“Okay. But not too much longer. Get the first book of the series, bring it here, please.”
“’Kay.”
Jesse breathed deep, glanced at his watch again, and bolted back downstairs, where Barry had already logged off Pink Poodle and was clearly waiting for him.
“Just needed to check in,” Jesse said without thinking.
“Check in?”
Jesse’s cheeks turned pink. “My mom,” he mumbled. “She’s doing research.”
“Okay,” Barry said, like it was no big deal. He asked Jesse his password, logged in Zombie Bear, then they were off and running. Barry used the keyboard first, showing Jesse what to do. Then Jesse would use the arrow keys and try to replicate. Sometimes, the moves were too fast. Then Barry would place his hand over Jesse’s and show him which arrow-right, left, up, or down-to hit faster. Like left, left, left, down, right.
When Jesse made a hit, Barry cheered, his voice low so others wouldn’t shush them. When he missed, Barry would mutter stuff like “Fucker,” “Shit,” “Shit on a stick,” in an even lower voice, and Jesse would giggle because he’d never heard “Shit on a stick” before and the more he thought about it, the funnier it sounded.
Then Barry’s pocket started to chime. “Jesus H. Christ,” the boy said, and Jesse’s eyes rounded into saucers.
Barry fumbled with his pocket, pulled out a phone. “Gotta go,” the older boy said.
“Oh,” Jesse said. Then, before he could help himself. “The curveball, we didn’t get to the curveball.”
“Yeah, right.” Barry was already logging off, grabbing Pink Poodle, stuffing the dog in the pocket of his oversized ski jacket. “Well, you know, come back tomorrow. We’ll do it then.”
Jesse bit his lower lip. He wanted to come back tomorrow, but it had been hard enough to come today. And given how long it had been since he’d checked in with his mom, she was probably mad at him, and then he definitely wouldn’t be allowed back in the library tomorrow. “I got…something…” Jesse mumbled. “After school.”
Barry was already standing, pushing the chair. “Next day then.”
“But…but…”
“Look, kid, I gotta go.”
Jesse couldn’t think of what to say. Just stared up at the older boy.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Barry said at last. “Follow me, ’kay? I gotta grab a smoke. Right outside, I can light up, then I’ll show you how to log in on my phone and we’ll hit a curveball. But then I gotta go, ’kay?”
The older boy was already moving. Jesse scrambled to catch up.
Outside the air had turned frosty. Jesse could see ice particles dancing in the glow of the streetlights and feel tiny pinpricks of cold sting against his cheeks. Barry loped down the front steps, moving quickly. The teenager was tall, lanky. Walked, talked like a cool kid. Jesse bet at school, all the other students liked Barry, wanted to be like him. And here he was, with Jesse.
The boy stopped at the bottom of the library stairs, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one up.
He caught Jesse staring up at him. “Never smoke,” the older kid instructed. “These fuckers will kill you.”
Jesse nodded.
Barry held out his phone. “I’ll show you what to do.”
Barry got Jesse logged on. They found a baseball game in progress, and Jesse waited his turn to come up to bat. Barry kept moving, so Jesse jogged along beside him. He was focused on the phone, the world of AthleteAnimalz, not paying attention.
“Gotta piss,” Barry said abruptly.
Jesse looked up. They were no longer outside the library. They were no longer on Boylston Street. “What?” He let the phone fall down to his side. For the first time, he didn’t feel so good about things. Jesse wasn’t allowed to wander alone in the big city. Jesse didn’t
“Gonna piss. You know, waggle the willie, wet the snake, walk the dog.” The older boy took back his phone, started unsnapping his jeans.
Jesse looked away, nervousness growing. They seemed to be behind one of the restaurants, next to some Dumpsters. The smell hit him at the same time as his fear, and he recoiled, took a step.
“What? It’s nothing but us boys here. That a problem for you?”
Jesse shook his head, but he still didn’t look up. He was sweating. Could feel it suddenly streaking down his face, neck, the small of his back. His stomach roiled. He didn’t feel good. Couldn’t say why, but he did not feel good.
Barry had his pants down; he was holding his privates.
“Come on, Jesse. Sheesh. Just a penis; you got one, too, right?”
“I want to go home,” Jesse whispered.
Then Barry said, in a voice Jesse hadn’t heard before, “Well you should’ve thought of that about thirty minutes ago. Before you left the library with someone you’d never met before.”
Jesse looked up then. He looked straight into the eyes of Stranger Danger, and he suddenly understood everything his mother had ever told him, every mistake he’d ever made, every bad thing that was about to happen to him.
Just as another voice said, “What’cha doing, boys?”
Jesse turned around to find the woman right behind him. She had brown hair scraped back into a ponytail and the scariest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Jesse registered two things at once. She was smiling at him in a way that had him just as uncomfortable as the boy Barry did, and she was holding a gun.
She looked right at Jesse, put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
Then she turned to the older boy.
“What the fuck,” Barry said.
“Pink Poodle, I presume?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Helmet Hippo. I’ve been watching you. You are a very naughty boy.”
The gun came up. The older boy stepped back.
At the last second, Jesse closed his eyes. At the last second, Jesse covered his ears.
He still heard:
“Wait, wait. What the hell. I’m just a kid-”
“Everyone dies sometime.”
“I didn’t. I never. I didn’t mean-”
“Be brave.”
“Wait! I’ll stop, I’ll change, I swear! I’m just a kid!
A sound, somewhere between a pop and boom. Once. Twice.
Then nothing.
Jesse counted to five. Then slowly, he opened his eyes. He saw the older boy’s feet poking out from behind the Dumpster. He saw the woman bending over those feet.
Then the woman straightened, slipped her gun into a leather bag on her hip, and turned toward Jesse.
He whimpered, stepped back.
But she merely smiled at him, extending a hand as if in greeting.
“Hello,” she said. “Have we met yet? Don’t worry. My name is Abigail.”
Chapter 24
I DON’T REMEMBER MAKING IT HOME from BPD headquarters. I suppose Tulip and I managed the subway. In the constant stream of humanity boarding the late afternoon train, it’s easy enough to slip through, for a woman and a dog to go unnoticed.
We would’ve taken the orange line from Roxbury to Downtown Crossing, then changed to the red line for Harvard square. The transfer station at Downtown Crossing would’ve been a hot, crowded mess, filled with people already glazed over from the day’s events, moving on autopilot, just wanting to go home.
