

## A Better Life

By

Eddie C Dollgener Jr
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Eddie C Dollgener Jr

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/edollgener

All rights reserved. Except as allowed under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Quitman McDonald Publishing

Printed in the United States of America

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All rights reserved.

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### A Better Life

Jason stretched out on the living room sofa. A slight yawn escaped his mouth. The baseball game really wore him out. It was extremely hot outside. Yesterday, the temperature reached up to one hundred degrees and it was not even the middle of June yet. Outside, the sun beat down on the little town of Lorena with unrelenting fury. The hot desert winds that roared into the West Texas Town brought painful stinging dust clouds. During the summer months, most afternoons were void of playing children, who sought refuge, just as Jason had, in the safety of their homes.

Jason still relished the home run he slammed over the rusty fence at the ballfield. It helped his team win the game. The feeling left him somewhat elated. He looked up at the ceiling and smiled. He watched repeatedly in his mind's eye as the small white ball sailed a good twenty feet beyond the fence. He had put every ounce of strength into that swing despite the hitch in his right arm. He had missed most of the first of the season with a broken elbow. He had been their star pitcher up until then. If he had not been so stupid, he would have been able to play the whole season.

Jason turned on the television just in time to catch the last of Tom and Jerry. That was his favorite cartoon. The sun coming through the window felt too warm. Dust particles danced in the beams. He watched the cartoons until the afternoon news began. With his energy rebounding just like many other eleven-year olds, he was ready to go back outside and do something else. If it had not been for the cartoons and the heat, he would not have even gone home.

Jason walked across the street to where his best friend lived. Michael was only a few months older than he was. They had been best friends since before he could remember. When Jason was not playing baseball, he spent most of this time at Michael's house.

The other boy was a bookworm. Michael could read five books in one week and still manage to play games with Jason, who struggled to read one book in two weeks.

Mrs. Wharton answered the door and smiled at Jason as she shook her head. "Michael is at the library and will not be back until later this evening. You can come back after dinner and watch movies with him, if you like."

Jason expressed disappointment. "It is too far to walk in the heat to town to the library." Disappointed, he turned around to go back home.

"I can drive you up there," Mrs. Wharton offered. "I really do not mind."

"No!" Jason realized his answer was too abrupt. "Mother does not want me to leave the neighborhood. I will be alright."

Mrs. Wharton's smile faltered. "Okay. We will see you tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jason thought Mrs. Wharton was the most beautiful woman on earth. "Can we watch a scary movie?"

The woman's smile returned. "It cannot be too scary. I do not want you boys to have any nightmares tonight. Bring your pajamas."

Jason started to tell her that he did not have any pajamas. It was unlikely that he would have permission to spend the night at Michael's house, anyways. He turned to walk back home, but had to wait a moment as a tumbleweed, taller than he was, rolled past. The wind that pushed it along its trek brought paper cups, tin cans, and various other detritus from the center of town. He saw a red and white soda can and he licked his dry lips, thirsting for a cold, sweet drink.

When Jason re-entered his house, instead of sitting down to watch more television, he went upstairs to his bedroom. His bedroom was typical of most young boys' bedrooms, although a bit too neat.

Where Michael had his reading skills to entertain him, Jason chose model building to escape his boredom and fuel his imagination. On his desk sat an unfinished diorama of a tank rolling through a meadow. One of its tracks rested on the gut of a fallen soldier. He could never seem to make that soldier flat enough.

Next to the model sat a picture of Jason's Daddy when he was still alive. He could not remember much of Daddy. He could remember some of the hugs and kisses that he longed for now. He remembered a camping trip, the last good memory he had, to a place called Clayton Lake, Oklahoma. That had been almost five years ago. They had been fishing from a canoe in the middle of the lake. The memory was all that remained of a better life.

Not long after the camping trip, when he had been working on an oilrig near Ambrose, Daddy suffered a heart attack that caused his death. He fell from the top of the rig into the steel skeleton of the structure. The injuries from the fall had been so terrible that they would not open the casket at the funeral. Jason could not kiss Daddy one last time goodbye.

Jason jumped up on his bed, something he did not dare do when Mother was around. Above his bed an unfinished mobile sported model WWII aircraft. An F-4U Corsair pursued a Japanese Zero. He tapped the mobile so that the planes spun around each other in a mock dogfight. He rested back on his bed and watched them until he fell asleep.

Jason had been asleep no more than an hour when he heard Mother enter the house. She was humming quietly to herself, which indicated that she was in a good mood. Still, he had to be careful what he did around her. One wrong move could bring disaster. He did not dare go down to meet her. He had learned that that valuable lesson when he was barely five. She had to call him first, and if she did, he would have to be there in an instant.

He listened very carefully as she began to work in the kitchen. He worried that he had done something wrong or left a mess and that she was going to find it. He could not remember if he had cleaned up his dishes from lunch, which had consisted of peanut butter and half of a banana forgotten at the back of the refrigerator.

To ease his worries, he stood up on the side of his bed next to the window. He looked to see if Michael's bicycle leaned against the old post cut from a long dead tree. It was not there yet. He looked out to the distant two-lane blacktop that led into Sweetwater, which was over one hundred miles away. It shimmered like watery glass in the early summer heat.

Jason turned away from the window and slapped his mobile so hard that it spun around violently. He had not heard Mother come up the stairs and nearly gasped when he saw her standing in the door. He froze in terror, paralyzed the way a small rabbit was in the headlights of an oncoming car. They forbid him to play on top of his bed.

"It is a good thing your room is clean." Mother's tone was cold and flat. "Now come downstairs and set the table for dinner."

Jason jumped off his bed and started to walk by Mother obediently. As he did, a deft hand lashed out and caught him by his ear. He had to stop dead in his tracks, fighting back the urge to yelp in pain. Hot pain burned in his ear as she twisted it upward. Her other hand slapped his cheek hard enough to make wide spots flow through his vision. This time he could not stop the outcry and that brought a fresh burst of pain to his ear. He could never predict her moods or her reactions.

"Shut up! You deserve this!" Mother twisted his ear even more.

Now the poor boy stood on his toes and struggled to keep from grabbing her arm or crying any louder. "I am sorry, Mother." Tonight was going to be a tight wire act.

"I told you never to stand on your bed or jump around on the floors!" Mother forced him toward the staircase. "Not get down there and set the table!"

Jason nearly fell down the stairs as he hurried to get out of her reach. Tears rolled down his cheeks though he wanted so badly not to cry. It seemed to give her some sort of satisfaction to see him in pain. He did not understand that those things were not really his fault.

"Use the fine china to set the table," Mother told Jason when they were in the dining room.

The china set belonged to his grandmother and was very special. That made the boy especially nervous. Mother must be expecting company or planned something nice for Randy when he got home. Occasionally, when one of the dishes would rattle, Mother would glare at him. That made him even more nervous.

Just as Jason had finished setting the table, Randy lumbered in through the front door. His stepfather was a tall, overbearing man with a slight beer gut. The man had been out of work for nearly a year and spent most of his time at a bar in town. Jason was glad the man never stayed at home with him during the day. He hated the man with a passion. Nevertheless, he had to live with Randy because he was married to Mother. Jason tried to avoid contact with the man as much as he could, but too often he was hard to avoid.

Dinner consisted of fried chicken, corn, and peas. The boy ate quietly, listening to Mother and Randy talk about adult things. Jason never said anything to his parents when they were sitting at the table, not until they were finished eating. Several unexpected slaps to a tender cheek had broken him of that bad habit. When they all finished eating, he excused himself, and that was all he was permitted to say. Very carefully, he picked up his dishes and set them in the sink.

"Go to your room, Jason." His mother looked at him casually. "Your father and I have something to discuss."

How can she call that drunken idiot my father?

Jason never allowed himself to acknowledge Randy as a father figure. There had been only one father in his life. Randy did not deserve to fit in Daddy's shoes.

"Yes, Mother," Jason replied in a servile manner.

"Jason." Her taught voice hinted at something important that he was forgetting.

"Huh?" Jason looked back at her with the eyes of the cornered animal. His heart felt as though it had skipped several beats. He tried to hide his fear, though.

"Are you forgetting something?" She tapped her cheek with a forefinger and gave an expected smile.

Is Mother in a good mood? She only wants a kiss. That is all she wants...just a kiss. That is good.

Jason's love for Mother was greater than his concern for his own well-being. Inwardly, he let out a sigh of relief. A kiss was something he could rarely give her that he enjoyed sharing with her. He almost ran to her and kissed her, feeling the softness of her cheek warmed to the sensitivity of his tender mouth. She kissed him back and hugged him briefly. It was one of those brief moments, fleeting memories of love, that made him forget some of the lesser painful moments of his life. Even if only for an instant, it was a moment filled with a blissful peace.

"Goodnight, Mother," he said as he kissed her again.

"Do not forget Randy." Mother was too gentle as she turned Jason to the man.

Jason hesitated too long. He was reluctant to have any contact with Randy, but he knew Mother watched every move he made. He wondered if she knew about them. He forced himself to step closer and reached his arms up to put them around the neck of the man who did not deserve to be a father. He kissed the cheek that was rough with beard stubble as quickly as he could, and then pulled away immediately. He felt he betrayed Daddy every time he had contact with Randy.

"Off to bed now." Mother's voice was so warm and inviting!

"I will check in on you later." This came from Randy, who gave the boy the smile of a used car salesman.

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Of course, Jason knew what that meant. He turned to his mother to see if she was aware about what Randy planned. She paid no attention to their interaction, which burned away the pleasure of the moment before. Randy kept on smiling. That smiled so unnerved Jason that he became afraid. There was no way to stop that man.

One time, Jason tried to tell Mother when Randy first started visiting his room when she was not home. She called her son a liar.

You spoiled brat! You are just saying that because you do not want me to have anybody else except your father. The man is dead!

Mother humiliated Jason in front of Randy, forcing him to strip all his clothes off and lay on the bed. She whipped him front and back with the telephone cord, which bit into his flesh so many times that he could not keep count. He almost went to the hospital because of the punishment he deserved. She locked him in his room for week. Jason did not dare say anything else about the man to her.

Jason knew that he had been wrong. He never should have said anything about Randy. He was always wrong in his actions. He wished that he could be a better son for Mother, but he kept making mistakes. He was the one who accidentally walked in when she was with one of her other boyfriends. That mistake caused him to miss a week of school.

Jason was so afraid of what might happen with Randy later, that he lost all poise in his movements. He wanted to hurry up and get away from both of them, to get to what little safety existed in his room. He stumbled over his own feet. What happened next became a blur of the events of a day he would never forget. He should have tried to catch himself on the table, but his reflexes often reacted before he could control them. His hand caught on the corner of the table. Nevertheless, the fall still happened. He fell, pulling the tablecloth and Grandma's fine china serving bowl down with him. He saw it fall and break into three pieces. The cherry cobbler poured out of the remnants like the blood of a creature from some horror movie.

Of course, Jason knew that it was his own fault again. There was no doubt about that. He could see the angry conviction in Mother's eyes. She rose up ever so slowly in anger from her seat. The boy got up off the floor with cautionary movements and backed away from his accident in terror. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he shook his head, hoping in vain to ward off the punishment. He paused in the doorway to the living room when she stooped to pick up the broken bowl with trembling hands.

"No Mother! I am so sorry!" Jason cried now, even though he had not yet received punishment. "Please do not..."

"This was Grandma's china you broke with some clumsy actions." She managed to get the words out clearly through tightly clenched teeth.

"I did not mean to." Jason's voice took on a pleading tone.

"You clumsy little shit!"

Suddenly a large piece of the bowl hurtled towards Jason at a speed faster than he could dodge. It struck him on his temple, sending an intense shock into his mind. Tiny black and white dots clouded his vision almost to the point of obscurity. The pain that followed almost instantly was too real and intense to allow him to pass out into a peaceful bliss.

The force of the impact sent Jason sprawling to the floor. Fresh blood streamed from the cuts on his face. There was one cut above his right eye that was about four inches long and deep enough to show the grayish white color of his skull underneath. The one that ran along his upper cheek to about the center of his right ear was not nearly as deep. He cringed as bloodstains began to form on the living room carpet. Awkwardly Jason tried to get up and get away from Mother. The blood from his right eye half blinded him. Every time he cried, he swallowed a mouth full of blood. Trying to get away was the worst mistake he ever made. It left him backed into the corner between the front door and the living room couch.

"You do not turn away from me!" The anger in Mother's voice intensified.

Jason no longer had the voice to beg her to stop. It just was not in him anymore. He tried curl into a defensive fetal position and struggled to draw his knees up and protect his vital organs. That seemed to anger her even more as she caught him up by his arms before he could do anything else.

"You little shit! That bowl is very expensive!" Mother shook him violently. "Why do you have to be so stupid all the damn time?"

"I do not know! I do not know!" Jason cried. "I am sorry!"

Mother was about to tell him to clean the floor when she caught sight of her new white couch soiled with the red ballfield dirt. "What the hell!" Her face twisted into an ugly mask or rage. "You got dirt on my new sofa!"

All hell broke loose then. Mother's hand curled into a fist as hard as stone. Jason saw it coming and closed his eyes. She hit him as hard as she could. Not in and out like punches, but up and down like a sledgehammer. She struck at random his back, his shoulders, his neck, and his head. He received several blows to the head that was, in a way, a blessing because it numbed out all the other strikes. The world became a gray cloud with only shadows moving against him.

Mother's rage began to wane when the boy stopped resisting her abuse. "I will teach you the value of expensive things!" She threw Jason down to the floor and kicked him once in the backside as her energies were spent. "You will never play baseball with your friends again!" She turned and grabbed her purse from a coffee table. "I need to get a drink, Randy. I will decide what to do with this ungrateful little shit when I get back."

Jason looked up at her through swollen, sorrowful eyes as she reached for the front door. She scowled at him with disgust and threw open door, smiling wickedly at the sound of cracks in the boy's broken ribs the door had caused, and seem even more pleased at the squeal of pain that followed. She slammed the door shut behind her. Thoroughly weakened, crying from exhaustion and pain, Jason lay there unable to move.

Randy sat at the table and finished gnawing the chicken leg that he had been eating on before the whole mess it started. All the while, he watched Jason lying helpless and crying in the corner with a different kind of hunger in his eyes. When he cleaned the kitchen, he took time now and then to watch the boy with care, and then returned to work. When he finished cleaning up, the man walked over to the boy and knelt beside him.

Jason managed to look up at him with dark, terrified eyes. Not again tonight. The evening was only getting worse.

"Well little guy." Randy spoke in a deceivingly soft, soothing tone. "It looks like you have gotten yourself into quite a mess this time."

Jason tried to say something, but his voice was too choked back with tears. His side hurt too much even as he breathed. Randy picked the boy up and helped him in getting upstairs. It hurt to walk. It hurt to live. He wanted to die so badly. He just wanted to give up and get away before everything got worse.

Randy put Jason in the bathroom. "Let me go get my robe on. I do not want to get any blood on my new clothes. I will be just a minute and then we will get you cleaned up and bandaged."

Jason wanted to leave right then and there. His body could not obey his will yet. It still tried to cope with the beating. Therefore, the boy sat waiting for the inevitable. He would not be able to resist tonight.

How could I be so stupid? None of this would have happened if I had not been such a clumsy shit! Mother is so angry at me. I could have still played in the baseball game tomorrow. Now, I will never get to see my friends ever again. It is all my fault. Why did I have to be so stupid?

"What are you thinking, sport?" Randy stood in the doorway dressed only in a robe. His grayish pink gut stuck out through the front of the robe that was entirely too small for him.

"Nothing." Jason whispered as he turned his head away.

"Well, we will have you fixed up here in a little while." Randy walked over to the bathtub beside Jason and began drawing up water for a bath. "Let's get you undressed while the tub is filling up."

Jason hurt too much to protest. He braced himself mentally, forcing back the feelings of violation and humiliation. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it did not. He did not really care anymore. Randy had taken off his shirt and was checking the ribs on his right side. The man touched the painful spot.

"Ouch!" Jason winced, fresh tears bursting from his eyes.

That was how it all began, was it not, with the touching? Years earlier, Randy would sit with the little boy, dressed only in his underwear, in front of the television. Mother had gone to the grocery store or something. While Jason watched cartoons, the man would reach under his shorts and grope him.

Randy was pulling Jason's pants down now.

Jason pushed himself deeper into his mind to a time before his real daddy died. He wanted to go back to the last time they went camping.

Off came the underpants as that weird, hungry look returned to Randy's eyes.

In Oklahoma, there were trees so tall that they seemed to touch the sky.

Randy gently lowered Jason into the soothing warm water.

They were on the Canadian River! They had rented the big red canoe from the old Indian. How proud that Indian seemed, despite his weathered face and the hair as white as a January snow.

"Let me get some Epson salt. It will help out a lot." Randy whispered into Jason's ear.

Despair ripped reality back into existence.

Jason watched as the man reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out the small bluish-white box. He let out a sigh and tried to slip back into that canoe Daddy had taken him out in. The memory would not come back to obliterate the present. Jason watched Randy pour a generous amount of the salt into the water and stirred it around. The man looked at him in a way that was almost loving, and yet demanding. Jason wanted to shy away from that look. Randy caught his chin with ever so gentle hands that forced their eyes to look on one another. The man almost seemed to care about him.

"You know you should not make your mother mad like that." Randy twisted Jason's soft red curls within his fingers. "She almost killed you tonight."

"I did not mean to break that bowl." Jason stammered.

"I know that." Randy grabbed a bar of soap and began to bathe the boy and wash his wounds. "You just have to be careful around her. She could mess up that beautiful face of yours. I love you Jason, as much as your father did or more. I do not like to see you get hurt."

Somewhere deep inside the core of Jason's soul, a tiny spark of anger came into existence. It was so small at first that he barely realized what was happening. Randy's words had set the ember into existence. There existed no comparison between the love from his Daddy and what this man called love. It burned Jason's heart for the mere suggestion.

Randy wrapped the silent child's rib cage so that he would not be in too much pain. He even sewed the wound above the eye and the one along the cheek. He carefully applied the iodine. Jason winced as the medicine brought searing pain to the severed nerves of the wounds. The bandage around his chest helped to ease the pain from his ribs. It was a dull throb, and as soon as he took the aspirin, he would be able to ignore the pain. He watched as Randy fished out a jar of petroleum jelly from the cabinet. The man slipped it down into the pocket of his robe. Jason shuddered with disgust and expectation. He knew what was coming soon.

"Come with me, son." Randy helped Jason off the side of the tub, not even bothering to dress him. "It is getting past your bedtime."

Tears of shame streamed across Jason's face and down onto his pillow after Randy left him alone on the bed. The act of violation left him exhausted and sore. He lay there naked under the sheet, unwilling to move. Movement caused the pain to flair, despite the aspirin. Randy promised a stronger pain pill that would help him sleep, but not until he returned. The man always came back for a second round of torture. He curled into a fetal position, crying aloud for the first time that night.

It was then that the ember inside his soul became a wildfire out of control. It was not just anger that fueled the flames. The years and years of humiliation kept bottled up until that night burst out and poisoned his soul. Jason felt deeply ashamed of himself. He was at the mercy of a mother whose punishments were too severe. The man, whose sick desires played out on him repeatedly, finally pushed him over the edge of sanity. He had to get away tonight, before it could ever happen again. He could not live with them any longer.

The wildfire slowly helped to build up Jason's strength that he needed to get away. As soon as he was far enough away, he would take the rest he needed to let his wounds heal. Then he would move again. Mother would be gone at least until the bars closed. If he waited any longer, Randy would come back for the next round with him before midnight. If the second time could be avoided, Jason needed to try.

Jason forced himself up out of bed to go to the bathroom. He cleansed himself of Randy's filth, scrubbing everything until he was nearly raw. He stepped out into the hall and stole a cautious glance downstairs. The creep sat in a chair, beer in hand, watching Saturday night wrestling tapes.

Jason went back to his room and, being very quiet, dressed. He took his pillowcase from his bed and started to put some extra clothes in it. He decided to go ahead and take his pillow and a blanket. He went outside his room to steal another glance at Randy. His heart skipped a beat. The man slept with his head rolled to one side and snored loud enough to wake the dead.

Jason went back to his room and checked over everything. He looked at the picture of his Daddy and found himself starting to cry again. He bit his lip, determined to leave the pain all behind. He climbed to his window, clutching the picture of his father close to his heart. Carefully wincing because of the terrible pain, yet never crying out, he climbed down the dilapidated trellis beside the front porch.

Except for the occasional dog barking in distant yard and the constant rustle of dry tumbleweeds in motion, the night was eerie and quiet. After dark, small Texas towns shut down almost all business activity with the exception of fast food joints on the highways or bars in the seedier parts of town. The air was still oppressively hot with heat radiating from the pavement.

Jason looked into the front window, saw Randy still sound asleep, and turned to leave his life of pain behind him forever. He was about to step out into the street when a familiar voice startled him badly. He nearly dropped into one of his protective postures. He turned and looked up to his friend, who leaned half way out of a window.

"Where are you going?" Michael squeezed his eyes to see Jason. He was nearly blind without his glasses.

"Ssshhh!" Jason whispered in a harsh manner. "I am running away."

"Wait up!" Michael was always one for adventure, especially one that involved his best friend. "I want to come with you."

There was only one person alive in the world that Jason cared as much for as he did for Daddy, and that person was Michael. He thought about the decision for a long moment while the other boy disappeared from his window. He could not very well just leave his best friend behind. Yet he was uncertain about what was going to happen now, and the boy wanted the comfort of somebody to walk beside him as he left the only home he had ever known.

"Hurry up about it!" Jason was not sure he should be letting Michael come along with him. "Mother will be back soon."

Jason crouched near a dead row of dried out hedges and waited nearly five minutes before Michael came out. His friend sure was lucky to have a backpack. His parents were good to him. They were gone visiting with their church, so he was able to come out to the front door just as smart as could be. He beamed at Jason with the eyes of all boys setting out on the adventure of a lifetime.

Jason was not as enthusiastic as he took a last glance toward his porch, expecting to see Randy there watching him. "Come on. I want to be out of this town before morning."

"Why are you running away, Jason?" Michael almost had to jog to keep up with his best friend, who did not seem as cheerful as when he had come home from the baseball game.

"I just want to have a better life." Jason really had no idea how he was going to get to wherever he was going as he kept to the darkened portions of the street out of the lights. "I have to get away from them!"

"You want to leave your mother and Randy?" Michael knew the relationship between Jason and his step-father was non-existent, but he could not grasp the idea of leaving a true parent. "Jeez! What happened to your face?"

"I do not want to talk about it." Jason gasped from the pain.

Michael's enthusiasm for a grand adventure turned into real concern for Jason's well-being. "You should go to the doctor and have that looked at."

"If I go to the hospital, they will find me there and take me back home." Jason stopped to catch his breath in painful, stabbing gasps. "Besides, I already have a doctor in the house. Remember?"

"Where are you going to go?"

"I am going to Hollywood."

"How are you going to get there?" Michael looked at Jason's pack. "Can I help you with that? I do not mind."

Jason took a moment to think over Michael's question as he gladly handed over his bag. It made him nervous to stand still, but he did not realize how weakened he was. Even though they were a block away, he expected to see Randy to run out from their house after him. Michael's last question perplexed him. He really had no idea how to get to Hollywood.

"Do you have any money to ride the bus?" Michael saw blood oozing from the facial wounds.

"That bus does not run until tomorrow afternoon. They will find me before that." Jason started walking again, in a different direction, yet still away from his home.

"You could stay at my house tonight," Michael offered. He could not understand Jason's desperation to leave immediately. "Momma thought you were coming over, anyways."

"No! I have to get away from him!" Jason cupped his hands over his mouth to stifle a scream of rage. "I hate him!"

Michael thought of an idea that seemed a good solution. "The hobos are always getting free rides on the empty box cars. We could stow away in one of the empty freight cars on the rail line to Santa Fe."

"What time is it?" Jason changed directions again, this time in the direction of downtown where the depot was.

Michael glanced down at his watch. "9:35."

"The train to Santa Fe stops through here until 10:00 to let the south bound trains pass." Jason felt a surge of hope as freedom neared.

That seemed to be their best bet to Jason. He did not have to run all night to escape the reaches of his parents. It would allow him time to rest up and heal a little. They headed off across an open street to the rail yard. A security guard sat snoring on a bench at the depot. He did not wake from his sleep when the two boys hopped aboard an empty freight car and crawled back into the dark shadows.

Exhausted, both boys collapsed against the back wall of the train. There was no comfort from the remaining heat of the day and both of them were drenched with sweat. The boxcar smelled of rust and oil and a slight remnant of whatever merchandise it had once carried. Jason tried to hide his misery, but it did not escape Michael's concerned eye.

"You should go home, now." Jason stretched out his thin blanket on the hard metal floor. "I think I hear the last southbound coming."

"I am staying with you." Michael laid out his sleeping bag. "When we get you to Hollywood, I will call Momma and she will pay for my ticket back home."

A metallic groan vibrated through the floor of the boxcar. Jason put his pillow down and then carefully positioned himself into a prone position. The last train was getting very close and its whistle reverberated painfully within the boxcar. Michael lay on top of his sleeping bag next to Jason.

"You have a really good mother and father." Jason turned so that he could look at Michael. "My Daddy was good."

There was a long moment of silence before Michael finally asked a question that had been nagging at him for a long time. "Why does your momma hit you like that?"

Jason felt his stomach drop away. That was something he had never wanted anyone else to know. "I guess it was because I broke my grandma's China bowl. It was kind of stupid of me."

"My Momma never hit me like that. I saw your Mother throw a bowl at you!" Michael touched the wounds on Jason's face carefully. "That is what caused this, was it not?"

"I did something bad and I deserved punishment." Jason pushed Michael's hand away from his face. It still hurt too much to be touched. "Do you get punished when you do something bad?"

Michael felt a bit of embarrassment. "I get time out from my books or privileges like the library taken away."

The other train was upon them. The train was long and carried a lot of weight. Its passing shook the ground beneath both sets of tracks, and consequently, the static train waiting to embark. The movement of the boxcars caused a cooling wind to circulate where the two boys waited. After the southbound had passed, there was a jolting shift in the boys' boxcar as the whole train lurched, and then began rolling forward.

"It is not too late to jump off and go back home," Jason suggested.

"You need my help right now." Michael fished two bottles of water out of his backpack. "Did you think to bring along any of this?"

"You are a smart kid." Jason tried to sit up, but it hurt too much to do it on his own. "Did you bring something to eat, too?"

Michael helped Jason sit up and opened his water. "Just sips. I have four more bottles of water, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. That needs to last us a couple of days."

"I wish that I was as smart as you." Jason watched as the last lights of the town of Lorena disappeared into the desert night. "Maybe then I would not do such stupid stuff to make Mother so angry at me." He turned back to Michael. "How could you see she hit me with the bowl?"

"When I came home from the library, I could see it happen through your living room window." Michael studied Jason for a moment. "I got scared and told Momma about it tonight at bedtime. She said she believed me. I think that is why she and Poppa went to talk to the pastor. His phone is out. He also works for some place called C.P.S. They tried to call the police, but they are all out working a wreck out on the highway."

"What else did you see?" Jason was worried about what his friend might think of him.

Michael stared off into a corner of the car, moonlight glancing off the rim of his glasses. "I do not know. I worried so much for you. Momma was crying about you when she left to visit the pastor." He shook his head. "In your room...the window was open." He looked at Jason. His eyes looked larger and wiser behind the lenses of his glasses. "You are not fagging out on me, are you? I mean...Randy made you do that with him, did he not?"

Now Jason stared off into that same corner as the most shameful part of his life lay exposed to his best friend. "I do not know how to make him stop." He looked back at Michael, tears welling in his eyes. "I do not want to do it with him, but I have to...because Mother tells me to obey him. I have to let him. But I do not want it to happen."

A look of sympathetic understanding appeared in Michael's eyes. "I thought that is what it was. My Sunday school teacher told me about that. Sometimes grownups have a way of making you do something you do not want to do and make you feel like you have to."

Jason thought long and hard before deciding to tell Michael everything. If he could not trust his best friend, whom could he trust? It felt good to tell somebody about his heart. Michael was a good listener. He never made any wiseacre remarks about anything that Jason told him. After Jason was finished, even though he was crying, he felt the burden lifted from his heart. Michael somehow made him feel better about himself. He loved his best friend almost as much as he loved his Daddy.

About a week later, the two boys hopped out of the back of an old beat up pickup truck at some intersection on Hollywood Boulevard. They thanked the old man as he went on his way. Michael dusted off his pants and adjusted his glasses before looking around.

"Do you think this is the right place for us to be?" Jason looked at some of the buildings lining the boulevard.

"I think so." The traffic and the people made Michael nervous. "Where do you want to go first?"

"I am thirsty, and that truck ride was hot and stinky." Jason looked west from the intersection. "We could try to find a park or something. They might have a water fountain that we can use."

"That truck smelled because of the fertilizer the old man hauled." Michael took one last look at Sunset Boulevard with its busy flow of cars and trucks. "California is not like Texas, for sure."

"It was nice of the old farmer to bring us to Hollywood." Jason started walking to the west, expecting his best friend to follow.

Michael began to have doubts. "We had to pay him. How did you get all that money, anyway?"

"You remember those bikers we hitched a ride with in New Mexico?"

"Yeah."

Jason turned and smiled. "That one old guy who liked to fall asleep drunk was loaded."

Michael stopped and gasped. "You stole that money?"

"It is not he is going to miss it." Jason shrugged his shoulders. "He kept gambling it away every night, anyways. Not all of the money was from him."

"You stole from someone else?" Michael thought back to some of the bikers that seemed to be shady characters. "Are you crazy? Those men will kill you."

"No, I did not steal from the others. Denver, the man who gave me those funny red pills..."

Michael started walking behind Jason again. "I told you not to take them. You acted funny all night that night."

Jason half laughed. "I did do some stupid things, but then I do not remember what all I did after a while. I woke up the next morning and a hundred dollars was under my head." He looked back at Michael with hope that he did not reveal too much. "Do not worry. I do not like what those pills did to me the next day. I will not take them again."

"That is a good thing." Michael agreed, though he could not understand why he felt Jason held something back from him.

"I still have about thirty dollars left." Jason hoped to divert Michael's attention away from how he attained the money. He did not want to remember the night with the pills. Let's find a McDonalds or Burger King to get something to eat."

The boys were not able to locate either fast food chain before their hunger overpowered them. They tried to but food from several vendors on the street, but they were chased off because they were filthy and looked like vagrant children. One man finally allowed them close enough to purchase a couple of his sandwiches and a soda apiece but forced them to eat on the other side of the street. After that, the boys began to formulate a plan to find out where the movies were made.

"I do not know where to start looking." Jason scratched his head as they sat on the concrete bench at the bus stop. "I guess we could ask somebody."

"Are you kidding?" Michael looked down at his clothing. "Nobody will even come near us. We are dirty, and we stink. I am tired, too."

"We could go rent a hotel room on that other street." Jason took out what little money he had left and counted it. "I have eighteen dollars and twenty-seven cents left."

"That should be enough for one night," Michael guessed. "We can wash our clothes in the bathtub and set them out to dry overnight."

"Then we will look like actors and people will talk to us!" Jason stood up and took Michael by the hand, his spirit and strength renewed by hope.

Despair had sapped all of the free-spirited emotions from the boys by the second night. They huddled together in the recessed doorway of a darkened alley in a seedy part of the city they wandered into days before. Michael was becoming homesick. They were penniless and despondent.

"I hate this city." Michael whispered for fear of discovery.

"Why did those Mexican kids chase us?" Jason took out the picture of Daddy from under the blanket. "We did not even do anything to them. I think they wanted to kill us."

"Do you miss your mother and Randy?" Michael tried to squeeze his eyes into focus as he watched Jason touch the image lovingly.

"It is a picture of Daddy." Jason looked down at Michael. "You cannot see very well in the dark without your glasses, can you?"

"No." Michael shivered and hugged closer to Jason's body for heat. "How can it be so hot during the day and so cold at night?"

"It is not that cool, but you are burning up." Jason felt of Michael's forehead. "I think you have a fever."

"That chicken we ate last night tasted funny." Michael shuddered with a chill running through him.

"Mine did not." Jason put his arm around his best friend to comfort him.

Duke saw the boys only by chance. He had forgotten his wallet back at his apartment and had to find a place to turn around. When he turned into the alley, his headlights caught the two pathetic little figures huddled together in among the trash. He paused for a moment as he considered the location. The streets in that district were deserted at that hour of the night, rife with gang violence during the day.

Jason stared wide-eyed into the headlights. Terror ran through him as he considered what the car represented. The lights blinded him. He did not hear the car until it had already turned into the alley. He could not tell if it was a police car or not. He did not want to go to jail. The police would take him back to them.

The car door opened slowly, and Jason heard the person step out of the car. "Hello?"

"Slowly take your hands out from under the blanket." Duke walked with caution toward the two.

Jason lifted his hands into the air. "My best friend is very sick. He cannot move much."

"Remove the blanket so that I can see that he does not have a gun." Duke knew that the headlights partially obscured him from the boys. "What is your name, son?"

"My name is Jason, and his is Michael."

Duke guessed by Jason's accent that the boys were from Texas, and from their clothing, probably a rural area. He pulled a napkin from his pocket and covered his mouth and nose. The sick boy had soiled himself and reeked of vomit and excrement. He was most likely dehydrated and suffering from food poisoning, but salvageable. He looked at Jason and recognized an abused child quickly, most likely a runaway from an abusive home.

"Get those nasty clothes off of him." Duke turned away from the front of the car to walk back to his trunk. "I have some towels and a couple of bottles of water for the gym in the morning. We will clean him up and then put him in the car."

It was their third night in Hollywood that Duke had found the boys. He drove them into an older industrialized part of Los Angeles not far from where he found them. The building where he took them seemed to be an abandoned warehouse with boarded up windows. Nearby was a railroad crossing.

Duke carried Michael up a flight of stairs to the fourth floor, while Jason followed behind. A fairly new steel door, heavily adorned with locks, seemed odd to Jason in a building so old. Even the hinges did not squeak with rust when Duke pulled the door open so that they could go in.

The interior was well lit, and nicely decorated. It was all one large room with the smaller room in back. It looked almost like a home. There was a kitchen with an island bar in one corner. An open stall shower stood in another corner. Behind it was a smaller partition that hid a commode. Duke laid Michael down on a sectional sofa, which crowded most of the remainder of the large room.

"We need to get some water in your friend, fast." Duke went to a cabinet and pulled a bottle of water out. "I will get you a bucket from the other room in case he gets sick again."

"This is a nice apartment." Jason took the bottle and opened it.

"It is the latest thing these days." Duke walked back toward the boys with a bucket. "They take old warehouse buildings and turn them into lofts." He looked Jason over. "Let me take care of your friend for a bit. Put your clothes in the washer and take a shower to get cleaned up."

"We do not have any clean clothes to put on." Jason felt ashamed of his condition in front of the man, who was obviously rich.

"I have some clothes that should fit you. My son will not mind." Duke went to a closet and fished out two sets of pajamas. "He will not be out for summer visitation until next month and has probably outgrown these anyway."

"Thank you." Jason stood up and took the offered items. "I have not slept in pajamas in a long time."

"You are welcome." Duke sat down to tend to the sick boy. "Wash all of your clothes and his, too. I just cleaned this apartment last night, and I am a neat freak. The washer and drier are in that cabinet right over there. So where are you boys from?"

Jason opened the cabinet and the washer. "West Texas." He emptied the remnants of Michael's clothing into the washer. "Lorena." He had left the blanket and Michael's soiled clothing in a dumpster in the alley at Duke's request. "We rode a train at first." He stripped down and put his clothes in, though he felt awkward exposed in front of the man. "I wanted to run away, but Michael wants to go back." He walked into the shower and pulled the curtain closed.

"I see." Duke lifted Michael's head and put the water bottle to his lips. "Take a sip, young man. You are severely dehydrated."

Michael opened his eyes halfway, though they were blurred by exhaustion. "Poppa? I ate some funny tasting chicken."

"That explains what made you sick." Duke smiled. "I am not your Poppa, though."

Michael struggled to sit up. "Who are you?" He tried to look around. "Where is Jason?"

"Your little friend is in the shower." Duke looked the boy over very carefully now that the lighting was better. "You do not seem to have any injuries. How did Jason come to those injuries on his face?"

Michael took another drink of the water. His mind was still clouded from dehydration, but he had enough sense about him to process an answer. "His Momma threw a glass bowl at him. His step-father used to be a petia trishon in Dallas and sewed him back up."

"She threw a glass bowl at him?" Duke suppressed a laugh at Michael's pronunciation of 'pediatrician'.

When Jason had finished his shower and had started to grab a towel, Duke waited with Michael in his arms. "I need you to help wash your friend."

"Okay." Jason expressed his feeling of awkwardness.

"I am a grown man," Duke explained. It would not be right for me to be in the shower with him. Those bottles of water could not clean him up enough. He is still filthy and that could make him even sicker." The man placed a stool in the shower for Michael to sit on. "Do not worry about the floor. I will put some towels down to soak up the water. I will watch from over by the bar just in case you need help."

Jason never realized how much he cared for his best friend until that moment. He felt more concerned about the health of his best friend and turned the water back on. On some nights, in the hotter parts of summer, when they spent the night together, they had often stripped down to their boxer shorts. They had never been totally exposed to one another.

"Pull him against you and keep your arms around him to keep him from falling off," Duke suggested. "There is still a lot of grime on his back."

Michael knew what the other boy was thinking as he leaned into his chest willingly. He could hear the beating of the heart, pounding fast from trepidation. He wanted so desperately to reach up and hug Jason, to let him know that everything was going to be okay.

Jason scrubbed diligently and then leaned Michael back against the wall to wash his legs. Duke stood up and offered a large bath towel to wrap the sick boy in, then helped Jason to dress him in the pajamas. After that task was done, he carried the boy into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. Jason quickly put his pajamas on and followed after them.

"Can I sleep in here with both of you?" Jason asked.

"It would not be proper for me to sleep in here, but you can." Duke helped Jason get onto the bed next to Michael, and then tucked in both boys. "I would not dream of separating the two of you. You boys must have been through hell coming out here and need a bit of luck. You can tell me your story in the morning." He stood up to leave the room. "Get some sleep. If you need some help with him, I will be sleeping on the couch."

The lights went out and Duke left the room. Jason folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling. Iron beams and concrete made up its structure. There were four high-set windows along the back wall. They were the only openings other than the main door that he noticed. Michael stirred and tried to turn to him.

"Where are we, Jason?" Michael's voice was a weak and distant whisper, as if coming through a thick fog.

"We are in some rich guy's apartment." Jason whispered through his own sleepy haze. "You should have seen his car! It has spinners!"

"I want to go home to Momma and Poppa."

"Maybe Duke will let us call in the morning." Jason turned into Michael.

"It is okay..." Michael sounded as if he was about to go back to sleep, but he had enough strength to give Jason a slight hug, "...for you to see me with no clothes on."

"I thought it was going to be weird."

Michael sighed deep before he could speak again. "I know you are not gay..." His voice trailed into the deep recesses of sleep.

Jason smiled to himself and returned the hug. He had been afraid of how Michael would react. As he fell asleep, he began to dream of a red canoe, Daddy, and now Michael on a camping trip in Oklahoma.

It was mid-afternoon when Jason awakened and sat up in the bed. A train sounded its whistle at some distant railroad crossing. Music that sounded like it belonged in a rich man's house came from the other room. He looked down at Michael and felt of his forehead. The other boy still had a fever. Randy, who had used to be a pediatrician in another part of Texas, would have given medicine to him already.

Jason crawled out of bed and walked into the other room. Duke closed the computer he was working on at the bar and looked up at the boy. He smiled and stepped off the stool to approach some bags on the counter.

"Good afternoon. You look like you have slept well."

"I did."

Duke pulled a bottle out of the bag. "Your friend got sick again this morning, so I went to the pharmacy and got him some medicine. We need to give him a dose of this. It will help him feel better."

"Thank you." Jason took the bottle gladly.

"Take a spoon."

Jason smiled and took the medicine to his friend. After the boy had managed enough to sip from the spoon, Jason returned to living area where Duke was sitting on the couch. He put the medicine on the counter and then approached the man, who offered him a seat beside him.

"So how long have you boys been on the road?"

Jason took a moment to count the days. "Nine or ten days, I think."

"I see. That must have been some adventure for both of you riding the train."

Jason shook his head with an exaggerated motion. "It was boring, and I slept most of it. Michael took care of me because of this." He pointed to his face.

Duke reached up to pull Jason's hair out of the way of the cut. "This must have hurt. You are lucky it was not infected. It looks like some of the bruising is starting to fade. Does it still bother you?"

"It still hurts a little, but the bad headache is gone." Jason lifted up the pajama top to show his chest. "This is what hurts the most now. I lost the bandage Randy wrapped it with. Mother slammed the door into me here."

Duke sat back with a look of shock. "What kind of mother does this to her child?"

"It was because I did something bad and deserved the punishment." Jason lowered the fabric. "Do you think we can call Michael's mother? He wants to go back home."

"Sure." Duke stood up to take the phone out of his pocket. "Oh crud! I left my cellphone at the office."

"Where do you work?" Jason could not imagine what kind of job a rich man had to work.

"I work in Hollywood." Duke saw the boy's eyes light up. "I work way over on the other side of the city. Is that where you boys were going?"

"Yes, sir," Jason replied. "I wanted to work for a television show. Michael was going to go home after he helped me get here."

"I do not believe this!" Duke smiled with excitement. "I am a producer looking for child actors to star in my movies."

Jason could not believe his luck had changed. "Really?"

"To think I almost passed you boys up!" Duke sat back down by Jason and looked him over. "How would you like to star in one of my movies?"

"Me? A star?" grabbed onto Duke's arm. "What do I have to do?"

Duke pushed back the hair on the side of Jason's face. "Well, to start with, we will have to wait for this wound to finish healing. You have a photogenic face, but you will look much better without it."

"Is it going to leave a scar?" Jason reached a worried hand up to touch the welts.

"If it does, it will endear you to your fans." Duke put his arm around Jason's shoulders. "You see, I produce gritty, true to life dramas. I see in you great potential."

Jason was mesmerized. "Can I stay here until I have my own place?"

"I am going to help you as best as I can." Duke stood back up. "You are welcome to stay here for now. I am going back to my office to get my cellphone, so we can call Michael's mother. It will take me a couple of hours." He ruffled the boy's hair, and then thought of something. "We need to make a screen test for you."

"What is a screen test?" Jason was intrigued.

"It is kind of like a short movie that producers use to showcase the talents of actors they discover."

"What do I need to do?" Jason stood up and walked toward a mirror above the sink. "My hair is all crazy."

"You do not need to worry about how you look." Duke stood up and walked to the bedroom door. "Like I said, I produce gritty real-life dramas. For the screening, I want to re-create the moment I first found you and Michael...when you were in the alley. He has to be part of the screening, too."

Jason walked into the room and was pleased to see that his best friend seemed to be feeling better. "Did you hear the good news, Michael? Duke is a producer and wants to put me in his movies!"

"I need you to take your pajama top off to start." Duke opened a cabinet and pulled out a tripod and camera.

"Why do I have to take off my shirt?" Jason thought the request was odd, but he complied with the request.

"Sometimes you have to embellish a scene to make it work for Hollywood. I need you both to look like members of a gang." Duke set up the camera and focused the lens on Michael's prone form. "Get up on the bed with your little friend. The scene I want to create is two boys from rival gangs that were once best friends in grade school. There was a big fight between the gangs. We will pretend that Michael has been stabbed and is dying in your arms."

"Do you want me to get behind him and hold him like I held him in the alley to keep him warm?" Jason crawled around behind Michael to support him.

"You are a natural at this!" Duke gave Jason a 'thumbs-up'.

"What do I need to say?"

"Do I need to do anything?" Michael tried to help sit his body up and lean into Jason.

Duke stepped back from the camera after turning it on. "We are going for the emotional expression of the moment. The others will want to see your feelings in the moment. Michael, you are dying after having lost everything in your life. Look up at Jason and try to touch his face once last time. That is it. Now Jason, you are holding your long-lost friend and you know he is dying. You see blood soaking his shirt, so you have to remove it very slowly and carefully. You do not want to cause him any more pain. Go ahead and pull his shirt all the way off because you are going to have to use it to stop the bleeding in a minute. Michael, I want you to breath slow and deep as he pulls off your shirt. These are your last breaths of life. Try to hug your friend as those moments are ending. Jason, I want you to just set the shirt aside for a moment and try to find the bullet wound. It is dark in the alley, so you have to feel for it. Use both hands if you have to. Excellent! You finally locate the wound just below his belly button. Michael, it is time for you to collapse and stop breathing. Jason, you have one hand to hold over the wound to stop his bleeding and the other you will have to catch his face from falling away from you. You can completely relax, Michael, because you have just died in your best friend's arms. Jason, turn his face to you and try to beg him to come back to life. When you realize that he has died, bury your face into his neck and weep for him." Duke walked back to the camera and turned it off. "That was pure gold. I think you are going to make loads of money."

Now that he was moving around more, Michael was able to sit up while Jason extricated his body. "Jason is going to be in the movies?"

"I think both of you have potential." Duke unmounted the camera, removed the SD card, and put everything back into the cabinet.

Michael thought he saw some other equipment in the closet. "Can I call my Momma?"

"Of course, you can." Duke slipped the card in his pocket. "I have to go back to the office to get my cellphone. I will get some pizzas while I am out. Does that sound okay?

"I am getting hungry," Jason admitted.

"The two of you can watch videos or cable while I am gone." Duke looked out through one of the windows. "Geez. Look at that. It is already late afternoon...and Friday on top of that. I will not be back until after dark. Will the two of you be okay here that long?"

"Yes, sir," Jason felt proud of the day's accomplishments.

Michael crawled out of bed and staggered behind the other two. "You promise to let me call Momma when you get back? I promised to help Jason get to Hollywood. Now, I can go home."

"Of course. I will come back just as soon as I can." Duke pulled the heavy iron door open. "I am going to lock this door behind me. There is a gang of kids running around this neighborhood and breaking into peoples' homes."

"Thank you for helping me." Jason followed Duke up to the door. "Can we have soda with the pizza?"

"I do not drink it, but I will bring you some."

Duke stepped out into the passageway and shut the door behind him. As the bars and locks slid closed with solid clicks, somewhere, in the back of his mind, Michael began to sense the danger, but he felt too meek to voice it. It seemed fine when they first met the man, but the sense of foreboding grew steady on him. It first started with the strangeness of the immediate surroundings. What really unnerved him the most, was the way Duke seemed to know about everything Jason wanted, who took it all in...hook, line, and sinker.

Michael walked over to the door and tried to open it, but there was no way to get to the outside locks. "I do not trust that man."

"Aw, come on Michael!" Jason walked around and admired the loft apartment. "This is my chance to be in the movies and have a better life!"

"You want a better life?" Michael took Jason by the hand a led him to the couch. "Do you remember about what I told you my Sunday school teacher told me about Jesus?"

"How could Jesus love me?" Jason shook his head. "I am stupid, and I keep getting into trouble. I make Mother mad all the time." He looked away to the blank television screen. "Randy makes me feel dirty when he does those things to me."

"That is Randy and your mother. That is not you." Michael reached up and turned Jason's face back to his. He smiled to express his genuine feelings. "You are not an ugly, stupid, dirty person. I have seen the real you the last couple of days. God loves you, Jason, for who you are right here," he tapped the boy in the center of his chest, "...not for what other people have done to you. Finding Jesus is the only way to a better life."

"Can we give it one more night? I am so tired I can hardly move, and I am so hungry that I can eat two horses." Jason wiped the tears from his eyes.

Michael sighed in frustration. He looked at the bruises around Jason chest. "Does it still hurt?"

"It hurts just a little." Jason winced as he stretched.

"Okay. We stay here tonight." Michael conceded with reluctance. "But I want to leave in the morning. I am going to find a way to get outside. I am going to see if I can find a telephone out on the street. I might be able to get out of one of those windows in the room."

"Do you not feel sick, still?" Jason stood up and grabbed one of the barstools.

"I do," Michael admitted, "but I want to call Momma to come get me."

"Let me go out and call her, then." Jason carried the barstool into the bedroom.

"Those windows are too high and small," Michael pointed out. "You would end up breaking any healing that might have occurred with your ribs.

Jason leaned the barstool against the wall and held it steady.

"Let me get my regular clothes and shoes on, first." Michael looked around the room. "Do you know where he might have put them?"

"Maybe they are in the dryer, still."

Both boys walked into the living room and opened the utility closet. They did not find their clothes in the dryer or the washer. Jason began to look around the living room and in the kitchen area. Michael searched the cabinets near the shower. They both went back into the bedroom and began to search through the closets and cabinets, and even looked under the bed.

"Maybe he took them to the laundromat," Jason suggested. "They were very filthy."

"What about our shoes?" Michael thought of the dangers of walking outside on unknown surfaces.

"I guess he took them to wash them, too." Jason looked toward the last closet. "Maybe his son has some shoes in the bottom of the closet."

"That is where he kept the camera." Michael ran over and opened it.

"That is weird." Jason stared at the different machines with the wires and cables running into them. "There is nothing in here." He stepped back with a frown. "Duke told me last night that his son had left some clothes here. These pajamas belonged to him."

"Help me get out of the window." Michael pulled Jason away from the closet. "I have to go to a telephone before it gets too dark for me to see."

"You do not have your glasses!"

"I will manage. You cannot break your ribs again."

"Why are you so scared?" Jason walked back and steadied the barstool. "Please be careful!"

"I will come back. I promise." Michael stepped up on the barstool.

The boy pushed out against the window. It was stiff with rust and yielded very little against his strain. There was not much room in the opening, but it was enough for him to squeeze through. He was right in guessing that Jason would have further injured himself getting out. Michael saw the fire escape and quickly scrambled down, hoping that he had enough time to find a telephone booth and make his call home.

Jason climbed up on the barstool, which shook precariously under his unsteady legs. He watched after Michael until he disappeared from view. He tried to turn around to climb back down, but the barstool went in one direction and he went in the other, landing solidly on his back on the floor. Pain ripped through his torso and took away his breath.

Jason lay there crying for several minutes. He stared up at the ceiling for the longest time, watching a moth fly around one of the canned lights. His interest turned to the light itself and that is when he noticed that it aimed toward the bed. Further study of the ceiling led to the cameras, four of them, that focused on the bed from different angles. Cables connected the cameras to the closet.

Jason forced his body to roll over and he pushed himself into a standing position. He approached the closet with caution. He pulled the door open wider and stared at the machines. They each had a label. Four belonged to the bedroom cameras. Two machines stated 'sofa'. The last two showed a 'shower' label. Inexperienced in life and unable to comprehend the truth, Jason smiled as he pushed the door closed, and then sat on the bed to wait on Michael's return.

After searching for over an hour in every direction, Michael found a payphone about a block away from the warehouse, He realized, dressed only in pajama bottoms that had no pockets, that he did not have any change for the call. He picked up the receiver and dialed '0' to place a collect call. He was relieved when his mother answered the phone. He watched for cars as he desperately tried to tell her that he thought he and Jason were in danger.

Michael nearly cried in terror. "Momma I'm scared. I want to come home, but I cannot run away. Jason broke his ribs. He cannot climb out of the window. Duke will be coming back soon. I think he will hurt Jason. I have to get back to help my friend. Please send the police." He paused as he listened to his mother's pleading." Okay, I will talk to Poppa..." As he listened carefully to his father, he looked up the street, hoping to hear the sirens of help approaching. "Okay."

Michael set the phone down and left the phone booth. Despite the pain from the blisters on the soles of his feet, he ran back to the warehouse. He started climbing back up the fire escape. When he made it up to the third floor, he saw a car turn around the corner of the street and approach. The bright headlights splashed over him. He just knew that Duke saw him. He tried to climb quicker. The opening he had made in the window seemed to be much smaller now as he tried to squirm back into the building.

The second shower was both refreshing and relaxing. Jason began to worry when it had taken so long for Michael to come back and occupied his mind with getting ready to start is new life. A child star needed to be clean, by the way. A clean flannel robe waited for him when he stepped out of the shower. He put it on and went around the room examining the cameras again until Michael returned. He still could not grasp the luck that he had stumbled upon someone to help him achieve his dreams.

"Jason!" Michael screamed. "Duke might come back any moment!"

Jason ran back into the bedroom. "I am sorry." He picked up the barstool and held it against the wall. "I think you are wrong about Duke. He really does make movies. There are cameras in the ceiling."

Michael scraped his belly as he fought his way back in. "We have to leave. I thought he saw me. Get your clothes on! We have to get out of here!" He could barely speak as he pulled the window shut. "This man is bad news. Poppa says he might try to hurt us. The police are coming to take us home."

"No!" Jason objected in terror. "I cannot go back to them! I just cannot!"

"You could stay with us." Michael pleaded as he picked up the barstool.

"No." Jason stood up and walked into the living room as Michael followed. "This man is going to be nice to me. I know it. Look at this place. How can something bad come out of this? You go back home. I am better off here. I will be the star of his movies."

Just as Michael was about to argue his point, the rattle of keys sounded just outside of the door. He set the barstool down in its place and stepped away from it in a hurry. The locks released one by one and then the door opened. Duke walked in bearing three large pizzas and two sodas. He walked over to the bar and set them down next to Jason. Michael contemplated grabbing his best friend's hand and bolting for freedom. As if sensing the sudden fear in Michael, Duke quickly returned to the steel door and locked it shut.

"I am surprised that you are up and about, Michael." Duke pulled three plates from a cabinet in the kitchen. "Are you feeling better?"

Michael looked at Jason, hoping that he did not raise suspicions. "I..."

"That medicine you gave him really helped," Jason interjected in time.

"Oh." Duke said cheerfully. "Well you can enjoy some pizza and soda now."

Jason felt conflicted as they sat down to eat. He wanted to believe that he could trust the man. He valued Michael's opinion, too. The man watched both of them carefully. He sensed the sick one was wary of him. The scarred boy was a bit different, but it did not matter. He reached over, ruffled Jason's hair, and received a smile in return.

Duke turned to Michael with a stern look. "Jason has already had his shower. I need you to take yours now."

Michael glanced quickly at Jason and then back to the man. "I am okay."

"You smell like a sweaty boy of the streets." Duke stood up over the boy. "Take your shower, now."

"Where are our clothes?" Michael stood up and moved out of striking distance.

"I had to throw them out. They were filthy, like the dirty little street scum that you are." Duke gestured to the shower. "I have a robe for you by the shower."

Jason detected the threat underlying the man's voice. "Go take a shower, Michael. Do not ruin this for me." He could not understand the sudden change in Duke's attitude.

"Jason and I will be in the next room discussing his movie contract." Duke took Jason by the shoulders and guided him toward the bedroom.

Michael was glad they left and took the shower quickly. Being naked in the man's sight gave him a strange feeling. When he finished, he re-dressed himself in the pajamas and then put the robe on for extra privacy. It bothered him to be without underclothes. The pajamas seemed very thin. He walked over to the sectional and sat down. About fifteen minutes passed before the door opened up from the bedroom.

Suddenly, Michael's heart failed him when he saw Jason exit ahead of the man. His best friend could not even look up and his eyes were red from crying. His robe hung opened and his hair looked all messed up. The happy sparkle in his eyes was gone, replaced by despair. A single tear rolled down his cheek. He swiped at it and chanced to look up at Michael, but quickly averted his eyes.

Duke followed out behind him, zipping up his pants. "Why are you wearing those nasty pajamas?"

Michael watched Jason as he crossed the room to the bar. Something vital had changed in his best friend. It reached deep into the core of his soul. His eyes had gone distant, looking far into a past riddled with humiliation and disgrace. There was blame for his own downfall, a sort of willing consent to a guilt that was not his own cause. Michael could see the longing for all the torment to end. He felt a need to cry for his friend, but he suppressed the tears, afraid to show any weakness in front of Duke.

"Come, I want to show you my room, Michael." Duke ran his hand through Jason's hair. "Maybe you can be in movies, too."

"No." Jason pushed the hand away, and then said in a shaky voice. "Not him. It has never happened to him before. You can do me again, if you want. Just do not touch him."

"But you both have to work for this pizza. Not just one of you." Duke grabbed a handful of Jason's hair and pulled back sharply, causing a screech of pain from the boy. "It would not be fair to you. Besides, the new ones are more fun."

"Let him go, you big bully!" Michael grabbed Duke's arm in a vain effort to free Jason. His eyes flared with anger. "We did not want your crummy old pizza!"

"But Jason liked it. He has done it before." Duke still had Jason's hair pulled tight. He winked at Michael as he took a sip of wine from his glass. "Do not worry. It only hurts the first couple of times...You will get used to it after a while."

"No!" Jason cried. "Do not do it to him. He is the best friend I have ever had." He struggled to keep from having his hair pulled out. "You can do me all you want. Just please let him go."

Michael was so angry at the treatment of Jason that he walked right up and kicked Duke in the knee as hard as he could. "Leave him alone!"

"Well now! You are quite the little fighter!" Duke slammed Jason's forehead into the bar, knocking the boy senseless. "I love a fighter. Some of my clients love fighters, too. They will pay a good price for you." He grabbed Michael up and carried him kicking and screaming violently into the bedroom. "Yes sir! The bigger the fight that you put up, the better it will be. I will break you. I always do. Then maybe you and your little friend can make a couple of movies together."

Duke shut the door behind him. It took a while for Jason to get back to his senses. He could hear Michael screaming from the next room. The boy was sure putting up one hell of a fight. Nonetheless, he would not last long against Duke. The man was bigger, meaner, and much stronger. Jason knew that. Adults always seemed to outlast the kids. He had to stop it before Michael became another victim of the sick man.

Jason stood up to his feet, wavering just a little. His head hurt from striking against the bar. He used the bar to support his unsteady legs. He looked around the kitchen for something that could kill Duke. There were so many cabinets and drawers. He did not have time to look through them all. Something in his mind told him to look in the door on the right side of the sink. It was there that he found the large knife.

Jason stared at his disfigured reflection on the blade for a minute, knowing that he planned to commit murder. It was just cause for what they endured. He grabbed the knife in turn to go to the bedroom. With his free arm, he opened the bedroom door. As he went in, he let the robe slipped off his shoulders. He turned his hand aside so that he could easily hide the knife out of sight, keeping his arm close to his side.

Michael lay naked on the bed, lying face down. From the blood on the pillow and sheets, Jason could tell that Duke had beaten the boy severely. The boy whimpered with no strength left for him to resist. The man unzipped his pants and positioned himself for the assault. Duke glanced back over his shoulder at Jason and winked.

"Come to join us?" Duke smiled a wicked grin. He could not see the knife.

Michael looked at Jason with wide, terrified eyes, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. "Do not let him..."

"Ssshhh." Jason whispered in a calming tone. "It is better if you do not fight him. It will all be over sooner if you do not fight him."

Michael finally broke down and cried aloud, seeing the situation as hopeless. He did not want this. He could see no way out. The man was too heavy as he struggled beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jason, his best friend, climbing up on the bed to join in. He felt betrayed. He did not want to be beat again. It hurt too much.

Maybe Jason was right. Maybe it was better to give in. Would God forgive him? Would his parents be able?

Jason, still crying, seemed different. He exhibited an emotion Michael had never witnessed from his friend before. Rage filled Jason's eyes full of fury.

What is that in his hand? Oh my God! It is a knife! He is going to kill Duke! But that is murder! Do not kill him!

"No Jason! No!" Michael cried out, but it was too late of course.

Before Duke could attempt to hold Jason back, the boy had climbed up on the bed behind him. The knife thrust deep into the man's back. It penetrated into a vital airway with a crippling stab. In a reflexive manner, Duke tried to knock the boy away from him. He fell off the bed instead, twisting Michael's leg under his arm with most of his weight. The boy cried out in pain as the bone splintered up out of his calf muscle.

Jason pulled the knife out and still had it in his hand when Duke threw him aside. Immediately, he ran to the man, who already struggled to breathe, and kicked him in the testicles. Duke grabbed his crotch as pain exploded into his gut. He uttered several expletives at the boy with the gall to attack him. Jason did not stop there and kicked the man in the head and then in the ribs. Then he sat down on top of the man.

"That was what you get for beating up my friend!" He pushed the knife slowly into the man's neck and then pulled it back out. The hot blood that jetted from the severed artery coated him in thick red paint that burned away the last fragments of his childhood. "...and that was for me."

Jason stood up and backed away from the man, the shock of what he had just done hitting him a few seconds later. He dropped to his knees, casting the knife as far from him as he could. He began wailing and did not stop until long after the man had coughed and sputtered for his last breath of life. It was then that he looked up at Michael.

It was a miracle that the compound fracture avoided severing any arteries. Nevertheless, Michael was far from safe. He started going into shock and Jason knew little about what to do for him. All he knew was that he had to get his best friend to a hospital quick. He picked the boy who faded in and out and carried him to the steel door. He went back into the room for Duke's keys, nut he dared not look at the man's body.

The sooner they were out of the apartment, the better. The stairs were nearly impossible to manage. Jason quickly grew tired and had to let Michael lean against him. He let his best friend set the pace. He kept talking to the other boy to keep him alert. It took them nearly thirty minutes to get down the four flights of stairs. By then Michael was too exhausted to go on.

Jason carried Michael the rest of the way out of the building and up to a street lamp. After he set the boy down, he looked around for somebody to come and help them. The streets stood empty in that dark part of the city. All he could hear was a train whistle somewhere in the distance. Even further than that, he heard the sound of police cars. It seemed to be a large number of them. There must have been a fire, a robbery, or something else going on downtown. There were too many sirens to be something small.

"Jason..." Michael coughed, "I am cold."

They had left their clothes up in the warehouse. The boy looked up at the lone window with the light on. He could not go back up there...not where all the carnage that he had created was. Why did he have to kill the man? They could have both run away in the morning. He looked around at an old moth-eaten blanket stuffed into a rusting garbage can. He fished it out and wrapped Michael in it.

Jason suddenly realized that they might both make it. "That should keep you warm. The police and the train seem to be getting closer."

"My leg... It hurts."

"Do not talk. Save your strength." Jason looked over at the pay phone down the street. The receiver was hanging down as though someone had just left it and ran off. "I am going to try and call the police. They will get you an ambulance."

"It is...Okay." Michael rubbed his eyes to try to get out the blurry vision that would not go away. "When I called home...an FBI man was there...He said it would take a while...He wanted me...to leave the phone...off the hook so they could...trace the call...I hear them coming."

Jason felt a little relief. "I wish I was a smart as you. I guess I never would have had the problems I had. I never would have gotten us into this mess. I am sorry to let all of this happened to you, Michael."

Jason drew in a deep breath as he decided what to do next. The train was getting much closer. He looked back at Michael, who had just slipped into a numbing sleep. It was time to let go.

"I cannot go back to that town. I am going to find God. I am going to get a better life." Jason gave Michael a gentle kissed on the cheek. "I love you like a brother, Michael Hansen. You have always been my one true friend. Goodbye."

Jason stood up and saw the red and blue flashing lights reflected on some of the buildings down the street. The train approached closer. He looked at Michael one last time, then, with a determined mind, he turned to the steel and gravel tracks and began walking. He could feel the steady rumble of the train through the ground beneath him as it made its way through the warehouse district. Nothing could stop him from his task.

One police car arrived, and the officer exited to take a brief assessment of the situation. His first reaction was to Michael, and he tragically focused his attentions on that boy first. He did not see Jason until it was too late to stop him. The boy stepped out onto the tracks just as a locomotive rounded a blind curve not more than thirty yards from him.

The engineer saw the boy covered with blood step out onto the tracks. Immediately he pulled back on the emergency brake, even though he knew it was too late. Sparks shot out from under the steel wheels as they ground against the rails. The boy did not even try to move out of the way and seemed entranced by the approaching harbinger of death. There was a cop running toward the boy to save him, but no hope existed for a miracle. Tears welled in the engineer's eyes as he witnessed the child's fate.

Jason stared up into the bright headlights, ready for his pain to end. The center of the headlight grew brighter until it consumed everything around him. The terror he experienced from the terrible vibrations on the tracks could not sway him from his resolve. He heard the cop shout at him in the last instant. He felt the initial impact as the cattle prow cut his legs from under him. The crushing explosion of pain in his upper body as he slammed against the hot steel lasted only a few seconds.

Then the boy floated to some other destination, where a bright, sunny meadow waited with a large, crystal-clear pond. In the center of the pond was a red canoe. The man paddled the canoe to where Jason stood waiting. When the man drew close, Jason cried with joy when he recognized Daddy! The boy jumped into canoe and hugged the man with all his might. Together they paddled out to the other side, at last helping the boy find peace and a better life.

THE END

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An excerpt from UNHOLY CULT OF THE BLOOD ROSE

CHAPTER 2

Juan paced nervously up and down the hall when Sarah exited the elevator. His wife of many years watched him from her seat near their young children, her own eyes reddened from sorrow. He looked up at Sarah with a half-hearted smile. Tears were brimming in his large brown eyes. He wiped them dry to show he remained a man, yet more tears streamed out to replace them. He ran up to greet her.

"The nurses say it won't be long, Sarah." Juan took her hands. "Yolanda keeps asking for you."

"I've got to go in there." Sarah started to go around Juan.

Juan gently held her back. "The nurses are in there with her right now."

"When did she get worse?" Sarah looked over Juan's shoulder, but she could see nothing of the room.

"Last night. She keeps hanging on, though." Juan nearly broke down. "It's like she has some unfinished things to take care of. They thought she would die last night, but I think she waited to see you one last time."

Sarah placed her hand upon his shoulder. "It is okay, Juan. I'm here, now."

Juan sobbed loudly as he leaned against her. "I'm sorry. I cannot help myself. I just keep seeing her in that condition and I remember the vibrant, healthy girl I had watched grow up."

"I know. I know." Sarah felt her protective shell threatening to crumble away, something she could not allow to happen. She led Juan to a couple of chairs in the hall. "How long?"

Juan struggled to gain control of his emotions. "Sometime this morning, maybe. She looks like she is suffering tremendously."

A nurse walked out of the Intensive Care Unit and looked around slowly. After setting eyes upon Juan and Sarah, the nurse, a beautiful red-haired woman in her late thirties, walked toward them with the deepest look of concern upon her face. Sarah wondered if the look was practiced or genuine.

"Are you Mrs. Jenkins?" The nurse had a deep, almost masculine voice that did not fit her looks.

Sarah almost corrected the woman to call her Miss Jenkins rather than Mrs. "Yes I am."

"Ms. Valdez has no other family?" The nurse raised a disapproving eyebrow.

"Yolanda came into our lives a few years ago." Sarah replied curtly, although it was none of the woman's business. It unnerved her to speak to a woman whose voice just did not fit. "She was an orphan and unable to have children of her own."

"She's been asking for you." The nurse stepped back.

Sarah looked to Juan, her tone and demeanor softening. "Are you going to be okay?"

Juan tried to smile and urged her to go without words. Sarah stood up and followed the nurse down the hallway. Juan sat in the chair doubled over and sobbed heavily. She realized how much love that man held in his heart and she admired him for it. There were very few men like him.

The environment changed dramatically as the two women passed through double doors. Grim memories caused Sarah to shiver as they walked through a dimly lit area. A kind of silence fell over the Intensive Care Unit different from that of the rest of the hospital. The angel of death waited there expectantly. Sarah could discern the beep of individual heart monitors and mechanical respirators. One room stood silent as she approached, and she peered in apprehensively. There had been ten full rooms in the unit just the day before, but now that one looked empty. Sarah shook her head and bit her lip. That room had held a little girl clinging to life by a thread. A drunk driver with two former drunk driving convictions had run over her frail body while speeding through a school zone.

The nurse noticed Sarah looking into the room. "I knew the bastard that killed that little girl." Again, she spoke with the irksome masculine tinges. "Used to be a doctor at this very hospital. Ironic, huh?"

"Did she suffer?"

Sarah tried to force the image out of her mind. She could only see, through the anger building within her soul, the twisted form of a child lying in a bed, almost obscured by the tubes and bandages that covered her.

"They say she was brain dead already." The nurse spoke with almost a loathing tone. "The bastard tried to run from the accident. I wish they would give him the chair for this."

"I would like to talk to her family and the administrator." Sarah then added coldly. "We know that doctor will walk away with a slap on the wrist."

The nurse nodded her agreement in silence, and then whispered, "I could have Mr. Johnson come down later this morning. He'll know how to get in touch with the family."

Sarah nodded thoughtfully and followed the nurse into Yolanda's room. The nurse stepped back to the doorway to leave the two women alone. Sarah's anger extinguished itself the moment she entered the room. The lights dimmed within to protect Yolanda's weakened sight. Only a heart monitor recorded her vital signs.

Sarah approached the bed, trying to hold back the tears already streaming down her cheeks. "I'm here, Yolanda," she whispered.

Yolanda stirred slowly. It took great effort for her to turn over and look up at Sarah. Barely twenty-five, the ravages of the disease upon her body made her look much older. Lines had etched themselves into her flesh prematurely. The youthful vigor that had once lit up such beautiful eyes had given way to the haunted, hollow look of death. She tried to smile but even that took more effort than she could spare.

"Sarah." Yolanda whispered hoarsely.

Sarah leaned down and pushed the hair out of Yolanda's eyes. "Don't speak. Save your strength."

"Listen to me." Yolanda urged. "There is something that you must do for me, for everyone."

Sarah drew up a chair and took one of Yolanda's hands into hers, trying hard not to lose her composure. "Tell me."

Yolanda drew in as much air as she could. A sickening rattle emanated deep within her chest. "The Cult of the Blood Rose ...It must not be completed. You are the one. You can stop it from happening."

Sarah shook her head. "I don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I was part of it. He found a way to get to me. I thought that I was safe." Yolanda raised herself up, the strength coming from the need for Sarah to listen. "In my work with the children I came across the one that Morgan is looking for. He is in an orphanage in Dallas. You must take the little boy away from there before they find him."

Sarah had to regain control of her emotions. When Yolanda mentioned the name Morgan, a cold shiver ran down her spine. For a moment, she imagined that horrid tongue pushing through wicked teeth caked with yellow gunk. A knot of revulsion churned in her gut.

"Yolanda..." Sarah thought that Yolanda became delirious and wondered what she could do to calm the woman down.

"Find him and protect him." Yolanda stressed.

"I can't take care of a child." Sarah spoke honestly. "I just don't think I could." She immediately regretted saying those words.

"You have so much anger in you, Sarah. So much that makes you as sick as I am in your soul." Yolanda pulled even closer to Sarah. "You did more for me than anyone else ever did. I know that kind heart of yours. You could help him, too. He is so little and frail. If they get a hold of him..."

"Who are 'they? Why not call the police?" Sarah had not wanted to upset Yolanda in her state of health. The young woman exhibited obvious delirium.

Yolanda lay back on the bed with such force that it shuddered. "They are the evil ones. Parts of the police are with them. They are everywhere, and they serve Morgan."

"Please, Yolanda." Sarah laid he hands over Yolanda's to help soothe her. "Calm down."

"I'm not crazy, Sarah." Yolanda sobbed. "Go to my apartment. Find the key. You will see. Find him and protect him from them. Do it for me. Please."

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Promise me." Yolanda spoke firmly.

"I promise that I will."

Yolanda sighed with satisfaction and closed her eyes. Sarah relaxed a bit. She looked around, feeling a bit of guilt. As she suspected, the nurse watched the two of them intently. She turned back to Yolanda and thought the young woman had gone back to sleep. Sarah started to speak a few words with the nurse when Yolanda reached up and held her hand to stop her.

"I never really had the opportunity to thank you for all the help that you have given me over the years." Yolanda smiled sweetly.

Sarah swallowed a lump forming at the base of her throat. It would not go away, though. "I only did what I thought right." She thought she would start crying again.

"You are like a mother to me." Yolanda still smiled. The pain seemed to have left her expressions. "When Enrique turned bad and nearly killed me, you were there to help me pick up the pieces of my life."

"Juan has been the biggest help." Sarah felt weak and out of control. Her emotions threatened to overtake her again.

"No. He is a friend to me, but you..." Yolanda touched Sarah's long red hair, feeling the silken curls for one last time. "You taught me how to respect myself again. I saw you and I knew that I wanted to be like you." She drew in a deep breath, gathering the last reserves of life she had. "That's why I started working with the children. I thought that if I could help just one of them, then I would give to God what I had received.

"It seemed hard at first. I had to learn patience. Their lives were in my hands. The angry ones I got easily frustrated with, but then I remembered how you dealt with me in times that I even thought that I hated you. I have grown to love you.

"That is why you must find the little boy for me. That boy needs you. More than anything else in your life, you must do this. His name is Tommy Morgan..."

Sarah froze at the mention of the boy's name 'Morgan' as a brief, haunted memory came surging into her mind. She quickly fought it down until it receded back into the darkest corner of her mind. She wondered if the nurse or Yolanda had seen the moment of weakness.

Yolanda pulled Sarah even closer to whisper what she did not want the nurse to hear. "Go to my apartment. Find that special gift you gave me so long ago. You will see."

"I will do what I can," Sarah spoke somberly. "I love you, too, Yolanda."

"There is one last thing that you could do for me. Something that I had always longed for since I was a child," Yolanda whispered softly.

Sarah leaned over the bed. "Whatever it is."

Yolanda coughed hoarsely. "I have always wanted a mother to tuck me in and kiss me good night."

Sarah tried to say something, but her voice broke apart in her throat. She stood up, so she could lean over the bed. Carefully drawing up the sheets, she pulled them up to Yolanda's chin. She tucked the sides in. Her tears burned hot as they fell upon the clean white linens. She leaned forward and kissed the young woman's forehead.

How could she be considered as a mother to this dying child? "Goodnight and pleasant dreams, my child." Sarah whispered with a hoarse voice.

Yolanda drew in a final breath. It seemed as if she tried to hold it in, trying to relish the last moments of life. Sarah felt the world pressing in on her. The sound of the heart monitor alarm seemed to come from another room. The look on Yolanda's face would etch itself in her memory. She looked to be finally at peace. There had been so much pain in her life and now it ended.

Sarah tried to stand, but found her legs were weak. She became angry with herself for giving in to her emotions. The nurse walked into the room and turned off the monitor. She said nothing as she exited the room, but she made sure to lay a reassuring hand on Sarah's shoulder. Sarah gripped the rails on the bed so hard her knuckles turned white. She stiffened her arms and tried to channel her pain into another emotion.

The moment she thought she would break down, Sarah found an exit.

Enrique.

Sarah's hatred for the man enabled her to suppress the pain she needed to release. He had been a monster. Yolanda had barely turned fifteen when he had taken her for his wife. She had loved him because he had pretended to care for her. Sarah had found out that Enrique liked his women only at a certain age. Yolanda had been a late bloomer, blossoming into womanhood when she had turned sixteen. Even after they had been married, Enrique had found other little girls on whom to take out his pleasures.

Years of living in various orphanages and foster homes had left an indelible mark upon Yolanda's soul. It seemed extremely hard for a child to find love in that kind of life. Enrique had been twenty-seven when he began to work on a thirteen-year-old Yolanda.

Their relationship, pleasant at first, lasted just four years. Enrique had been the kindest human being to enter Yolanda's life. He treated her with gentleness and she immediately attached herself to him, finally finding a decent rock with which to anchor her life. She had loved him so much she allowed herself to be his victim.

Yolanda's love for the man turned sour quickly after they began living together. They were never officially married. He risked discovery of his illegal acts if they did try to get married. Yolanda found out quickly there were other girls as young as she was. When she told a social worker about him, Enrique beat the living hell out of her and threatened to kill her. The knowledge of the acts that Enrique performed on other little girls burdened her soul tremendously.

Taught by an earlier foster family to seek help at the church, Yolanda attended one Sunday morning. When Enrique did not return home from a Saturday night of binge drinking, she took two other girls he had brought home from a place about which he would not talk. They walked to a small church within a short distance from the ramshackle home she shared with the sick man.

Juan first met her there. Yolanda and the two other girls, who could not have been more than eleven each, had remained behind after the church let out, praying fervently before the altar. She cried terribly. It tore Juan's heart to see a young girl crying. He had asked his wife to go on to the car. He walked up to the front of the church and began to talk to Yolanda.

It took Juan a small amount of time to convince Yolanda and the other two girls he posed no threat to them and coaxed them into telling him their troubles. As soon as he heard the horrifying truth, he called the police and vowed never to let harm come to any of the girls again. The two other girls' families were located and reunited, but Yolanda had no one to look after her. Juan's heart tore yet again, enlarged with compassion, and he immediately took the girl under his wing.

Juan walked in and looked down at the withered form of Yolanda with his eyes nearly flooded with tears. "She has no more pain in her life."

"She never should have met Enrique." Sarah gritted her teeth together as she fought her own tears. "I harbor no respect for him for the misery he caused her."

"Please don't be angry, Sarah." Juan began to shake. He started to reach out and touch Sarah on the shoulder but knew that would only make matters worse. Sarah never let anyone close enough to touch her soul. "We must forget the past and put it behind us. The pain is a poison for the future."

"I've got to go! I need to think!" Sarah tried to run away from the emotional tidal wave threatening to crash down upon her. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll be okay. I've got to take care of the arrangements." Juan wished he had some of the strength that Sarah had. He could not keep his emotions at bay as well as she did. "You go on."

"I'm sorry, Juan. There is no way that I could stay here right now." Sarah felt a sense of guilt for leaving him behind.

"Go ahead." Juan looked over at Yolanda. "Her suffering is over now. You gave her happiness just before she went to sleep. That is all we could ask."

Sarah nodded and stepped out of the room as she could. The hospital had grown into an oppressive death chamber. She desperately needed to get out of there before she screamed out of her lungs. The nurse gave her a deep, respective look that showed her condolences. Sarah ran out of the Intensive Care Unit. She had to get out of there.

Sarah reached the elevators at the end of the hall, but then had to wait for what seemed to be an eternity. The elevators were acting much slower than usual. She sighed impatiently as tears stung her eyes. No crying! Tears never helped. She paced back and forth in front of the elevators. People watched her with mixed feelings. The door finally slid open and she had to restrain herself from rushing madly inside. People packed it full of at that time of the morning.

The doors did not open soon enough when the elevator reached the first floor. Sarah made sure she left first. She walked across the lobby to the entrance doors. Everyone she encountered smiled. She wondered how they could smile on such a day as this one. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

Sarah pushed her way through the glass doors and stepped out into the fresh air. The street in front of the hospital churned with lunch hour traffic. She paid no mind to the myriad of cars that drove by as she ran across the street, heedless of a car that nearly struck her. The driver had given her a warning honk. As she continued, she felt through her purse until she located her keys and pulled them out.

Sarah almost panicked when she could not see her car at first. The tears were trying to form as she put her free hand to her temple in a vain effort to stop the coming migraine. She found her bumper in a sea of bumpers where she had parked. She let out one small sob as she rushed to the safety of her car. She started to climb in when a police car pulled up in front of her car, cutting off any way for her to get out. She desperately needed to get into her car and drive away.

Sarah drew up in frustration and turned on the officer just as he stepped out of his car. "Can I help you, officer?"

"Yes, you can." The officer approached her casually.

The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties with light brown hair. He had an athletic build complimented by his uniform. When he walked around the front of his car to confront her, she noticed right away he could not avoid looking at her body. She noted the number on his badge and forced his last name into her memory.

Haskell.

As Officer Haskell approached her, he exuded a confidence she would quickly take care of. He stopped at the hood of her car and looked down at the silver jaguar in admiration. Sarah frowned as she started to approach him, but then he smiled. The smile completely derailed the steam train she started to hurl at him. She nearly lost the composure she fought so hard to control.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" Haskell wanted to touch the silver cat, but he knew that would be a mistake. "I nearly hit you when you crossed the street out there."

Sarah tried to rebuild her attack, but he still smiled. "My friend just died."

The officer showed no sign of distrust or disbelief, but his smile disappeared. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am." He did not offer any reproach but looked at her with compassion. "Just be careful. You ought to sit for a minute before leaving. Collect your thoughts before driving."

"Okay." Sarah had wanted to vent her rage at the police officer, but his attitude completely baffled her. The tears burned hotter.

Officer Haskell returned to his car. He tipped his head respectfully to her as he stepped back in. Sarah looked at him with bewilderment as he drove away. Did it actually show in her face she hurt over Yolanda's death? The police car entered the busy street. Officer Haskell looked back over his shoulder at her before he drove away.

Sarah sat in her car abruptly. The need to escape felt stronger than ever. She wanted to go back in and comfort Juan, but the day kept falling apart around her, and she needed to piece everything back together.

The migraine creeping insidiously up through the base of Sarah's neck suddenly burst forward. She clenched her teeth together and pressed both palms against her eyes. The pain felt as if the pressure would drive her eyes out of their sockets. She risked forcing her right eye open as she frantically searched for her purse and then through it. It seemed as if she would never find the bottle of pain medicine. For a moment, she feared she might have left them at home. Then she latched hold of the small bottle and retrieved it. Only two tablets remained, and she frantically downed both of them.

Sarah turned the ignition and the big cat purred to life. She turned on the radio to a station that played soothing music and lay back in her seat, replacing her palms upon her eyes. The radio station played a song by Kenny Rogers singing a devotion of love to a woman. The migraine, still in control, blurred the words and the tune into an old Bee Gees song. That song disappeared into grayness. When the pain began to ebb, Elvis sang about the ghettoes. She surprised herself with a loud sob and pulled her hands away from her eyes. They were wet with tears she should not have been crying. She sat up, disgusted with her show of weakness, and slammed the car into drive.

With a violent squeal of protest from the tires pushed beyond their limits, Sarah tore out of the parking lot at a haphazard rate. She fishtailed across three lanes of traffic before bringing the car under control. One driver shot her the finger and shouted something through his side glass which could have been 'Go to Hell' for all she cared. Several cars she had cut off as she pulled onto the street honked their horns angrily.

Sarah turned up Broadway and headed for the Troup Highway, which she knew to be empty of traffic at that hour. The traffic on Broadway seemed too heavy for what she needed. She nearly rear-ended two old farm trucks before she turned onto the highway leading away from the Tyler City limits. Once she passed Troup, the construction ended. The barricades would be gone and there would be no danger of a worker stepping out in front of her. Hardwoods gave way to deep, tall pine trees that shadowed the road most of the time. Trees grew into blurs as she tried to escape her pain, unaware that her foot depressed the accelerator to the floor. The road had occasional twists and curves, but the suspension fit precise and kept the car firmly gripped to the surface.

Yolanda occupied her thoughts. Sarah kept seeing the woman as a young girl, living a life of terror and pain in the grips of the monster, Enrique. She had been so frail and timid. He had ruined her and given her the death sentence with the disease he carried. Sarah never wished such a disease upon anyone, with the exception of one person who deserved it.

What are you running from, little girl? The voice belonged to a ghost of the past.

"I'm not running." Sarah whispered to herself.

You will fall and break your neck.

"Daddy," Sarah did not realize she thought aloud. "I'm being careful."

Sarah knew where her thoughts were taking her. It always happened when her control weakened. She focused her mind's eye on the young police officer. She forced herself to think of him. She tried to remember what he looked like, the features of his face, his badge number, his name. The only thing she could see clearly was his smile with those glistening white teeth.

The teeth were not really glistening, and they were not white, were they? They were an ugly yellow, probably stained from too much coffee or pipe smoke. Not all of them were there, either. One of them chipped while a silver cap covered another. They parted so the tongue could dart out snake like...

Sarah shuddered in revulsion at the vivid memory. She had gripped the steering wheel with both hands so tightly the fingertips were tingling. The shudder caused her arms to jerk. The car responded to the sudden change. She hit gravel and lost contact with solid pavement. From somewhere around her, she could hear a truck horn blaring at her, but she could not locate the other vehicle right away.

The trees grew up close to the highway and Sarah feared she would plow right through them. She turned the wheel again to try to get back up on the highway. She over-corrected and crossed the road in the opposite direction. She jerked the wheel again and entered the path of an approaching school bus. She cried out to God and stomped on the brake pedal. The back of the car swung around suddenly, and she could no longer see the bus.

The momentum carried Sarah's car off the pavement again just as the bus roared by her, narrowly missing the front of her car. She kept the brake pedal mashed in as far as she could press it until the car came to a full stop.

"Oh God!" Sarah exclaimed when she realized she had not been hurt.

The bus had pulled to a stop a hundred yards down the road. The driver got out and approached her cautiously. Looking at him, she wondered how any parent could trust their children in his care. He had a shaggy beard, which extended down to an exposed gut. She did not want to talk to him.

"Jeez, lady!" The man had a graveled voice that rasped against her nerves. "You nearly hit us!"

Sarah's stomach churned when she looked at him. Through the narrow crack in the window, she could smell him, and it reminded her of something dead on the side of the road. His face looked greasier than his navel and looked like a battleground from all the pimple craters. His large, bulbous nose looked as if it would burst open if he decided to rub it. His sleeveless shirt bared arms scarred with the tracks of needle marks.

The driver kept looking back at the bus nervously. There were several children looking out the back window. They were cute and could not have been older than eight or nine. One of them waved to her, but she was in no mood to wave in return. She turned back to the man.

"I'm okay, sir. I just lost a friend. I was thinking about her when I lost control of the car. I'm sorry if I frightened you or the children."

The driver snorted and then spit out a thick wad of phlegm onto the shoulder of the road. "Sorry to hear about your friend lady. Don't you worry about them young uns." He paused to look up at the bus again. "We were on our way to Tyler on a field trip. Do you want me to call the police for you?"

"I'm fine." Sarah wanted to end their conversation as quickly as possible. "I'll sit here and wait a few minutes before I leave."

The driver stooped over to talk to her through her window. He straightened back up and scratched the enormous gut he seemed to display proudly. "Well I have a tight schedule to make. These kids have a busy day ahead of them. If you will pardon me..."

"Gladly." Sarah whispered to herself when he had turned away. She finally waved to the child that had waved to her and saw a smile spread across the little girl's mouth.

The bus soon left, leaving Sarah to sit alone in her car. She had no desire to drive away yet. The car still ran. She pushed a button on the dash and the top slowly retracted. The sky opened up above her. She turned off the air conditioner and let the natural air wash over her. It felt warm and moist, promising of rain. The clouds were streaming northeastward but appeared to be getting heavier.

Sarah shut off the motor, thankful she had not done any damage to the car, or anyone else for that matter. A hawk cried a warning as it circled overhead. She watched it for a long time as it tirelessly hunted, gracefully swooping low through the trees and avoiding the thick branches, which would have caught larger animals. It cried again as it gracefully swept in an arc up high into the air. Its wings folded, and it plummeted toward the ground a hundred feet in front of her. A master of flight, the bird of prey exhibited skill as it landed upon a copperhead attempting to cross the highway.

Only a few seconds passed for the carefully planned attack. The snake tried to strike with its deadly fangs, but the bird of prey had anticipated the move. It caught the viper's head with its powerful beak and with a quick flip of its neck, severed the snake's head from its body. The body of the snake still writhed and twisted as if it tried to escape. The hawk took flight with its kill to a more private area to dine. Sarah had only taken three breaths. She hated snakes. They were loathsome creatures she could not tolerate. She hoped the hawk had an insatiable appetite for snakes.

The migraine had left her, and she felt grateful for that as well. She cursed her foolishness for driving so fast to get out of town. Her mind began to clear. Her friend had died, and she knew she needed to help set things in order. She could not deal with the funeral procedures. Juan would have to do that on his own. She dreaded even sitting through the service. She loved Yolanda as much as anyone else did, but it would be difficult to sit through the service and keep control over her emotions. She needed to be busy to keep from falling away into the cataclysm of pain.

Sarah remembered what Yolanda had asked her to return to her apartment and get a gift from long ago. The apartment did not exist in the best part of town and residents would be quick to take advantage of the young woman's passing. If anything, she needed to get there and preserve what little possessions Yolanda had. She started the car back up and turned back to town.

CHAPTER 3

Susan Farnsworth sat at her desk looking at the prospective couple with deep suspicion, but she did not let it show. Too many years at her job had made her overly cautious with the people she counseled about adoptions. She adjusted the glasses she wore and opened the file folder before her. The papers were ready for signing. She sensed something about the man and looked directly at him.

The rich adoptive couple could have chosen any child they wanted. He was in his mid-forties and his hair shaded a deep silver gray kept cut short and neat. He had approached the adoption process with a business-like approach. He made sure the funds were in order and readily available. He kept a tight schedule but managed to work in more than the minimum amount of time required to spend with the boy they wanted to adopt. The man felt Susan's scrutiny of him and shifted nervously in his chair.

The woman seemed different. It was apparent she spent many of her days alone at home. A cancer had destroyed any hope for children born to her. Tommy had captured her heart as he did with any other person he met. The woman had spent more time than most other adoptive parents did, getting to know him, even though he did not know how to respond to her attention.

"I have been working Tommy Morgan's case for a very long time." Susan looked down at the paperwork before her. "I had a ray of hope that I had finally found a home for him when I met you. All of the others were not all that great."

"Ma'am..." The man spoke with a deep, cultured Southern accent. He looked to his wife, then back to Susan.

Susan hid her relief when she detected his rejection. For Tommy's sake, she had not wanted to turn the couple down. He would have had a well-nurtured life from the woman, all the medical attention he needed, but none of the emotional support from a father figure all children required. She had never found it easy to break children's hearts. It would be even harder to tell Tommy they had backed out. She closed the folder to end an uncomfortable moment, but the man had to justify his guilty conscience as she expected. She stood up and walked back to the file cabinet.

"We really liked the Morgan boy." The man cleared his throat. "After giving this considerable thought, though, we don't think the boy will be right for us."

The woman looked as if it tormented her to turn down the adoption. "I wanted a child who would respond to me with love."

"That boy is very emotionally unstable. He doesn't speak." The man rubbed his chin.

"I am sure that Tommy will find a family that could take care of him." The woman had distanced herself from her husband.

Susan put the file in its proper location and turned to face the couple, making no effort to hide her anger. "These past six months I have worked with the two of you and little Tommy. You were the first people I had ever felt some bit of hope for Tommy. You were not able to see it because you were blind to it, but I saw the subtle changes in him. He even has a friend now. I say this because I wanted you to know that you had made a difference in his life, however small it was." She saw her tone was inflicting pain in the woman and she decided to back off a little.

"I wasn't going to authorize the adoption, though." Susan turned her attention to the man. "I could see it in you, sir, that you live a life too busy for children. A boy like Tommy needs a stable family life and a father who can spend a great deal of time with him. From the file about his parents, I discovered that Tommy spent a lot of time with his father and his mother. For Tommy's emotional stability, he would need a family who could provide both parents with nearly equal time. I wish the two of you the best of luck finding a child to adopt from another agency. Now if you will excuse me, I have a broken heart to mend."

"Ma'am...If there was any way..." The man rose and helped his wife up, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a check. "Please take this as an apology. Half of it goes to Tommy. The other half is to be divided among the other children."

Susan looked at the check for a moment. Ten thousand dollars. She would have torn the check up and thrown it in his face if she had not worked for an orphanage. There were children in the building that needed new clothes and many beds that needed replacement.

Susan made herself soften toward the man. "Thank you, sir. The children do need this. May I ask that half of what goes to Tommy to be put into a savings bond and the other half be used for a psychologist for him? Both would be most beneficial to his future."

"That would be acceptable." The man took his wife by the arm. "We appreciate the time you spent with us and understand your disappointment."

"Wait." The woman fought tears. She took up a pen from Susan's desk and wrote down a telephone number. "If he ever needs medical attention or you find a good family for him that does not have enough money for all the legal procedures, call me and I will take care of his expenses."

"Thank you." Susan said softly.

Nothing more could be said. A brief moment of awkward silence passed. Susan opened a drawer in her desk and placed the check inside, then closed and locked it. The woman started to say something, then thought better of it, and allowed her husband to escort her out. Susan waited until they had left and then sat back down behind her desk. She took off her glasses and rubbed the temples of her forehead to ward off an approaching headache.

CHAPTER 4

The boy sat up on his bed next to the third story window. He looked down on the courtyard outside. The children were playing in the warm sunshine that graced the spring day. He was too sick to go down and join them. His build was slight and his stature small. Though already nine, it was common for some people to think he was only seven. His short blonde hair still curled wildly. His complexion appeared pale and sickly. His eyes were distant and haunted.

Tommy saw the couple go back out to their big fancy car and he knew. He could not suppress the tears of anguish from the disappointment. He touched the glass and leaned closer. The woman stopped and looked up at him and he could tell she hurt, too. She waived to him and then quickly disappeared into her car. He watched the car as it pulled away, his heart leaving with it. She had been so nice to him. She would have been perfect.

Children gathered around the car and shouted. Jeremiah chased after the car all the way up the block, hurling a water balloon as a sign of protest. When the boy returned to the gate, one of the adults intended to monitor the children for safety chastised him and scolded him for acting so foolishly.

Tommy turned away from the window and curled into his covers upon his bed. A small bed occupied a small room. A bare bulb gave light enough to see by. He cried, but he did not sob aloud. He wondered why so many people hated him. Susan had said that it was because he would not talk. He could not tell her why they forbid him to speak.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs outside of his room. Tommy raised his head up and listened closely. Already he pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He tried to stop crying as he watched the crack below his door. In the light coming from the hall outside, he saw a shadow approaching his door. He held his breath, grabbed his sheets to cover himself, and began to shiver.

"Tommy. Are you awake?" Susan asked as she gently opened the door.

Tommy relaxed quickly, letting go of his knees. He sat up in his bed as Susan approached. She tried to smile but each of them could see the pain in the other's eyes. She sat down on the edge of his bed. Her heart went out to him. She could see he wasted away in the prison that entrapped him. She took his small hand into hers.

"I am sorry." Susan fought to keep her tears suppressed.

Susan remembered the first time she had found Tommy. Just two years earlier, she had ended a long career at the Baptist Benevolence Home near the suburb of Mesquite, Texas. She had learned of the horrors going on at a boys' home near downtown Dallas from some of the victims who had been able to escape the inner-city Hell. Allegedly, drug lords who pimped out children to lecherous old men for easy cash ran it. Despite the name of the home, they found many young girls as well. She took over after they arrested the original caretaker during a federal raid. Officials could only describe the home as a flophouse for the city's worst criminal element.

What Susan learned of made her sick. A couple of children, who resisted pimping out, had their tiny bodies misshapen from severe beatings. Some of the children were emaciated. The building reeked of mold, mildew, and roaches. The children wore dirty clothing and slept on bug-infested bedding. Rats were commonplace and some actually were brave enough to walk across a foot in the daytime. It amazed her that the State of Texas had not closed the facility down sooner.

The infestations and treatment of the children paled in comparison to the condition in which they found little Tommy. His room had always been on the third floor in what was little better than a musty old attic. The equipment room and a couple of storage rooms also occupied the floor. If it had not been for a brave little girl who spoke up when the strangers entered the building, they would not have found him in time. She had directed the men to the room where they kept the little boy of whom the other kids were afraid. Susan followed with the men as they went up the final flight of steps.

Locked from the outside with chains and a padlock, the door to Tommy's room seemed as if something terrible lay in wait on the other side. After one man pounded away the lock and chain with the butt of his rifle, then another rammed his shoulder into the stout wood, the door burst open into a third world prison.

Something terrible had been waiting to attack when they entered. They found the child cold and naked, chained about the waist to his bed frame. The room stank of feces and urine several months old. The boy, covered in his own filth, whimpered and cringed as the strangers entered his room. So appalled by his condition, Susan would have throttled the old woman responsible for caring for the children.

Susan's heart went out to Tommy in the instant she saw him. With tears streaming from her eyes, she ignored the warnings of the men standing at the door and approached the boy. When she neared him, she dropped to her knees, so she did not appear so imposing. When she went to examine the chains for a lock, Tommy lunged for her, pulling the bed as he did with a mighty strength that did not match his pint size. She caught his wildly flying arms with gentle hands, even though his could have gouged out her eyes. Amazed by his strength as he tried to attack her, she told the men to get back when they started to go into the room to help her. The stench of the room sickened her, but this child was in the worst shape she had ever witnessed. She tried to hold him close, but he fought against her.

Repeatedly Susan tried to calm Tommy by telling him they were not there to hurt him. Half an hour would pass before he collapsed under exhaustion, yet she managed to find strength to hold him. The men brought in a pair of bolt cutters to remove the chain from his waist and free him from his physical prison.

They took Tommy to a hospital to check him over. Susan had to be there with him, for he would not remain calm out of her presence. She figured she had been the first person in a long time to be kind to him and he had entrusted only her. At the hospital, they discovered he acted under the influence of various drugs.

They would not discover the real Tommy until much later.

"You saw them leaving?" Susan searched for the right words for encouragement.

Tommy nodded as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Susan drew a finger under one of her own eyes. "You are really a beautiful little boy. With your wavy blond hair and your sky-blue eyes, you should have been snatched up in a hurry." She cupped her hand over his. "If only you could put your past behind you...Forget what happened in the past."

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly.

"I know. You keep seeing the wreck over and over." She ran a hand through his hair. "I wish that your Momma and Daddy had lived. You deserve so much better than this."

Tommy sat up in the bed and watched Susan with expectant eyes. She smiled at him and drew him into a hug. Tommy rewarded her with a kiss on her cheek. She would have returned the kiss, but Jeremiah tapped on the door. She reluctantly let go of Tommy and stood up to save him any further embarrassment in front of his friend.

"You come down and see me if you need me, okay?" Susan received a nod in reply from Tommy. "Good." She turned to Jeremiah. "Don't keep him up too long. He is still sick, and I wanted him to go to the flower gardens with us this evening."

"Okay, Miss Susan." Jeremiah said politely.

Susan patted Jeremiah on the shoulder as she walked by him. She still believed in giving the children touches of affection along with words of encouragement. In a world when people were distancing themselves from any incriminating contact with the children, she still knew in her heart how much affection they craved. Her children, more than others, needed to feel some sort of security in a world not very promising to them.

Jeremiah darted into the room. Tommy moved over to one side of his bed to make room for his best friend. Jeremiah climbed up onto the bed and sat beside Tommy, filled with compassion because he had wanted the couple to adopt Tommy.

"I'm sorry those people didn't take you with them."

Tommy shrugged his shoulders as he looked up at Jeremiah expectantly.

Jeremiah looked into the other boy's eyes. "Of course, you care. And don't tell me that you don't, because you wouldn't be crying over them if it was so."

Tommy sobbed quietly and rubbed fitfully at his eyes.

"I didn't mean to make you cry again." Jeremiah said with guilt. "I'm sorry."

Tommy got down off the bed and hobbled slowly to a small wooden chest. Jeremiah got up and followed him. Tommy opened the bottom drawer to reveal his treasured possessions. Jeremiah helped him pull the drawer out further. The younger boy pulled out a drawing pad and crayons. Jeremiah knew what he intended to do. Every time he felt sad, Tommy drew pictures of other places to see. He most often drew pictures of houses with a family, something he longed for.

Tommy sat in the middle of his floor and opened the pad to a blank page. He took a green crayon and began to color in his grass. Jeremiah sighed. Tommy would be preoccupied with the drawing until completion. He looked through Tommy's keepsakes. An old teddy bear that lost fluffiness sat among quite a few stones of varying color and weight. A toy car with one of its wheels missing sat next to an old baseball. Jeremiah studied the baseball for a moment. He wondered why Tommy would have one when he had no interest in the sport. Even more curious, an old box of matches appeared he had never seen before.

"Where did these come from?" Jeremiah shook the box to gauge how many were in there.

Tommy glanced up from his drawing but did not seem to acknowledge the matches. He turned back to his drawing and worked quietly. Jeremiah frowned as he put them back in their place. He looked over the other boy's shoulder to see the picture he worked on. Tommy's picture turned out to be that of a house with a dog and a cat. He worked on the image of a woman and child. The sun resided over trees shaped like Christmas trees.

"Is that what you want? A home with a Momma and some pets with Christmas trees in the yard?" Jeremiah asked with genuine interest.

Tommy nodded his head in reply.

"What about a Daddy?" Jeremiah tapped on an empty spot between the child figure and the dog.

Tommy pushed Jeremiah's finger away from the spot and shook his head. Jeremiah frowned again, trying to interpret his friend's silent communication. Tommy touched a finger to Jeremiah's chest and then to the empty spot. Jeremiah let out a chuckle.

"I can't be your Daddy!" Jeremiah ruffled the younger boy's hair. "I'm only twelve."

Tommy frowned this time as he shook his head. He searched through his box of crayons and found a brown one. He drew an image of another child next to the first one and pointed again to Jeremiah. The older boy understood then what Tommy tried to tell him.

"You want me to be your brother?"

Tommy nodded his head.

Jeremiah sighed. "I don't know if they will let us be. You and I are different. I am black. You are white. There are not a lot of people out there who like black kids. Maybe we will get lucky and find the right person. Just don't get your hopes up too high right now."

Someone knocked on the door, surprising both children. Jeremiah looked up before Tommy did and saw Martin, one of the attendants for the boys' ward, standing there. He started to get up, but Tommy grabbed his arm with a tight grip. He felt a tremble in the smaller child's hand and knew immediately that Tommy felt terrified of Martin.

"I am truly and deeply sorry that you did not get to go home with those people, Tommy." Martin walked into the room uninvited. "I didn't realize that you had a friend, now."

Jeremiah quickly sensed something about Martin he did not like. "We have been friends for a while now."

Martin's eyes seemed to look over Tommy with lustful hunger. "Tommy and I have been friends for a real long time, have we not?" The man tried to reach out to Tommy.

Jeremiah felt Tommy cringe away from Martin's approach. "We were playing a game."

Martin snorted. "You can leave now. Miss Farnsworth told me to have Tommy take a nap before the fieldtrip this afternoon. I'll clean up this mess and put him to bed."

"No!" Jeremiah stated with indignation. "She said we could play together."

Tommy's eyes grew wide just as Martin's fists clenched tightly. Martin glared down at Jeremiah and his nostrils flared open in anger. Jeremiah stood his ground and stared back up at the man unafraid. Martin lashed out without warning, punching a meaty fist toward the black boy's defiant face. Jeremiah had seen it coming long before the man had flinched and dodged quickly out of harm's way.

"You like hitting kids?" Jeremiah taunted. "Is that why all the other kids are afraid of you? What are you going do when Miss Susan finds out?"

Martin almost swung again when he caught himself. "She ain't going to find out. Not from you."

"You hit me, and she'll be the first to hear about it." Jeremiah crossed his arms in confidence that Martin would not swing again.

Martin leaned in close with his voice in a low, threatening tone. "I'm not going to do anything to you...that would cause me to lose this job."

Jeremiah understood what was implied. "If you ever hurt Tommy, I'll..." He had to stop himself from saying the words that would get him sent away from the home immediately.

Martin realized he had gotten the upper hand and winked at Tommy. "I think Farnsworth is calling me. I'll see you later." He shoved a meaty finger into Jeremiah's chest. "Stay out of my way!"

Tommy sat down on the floor behind Jeremiah and watched fearfully as the man left.

Jeremiah placed a reassuring hand on the younger child's shoulder. He dropped to his knees after he confirmed that Martin departed completely so he could talk with Tommy. "Does he come in here a lot?" He noticed that Tommy tried to draw but could not hold his hand steady.

Tommy shook his head.

Jeremiah watched Tommy thoughtfully. "I think I know what kind of man Martin is."

Tommy looked up at Jeremiah for a moment. Terror trembled in his eyes, which told Jeremiah more than words ever could. Tommy swallowed a lump in his throat and shook his head again.

Jeremiah reached out to steady Tommy's hand. "We can tell Susan and she will fire him and call the police. We'll never see him again."

Tommy grabbed Jeremiah by the shirt to stop him and shook his head violently. He pointed to the door and then pounded one of his fists into the palm of his other hand. He then pointed to himself.

"Martin won't be able to get at you again." Jeremiah tried to argue his point. "He wouldn't be able to get inside this building at all."

Tommy pulled harder on Jeremiah's shirt. He begged the older boy not to tell. He feared the consequences resulting from the revelation of truth. Jeremiah stopped trying to go to the door and Tommy expressed relief. He did not want to go through another night of beatings and other tortures. He could not handle two bouts of grief in one day.

"Okay. I won't tell her." Jeremiah agreed reluctantly. "But you don't have to suffer. If you ever need me to help you talk to Miss Farnsworth about this though, do not be afraid to. I know how to deal with people like Martin. Trust me."

Tommy surprised Jeremiah with a hug.

"What was that for?"

Tommy pointed to himself, placed a hand over his heart, and then pointed to Jeremiah.

Jeremiah blinked in confusion. He did not know how to reply to Tommy's new level of affection "You love me...like a brother?"

Tommy nodded his head and smiled in an affirmative response, then lifted the picture he had drawn. Jeremiah realized then that it did not matter whether they were black and white. They were as close as two brothers were. They were both alone in the world and had found each other by chance. Jeremiah felt a strange sensation course through him. He wanted to tell Tommy he felt the same way, but he could not. The words could not make their way from his heart into his mouth.

The words 'I love you' had lost their meaning to Jeremiah a long time back. Those words uttered by men who bought boys off the street for a couple of hours at a time, whispered into young ears while being humiliated were empty. They were words never mentioned by a mother who filled her soul with the poisons of alcohol. He never heard them from the father who always sold the bags of white powder and only stayed home long enough to make a deal or fill his orders. Jeremiah could not say them to Tommy because he no longer believed in them.

Tommy reached up and kissed Jeremiah's cheek.

Jeremiah's voice caught in his throat. "Please...Don't tell anyone about this." He cleared his throat to speak better. "I have never let anyone kiss me before. I like you, though. You are little. If you had been older..." He stopped short of what he needed to say. He did not want to become a threat to his little friend. "If you want to do it again...that's okay. Just do not kiss me in front of the other kids. They will make fun of both of us."

Tommy nodded his head, showing he understood.

"Lunch will be coming soon." Jeremiah wanted to get away from the uncomfortable situation. "Are you going with us to the flower gardens after lunch?"

Tommy shrugged his shoulders and then yawned deeply.

Jeremiah placed a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "If you go, I'll let you ride on my shoulders. You do not have to spend any time around the others if you do not want to. But I don't want to carry you around if you're sleeping...so you better get back into bed and take a short nap."

Tommy gave a sign of relief and gratitude. Jeremiah smiled and helped his friend back up in bed. He returned the keepsakes back into their proper place and put the drawer back into the chest. He looked back to Tommy who already nodded off with heavy lidded eyes.

"You still have a long way to go before you get healthy again. Miss Susan says that you need a lot of rest." Jeremiah drew the sheets over the younger boy. "Maybe Miss Susan will let me move my bed in here with you this evening. Then you'll have me here to protect you from Martin."

Tommy yawned again as he laid back against his pillow. Jeremiah gave him a friendly pat and the little boy returned it with a smile. Sleep stole over him as he watched the older boy leave.

Links to this book:

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/797060

Hard Cover: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/EddieCDollgenerJr

Paperback: https://www.createspace.com/5276393

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I was born and raised in Texas, so almost all of my settings take place in Texas. I began life in the Dallas area, but have recently moved to the "Arklatex" region of Northeast Texas. I am a Christian and a father to one daughter. Occasionally, I taught a Sunday school class and a weekly program to children about missionaries through a program called Royal Ambassadors. I used to teach regularly at a church in Mesquite, TX, but due to the move, a 2-hour drive became difficult to maintain and it was necessary to cut back. I now teach every Sunday and Wednesday at my new church home in East Texas.

Although my ultimate goal in life was to write full-time and be able to go on medical mission trips or disaster relief teams, the reality is that most writers have to work extra jobs to support their dreams. I am not ashamed to say that I work as a nurse aide (some people used to call us orderlies) at a major hospital system in East Texas. I am grateful that God has allowed me to find this sort of work enjoyable because I get to serve and minister to those who need both physical and spiritual healing.

In July, 2014, I suffered a stroke that threatened to circumvent my desires for a meaningful life. Thanks to a wonderful rehab team out of Tyler, I was able to recover most of my functions for daily living, though I still get exhausted on some days. I only have recently been able to take up the habit of writing again, so expect to see some more works in the near future.

My interest in becoming a writer actually started around my twelfth birthday. My mother gave me a book, "Little Men," by Louisa May Alcott, that became my first inclination that I would want to live adventures through written words. My first efforts at creative writing were poems created between classes in high school. I actually had a decent collection of about fifty, but sadly, they were lost over time from various moves in my younger years. My first publication was a poem entitled "Throw Away Child," that was published in a national anthology.

About 1987 was when I first began to write full-length novels. At the time, I was a big Stephen King fan and thought that writing horror novels was the way to get into mainstream publishing. I started a novel that eventually split into two novels. "Circle of the Rose" began life as "A Rose for Tommy," and now is titled "Unholy Cult of the Blood Rose." The story was about a boy who suffered from abuse and travelled to a dream world in his sleep to escape his tormentors. After writing it out, which is what I try to do with anything I create, it just sounded too cheesy to work for me. I extracted the "real" life work from the "imaginary" one and found that I actually had two viable novels from one.

"Unholy Cult of the Blood Rose" is a horror novel that I wrote to address the issue of child abuse. In a way, it was a therapeutic work of art helping me to deal with the demons in my past childhood. I do not wish to delve any further at the moment, but if you take the time to read the introduction to that novel, you may have a better understanding of what message I was trying, and may still be trying, to convey.

The second novel that split from the original became "Unbinder." That work of literature is still in progress. It will actually become three separate books as a series and is a fantasy series set in another world with young lovers, old dragons, battling sorcerers, and an evil overlord. The excerpt I have provided here on the cd is the middle book. "Unbinder" became too big to write as one complete novel and a time gap in the events on Traum exists that I could receive no inspiration to fill. The first book will actually be a prequel that builds up to the second book.

My latest foray into modern literature is a drama written out as serialized fiction. "The Long Road Home: Homecoming" represents the latest genre that I am working in and has become the most rewarding for me, both in its creation, and in the publishing aspect.

Feel free to visit one of my websites and leave a comment if you like. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

May God bless you richly in the coming days,

Eddie C Dollgener Jr

I really appreciate you reading my book! Here are some ways to keep up with my latest creations:

Facebook is my social media outlet with several dedicated book pages:

http://www.facebook.com/cary.dollgener

Follow me on Twitter where I can let the world know of my latest releases:

http://twitter.com/CaryDollgener

Favorite my Smashwords author page:

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/edollgener

Word Press is where I usually post my latest excerpts:

http://authoreddiecdollgenerjr.wordpress.com

Connect with me on LinkedIn:

www.linkedin.com/in/eddiedollgener

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