Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  "My name in not Jack! Don't call me that! Stop calling me that!" A hand made contact with the pale face.

  Shock made the head droop and lift a little, round glassy eyes, the same color as the red that dribbled from his parted lips, staring at Jake, shutting with a wince as he hit the wall and his sight spotted. He closed his mouth and the blood seeped across the line between his lips. Jake didn't appear to be able to see the blood as another fist crashed into the boy's head this time, calloused knuckles freed from the threat of being damaged by something as weak as human bone and flesh. He panted, livid with hatred after the fist fell. But then the breath stopped and the glare shot open into a wide gaze. Vincent's hands had fallen from his and the small body was limp, though Vincent retained enough consciousness to keep his eyes open as his head dipped lower and lower. It finally rested on his chest, too weary to keep it up anymore. Everything was foggy…clouded by a thick dark mist, and the world was muffled, the voice a distorted drawl without meaning. Closing his eyes did nothing for this except disorient him, the world moving, slanted…falling.

  Jake gaped, unable to believe that this was reality, that he had done this, that this boy was real. His hands shook as he held Vincent and the boy's eyes closed and opened. "Oh….Christ." Jake murmured, a hollow sound, and he lowered the boy slowly, easing himself to a crouch with Vincent. He put the boy against the wall, one hand holding his shoulder as the other fixed his feet so that they were not crumpled under him. He laid them out straight and fixed the languid posture, both hands steadying the thin shoulders. Then they let go. Vincent began to wilt and they returned and fixed him, but Vincent slid over the wall, slumping down or to the side. Jake desperately tried to make him stay upright, but his attempts weren't working. "Sit up! SIT UP!" He cried, shaking Vincent with his frustration and then pushing him against the wall, hopping he would stick that way. But Vincent slumped again. Jake did not catch him this time and the boy fell to the ground and laid there on his side, eyes closed now. He was unconscious.

  Jake jumped back and retreated from the boy. "No…no…please no. Oh, God no…." His back touched the opposite wall, startling him, and he whipped around with an airy cry. He stared at the wall, then peered down at the lifeless child. "Oh God!" He dashed forward and fell to his knees, hands picking up the boy from the ground, sitting him upright. He slumped against Jake, and hands held him there, quivering with fear and gut-wrenching anxiety. He clutched the boy to his chest as he clumsily fell back from his feet and sat on the concrete, one knee remaining bent and upright. He stared at the wall, a nervous mumble creeping from his mouth. He caught the sound and swallowed, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could, hoping, wishing, praying that the weight he was holding would disappear. He needed it to disappear…or else he would go mad.

  Unsteady hands lifted the pale face up and then moved to Vincent's nose to find his breath. It was there. He wasn't dead…but that didn't make a difference! Jake's lips quivered and a strange hiccup came from his throat. Dark eyes darted about, searching for a solution and fearing that someone would come. His conscious created sounds, imaginary sounds, footsteps, voices, people that weren't there. Jake struggled to get to his feet, clinging to the limp form. He held Vincent like an infant, in both hands as he searched for a way to dispose of him. The jerking head stopped, and Jake stared at the derelict dumpster, colored by curling paint and rust. He walked like a drunk man, weaving and tripping over his own feet. He reached the dumpster and gazed at it.

  He couldn't do it. He couldn't make himself open it. It was too disgusting, it was all too disgusting to be,…real. That's it! Jake's eyes sharpened and then dimmed. That's it! None of this is real! It's only a dream! Only a dream! It was only a dream! He moved forward and threw back one of the two coverings and manipulated the insensible thing into the dark, empty belly of the container, and then quickly slammed the lid shut.

  He stared at the dumpster, a chill prickling his skin and then fading. It wasn't real… See! Nothing! Nothing! It didn't happen! Nothing is in there! Nothing! Jake staggered back, hitting the wall, and then he leaned towards the exit to this nightmare, walking with a gradually strengthening step. Soon, he was back to normal, moving with sure strides down the alley, through the maze of passageways. His hands went to his pockets and his whole being sighed with relief and breathed a liberating breath of air. He was soon confronted with city life, easily joining with the street crowds, glancing at florescent lights. He smiled a little and shook his head. He had dozed off and had experienced the weirdest dream...

  Good thing it was only a dream.

  Jake went home that night, nodded to his father who was in the kitchen as he moved down the hall to go up the stairs, to where his room was.

  "Jake?"

  The teen stopped and looked at the man casually. "Yeah?"

  "Where'd you disappear to? Just wandering about again?"

  Jake shrugged. "Sorry, I went for a walk and I guess I fell asleep somewhere along the way. I woke up and came home after that."

  The man blinked and then looked down at the meal he was throwing together for himself. He shook his head as he chuckled. "Jake…you're one of a kind. I gotta say." He smiled a bit. "Did you eat?"

  Jake shrugged away the question. "I'm not hungry…I ate some stuff with the guys earlier." The teen went to the stairs. "Goodnight."

  "..'Night then."

  Jake closed the door to his room and went to sleep.

  A day went by and the night arrived like it always did for Jake. He was playing poker with a few guys around a wooden table. Hats were pulled low, the visors shading their concentrating, shifty eyes, guarding their hands as one or two exhaled a cloud of smoke, and then one grinned while the other scowled. Bottle caps were stacked about like chips, accompanied by a few dimes and nickels. Nobody played for big money here. They were friends, buddies. You didn't joke around with money with your buds.

  Jake's father entered their area and stood, checking over his shoulder before looking at the faces that realized he was there. They nodded or lifted a hand in recognition, then went back to their game. Then a pair of steps walked from the wooden floor of a cluttered hallway, to the carpet where the table and poker game were situated. Eyes glanced up and then froze. A few cards slipped from some loosened hands as the boys were held by the blue gaze that wandered over them, lined by a scowl that was not meant for anyone particular. Jake was stunned, staring at the black haired man behind him. His father was near him…the man…standing near Walter C. D."

  Walter looked at the teens, but expected that they would be useless. He spoke anyway. "Have any of you seen a little boy hanging around anywhere?"

  Jake's dad spoke up, used to explaining what Walter decided not to say. "He lost his nephew."

  Walter turned the scowl to the man, but Jake's dad just grinned crookedly and then looked back at the teens' startled eyes. Jake's mind was as innocently surprised as the rest.

  "He's a cute little boy, pretty shy…" Walter sighed irritably at the father's words while the man chuckled and then quieted.

  Blue watched the boys blankly, not suspecting much. "Some of you know who I'm talking about."

  "Max?" ventured a teen and a handful of them nodded. The teen answered the initial question as he saw that he was pretty much obliged to now. "We saw him last night. We thought he went home…"

  "Do you know around what time he left?"

  Boys shook their heads and apologized, though they didn't need too. Jake murmured with them, aware of a fuzzy sensation in his brain. But he refused to let himself think. He just acted, did things, did what the others were doing. Max was not a name he knew.

  "Little boy with pale skin and bright red eyes, how could you lose him?" Jake's dad joked, trying to ease the mood. "Jake would get lost all the time when he was young."

  "Yeah, but my brat is a runt. He's thin and scrawny and has been babied most of his life." Walter murmured with Jake's father, but the teen could hear them, though he tried not to. The words
broke through his determination like it was nothing but a thin thread of a spider's web…a web that fell and caught him…made him helpless…made him nervous. Jake shook his head to get these thoughts out of it. He did not know the red eyes.

  "He'll turn up." The man by Walter reassured him, but Walter didn't take the bait. He turned on the teenage boys.

  "Go search for him. You were the last ones to see him. You're not doing anything important. Get off your asses and look for the boy before something happens." He watched the dazed eyes, sweeping his gaze across them, and then he turned and left, followed by Jake's father.

  All of the boys threw down their cards and pulled on their jackets and sweatshirts before they went out into the streets as well. Jake followed, a machine, functioning without thought…until they reached the familiar back alley behind a certain building, where the trashcan with the lid was sitting by the wall. The boys split up, strolling about, looking in trashcans and peeking into windows, asking a cat on a fence or a yapping dog if they had seen the boy. They had grown up here and nothing had ever happened to them, why would it be different for the red eyed brat? Jake knew, though he denied it. They had no real bond with the boy. Nothing had ever happened to them because they always had someone to back them up when things got rough…and they still did. No one had Jake's back. He was too big to need support. No one worried when he got lost. They didn't really care now, for the odd looking boy.

  This ate at Jake, turning him down corners and alleyways, moving through the labyrinth to find the destination he could no longer hide from. He stared at the dumpster, leaning back against a wall.

  It was too quiet. Nothing was in there. It was empty. Jake told himself to go. There was nothing there, it was a dream. But he couldn't move as his nervousness sped off with his reason. If he let someone else get to the boy first, he'd tell…he'd tell people. He hadn't just beat up a little boy…he had beat up W.C.D.'s fucking NEPHEW!

  The teen gulped and slowly pushed away from the wall and approached the dumpster.

  It was just too quiet.

  Chills slithered through the teen's skin, making him shudder as his hand touched the lid. He struggled to continue, to do more. Closing his eyes, he flipped the lid with a push of effort.

  It was so damn quiet Jake wanted to cry. He hated the quiet. Hated it.

  His eyes didn't want to open. They didn't want to see a dead boy. They couldn't bear to see a dead boy in that dumpster. But there was a shuffling sound that stopped, followed by some dull thuds, and then there was sniffling. Then…

  "Help me out…pl…lease. I….I can't…can't…pull…"

  Jake's eyes flew open and he gasped, backing away from the close face. It was bruised and smeared, on the chin and above and around the lips, with dried blood. An ugly black and blue swelled lump rose from the side of his forehead and touched his left eyebrow. It looked like the boy had got blue paint on his face and had tried to wipe it off, but it was the bruise…from Jake's fist. Jake stared at the boy, the red eyes, the bruises, the tears and the trembling hand reaching for him as Vincent clung to the side of the dumpster, holding himself up.

  But there was no fear in the boy. He didn't recognize Jake… The teen returned to the dumpster and hesitantly lifted the boy and set him down. Vincent swerved a little before he could control his feet to find his balance, then he gazed up at Jake, trembling lips and puffy eyes streaming tears over the ugly blue blotches by his mouth and his busted lip.

  "Thank you…I…I..I don't know how I…I got there….but…" a hiccup stopped him and he bent his head as his face went through a short spasm and his tears fell. "Co…ould….y..yyou…help me..find my….uncle? I…I don't know…." He hiccupped and sat on the ground. "…I don't know….where I am. I…don't kknow how…to get home."

  Jake stared at the boy, shivering and watching. It was all real…all of it…was real. He felt dizzy, so he crouched down as well, closing his eyes. But this only allowed him to hear the child cry and whimper, so he opened them and looked at the black hair. "Yeah." He whispered, pulling up the red eyes with his words. "I know your uncle…I don't know where he lives. But I think I know where he is right now."

  Vincent's mouth opened and he gasped, white fingers digging into his jeans, covering his shins. "Thank you…Thank you!"

  "But no more crying." Jake added without thinking. Vincent's tears made him want to throw up.

  "Oh…yeah." Vincent was rubbing his eyes, moving his feet to keep himself from falling as he stood up while he did this. He was calming down quickly now, and he even laughed a little when he uncovered his eyes and looked at the dumpster. "I was in there? A big trashcan?" He laughed a distorted giggle.

  Jake felt his chills return as he stood as well, watching Vincent swerve a little as he laughed. "Why are you laughing?"

  Vincent looked up at Jake and smiled slightly, suddenly conscious of the stranger. "Because it's funny. I was in a trashcan…I thought I got eaten by a monster…or something like that. But I was just in a trashcan. It's funny, right?" He laughed quietly, glancing back at the dumpster as he tripped on one of his feet.

  Jake tasted bile in the back of his throat and he had to touch the boy's back to steer him away. They went back to the building with the (real) trashcan, but they didn't find any of the other teens. Vincent was tripping too often, and he asked for a rest when they continued for a while longer, taking the back way to the guys' poker hangout. Jake waited a while as the boy sat by the wall, then offered to give him a ride on his back. Vincent accepted and they carried on.

  "I'm up so high…!" The boy looked around at the things they passed. Jake didn't say anything. "You're so tall… I wish I was big."

  "You're yelling in my ear." Jake grunted to avoid the subject. The boy apologized and rested his check on Jake's shoulder, earning a grumble that made him straighten. Vincent began to look around again.

  "It's like flying."

  "Can you be quiet, kid?"

  Vincent started and ducked his head and apologized again. "I only meant to say it…as a good thing. My uncle always tells me I'm too skinny, I'm too weak, I'm no good…all I can do is run away…" Vincent's chin went to Jake's back and the teen told him to sit up. The boy was quiet. "I don't think my uncle likes me very much."

  "If you chatter as much as you are now, I wouldn't blame him." Jake growled as butterflies flew about in his stomach. He did not need to be hearing about W.C.D. at this moment. He needed to psyche himself up…get himself under control. If Walter C.D. found out about what he did…that he did this to his nephew… God. He would be lucky to die with all of his limbs intact. His father had told him stories about Walter C.D.'s torture techniques…the people he killed…the bodies…never found. He was unknown to the police…and no one dared tell of this secret…that he wasn't a normal guy…that he had killed people, mangled people, robbed and ransacked houses, never getting caught. How he split money from jobs even though he did all the work…how he had no taste for money…rather for possessions. If he liked something he'd give you his wallet if you'd take it for the thing. Money was paper…something to barter with for stuff you like and sometimes need, like food…so it did have some meaning to him… It was hard to explain. But having a lot of money…never made him feel wealthy…so he used it. He stole stuff, trinkets, antiques, chairs…not cash and rarely jewelry, unless he had a woman he planned on giving it to. Walter C.D. was a strange man, but a terrifying man, none the less. Jake didn't realize he was trembling until Vincent touched his forehead with a cold little hand. The boy felt like death, he was so cold.

  "Are you sick? Or cold? I would give you my sweatshirt but I think it's too small."

  Jake growled again, telling the boy to keep his hands to himself and keep quiet. Vincent followed this order as they made a turn. When they were walking straight again he whispered.

  "Can I tell you a secret?"

  Jake ignored the boy and kept walking. There were more important things he needed to figure out right now.


  Vincent, used to this kind of response, continued. "I'm eleven."

  Jake jolted, and then snarled to himself, covering his spike of fear. Did the brat know? Was he goading him? "So what?"

  Vincent was quiet. "I was ten yesterday. Now I'm eleven. I'm almost a teenager, aren't I? Big like that? Go to high school and drive a car, right? Eleven is close, right?"

  Jake shivered once, and then told the boy to shut up as he saw their destination in the distance. Holy fuck…he had done this to the kid on his birthday? Or was his brains all scrambled up now? He licked his lips and decided not to speak anymore…then changed his mind. "Hey kid…you really don't remember what happened to you?"

  The boy looked at Jake's head for a bit then shook his head and cringed as it ached. "No. It felt like I was in there forever…but I guess it wasn't that long. It's still night."

  Jake took a breath and sighed. He almost tripped when Vincent suddenly spoke.

  "What's your name?"

  Jake's pupils dilated and then he closed his eyes to focus them. "Jake."

  "I'm Vincent."

  The teen blinked and slowed his pace. "Vincent?"

  Vincent smiled. "Vincentimir Max Ramos…" His face lost its brightness, becoming a bit sullen. "Do you think my name's weird?"

  "No…" Jake frowned at the odd question. "Why would I think it's weird?"

  Vincent was stunned, amazed by the response. Excitement welled in him, sending tremors down his arms as they held onto Jake, worrying the teen for a moment. Then the boy blurted out, "Will you be my friend Jake? Even if you're an adult?"

  "I'm sixteen." Jake replied flatly, passed the surprise from the first question. He hoped Vincent would be quiet as he scoped the area, looking for signs that would tell him someone was there. The lights were off, the windows were dark. He set Vincent down and tried to open the door, but it was locked.