Among the Brave

anything justice. Everything was bigger in real life. Scarier.

Irreparably damaged. The words forced their way to Trey’s attention as though they’d been waiting for him in the garage. They were from an argument his parents had had shortly before his father died.

“The boy’s irreparably damaged now,” his mother had screamed at his father. “Handicapped for life. He’s got no chance of ever living a normal life. Of ever thinking a normal thought. Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?”

Trey shut down his memory right then, wishing he’d never heard that fight, wishing his mind hadn’t recorded it so well. His feet moved automatically across the garage floor, toward the door that hung open, leading to the house. His mind seemed incapable of thinking anything now beyond, Hide inside. Better hiding always inside.

The space he entered was dark, and that was just fine with Trey. With the door from the garage still open, he had just enough light to make out a long hallway, lined with doors. The doors were all shut, or else Trey wouldn’t have had the courage to walk past them. As it was, he tiptoed.

Either Mr. Talbot and his family were all awful slobs or else the uniformed men had totally trashed the place. The hallway was littered with clothing and pillows and other items Trey couldn’t identify without more light. He tried to step over them, but it was hard to find bare carpet to walk on. The items that were hardest to dodge were round and black and metal. They had holes in the middle — were they wheels of some sort? Why had the Talbots needed so many of them? Trey stubbed his toe on one, and it was all he could do not to cry out in pain. But he managed without a whimper.

Hey, silent pain is my specialty, he thought darkly, almost amusing himself.

And then he accidentally stepped squarely on one of the disks, and it rocked against another one, making a dull thud. Trey froze, waiting. Surely the sound had been too soft to attract anyone’s attention. Surely there was no one around to hear. Surely— A line of light appeared near the ceiling, like a door opening. How could there be a door so high up? And then a figure appeared in the doorway, and a beam of light began sweeping down, down, down…

Right toward Trey.

Trey hit the floor, thinking he needed to dive under some of the clothing and pillows. But he only succeeded in hitting more of the metal wheels, hurting himself and making even more noise.

The light found him.

And up at the top of the room, behind the light, a woman began screaming.

Chapter Three

It got dark.

Trey’s mind recoiled from calculating just how long that meant he’d been hiding behind the flowerpot. It had been early morning when he’d arrived at Mr. Talbot’s house. It was dusk now. He’d waited a very long time.

Trey imagined what would happen if he never moved, if nobody ever came for him.

I’d die of hunger or thirst, he thought. How long would it be before someone discovered my corpse? Maybe he’d be a skeleton by then. Nobody would know who I was.

Trey was scaring himself But he had to. He had to make it seem scarier to stay hidden than to venture out.

You’re hungry now, aren’t you? he challenged himself Aren’t you starving? You’ve got to get some food.

But his stomach, which had become more than accustomed to hunger over the years, just said, Hey, don’t pin this on me. I can wait.

Trey’s legs were stiff from huddling in one position for so long. He thought maybe he’d been asleep part of the time, but it was a strange sort of sleep, where any noise, any hint of movement — a bird fluttering in the sky, say— could snap him to full alertness. Still, he’d managed to dream. He’d had strange dreams where his father was alive again, and standing on the porch lecturing him. Only, in the dream, Trey’s ears didn’t seem to be working, and he couldn’t understand anything his father said. He could just tell that his father was very worried.

“Symbolism,” Trey muttered to himself. “Dreams are often metaphorical representations of the dreamer’s fears.”

Or wishes.

Trey gave a little half-snort of disgust at himself, that he could think about symbolism and metaphors at a time like this. He needed to think about action. He needed a plan. He shook his head as if that would clear his mind of fancy, useless words and lingering dreams and cobwebs.

If the chauffeur and Nina and the others comes back…

They hadn’t so far. Odds were, they weren’t going to. Ever.

If Mr. Talbot comes back…

After being whisked off in handcuffs? Trey couldn’t quite get his mind around what might have happened to Mr. Talbot — had those men in uniform been arresting him or kidnapping him? But Trey knew he couldn’t hold out hope anymore that Mr. Talbot would be his salvation.

If Lee shows up…

Ah. There was a hope worth dwelling on. Lee had said he’d meet his friends at Mr. Talbot’s house. He hadn’t said when, but he would come, and when he did, Trey didn’t want to have to admit that he’d spent the whole time cowering on the porch.

So it was shame, finally, that made Trey stand up and shake out his stiff legs. He stepped off the side of the porch, so he could crouch behind a line of bushes next to the house. Between the darkness and the bushes, Trey could convince himself he was still hiding. That gave him the courage to keep walking, following the slope of the yard downhill. The bushes sheltered him so well that he kept going, even around a dark corner.

Then he saw a huge garage, gaping open. A dim light illuminated two gigantic luxury cars and a vacant space where a third belonged. Where a third had evidently been, until it had whisked Mr. Talbot away that morning.

Trey stared. He felt a silly little burst of pride, that he knew enough to label this space a garage. He’d never seen one before, except in pictures. And pictures, Trey had learned in his short time outside of hiding, never did anything justice. Everything was bigger in real life. Scarier.

Irreparably damaged. The words forced their way to Trey’s attention as though they’d been waiting for him in the garage. They were from an argument his parents had had shortly before his father died.

“The boy’s irreparably damaged now,” his mother had screamed at his father. “Handicapped for life. He’s got no chance of ever living a normal life. Of ever thinking a normal thought. Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?”

Trey shut down his memory right then, wishing he’d never heard that fight, wishing his mind hadn’t recorded it so well. His feet moved automatically across the garage floor, toward the door that hung open, leading to the house. His mind seemed incapable of thinking anything now beyond, Hide inside. Better hiding always inside.

The space he entered was dark, and that was just fine with Trey. With the door from the garage still open, he had just enough light to make out a long hallway, lined with doors. The doors were all shut, or else Trey wouldn’t have had the courage to walk past them. As it was, he tiptoed.

Either Mr. Talbot and his family were all awful slobs or else the uniformed men had totally trashed the place. The hallway was littered with clothing and pillows and other items Trey couldn’t identify without more light. He tried to step over them, but it was hard to find bare carpet to walk on. The items that were hardest to dodge were round and black and metal. They had holes in the middle — were they wheels of some sort? Why had the Talbots needed so many of them? Trey stubbed his toe on one, and it was all he could do not to cry out in pain. But he managed without a whimper.

Hey, silent pain is my specialty, he thought darkly, almost amusing himself.