Never Wake

by Gabrielle Goldsby

  “We could go anywhere we wanted. I’ve been avoiding the whole car thing for too long, I’ve been thinking about us borrowing one.”

  “Not on my account, you won’t.” Emma’s tone was firm.

  “No? Funny, I can’t think of a better reason.”

  “What about this boy, Jake? What if he doesn’t want to leave his parents?”

  “All we can do is tell him what’s going on and ask him what he wants to do. It’s his decision in the end.”

  “We can’t leave him alone here. Not with that man on the loose.”

  “He’s been on his own for a while now, Em. I think that makes him capable of making his own decisions. We need to let him know about the guy at the hospital. If he doesn’t want to leave town with us, we won’t force the issue.”

  “And if he wants to?”

  Troy looked at Emma, unsure where she was going with the question. “Then we bring him with us. I went nuts before I found you. I wouldn’t wish that kind of isolation on my worst enemy, let alone a kid.”

  Emma squeezed her hand and Troy had to remind herself that she and Emma hadn’t known each other long. “Should be just around the corner,” she said because Emma’s breathing had become more labored.

  The Ostroph house was on the corner. It was very large—four bedrooms, Troy guessed from looking at it. It had three enormous old oak trees in a thick, green yard that looked as if someone—a gardener, no doubt—had spent many hours tending it. Troy wondered what it would be like to grow up in a house that size.

  It looked as though every light, including the one outside the front door, had been left on.

  Troy started toward the front door, but was brought up short because her fingers were still linked with Emma’s, and Emma hadn’t moved.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Let’s wait a minute. Come over here.” Emma pulled Troy behind a tree and kept her eyes on the house. In a few minutes the boy passed in front of the window, holding a bottle of what looked like beer.

  “Is he drinking a beer?” Troy asked.

  “Could be a soda.”

  “Could be a beer,” Troy insisted and remembered her own reaction to not finding anyone else awake when she came to in the hospital. “Let’s go ask him.” She stood up and started toward the door.

  “Troy, no. Wait, please.” There was urgency in Emma’s voice now. Troy turned to look at her in the fading light.

  “Emma, what’s going on? I thought we agreed that we need to at least tell him so that he knows there’s a lunatic out there.”

  “Yes, I know, but there’s something wrong.”

  Troy studied Emma’s face. “What do you mean, ‘something wrong’?”

  “I just know it feels wrong. I sense pain and fear, disorientation, and I don’t know but…”

  Troy was about to tell Emma she was over-reacting, but then thought better of it. “All the more reason to check in on him. Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she said, and before Emma could protest, she jogged, hunched over, to the front porch and peered in the window.

  She could feel Emma’s eyes on her back as she watched the boy, Jake. He had brown hair and eyes and a skinny chest. He was staring fixedly at the TV set. His shoulders relaxed as he moved his thumbs back and forth over a game controller. He picked up the beer and sipped it.

  Troy jogged back to the tree. “He’s drinking a beer and playing a video game. He didn’t look afraid.”

  “I don’t know. I just get a sense of fear and…pain.”

  Troy could see the frustration on Emma’s face. “I don’t get it. He doesn’t look like he’s in any kind of pain, but if he is, we need to help him.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Emma closed her eyes,.“I’m sorry. I don’t understand it, either.”

  “We have to let him know we’re here.”

  “He didn’t answer the phone. He probably won’t answer the door, either.”

  “Maybe he was out getting food or games or something. Do you want to wait here? I can call to you if it’s safe.”

  “No, I’m coming with you.” Emma stood up and took Troy’s hand.

  This is nuts. It’s just a kid. But even as she walked toward the door, Troy felt uneasy. Emma seemed to be spot-on where her feelings were concerned, but if this boy was hurt or afraid, that made it even more necessary to make contact with him. She knew how it felt to believe that everyone in the world was asleep except you.

  She put her finger on the doorbell and, after a brief hesitation, pushed. Emma stared straight ahead, not looking at her, but not releasing her hand either.

  The door swung open and The Boy stood there looking at them. He did not look surprised. In fact, there was no expression on his face at all.

  “Hi,” he said as if greeting a door-to-door salesman.

  “Troy?” Emma gasped.

  But Troy had already seen the gun and the empty look in The Boy’s eyes.

  *

  “Hey, look.” Troy released Emma’s hand and held both hers in the air. “We aren’t here to hurt you. We just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Emma kept her hands curled into fists at her side. Why hadn’t she listened to it? It had tried to warn her that there was something wrong here. Why hadn’t she insisted that Troy come away from the house?

  The Boy, his Multnomah county library card said his name was Jake, was looking at Troy strangely. He seemed almost in a trance. Emma followed the boy’s gaze to Troy’s arms. Her biceps were readily noticeable. Carrying Dite was probably all the exercise she had ever needed to keep her upper body toned. The boy Jake stared at Troy’s arms a second longer, and then finally Emma sensed something coming from the boy that she could recognize: admiration and envy. It seemed so inconsistent with the situation that Emma gave her head an almost violent shake.

  Troy glanced at her, her concern so immediate that it soothed Emma’s nerves.

  “How did you find me?” Jake’s voice was deep, not quiet baritone, but deeper than should have been possible from such a frail body. Deeper than it should have been. Emma looked at his thin chest, at the way he held the gun, and at the lean, whipcord muscles on his arms. His voice was not that of a ten-year-old. He was closer to fifteen or sixteen than ten.

  “We aren’t here to hurt you. We…” Troy’s voice lowered as she looked into his eyes.

  “What do you want, then?”

  “There’s someone else awake. A man.”

  Jake cocked his head to the side, and Emma sensed confusion and then amusement radiating from him. The last emotion sent freezing-cold apprehension through her veins. She reached for Troy’s hand and squeezed hard.

  “We’re sorry to have bothered you,” Emma said and began to pull at Troy’s hand.

  “I already knew about that guy.”

  “Good. We just wanted to make sure. We’ll go now.” He hadn’t asked them what they knew and he hadn’t seemed scared. Emma couldn’t sense much of anything coming from him and that scared her more than the gun.

  Emma backed away, pulling Troy with her. The gun followed their movements, stopping them in place. Jake was so calm that his chest barely moved.

  “You’re too late. He got here before you did.” Jake’s features melted, seemed younger, his voice slightly higher.

  He’s in shock, Emma thought, but something held her back, even as the gun dropped to his side.

  “That’s why I got this.” He raised the gun again so that it was in front of their faces. Troy’s body tensed visibly.

  “Come in, please.”

  “Why don’t you put the gun down first? Before you accidentally hurt someone.”

  “I’ll put it down when I’m ready. What made you think I needed your help?”

  The question was odd, considering the circumstances outside. He gestured for them to come inside. His emotions, or lack of them, told Emma they had no choice.

  This person—boy, teenager, whatever—would shoot them if they didn’t do as he asked.
She walked through the door of the house, with Troy behind her.

  Shock. He must be in shock. The thought felt hollow and unlikely. He’s crazy. That’s got to be it. That’s got to be why I can’t feel his emotions. Maybe I have some kind of built-in safety mechanism that keeps me safe from…

  “I knew about the man before he got here. I was expecting him. I knew about you, too.” His voice was filled with pride and disdain.

  “How did you know?” Troy’s confusion engulfed Emma, holding on to her. “Did you wake up at that clinic, too? Look…Jake. Your name is Jake, right?”

  He didn’t answer. In fact, he showed no response to the name at all. Finally he asked, “How did you find me?”

  “You left your bag at a store downtown. Your wallet was inside.” He looked as if he hadn’t heard Troy’s answer.

  Jake took a deep breath. “In there,” he said, looking across the living room toward a closed door.

  “What?”

  “Look in there,” he said softly.

  Troy took Emma’s hand.

  “No, she can stay here,” Jake said, raising the gun again. This time he pointed it at Troy, probably dismissing Emma as no threat.

  “No.” Troy’s voice had an edge to it. “She’s coming with me.”

  Emma fought the need to laugh as Troy stared Jake down as if he didn’t have a gun. It was Jake who broke the silent struggle first. “If she tries anything, I’ll shoot her. If you try anything, I’ll shoot her.” Emma sensed anger rolling off Troy in waves, but there was fear too.

  “Let me guess, you got that dialogue from one of your games, right? Why don’t you just tell us what you want us to know so we can go? Save the corny-ass Dirty Harry shit for someone who gives a fuck.” Troy felt Emma’s fingers tighten around her own. She was trying to warn her against provoking Jake.

  “I want you to look in the room first, and then I might let you go,” Jake said through gritted teeth.

  “Fine,” Troy said, as if appeasing a child. She sighed and stomped toward the door. But Emma could feel her terror as evidenced by the tight grip on her hand.

  Emma didn’t take her eyes off Jake until Troy’s free hand was on the doorknob. She opened the door slightly and peered inside. Emma tried to look over Troy’s shoulder, but Troy had already backed up, pulling Emma roughly with her.

  “What is it?”

  “Come away from there, now,” Troy commanded.

  But Emma had already released Troy’s hand and pushed the door open so that she could see into the room. Her nose was assailed with the smell of old urine. The only light was from a closet door; the rest of the room was cloaked in gray. But she could make out two people lying supine on a bed stained almost completely magenta with blood. The skin on their chests had been pulled back and pinned to the bed with long metal stakes with loops at the ends.

  In a macabre impersonation of domesticity, a dog had been placed at the foot of the bed. Its scalp had been peeled back like an orange and pinned to the bed with the same metal skewers.

  Shish kebab skewers, Emma realized.

  Bile shot up Emma’s throat and she did nothing to stop it. Troy pulled her back into the hallway and shut the door just before Emma began to retch against its threshold. Tears rolled down her face. She took the kerchief Troy handed her and began to wipe her mouth with it.

  “Did that bastard do this to them?” Emma heard Troy ask Jake.

  A demented kind of anger hit Emma with a force so hard that she whipped around to stare at Jake’s red face. She kept the kerchief over her mouth as she stared at Jake in horror.

  The boy was almost shaking with the force of the emotions that he no longer had to keep in check. He was clutching his crotch with his left hand while the gun shook in the other.

  “You see that? Did you see it?” His voice had gone up so high that Emma was afraid he would pull the trigger in his excitement.

  “Yes.” Emma felt Troy’s revulsion when she realized what they were dealing with. “We saw it.”

  “Do you know who did that? Do you?” Jake held his pants bunched as his grip tightened around his testicles. Emma imagined his hand tightening around the gun.

  “You,” she whispered. Her throat muscles constricted around the word.

  “That’s right.” His eyes had glazed over and his voice took on a dreamy tone. “Those were mine.” As he spoke, a slow, dark stain ran down his pant leg as if drawn with a Sharpie.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Portland, Oregon, Five Years Ago

  “Hoyt?” The Boy jumped when he heard the name. He realized that Mrs. Sally was talking to him and not to his father.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “You said I did a good job today,” he said, and Mrs. Sally smiled. He really did like her smile. He wondered if he would see her again after he got to go home.

  “Yes, you did perfectly. Did you hear what I said after that? About your mother?”

  “What about her?”

  Mrs. Sally cleared her throat. “I’m afraid she’s having a hard time making ends meet. She lost her job when the news came out about your father. She’s also been sick.”

  “Sick?”

  “She can’t afford to have you come home right now.”

  “But what about my grandmother?”

  “From what I understand, your grandmother would have a hard time feeding herself, let alone a nine-year-old boy. I believe your mother had to make her a ward of the state, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that she gets to sleep in a nice room, and she’ll have people come to see her whose job it will be to take care of her.” Mrs. Sally was shaking her head from side to side as she spoke, and it confused him. “She’ll get three square meals a day. They’ll buy her clothes, make sure she’s clean and getting the proper medical attention and exercise. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  The Boy, Hoyt Junior, considered what Mrs. Sally said. It did sound like she might be in a better place. All she did at home was sit in that rocker and stare at the TV. When Pam did give her a bath, she was always real mad about it. Sometimes he wondered if Pam scrubbed too hard. Grandma would have tears in her eyes when she was put back in her chair, all pink and smelling of Johnson and Johnson lotion. He didn’t mind kissing her cheek when she didn’t smell like mashed peas, applesauce, and spit.

  “You said if I told the truth everything would be okay. You said I would be able to go home!”

  Mrs. Sally stood up, came around her desk, and kneeled in front of his chair. “I know I did, and I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his leg to stop the rocking. “But you don’t really want to go back to that place, do you? You don’t want things to go back the way they were.”

  “Yes, I do. I want to go home,” he sobbed.

  “Oh sweetie, no, you can’t possibly want to go back there.” She leaned close. “Listen. I had a friend of mine pull some strings to get you into a good home. I know it’s hard right now, but trust me, this is going to be for the best. And when she’s better, your mother can go to the state and tell them she’s ready to have you back home.”

  “When will she be better? When will she come get me?” He was scared and suddenly very sorry he hadn’t kept his mouth shut. Hoyt was right. This was bad and it was all his fault.

  “I don’t know, Hoyt. Your mother will need to start feeling better and then she’ll need to find a new job.” Mrs. Sally stood up. He thought she looked tired.

  “When will she be better? When will she come get me?”

  “I don’t know, but until she does, I have a friend whose job is to help good boys find nice places to stay until they can go back home. I talked to her yesterday, and she told me she had already found a very nice couple for you to stay with. They specifically requested a boy. They’ve seen your pictures, and they know how hard it’s been for you. They live in a nice, big house where you could have a big room of your own. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  A big room of his own
did sound nice.

  “Now, there is one thing. I need you to be real grown up about something that might be hard for you to understand. Can you do that for me?”

  The boy shook his head and tried to stop sobbing.

  “Remember when you told me how you got beat up all the time at school? How would you like to go to a new school? With new kids that you could have over to your new house?

  “Mr. and Mrs. Ostroph—that’s the family you’ll be staying with here in Portland—think it might be better if you used a different name. You and your father are both named Hoyt Pokorney. Your father did some very bad things. It might be better if you came up with something else to call yourself—just until your mother comes to get you. You could pretend you were acting in a TV movie.”

  The boy had stopped sobbing. He could name himself anything he wanted. He didn’t have to be The Boy or Hoyt Pokorney, Jr., anymore. He could have any name he wanted.

  “The Ostrophs suggested ‘Jake.’” Mrs. Sally leaned back in her chair. “But only if you liked that name. It’s your choice, of course. They will want you to use their last name so that you’ll be like a real family. Would that be all right with you?”

  “Jake.” His voice was garbled from snot and tears, but he said it again to make it real. “Jake.” He liked it. It sounded like the name of a construction worker or a fireman. It sounded like a name a big man would have. “I like the name Jake.”

  “Hello, Jake Ostroph. It’s very nice to meet you.” She held her hand out like he really was a big man already.

  He hesitated before shaking it as if they had never met before. Jake Ostroph? It was better than Hoyt Pokorney, Junior.

  Anything would be better than that.

  *

  “Hurry up.” Jake had a stoned, excited sound to his voice that scared Troy more than the gun pointed at her back.

  She and Emma were being herded toward a room with an open padlock on the door. Emma stumbled and Troy reached for her elbow. She didn’t want to be locked in this room either.

  “She’s walking as fast as she can, all right?” Troy snapped over her shoulder. She didn’t look back for fear that she would see him pull the trigger. Jake didn’t say anything else until they reached the door.