want to see him here.
He’s my escape from this world. Seeing him here would make that way harder. I really like that, because of our deal, our friendship is totally separate from all this stuff.
So what if it’s a little like playing make-believe?
There are definitely worse things that people can do.
I have a feeling I’m going to see that firsthand tonight.
We approach our family. Vince is staring at me like I’m one of his victims. There’s this evil gleam in his eyes and in the curve of his smirk. He has his switchblade out, and keeps opening and closing it. The silver blade shines. I notice there are bloodstains on the white cuff of his shirt.
“You’re late,” says Vince. “I’m guessing it’s Matt’s fault?”
Luke scowls. “Don’t be a dick, traffic was bad on Palm Ave.”
“If you say so.”
Vince clicks his switchblade closed. His daughters are behind him. Even though they’re two years apart, they both have the same haircut, with bangs that cover their foreheads. It makes them look like twins.
I hate those two.
They seem way too into the fact that their dad tortures people.
It freaks me out.
As a family, we start walking through the shipping-container area. The containers are stacked on top of one another, so they dwarf us. It’s sort of like a giant metal maze. Vince leads the pack, and he seems to know exactly where he’s going. He keeps up a quick pace, still clicking his switchblade, and the crowd follows behind him.
“Hey, Matty,” says Becca, the older of the two. She’s fourteen.
“Hey.”
“You going to keep it together tonight, or nah?”
One time, years ago, Dad yelled at me at a dinner, after I spilled my soda on the dining table. I cried. They haven’t let me forget it.
“Back off,” growls Luke.
The two giggle, but then fall back out of step with us.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I shouldn’t need to stand up for you,” he says. “You don’t have to take any crap from anyone.”
“That would imply they bothered me. Which they didn’t.”
“Well, good.”
They kind of did, though.
I want to go back to the car so bad.
I know whatever is waiting for me is something I’m going to hate. But I can’t turn around. Everyone already thinks I’m soft, but I haven’t actually given them a concrete reason to think that yet. If I went back, it’d be more than a suspicion.
It’d be a fact that’ll follow me for the rest of my life.
I’ll be known forever as a coward.
Plus, even if I did have the guts to ask, they wouldn’t let me go.
I know that I’m a weak spot in my family. Dad is so strong, so the one way that they can all get to him is through me. Because I represent him, much to his chagrin. It’s even more important now that he’s been taken out of the game, at least for a while. Luke and I need to represent him while he heals.
Still.
If I don’t leave, I’m going to see a guy Vince has tortured.
And I’ll never be able to get it out of my head. I slow my pace. I need to do it. I need to leave.
I turn, and see that Luke is watching me. He shakes his head slowly.
Okay.
He knows.
That’s okay.
I should trust him. Luke has always been so good at this stuff. If he tells me I should stay here, then I should listen to him. Seeing whatever is waiting for me might be bad, but leaving would be worse.
Probably way worse.
Vince stops walking and pockets his switchblade. His two daughters are grinning.
The shipping container in front of us is totally unremarkable. It looks pretty much the same as the thousands of others. Rusted metal, chipped paint, and a damaged door that’s seen better days.
Vince lifts up a roller door, and I have to hold back a gasp.
Sitting in the middle of the container is a boy.
Or, a man. Just, a young one.
He’s chained to a chair, and there’s a bloody burlap sack over his head.
He’s shirtless, and his body has been cut a few times. Rivers of dried blood run down from the cuts. He’s still breathing, as his chest is rising and falling, but he’s alarmingly pale and limp. His hands are tied behind his back and are lying slack.
How long has he been here, like this?
“I’m back,” says Vince. “Did you miss me?”
The boy starts thrashing. He strains against his bonds, but his hands are tied tightly, and his ankles are bound to the legs of the chair,