Never Wake (25 page)

“See here’s something you have to understand. You and me ain’t big men.”

The Boy’s heart swelled even through his fear at being called a man again.

“There’s always going to be someone bigger and stronger than us.”

The Boy looked at Hoyt’s muscular forearm. Hoyt was big. Not tall like Principal McDaniel, but he had lots of muscles.

“Stronger than you?” he asked with disbelief. Hoyt grinned at him again and pushed on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sometimes stronger than me, too. See, here’s the thing, I ain’t never been beat.” Hoyt’s voice had an air of seriousness that made The Boy nervous. “That’s what you let them boys do to you if you don’t get them back.”

“How do I get them back?” He had forgotten about the spanking because he liked the way Hoyt was talking to him—like he was a real man.

“You still got to pee?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Me, too.”

Hoyt grinned and The Boy’s heart quivered with happiness. Hoyt began to unbutton his tight jeans and pulled out his penis. “The bathroom—” The Boy pointed and watched as motionless as a statue as urine arched across the table into one of the open pizza boxes.

The Boy looked at Hoyt too stunned to speak.

“Not too much. You don’t want them to taste it before they get a belly full. Ya understand?”

Hoyt gave himself a little shake over one of the boxes, tucked himself back in his pants, and buckled his belt. The Boy kept his hand cupped over his crotch.

Hoyt picked up his plate of pizza, and then pulled a closed pizza box over and tossed the lid back. He took a bite of his own pizza and began chewing. “Best pizza in town,” he said. “What you waiting for, boy? You gonna get even or what?” The Boy fumbled with the unfamiliar buttons on the jeans. He didn’t remember the last time he had worn these particular jeans. Hoyt must have gotten them from the back of his closet. They were too tight and rode too high above his ankles. They would probably earn him another beating or at least some harsh teasing on the way home from school. Even nice kids couldn’t resist teasing someone wearing nut-hugger jeans.

Hoyt dropped the crust of his pizza back on the plate. “It’s just gonna be me and you what knows about this, right? Just like our other secret?”

The Boy nodded. His pee came out in drops like Hoyt’s had. The urgency that he had felt seconds before had gone away when he realized what Hoyt had intended. Hoyt must have been satisfied, because he picked up his plate, leaned back, and put his cowboy boots up in one of the chairs.

“What you waiting for? I ain’t gonna be here all day. Go get ’em.”

The Boy started for the door.

“And boy? Make sure you hang on to your plate, unless you want a special topping on your pizza.” He could hear Hoyt cackling at his joke as he walked down the hall and out the double doors. He was halfway across the playground before he realized that he should be happy. Hoyt wasn’t angry—at least not at him. He found Eric hanging by one arm on the monkey bars. The Boy had watched him do this many times from afar. He had tried it once himself, but he had never had the strength to stay up there for long. He bet Hoyt could stay up there longer than anyone.

The Boy braced himself and called out, “Hey.”

Eric turned without changing his grip on the bars, saw who was calling him, grinned, and jumped down. “You changed your pants fast, piss boy. Your momma bring those to you or did you borrow them from one of the teachers?”

“I want to invite you and Sean and Andrew inside for a pizza party.”

Eric looked suspicious. “Why? We ain’t your friends.”

Damn right you ain’t my friends.

“My father is making me do it. He thinks you’ll be my friends if I invite you to a party. I told him you wouldn’t, but he said everyone likes pizza. He said you could have as much as you want, too.” He told the lie so easily that he surprised himself.

Eric didn’t know that neither Hoyt nor Pam gave a shit if The Boy had friends. Eric’s parents threw birthday parties for him every year. The Boy could tell by his expression that Eric wanted to tell him to go to hell, but free pizza proved too hard for him to turn down.

“All right, I’ll get the other guys, but,” Eric moved so close that The Boy could smell the milk and cereal he had eaten for breakfast, “we ain’t never gonna be friends. No matter what your faggity-ass daddy wants.”

The Boy felt the air leave his body as if he had been punched in the stomach. He watched Eric jog off toward the tetherball court. The Boy felt so angry that he was tempted to yell out that Hoyt wasn’t faggity, but he changed his mind.

Hoyt wouldn’t like it if he got his ass kicked again, so he stifled his rage and walked back toward the building. He was almost at the teachers’ lounge when he heard the loud footfalls and the giggles from Sean and Andrew, the boys who always seemed to follow Eric. Hoyt was on his second piece of pizza, he hadn’t removed his feet from the chair, even though Ms. Carter was in the room now.

“This is a phenomenal idea, Mr. Pokorney.”

“What can I say?” Hoyt was giving her his best smile. “I know boys, and what boy can turn down free pizza? I just hope this will help Junior get along better.”

“He’s a lucky boy to have such an understanding father.” The Boy looked down at the floor and then at Hoyt. What if she smelled the pee or suspected what they’d done? What do they do to people who pee in other people’s food?

“They comin’, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” The Boy answered. He had to move aside to avoid being pushed up against the wall as the three excited boys raced into the room. The shortest of the three was two inches taller than The Boy. Hoyt stood up. He towered over them—at least he would for a few more years.

He gave them his Hollywood grin. “Have at it, boys. We don’t want it getting cold.”

Eric elbowed his way toward the pepperoni and picked up a large slice. The Boy picked up his plate and began eating as the other two boys picked up slices from the box with his “special toppings.” The other three boys stuffed pizza in their mouth faster than they could chew.

“Hey now, slow it down, boys,” Hoyt said and laughed loudly. “There’s plenty of pizza for everyone. Take your time and enjoy it. This is good stuff, ain’t it?” All three heads bobbed like the figurines they sometimes gave away at the Beavers games.

Hoyt winked at The Boy and joy flashed through his heart. So this was revenge. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

“So, Ms. Carter,” Hoyt was saying, “aren’t you going to have a slice?” The Boy stopped chewing and sat up straight. What was Hoyt doing?

“No, I can’t. I have to watch what I eat.”

Hoyt looked surprised. “You do? What for? You look fantastic.” The Boy felt ill. He didn’t want Ms. Carter eating pizza that he and Hoyt had peed on. He liked Ms. Carter. He had told Hoyt that.

Ms. Carter laughed, but shook her head.

Relieved, The Boy took another bite of his pizza. He had two slices left on his plate, while Eric and Sean were already on their third.

“You know, on second thought that does look good. Maybe I will have some.”

“Try that there combination. It’s my favorite,” Hoyt said, his mouth full of pizza.

The pizza felt thick and hard to swallow. He felt sick. He looked at Hoyt, but Hoyt was too busy smiling at Ms. Carter. Hoyt picked up his last slice and bit into it. The Boy dropped his half-eaten slice back on his plate

“What’s the matter, boy? You full already?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. He could not tear his eyes from Ms. Carter, who had bitten into her pizza while listening to something Sean was saying. She chewed for what seemed like forever before taking another large bite.

He awakened to a cacophony of gunfire. He was slumped forward, his forehead resting on his arm. He cut off a moan when white hot pain shot down his throat. His head and the back of his neck were so painful that he thought about just falling back into oblivion so that he wouldn’t have to deal with it. He remembered the bat coming toward his face, and his eyes flew open.

He focused on his hands first. A girl he’d dated in college—he could no longer remember her name—had called them beautiful. He agreed with her. They were beautiful as hands go, but he had kept his opinion to himself. His hands hung limp and pale, encircled by a pair of silver handcuffs encrusted with dried blood—his blood.

More gunshots blared from a TV in the front room. He forced himself to straighten so that he could see through the open door. Reddish brown droplets marred the light-colored carpet along the hallway. He had misjudged the boy in more ways than one. He wouldn’t have guessed that the boy’s frail body would be strong enough to drag his dead weight into this room. He must not have been strong enough to lift him on to the bed, or he hadn’t tried, because Abe half sat, half lay on the floor, both hands cuffed to the bedpost. Judging from the ache in his shoulder blades he had been that way for a long time. Other pains besides the ones in his head and neck made themselves known, and he was finding it hard to concentrate.

The TV had not ceased its endless ricocheting gunfire. He craned his neck to see through the open door and down the hallway. The TV went silent, and the upper body of the boy, Jake, appeared as he leaned back on his elbows to look down the short hall into the room where Abe was held prisoner. Abe wondered how many times he had stared down that hallway at him while he was unconscious.

“You’re awake.” His voice sounded lazy, as if he had just awakened from a short nap. Fear kept Abe from answering him. Jake stretched, stood up, and started toward him.

The swelling around Abe’s eye made it impossible for him to see detail, but he could tell the boy was holding something in his hand. A gun.
Please tell me he doesn’t have a gun
. Jake propped one bony shoulder on the door frame. He tapped something against his pant leg and Abe realized from the sound more than the sight of it that it wasn’t a gun. He squinted until he made out the colored buttons of a wireless controller.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can.” Jake’s answer was too matter-of-fact for Abe’s liking.

Abe suppressed a shudder. What the hell had he done? Why hadn’t he listened to Gregory? He had been too cocky—so sure that he could handle things. And now…now he could be about to lose his life.

“Son, did you kill that woman in my clinic?”

Jake held the game controller in front of him and began pressing the buttons as if he were sitting in front of a TV playing a game. It went on long enough that Abe wondered if he had forgotten he had been asked a question. Jake dropped the controller and slouched back against the door frame and said, “Yep.”

“Why?” Abe’s throat closed around the word. He wanted to lay his head down on his arm. He couldn’t care less about the hooker. He cared about his research, and now thanks to a mistake—an oversight named Jake—he was finished.

Jake acted as if he hadn’t heard the question and continued to study Abe. “Are you a doctor?”

Abe almost didn’t answer, but he was too curious not to. “Yes, I am. I want to try to help you.”

Jake slanted his head to the side. They could have been discussing football or some other mundane topic. The boy seemed unmoved by anything he had done. Abe’s heart gave a hard thump. He had to keep him talking.

“I used to want to be a doctor.”

“Why did you change your mind?” Abe was sure he was in shock, although his mouth seemed to making the right sounds.
What happened? How did it all go wrong?
He had checked the backgrounds of all of them, even the hooker. He had made sure that none of them would be a threat to the others.

Jake laughed and his genuine amusement sent cold fingers creeping down Abe’s spine. “What difference does it make now? Everyone’s asleep; who needs doctors?”

“Jake, why would you do that to your parents?”

Jake’s thin body stiffened. “Don’t fucking call me that.” His voice held an icy threat. No, a promise. Abe felt off kilter, as if he had taken a wrong step and had realized it too late to save himself from a fall. He was very aware of his inability to protect himself. So he stayed quiet until Jake appeared to relax.

Abe kept his tone contrite. “I’m sorry. I thought that was your name. What would you like me to call you?”

“You hungry?” Jake asked, once again ignoring Abe’s question and asking his own.

Abe wanted to say “no.” His stomach churned at the thought of putting anything in it. “Yes,” he said. Eating would give the appearance of calm, and it would buy him more time.

Jake pushed away from the door frame and stretched his arms above his head, fingers entwined. “You’re not really hungry, are you?” he asked as he dropped his hands to his sides and let out a great burst of air that Abe was sure was meant to sound like a disinterested sigh.

“I haven’t eaten in a few days.” That part was true, he hadn’t eaten in days and that wasn’t helping his head any, either.

Jake looked like a typical bored teenager, but Abe wasn’t fooled. He was a chameleon, capable of going from innocent to lethal in seconds. Is that how he had gotten to Reba Stefani? Had she been relieved when her door opened to reveal this frail-looking boy? Abe wondered if she had been as afraid as he was now when she looked into those calm eyes for the last time. A shiver traveled through his body as he remembered lifting Jake’s eyelid and shining a penlight into each of his eyes. They hadn’t seemed any different from countless other teen boys’. They seemed evil and serpentine now.