thought he’d seen.

Had it merely been a massive wave? He recalled the old fisherman with the canvas hat telling him,
Not many sharks around here…except inside your mind.
Had the old man been right? But what about the mysterious tug he’d felt calling to him?

Glancing toward shore, he realized he was even farther out to sea than only moments ago. How was he moving so fast? The streetlamps seemed the size of penlights, while the lightning blazed closer now, stabbing down like knives, joined by the exploding crack of thunder.

His body began to shiver, not only from cold but from panic. Instinctively, he started stroking as hard as he could. The rain pelted his back like bullets while he thrashed against the wind-churned whitecaps.

You’re going to die,
he thought.
Not as some hero facing a shark, but as some pathetic fool, totally alone, without anybody knowing or caring.

After what seemed like a million strokes, he lifted his head to check his progress. What he saw made him blink in disbelief. In spite of all his effort, the ocean had pulled him out farther.

He pinched his eyes closed against the icy rain. And in that instant, a wave slapped his face. He kicked furiously to stay afloat, while a sharp cramp gripped one leg, then the other.

Death was coming. He could feel it, stronger than any ache in his body, colder than the water, more penetrating than the lightning around him. And even though he knew no one could hear him, he cried out, “Help me!”

It was the despair of his nightmares. Except this time, he knew how he’d gotten here:
He
was to blame; he’d put himself here.

A prickling like jellyfish tentacles suddenly sparked across his body, from hair to toes. A blinding light flashed, he couldn’t tell how close or far away. The air pressure popped in his eardrums, followed by a deafening crack of thunder, louder than any gunshot. His entire body jolted with fear.

For an instant, the wind and rain abruptly paused, replaced by an unnatural stillness and the echo of the thunderclap. The only other sound seemed to be his terrified heartbeat. Every cell in his body was shaking. Never in his life had he felt so weak, so exposed, so powerless—not even with Mac. This storm and the ocean didn’t care if he lived or died. He was as insignificant as some drifting plastic bag.

But if he died, who would help his mom with Eddie? Who would teach his brother to take care of himself? Who would look after his aquarium fish? Could he just cut out on Kenny, who’d stood by him for years? And what about Ariel? They’d never kiss again. He’d never find out if he was truly capable of love. Was he going to just disappear on everybody, the same as his dad and grandma and Mac had done to him?

Diego stretched out his aching arms, and with a fresh burst of strength he began stroking harder and faster toward shore. He fought hard against the furious storm as it renewed its attack but he was no match for the invisible current that had caught hold of him.

Each time he craned his head over a whitecap, he was even farther from shore. His arms and legs weighed heavier, like useless anchors, and his entire body was growing exhausted. He was about to go down, whether he wanted to or not.

Thrashing to stay afloat, he heard a voice, as clear as if somebody had swam up next to him: “You’ve got to stop fighting, Diego. Or it’s going to destroy you. If you truly want to live, stop fighting.”

Spooked by the clarity of the words, Diego spun around. Where had the voice come from? Only ocean, rain, and lightning encircled him. And what had it meant? If he stopped fighting, the current was sure to drag him down. He was a goner.

The image of the drowned man he’d seen carried into the ambulance flashed through his mind. And Diego recalled what the lifeguard had said:
Swim across a current, not against it. Eventually the current will circle back in.

Diego had known that, but his fear had blocked it from his mind. In panic, he’d tried to fight a losing battle.

He immediately turned parallel to the beach and resumed stroking, trying to ignore the rain pelting him and the ocean chill digging deeper into his body.

As he stroked, he thought about what the voice had said. Where had all his fighting and rage gotten him? He could stay angry at Mac for abusing him, at his mom for not wanting to know about it, at his real dad and grandma for abandoning him, at Vidas for being gay…but no amount of fury would ever change those things. What good was fighting?

Stroke after stroke, he continued to swim parallel to shore, flailing his almost useless limbs, his entire body seizing up. But each time he began sinking, something Vidas had said drifted into his brain:
Just don’t give up, okay? Never give up.

Somehow, the words kept him going, stroke after agonizing stroke, barely staying above water, until at last he felt the circular current carrying him, like a giant hand, gently toward the beach.

Soon the surf was pushing him forward. The sky seemed to run out of rain and even the wind died down. After a few minutes, his feet brushed the sandy bottom, shooting pain up his weary legs. Too exhausted to stroke one inch farther, he let the waves push his body up to the tide line.

At the edge of the beach, he lay spent, his skull throbbing in rhythm with his heart. Sand scoured his thighs and belly. Although he could barely move, he knew he needed to get out of the water and into his clothes, get warmth.

Propping himself onto his elbows, he gazed up one side of the beach and then the other. How far had the current carried him? Which lifeguard stand had he left his clothes under?

He gathered what was left of his strength and pulled himself to a sitting position. Something beneath him poked into his thigh. He burrowed his fingertips into the wet sand and dug the object out.

It was a starfish—an orange starfish, like the one in his dream with which Vidas played hide-and-seek. Diego blinked, incredulous.

Slowly, painfully, he struggled to his feet. In the dim dawn light, billowy clouds ruffled the far horizon. With his aching arm he hurled the starfish as far as he could into the water. Then he started walking.