He wore a black T-shirt. Plain. Faded black skinny jeans, and the most scuffed-up black Vans I’d ever seen covered his feet. His left ear was pierced with a thin silver hoop, and so was the right side of his lip. He was all black, from head to toe, one long, lean line, with hair hanging in his eyes and a defiant expression on his face. He reminded me of the emo kids I went to school with, though he wasn’t pale like they usually were. And he had muscles. His arms weren’t bulging but his biceps were defined. He looked strong.
Almost intimidating.
“We need to leave,” he said firmly, his gaze meeting mine. He sounded like a man, what with that deep voice, but from the look on his face, the nervousness in his gaze, I could see he was really just a kid.
Just like me.
I paused, unsure if I should go with him, and he saw it. Must’ve seen the reluctance in my gaze and when our gazes clashed, I confessed, “I’m scared.”
His expression faltered for the smallest moment. I don’t think he knew exactly what to do with me. “You can’t be scared, Katie. You have to be brave. You have to come with me.”
I wanted to. I really did. “What if he finds us? What will he do?”
The determination that firmed his jaw made him look more manlike. Not so much a kid any longer. “He won’t do anything to you. I won’t let him.”
“You promise?” I asked for too much but I needed to hear the words. Needed the reassurance.
His gaze was solemn. “I promise.”
I wanted to believe him. I needed someone to believe in to get me out of here. So I was putting all my faith in him. I had to.
There was no other choice.
Without hesitation he turned and headed toward the shed door. I followed after him, trying my best to keep up, the mostly empty water bottle still clutched in my hand. He took my other hand to help me down the rickety wooden steps, his long fingers clutched around mine, and I winced when the rough edges of the wood scraped the soles of my tender feet.
“You need shoes,” he murmured, reaching for his magical backpack. He pulled out a pair of bright orange Old Navy flip-flops, the cheap ones you can get for under five dollars. “I found these.” I wondered who they might have belonged to.
It didn’t matter, though. Now they belonged to me.
I slipped them on and though they were a little big, they’d work just fine. He smiled at me. This lopsided, closed-mouth curve of lips that was there and gone, all in a fleeting moment. Then with a flick of his head, he indicated without a word that he wanted me to follow him. I did. I fell into step behind him as we made our escape from the backyard, passing the lone carousel horse propped in the corner of the fence.
“Is that your horse?” I asked him, wanting to know if he lived there. How he played a role in this moment, this situation.
He paused, his head turning toward the horse, a faraway look crossing his face. “Yeah. I found it in a dumpster not far from the park.”
The park. The amusement park. It was close. Closer than I thought.
“They usually sell them. Auction them off. People like to buy them. It’s like buying a memory, a piece of happiness from their childhood,” he continued, and I studied him. Wondered if this horse represented a piece of happiness from his childhood. Though he was still a child, too. Older than me, but definitely not an adult yet.
“But this one, they threw away like it didn’t matter. It was broken. Faded and chipped, an ugly brown color that probably didn’t look so good with the other brightly painted horses and animals on the carousel. Have you been on that merry-go-round?” His gaze met mine and I nodded. “It’s bright and loud, with the bells and the buzzer and music. This guy didn’t fit in.”
I had this weird feeling he wasn’t talking about the horse anymore. He was talking about himself.
“We need to go,” he said, sounding irritated. He gave one last, longing glance toward the horse and then we left. He led me to the gate and opened it, indicating I should walk through it first, and I did, my chest tight, my gaze sharp. A tiny piece of me was afraid this could be a trap. He might be leading me to my doom.
We were in a neighborhood, lines of small houses seemingly stacked nearly on top of each other, in neat little rows. The yards were nothing more than weeds; old cars sat parked in driveways or along the street. Rusted metal bars covered most of the tiny windows on the houses, keeping the bad guys out or the good guys in, I’m not sure which.
No kids played outside, no voices carried from backyards or from within the tiny houses. It was eerily quiet, the sun bathing the sky in an orange-pinkish glow as it slowly settled in the west. We trudged uphill, Will keeping his pace even and measured, me trying my best to stay with him, but I was already tired. Exhausted. In pain.
Ready to give up and we’d barely started.
Once we reached the top of the hill, I realized where we were. Not far from the main drag that led straight down to the beach and the boardwalk. I glanced over my shoulder, my breath catching in my throat when I saw the ocean, the sun a yellowish orange ball sinking into the rippling blue. The amusement park was already lit up, the circle of the Ferris wheel a flashing red-and-green beacon, the roller coaster’s towering path lit by white lights.
Regret hit me like a punch in the stomach. I never got to ride the roller coaster with Sarah. I never ate a deep-fried Twinkie like I wanted to, either. I didn’t get to do much of anything.
But at least I was still alive.
“It’s not much farther,” Will promised me, and I turned to look at him, saw the guilt pass over his expression. I wondered if he was lying.