Being Henry David - By Cal Armistead Page 0,72

prove that’s my shirt.” He jabs a finger in my face. “My name is sewn into the collar.”

I stare at him with a snort of laughter. “Oh yeah? Your mommy sews name tags in all your clothes? Is that what you’re saying? So little Cammy won’t lose his precious clothes?”

He lunges for me then, tries to pull at the neck of the shirt so he can search for his stupid name tag, but I shove him away with both hands like he doesn’t matter. Can’t get into a fight, not now, when I’m due to play guitar for Hailey in less than an hour.

Cameron comes at me, fists balled, aiming at my nose, but I dodge him, and he swings at the air. I laugh, which just pisses him off more.

Out of the darkness behind the school comes a raspy shout, and the two of us freeze. “Back off,” it says. “Or I’ll kill you.”

17

A dark figure lumbers out of the shadows as panic rises in my throat like bile. It’s got to be Magpie after all, probably with Watchdog and Ginger backing him up in the weeds behind the school, ready to get their revenge, to kidnap or torture me or just shoot me in the head and be done with it.

“Who the hell are you?” Cameron asks.

“Don’t talk,” I whisper in a tight voice. God, he’s going to get his ass killed, just for being the idiot he is. The figure shuffles into the light, and with a flash of relief that leaves me weak, I see it’s not Magpie or one of his men after all. Jack takes two steps forward, something clutched in his fist. His hand twitches and the streetlights gleam off the metal of a blade.

“Leave Hank alone or I swear I’ll cut you,” he hisses at Cameron.

All the bravado drains out of Cameron’s face, along with the color, leaving him pale and ghostly. “Holy shit.” His voice is high like a little girl’s.

Good, I’m thinking. Scare the crap out of this weasel. He deserves it. I’ll make sure nobody gets hurt, but I might enjoy the show before I intervene. Jack takes another step toward Cameron, knife pointed in the direction of his nose, then suddenly Jack collapses before he can even put out his hands to break his fall, smacking his head on the pavement with a sickening thud. The knife falls out of his hand with a clatter.

I hurry to his side as his crumpled body contracts into a fetal position. “Jack!” Blood trickles out of his hair onto his forehead.

“I don’t feel so good, Hank.” Then Jack’s entire body jerks and convulses and his eyes roll so far back in his head, all I can see is white. I shake him, but it does no good, and then foamy stuff starts bubbling out of his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Cameron says again, gaping down at Jack.

Leaning down, I place my ear near Jack’s mouth to listen. “Christ, he’s not breathing.” I reach up and shove Cameron to snap him out of his trance. “Call nine-one-one! Now!”

As Cameron fumbles for his phone, I dredge up a long-ago memory of learning CPR in Boy Scouts. Immediately, I start chest compressions, then wipe the foam off his lips, trying to blow air into his slack, reeking mouth without puking. I have no idea how long I’m doing this when I hear the sirens. Then I see the lights and my own heart stops beating.

Flashing lights. Blue, red, blue, red. Blinding me. Like that day with Rosie. In the intersection. In the car. I close my eyes against the lights, the noise, and Jack’s blood. When I open them again, I see the accident all over again. Gray truck getting close, closer, then slamming into us. An explosion of color and terror, shattering glass and grinding metal. Ambulance. Police car. Lights. Blue, red. And my God, so much blood.

Scrambling backward now, away from the lights and sirens and the blood, I find my feet and spin away. Escape, the beast snarls in my ear. Run. Now.

I turn and run smack into a man in a blue uniform who grasps my upper arms in an iron grip.

“Hold on there, son. You’re not going anywhere until we figure out what happened here.” I struggle against him, but unable to bolt, my body surrenders and I crumple to the ground near Jack.

From somewhere far away I hear Cameron’s voice and the shouting EMTs, but I’m slipping away, the last