The boy emerged from the trees near the end of the dirt driveway where the rusted mailbox sat lopsided atop a single wooden post. The red flag was faded—hardly red at all anymore—and hung haphazardly with a loose screw. Long, dead grass blades bunched at the base of the wooden post.

 

None of this mattered to the boy, of course, it was just absent observations that he would forget about in a few moments. Nothing mattered except finding the other boy and leaving this shithole behind.

 

He tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and pulled the heavy jacket tighter around him. He felt weighted down by the sweater and jacket, but it was cold this time of year, especially at night. And he might have to share.

 

He walked up the drive, his eyes on the weather-faded house. Not too long ago, he might have been frightened to approach this place—it was rumored these weren’t nice folks—but now he didn’t care. He wasn’t afraid. Fear was just a word to him.

 

The boy climbed the porch steps and knocked on the door. Beneath his jacket, the heavy pistol pressed into his side. He wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Only one life was of value to him now.

 

The door opened and an older woman with dull brown eyes stared back at him. “Yes?” She wiped her hands on a dish towel then gripped the edge of the door and stared at him as if he were an intruder. “What do you want?” The boy told her, and the woman’s face tightened. She shook her head. “He doesn’t live here anymore. We sent him back.”

 

“Back where?”

 

“Back to the orphanage,” the woman snapped. “He was out of control. I think they locked him up in some looney bin.”

 

The boy stared at her with cold eyes. “How long ago?”

 

“I don’t know,” she sighed with annoyance. “Three days ago, maybe. I put the little shit out of my mind as soon as he was gone.”

 

The urge to use the gun was strong. But these people didn’t matter. The other boy wasn’t here. He requested the name of the orphanage which the woman provided merely to get him to leave her alone. He turned around without a word and walked down the steps.

 

The woman snorted. “You’re welcome,” she muttered and closed the door.

 

 

♦

 

 

Two days and a stolen bus ticket later, the boy stood in the main office of the New Hope orphanage. The woman addressing his questions this time was nothing like the other woman. This one was tall and skinny and dressed nicely. Her short dark blond hair was styled neatly. She moved around the office, organizing papers, answering phone calls, and seemed very busy. The boy didn’t care. Nothing was more important than his business.

 

“It’s very kind of you to be concerned,” she said without looking at him, her focus everywhere but on him. “But he’s been admitted to a hospital for psychological evaluation and treatment.”

 

“What hospital?” the boy asked, growing irritated. “Can I visit him?”

 

She didn’t answer as she plucked a couple thick folders from the filing cabinet and finally sat down at the desk. She opened the top folder and began sifting through it, absently voicing her thoughts aloud.

 

“What hospital?” the boy asked again. “I need to see him.”

 

The woman shook her head as she continued her task. “I’m sorry. I can only give out that information to family members.”

 

“He’s a fucking orphan!” The boy smacked his hands down on the open folder, startling the woman, and glared at her. “He doesn’t have any fucking family!”

 

Breathing deep and slow, the woman leaned back and stared at him cautiously. “You need to calm down,” she said. “The law prohibits me from providing that information. If your family is interested in adopting him, then have them contact me and I can refer them to the hospital and the doctor overseeing the case.”

 

The boy trembled with frustration and rage. “He is not a case. He’s a kid. I’m all he has—he needs me!”

 

“Like I said, have your parents contact me and I’ll see what I can do-” The woman gasped and froze as the gun was suddenly in her face.

 

The weapon wavered unsteadily in the boy’s hand as he gripped it fiercely. Tears burned his eyes and his jaw clenched in determination. “Tell me where the fuck he is.”

 

“Easy…” She held up her hands slowly, eyes wide. “You don’t want to do this. Just put the gun down and we’ll talk.”

 

“I’m through fucking talking,” he said tightly and cocked the gun. “What’s the name of the fucking hospital?”

 

The woman swallowed and licked her lips anxiously. “Cliffside. A-About an hour from here.” She released a slow unsteady breath. “But they won’t let you in without a supervising adult. And even then-”

 

“Give me your money.” The boy steadied the gun. “Everything you have.”

 

“I-I don’t have-”

 

“Bullshit!” He thrust the weapon at her. “Give it to me!”

 

The woman nodded and cautioned him with her hands. “Okay…okay, just stay calm.” She unlocked a lower drawer in the desk and took out her purse. She emptied her wallet of three twenty-dollar bills and slid them across the desk to him. “It’s all I have. I don’t carry much cash on me.”

 

The boy grabbed up the bills and shoved them into his jacket pocket. “If you call the cops on me,” he warned. “I’ll come back and gut you in your sleep.” He backed away and held the gun on her until he had the door open, then slipped out, stuffed the gun away, and ran.

 

 

♦

 

 

The guard at the front gate of the hospital was a young man—mid-twenties maybe—and more accommodating than the woman back at the orphanage. “I can’t just let you in without an accompanying adult,” he said. “But if it’s really important for you to see your friend, I can make a request for the kid’s doctor to speak with you.”

 

“Okay.” The boy stood outside the small booth while the guard called in. He stared up the paved drive at the large structure. It was away from the city and to itself with large lawns and a few trees in the front providing shade over tables and benches. He had been imagining something from a horror movie, dark and creepy…but this looked more like a hotel than a mental hospital.

 

The guard hung up the phone and stepped outside. “The doctor will be out in a few minutes. He’ll take you in to see your friend.” The man smiled—and it was then that the boy detected the faintest shadow of fear in his eyes. “So, have you been friends long with this boy?”

 

The boy stared at him silently.

 

“You okay?” The guard grew visibly anxious, and he gripped his belt casually, though very close to his holstered weapon.

 

His pulse quickening, the boy mumbled, “Who did you call?”

 

“What?” the guard frowned then smiled. “I called the doctor.”

 

“You’re lying.” The boy started to reach inside his jacket when the guard pointed up the drive.

 

“There. See? Here he comes now.”

 

A maroon car approached from inside the gate and came to a stop. The driver’s door opened and a man in a white lab coat stepped out. He flashed a warm smile at the boy and walked to the gate. The guard unlocked the walk-through gate, leaving the larger one secured, and the doctor emerged, his hand outstretched. “I’m Dr. Wilcox. I understand that you’re here to see one of my patients?”

 

The boy looked him over and then hesitantly shook his hand. The man’s grip was strong.

 

“Why don’t you come with me.” The doctor maintained his grip and nodded back toward the car. “We’ll go inside and talk.”

 

A light breeze wisped through the man’s short blond hair and rustled his white coat, billowing gently underneath. For a split second, the boy caught sight of the weapon and badge. The doctor swore quietly as the boy wrenched his hand free and stumbled back, grabbing for the handgun. The weapon was out and aimed at the two men before either could draw on him.

 

Tears filled his eyes as he stared at them fiercely. “You fuckers!”

 

The cop posing as the doctor held his hand ready over his own weapon, his other hand outstretched, cautioning the boy to keep calm. “Take it easy, son. This isn’t the way to go about it. Just put down your gun and we can talk about this.”

 

The boy knew a liar when he saw one. It was in their eyes. The bastard didn’t want to talk—he wanted to lock him away, never let him see the other boy. His throat worked as his tears thickened and he glanced quickly at the large hospital, behind which walls resided the only person that gave his life purpose. The one person that no one would ever let him be with.

 

“Come on, son…” the cop spoke slowly. “Just put the gun down. Cooperate with me and we can talk about you visiting your friend.”

 

You fucking liar! I hate liars!

 

The boy closed his eyes tight and screamed out his pain and rage as he squeezed the trigger—again and again and again—the gunshots echoing all around and within, ricocheting through his body, cracking his mind and blowing his heart apart.

 

He was trembling when the gun began to click, and he finally opened his eyes. Both men lay dead before him. He began to shake harder as everything around him swam out of focus, the large structure distorting through his tears.

 

He needs a hero…a good guy to take care of him. The boy shuddered and lowered his watery eyes to the dead men as hot tears streamed down his face. His arms dropped heavily to his sides and the weapon slipped from his grasp, striking the concrete with a hollow clack.

 

You’re not a good guy.

 

The boy backed away. His trembling fingers raked over the metal buckle. Though the blood was gone, he could still feel it smear beneath his fingertips.

 

You’re a killer.