Well, one, sweating profusely, despite the cooler temperature. And two, needing only another strange noise to prompt a mad dash back to his car.
“Shane?”
He’d give it a few more minutes and then go home and tell his mother the boy couldn’t be found—and he wouldn’t come back.
“Shane?”
Nearing the cabin door, three boards nailed in a Z to eight two-by-fours, he caught whiff of an atrocious odor. Rotten meat? Or something dying? What if the boy lay inside hurt, moments from death? Would explain the buzzards hovering above. He knocked lightly on the door.
“Shane?” He pushed the door open. “Shane?” Silence.
He stuck his head inside. There was a wooden bed frame absent a mattress at the far wall, a worn-out orange-colored couch near the door, and a large stone fireplace to the left. A fey odor tickled his nostrils. No windows, no back door.
What a waste of time. He should’ve gone to the nearest bus stop and intercepted Victor, and told him he was sorry, told him—
Wekeeeeee! Wekeeeeeee!
The noise sounded directly behind him. He spun around and saw the arrow. Nothing but the arrow. Aimed at his chest. “Sh-sh-sh-shane!”
“What you want?” Shane asked.
Leonard stared into the boy’s dirty freckled face, slowly raised both hands and wondered why Shane was squinting, for they were standing in the shade of the cabin.
“I want you to stop aiming that thing at me. I’m your uncle, remember? Uncle Leonard? Your mother’s brother?”
Shane in desperate need of a haircut: light-brown hair extremely long, a super afro, speckled with green bits, grass or leaves. Besides that and the dirt on his face, he was handsome. A young Harry Belafonte: sculpted features, freckles, bushy eyebrows above hazel-colored eyes.
“Yeah,” the boy said, tilting his head.
“Shane, remember when you were little and I took you and Paul to the fair in Little Rock? You remember?” The boy shook his head. “You gotta remember. You and I rode the Ferris wheel, it stopped while we were at top, I threw up. It doesn’t matter. Shane, it’s not polite to point an arrow at your uncle.”
The boy responded by raising the crossbow, aiming it at Leonard’s head.
Shielding his face with his hands: “Hey! Hey! Hey! Stop it! You might put my eye out!”
“It’ll do more than that.”
“Stop playing, Shane! Stop it! Dammit, I’m your uncle!”
“Why you kill my dog?”
“What! I didn’t kill your dog!”
Shane shook his head to rid a fly from his face. “Yeah, you did. You killed him and you killed pa-pa.”
I’m dead, Leonard thought. He’s going to kill me with a crossbow… I’ll be left out here to rot… Flies… Buzzards…
“Shane, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t do it! I didn’t arrive in time. What makes you think I did it?”
“’Cause you’re unnatural.”
“What?”
“You like bootie instead of women.”
“What! Who told you that?”
“Pa-pa.”
“He shouldn’t have told you that. Not a nice thing to say.”
“Is it true?”
Leonard’s mind raced. If he admitted being gay, Shane might misconstrue it as an admission of guilt and shoot him.
“No, it’s not true.”
“Liar!” Shane snapped.
In his entire life, thirty-three years, Leonard had never heard an African American use the word liar. Not important now, he thought, closing his eyes. Only two things were significant now: pain and decomposition.
“Open your eyes!” Shane demanded.
“Huh?” Leonard said, opening one eye… There wasn’t an arrow protruding from his forehead.
“Look,” pointing the arrow at Leonard’s leg. “You peed yourself.”
Leonard looked… his blue jeans sported a wet spot down to his shoes.
Shane laughed, a high-pitch giggle. “You scared, ain’t ya?”
“No! No, I’m not. This is usually the time of day I wet myself. An arrow aimed at my head has nothing to do with it.”
Shane laughed again, as though the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Leonard feigned a chuckle, noticing Shane was shirtless, shoeless, wearing only black dress slacks.
Maybe, Leonard thought, just maybe. “Knock, knock?”
Shane frowned. “I’m not no damn kid! I’m seventeen-years-old. Be eighteen in two months. Don’t talk to me like I’m a kid.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Shane. Just a joke. You like jokes, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I want to know… you know what I’m talking about?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“You know? What’s it like to be with a… you know?”
“Shane, listen to me, I didn’t kill your dog.” He dropped his hands. “If you want to shoot your uncle, then shoot your uncle. I’m not going to discuss my personal life with a minor.” He stepped off the porch. “I came out here because my mother, your grandmother, told me to give you a message.” He started walking and fought the urge to look back. “She’s worried about you and wants you to know you can come home and bring the dog with you.”
Nearing the entrance to the trail: “She’s really concerned about you being out here by your—”
Twaanng!… the sound of a rubber band snapping, only louder… Shiiiiiiip!… something whipped past his right ear… Thud!… an arrow struck a tree only a few feet ahead of him.
“Why you stupid, simple-minded bastard!” Leonard said. He turned and charged… He would kick his ass… he would beat the shit out of him, teach him not to shoot arrows at his uncle… He stopped in his tracks… The boy had another arrow already locked and loaded in the crossbow…
The tip of the arrow pointed at him looked like three rectangular razor blades melded to a needlepoint. The shaft made of some kind of metal, aluminum or steel.
A wire looped through two small wheels on either side of the crossbow and crisscrossed to an X in the middle. All rested on a green camouflaged rifle stock. No, this was not a toy.
“Call me stupid again,” Shane said. “Say it again, I dare you.”
Leonard gulped.
“Always,” Shane said. “Always come down to me stupid, crazy, simple. ’Cause I’m not too smart makes you better than me?”
Leonard didn’t respond.
“Why I live out here. Nobody calls me stupid out here.” Pause. “Until you came.”
Leonard swallowed, and then found his voice. “Damn, Shane, you shot an arrow at me! Scared the shit out of me. I didn’t mean what I said—you scared me.”
Shane lowered the crossbow and let it slip from his fingers. It fell to the porch floor with a soft thud.
Another lump formed in Leonard’s throat, this one coated with guilt. “Hey… look… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, okay? Okay, Shane?”
Shane started crying, tears leaving dirty streaks down his face.
“Shane, I apologize. You know, when I was your age people called me bad names, made me cry.”
