Boy Shattered

by Eli Easton

  “Maybe we should call the police and give them an anonymous tip about Bull,” Madison suggested.

  “I’ve thought about that,” I said. “But first, I’ve been trying to figure out if Bull was at work on September 28th. He normally would have been unless he called in sick or something.”

  “How can you find out?” Josiah asked.

  “I’ll ask my dad. And if he won’t tell me, I know the secretary at the dealership.”

  Madison looked doubtful. “The police can check with the car dealership too. You shouldn’t stick your neck out, Brian.”

  “Yeah, like, what if Bull heard you were asking about him and decided to shoot you? That happens all the time in the movies,” Josiah said with too much enthusiasm.

  I thought about the business card from Detective Mike I had taped to the back inside cover of my notebook, just in case. It was sort of like having an ace in the hole. Only it didn’t feel like it was time to use it yet. “I need something solid before I do that. If I ramble, they’ll think I’m a nutcase. And then they’ll never listen to me again.”

  “Boy who cried wolf,” Josiah said. “Very smart, good sir.”

  “Seems like this Bull guy is the most likely suspect yet,” Madison said.

  “My money’s on Freddy the janitor,” said Josiah.

  And then they argued about it. I let them go on, half listening. I opened up my notebook and stared at the card.

  Detective Mike Flannagan.

  What did Detective Mike know? Was he close to nailing the shooters? I hoped that he was, and that all my investigating would turn out to be for naught. But I wasn’t counting on it.

  At the end of that first week of December, we had an assembly, and Madison and Landon’s Drama class put on A Christmas Carol for the whole school. They were supposed to do their performance on a weeknight for parents only, but Principal Baylor had decided it would be good for morale.

  Landon was seriously not happy about it. They weren’t ready, they sucked, and they’d never compete with the real Christmas production the Drama club was putting on that weekend. Madison was much more philosophical about it.

  “Look, Landon,” she said at lunch on Thursday, “after seventh period tomorrow it’ll be over, and we’ll never have to do it again. Besides, it’s Christmas. It doesn’t matter how much we suck because the material will rise above.”

  “Dickens, man,” Josiah agreed. “It will totally rise above. Like, you all could be monkeys. Wouldn’t matter.”

  As it turned out, the show was brilliant. Flubbed lines, half-painted props, costume malfunctions and all. They might be bad and they might be dorky, but they were our bad, dorky actors. People laughed and cried. And when they took their bows, everyone stood up and cheered.

  It was the best assembly we’d had since the year began. Or maybe ever.

  It wasn’t until later that I realized I’d sat through the whole thing, and I’d never looked at the doors or thought about the shooters even once.

  Chapter 23

  Sunday, December 16

  Brian

  I ROLLED out of bed, hit the bathroom, and wandered down to the kitchen, hoping for pancakes. We were supposed to go to the Christmas tree lot as a family later: me, my mom, dad, and Lisa. My mom usually made a special breakfast on Christmas-tree-day.

  But when I got to the kitchen, the atmosphere was anything but festive. My mom and dad were sitting at the table with cups of coffee, their faces hard as if they’d been arguing. Lisa was nowhere to be seen, and she usually woke up before I did.

  “Hey,” I said, looking between my parents warily. I went to the fridge to get a glass of orange juice.

  “Morning, Brian,” my mom said in a tense tone. My dad didn’t say anything. He scowled down at his coffee cup.

  My pulse tripped as I poured a glass of juice. It was too early for this. Whatever this was.

  “Sit down, Brian,” my dad said in a hard, flat voice.

  My stomach dropped farther. But there was no avoiding a talk if that’s what my dad wanted. So I pulled out the closest chair at the table and sat, putting down my OJ and phone. “What’s up?”

  He looked up at me, frowning. His face was redder than usual, and his lips were drawn in a line, like the straight rope on a hangman’s noose. That’s what it felt like anyway. I could feel anxiety ratcheting up inside me, and I told myself to chill out. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “I saw a picture online last night. Guess who it was? Your little BFF. Landon Hughes.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  My gaze went to the window near the table. I could see the backyard. The backyard fence. Like, I knew all the stress and trouble at that moment was in the kitchen, not outside it. But the view just made me feel more paranoid.

  “One of those pictures with text. You know what I mean,” he said.

  A meme. My dad was talking about a meme. I knew Landon had been getting more belligerent trolls on his Twitter account. He was becoming better known, more visible, which meant more attacks from the alt-right. Now there were Landon memes? Great.

  “Know what it said?” my dad pushed.

  “Dad, you know people online will say anything.”

  “It showed him with his mouth open to talk and it said, ‘Suck on this, lil cocksucker.’ With a gun aimed at his mouth.”

  My dad choked these words out, and I was shocked. I’d never heard him say a word like “cocksucker.”

  I picked up my phone from the table and squeezed it, just to have something to do with my hands. “Internet trolls,” I said, but my voice sounded weak.

  Dad leaned toward me, his elbows on the table. His face was as angry and hard as I’d ever seen it. “Why didn’t you tell me your little friend, the one you’ve been spending so much time with, is queer?”

  A throb of fear went down my spine. “Wh-what?”

  He pounded the table with his fist. It made a loud bang, and I jumped. “You heard me! Answer the question!”

  I could lie. Say Landon wasn’t gay. But how long would that lie hold? Everyone at school knew.

  “Because it’s no big deal.” My voice wobbled, but I raised my chin.

  “The hell you say! You’ve been spending all kinds of time over there. You sleep over there! You know damn well I never would have allowed that if I’d known he was a little fucking faggot.”

  I squeezed my phone harder. My dad never used that word in front of my mom. I saw her flinch when he said it. Wow, he was furious. I tried to think of a way to do damage control, but nothing came to me except a sense of numbing cold. It spread Novocain through my limbs.

  “Your mother has been coddling you since you were hurt. And I’ve let her. Well, that ends right here. You’re not going to hang around that Landon Hughes anymore. Not at school. Not at home. Not anywhere. Period. I’m done!”

  He meant it, every raging word. It was the worst possible thing that could happen. I stared at him, hardly able to breathe for the feelings that clogged my chest. He was done? He was?

  I knew one thing in that moment: I was done. I had lost so much, been through so much. The thought of losing Landon entirely, the only good thing in my world—it was just a nonstarter.

  “No,” I said.

  My dad’s brow got a thunderous furrow. “What did you say to me?”

  I raised my voice. “I said, no, I’m not going to stop seeing Landon. No, I will not stop talking to him at school. No, I will not stop being friends with him. And I won’t stop going over there, either. Sure, you can lock me in my room, make me a prisoner. But unless you intend to take me out of school or hire someone to guard me twenty-four-seven, I’ll find a way to run. And once I do, I won’t come back.”

  My mom gave a soft cry. “You guys, please!” She held her hand over her trembling lips, her eyes teary. “Brian, your dad has some valid concerns. We need to talk about this.”

  “I know what his concerns are,” I spat out. “Hanging around with Landon will make me a liberal. Will mak
e me question Dad’s view of the world. Will make me, God forbid, gay.” I swallowed. My heart was beating so hard I felt the pulse in my neck. “Well, guess what, Dad? I was already all those things before I got shot. Only I didn’t talk about it, because I knew you’d never understand or even listen. I’m gay, Landon is my boyfriend, and I won’t stop seeing him. Period.”

  Mocking his earlier pronouncement, “period,” was probably a bit much. And honestly, I was a little surprised at myself. And a big, dawning “oh shit” was flashing behind my eyes.

  My dad’s face slackened, shocked, as if I’d slapped him. “Wha-what did you just…,” he choked out.

  Then he moved, all two-hundred-fifty pounds of him, diving across the kitchen table and grabbing for me. I don’t know what he would have done if he’d caught me. I wasn’t about to find out.

  I still had some of my quarterback moves after all. Because I slipped out of the chair, dodged his hands, and ran for the kitchen doorway.

  A moment later I was out of the house and running down the street as fast as I could.

  I DODGED right at the stop sign, turned left into an alley, and cut across a small neighborhood park. I figured my dad would chase me, but he didn’t. By the time I realized I was safe from imminent danger, my bare feet were freezing, and they hurt from where I’d banged one toe on a curb. My left side ached near the scar. I wasn’t used to running, and I had to stop and stoop over to catch my breath.

  My phone was in my hand. I dialed Landon. “Can you come pick me up?” My voice sounded strange.

  I told him where to find me. It took him fifteen minutes to reach the intersection where I was skulking around a bush in my flannel sleep pants and a short-sleeved T-shirt.

  I got into the car, shivering like crazy. It was thirty-something degrees out there, with patches of ice from a recent rain that had frozen over.

  Landon’s face was filled with worry. “Jesus, Brian. What happened?” He took off his coat and handed it to me, then cranked up the heat on his car.

  “My dad.” I covered as much of myself with the coat as I could.

  He looked down at my feet, his frown deepening.

  “Barefoot? What the hell made you leave the house like that? Are you all right?”

  I shook my head. “I came out to my parents.” I intended to sound lighthearted, like can you believe it! Instead I sounded like a stunned twelve-year-old who just watched his dog get run over by a car.

  “Oh, Bri.”

  Landon reached over the console to hug me. It felt good for a moment, warm and strong. But I was too freaked-out to take much comfort in anything. I pulled back. “Is it okay if I go to your place for a while?”

  “Of course!” He gave me a tight smile. He looked like he wanted to say more—probably bitch about my dad—but he didn’t. He started to drive.

  When we pulled in Landon’s driveway, his mom came out of the house wrapping a long sweater around herself. I must have scared him when I called—I had no memory what I’d even said—because she looked concerned as I got out of the car. When she saw my flannel bottoms and bare feet, her face fell, and she came toward me.

  “Oh, honey,” she said. “Let’s get you inside.” She took my arm.

  I don’t know what expression was on my face, but once we got inside, Sandra hugged me, and Landon hugged me from the side, and then Rex, his dad, came and hugged all of us. It should have been weird, but I had this awful feeling growing inside me. It was like those dreams where you realize you’ve committed some terrible crime, something you can never take back. Only this wasn’t a dream.

  I shivered all over, unable to stop.

  “He came out to his dad, and he threw Brian out,” Landon said, his voice angry.

  “He didn’t throw me out. I ran.”

  “Did he get violent, honey?” Sandra asked, her voice very matter-of-fact, like she was taking a statement.

  I didn’t respond right away. I didn’t know what my dad would have done if he’d grabbed me. He didn’t hit me a lot, but he was the sort of dad who used “the belt” as a threat. The last time I’d gotten the belt, I’d been twelve years old and I’d back-talked to my mom. Lesson learned. I didn’t doubt that today would have been a belt kind of day. The look on his face had been terrifying.

  “He didn’t hit me,” I said.

  “Are you hurt anywhere, Brian?” Rex asked.

  I shook my head.

  “You nearly froze to death!” Landon argued. “And your foot is bleeding.”

  It was? I looked down. Sure enough, I was bleeding on the carpet.

  “I’m sorry. I scraped my toe. I’m fine, though.” It didn’t sound convincing since my teeth clattered when I talked.

  “You’ve just been through the mill this year, haven’t you?” Sandra said, and they all hugged me tighter.

  Tears stung my eyes as we stood there. Landon’s parents were beyond amazing. I didn’t know how I’d lucked into this house, this family. For sure, I’d done nothing to deserve it. My chest was tight, and I wanted to go to Landon’s room before I embarrassed myself.

  “Thanks,” I said, shifting enough that they let me go. “Thanks for letting me come here today.”

  Sandra had a sad, downturned smile. “Honey, you are always welcome here, and you can stay as long as you like. Okay?”

  “If there’s anything we can do,” Rex put in, stepping back.

  I looked at Landon, folding my arms over my chest. I hoped he understood. He still looked pissed, but his worry about me seemed to be taking over.

  “How about a hot bath?” he suggested, taking my arm. “And I have some clothes you can put on. Come on.”

  After the bath, Landon and I went down to the kitchen. His mom had food ready, eggs and potatoes and toast, and a fresh pot of coffee. I hadn’t had anything yet that day, and it felt good to sit down and have breakfast. My stomach was still in knots, but somehow I managed to be hungry anyway.

  I told them what happened. About the meme and my dad telling me I couldn’t see Landon anymore, and what I’d said, what I’d done. I told them about my dad’s love of Rush Limbaugh and Alex Jones and how he was about “liberals” and guns. I told them everything.

  Sandra and Rex looked at each other, talking without words. Rex put his hand on my shoulder. “Brian, legally, we have no rights over you. But you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, as long as you can. Depending on what your parents decide to do, how they intend to move forward, if necessary, we can look at legal steps.”

  “Like what?”

  He frowned. “Well, the most extreme thing would be to apply for emancipation as a minor. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Do you worry for your safety if you go back home?”

  “He’s not going back!” Landon said angrily. “That ass—Sorry. That jerk face doesn’t deserve to have a son.”

  I squeezed his hand, telling him, with a look, to chill. “I don’t know. He doesn’t hit us all the time or anything. But he’s so angry. And disappointed in me.” I swallowed a lump in my throat.

  “Well. That’s his problem, Brian. Not yours. You understand that?” Rex had a serious look on his face that was so like Landon, it almost made me smile.

  “He’s my dad, though, so it kind of is my problem.”

  “Well, I’ll talk to him if you want me to.”

  “We both will,” said Sandra.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. He wouldn’t listen.”

  In the end, we decided to wait and see what my parents were going to do. Landon and I spent the day studying for our last week of school, or at least, as much as I was able to focus on it. I kept expecting, all day long, for a car to pull into the Hughes’s driveway and my dad to come after me, insist I get in the car, insist I go home. For there to be a big scene.

  But he never came. They never called or texted my cell, either.

  Lisa texted me in the afternoon. We exchanged a flurry of messages. OMG. What’s going on? Are you okay? Dad is real
ly, really pissed. I don’t care if you’re gay, Bri. I love you.

  It helped. At least my baby sister was cool with it.

  At nine o’clock that night, Sandra offered to call my mom since they’d talked on the phone before. She disappeared into the kitchen, and Landon and I sat on the couch, squeezing each other’s hands. I felt like I was standing on a tightrope. I had no idea when I was going to fall, or what would happen when I did, only that a fall was inevitable.

  When Sandra came out of the kitchen, she wore a tight, pained smile. She sat on the other side of me and took my free hand.

  “Brian, your mom thinks it’s for the best if you stay with us for a few days. Your dad…. He’s very angry. It wouldn’t be wise for you to try to talk to him or go home right now.”

  It shocked me. I should have known. And maybe I’d thought it to myself once or twice—“he’d throw me out.” But I hadn’t really believed it would happen. It shocked me down to the roots of my heart.

  “They don’t want me back? For real?” I rasped.

  Her mouth pursed and hurt flared in her eyes. “Oh, honey. It’s just for a few days until your dad calms down. I’ll call her again on Wednesday, and we’ll see where things stand. Meanwhile, we’re happy to have you stay with us, sweet boy.”

  But I knew it wouldn’t be just for a few days. If they didn’t care where I was now, after a big fight, if my dad wasn’t trying to get me back, get me away from Landon, angry and belligerent, then… then he must have washed his hands of me.

  THAT NIGHT, I stayed in Landon’s bed. I brushed my teeth, said good night to his parents, and put on a pair of Landon’s flannel PJ bottoms. Through all of it there was a horrible pressure on my chest. It felt like a black hole had opened up inside me and was sucking me in.

  I wanted, needed, to feel something good, something to blot out that horrible feeling. After Landon turned out the light, I moved over him, kissing him desperately.

  He kissed me back, but it wasn’t as hard or needy as I wanted. I rolled us so he was on top of me and pressed on his back, grinding up into him.