Boy Nobody (18 page)

She stirs. “I’m cold, Benjamin.”

She tugs at the jacket in my hands. The one that belonged to Sneakers. I put it on her.

“Mmm. Cozy,” she says.

I run my hands through the pockets, checking for the weapon. It’s gone.

“Are you searching me?” Erica mumbles.

“I’m looking for my ChapStick,” I say.

“Keep looking,” she says. “It feels nice.”

I stop looking.

She sighs, reaches into the breast pocket, comes out with a price tag.

“No ChapStick. Sorry,” she says.

She hands me the tag.

Brand-new, from Gap. Just like the man I killed in the town house.

Men with military training come to the United States, they’re in a rush, and they want to fit in. What do they do?

“Funny. You’re not really a Gap guy,” Erica says.

“I’m a lot of different things,” I say.

They disguise themselves, posing as something they are not.

Just like me.

It cannot be a coincidence. We are moving toward the same finish line but with different objectives. I am aimed at the mayor, and they are aimed at me.

Why?

Five days, two of them gone. Three left.

What’s happening three days from now?

Erica pulls the jacket tight around her. She lays her head on my shoulder, and her soft hair brushes against my cheek.

“I feel safe with you,” she says.

And she drifts off to sleep.

I make sure she gets home okay, then I make sure I do.

Friday morning. Day 3. The school hallway.

Howard’s sentence comes out as a squeal, the words barely comprehensible. But I comprehend because I’ve heard words like these before. They are the words of someone begging for his life.

Howard comes into view, trapped in yet another corner of the school hall by Justin and his greasy-faced friend. Justin is pushing Howard into the wall, squashing him with a beanbag chair.

Howard is trapped.

The idea causes something uncomfortable to stir inside me.

“I can’t breathe,” Howard says.

I glance over again. Justin isn’t really going to kill Howard, just make his life hell until he does it himself.

It’s got nothing to do with me. That’s what I tell myself.

Guys like Howard live like this. It’s their burden to bear. They don’t get to make choices about who they want to be in the world.
The choice is already made for them, maybe from birth, maybe from bad luck. Who knows?

They only have to live with the consequences. Or invent the next Facebook and get their revenge.

In any case, it’s none of my business. So I keep walking.

Justin steps back like he’s letting Howard go, then he jumps forward into the beanbag. Howard’s head smacks against the wall with a loud thump.

Sam’s not around. Nobody’s around.

Except me.

Goddamn it.

I turn and head toward them.

“What’s up,” I say, loud enough to be heard down the hall.

Justin’s head pivots toward me, but he doesn’t stop pushing. His greasy friend steps out to block my path.

“Mind your own business,” the guy says.

“I should,” I say. “I really should. But I’m not going to.”

Greasy chuckles. A drop of spittle flies from his lips.

He’s about a minute from drinking through a straw for the next six weeks.

But I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not if I don’t have to.

Choices.

I’ll try to play peacemaker. Start with the least aggressive posture.

“Let’s call it a day, guys. What do you say?”

“What do you say?” Greasy parrots me.

Wrong move.

“Straw or crutches,” I ask him.

“What’s that?”

“It’s how you’re going to live for the next six weeks. I’m giving you a choice.”

He laughs. “What’s the straw?” he says.

“Forget I mentioned it,” I say.

I break his ankle.

Not break. Dislocate.

I do it in one motion. I bring my heel down at a certain angle, let gravity and weight do most of the work. He drops like a demolished building and bursts into tears.

“What the hell—” Justin says.

He barely has time to get the words out before I’ve sideswiped him, knocking him off Howard and down to the floor.

It’s a layer cake. Ground on the bottom. Then beanbag. Then Justin. Then me with a knee in Justin’s back.

“You’re going to leave Howard alone,” I say.

“Like hell,” Justin says. “He’s a freak. You don’t know the story.”

“What sport do you play?” I say.

“Soccer,” he says.

I’m feeling magnanimous, so I leave his feet alone.

I break his wrist.

Not break. Hyperextend.

“Fuuuck—” he cries out, rolling onto his side and clutching his injured paw.

Howard watches, mouth open in surprise.

“Now we walk away,” I say to Howard.

“What about these guys?” he says.

“They were roughhousing and it went too far. Right, guys?”

Justin groans and nods. Greasy is still crying.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “They can fix you up in the emergency room.”

Their injuries are consistent with a wrestling match that got out of hand. I made sure of it.

I lead Howard away.

“Why did you help me?” he says.

I’m wondering the same thing. Why would I choose to expose myself in this way? In any way?

Stupid. Damn stupid. But it felt good, too. That’s the part I’m having trouble understanding.

“I don’t know,” I say to Howard.

Which is the truth. There are too many things like this lately. Things I do without knowing why, motivations that I cannot fully comprehend.

“Whatever the reason, I owe you,” Howard says.

We turn into the main hallway. I watch how students pass to either side of us, not wanting to get too close to Howard. He’s got an eighteen-inch exclusion zone around him at all times.

“You’ve got a lot of enemies,” I say.

“A whole school of them,” he says.

“What did you do?”

“I’m weird.”

“Lots of people are weird, but they’re not hated by everyone in school. What story is Justin talking about?”

“I got caught doing some things….” Howard says, his voice trailing off.

“What did you do, Howard?”

“I was playing with myself, okay? In the library. Back in ninth grade.”

He looks at the ground.

“That’s embarrassing,” I say, “but you can’t be the first guy to look for a happy ending in the library.”

“If I tell you the whole thing, you might never talk to me again.”

“I’m the guy who got thrown out of Choate, remember?”

Howard nods.

“I was using a book when they caught me,” he says.

“Reading a book?”

“No, rubbing myself with one.
The Sound and the Fury
.”

“You were masturbating with Faulkner?”

“I love the classics.”

I have to stifle a laugh.

“They went through the stacks after that. Most of the pages of the senior reading list were stuck together.”

“I’m surprised you’re still in school.”

“I got suspended. Psych eval and everything. The doctor said I was acting out my disdain for the educational system.”

“What do you say?”

“I say the seniors are assholes. Anyway, the administration let me come back with mandatory psychological monitoring. The paperwork said I had a mental breakdown because of bullying. You use the word
bullying
these days, you pretty much write your own ticket.”

“So you got to stay in school.”

“It was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he says, gesturing to the halls. “I thought people would forget eventually, but they didn’t.”

“Some mistakes are like that,” I say.

“Like what?” Howard says.

I think of my first day in the training house, Mother looking at me across her desk.

“Permanent,” I say.

Howard stops.

“Since we’re being honest with each other, can I tell you something?” he says.

I nod. He steps closer and his voice drops to a whisper.

“I know you’re not a student,” he says.

“I’m not?”

I study Howard’s face. He looks scared.

“Not like the rest of us,” he says.

I put a hand on his chest and push him through the men’s room door.

I keep pushing Howard until I back him up to the wall. I hold him there by the fabric of his shirt.

“What are you saying, Howard?”

“I don’t think you were at Choate,” he says. “Or if you were, it wasn’t to study.”

“What else would I be doing there?”

“Killing people.”

I can finish this in fifteen seconds. Pressure on Howard’s carotid artery, not enough to cause bruising.

“Why would I kill people?” I say.

“Because you’re a vampire,” Howard says.

I stop, let go of his shirt.

“A vampire?”

“I’ve been watching you,” Howard says. “You’re quiet. You have
strange energy. You sort of disappear sometimes. And you’re stronger than everyone else. You kicked those guys’ asses like it was nothing.”

I knew that was a mistake.

“There’s no such thing as vampires,” I say.

“It’s okay with me if you are. Just please make me one, too, Ben. I’ll be a weak vampire. That’s okay with me. As long as I’m stronger than those guys so I can defend myself.”

“This conversation is over,” I say.

I head for the bathroom door.

“Don’t leave me in this school!” he says.

I stop and rub my forehead, frustrated.

He says, “You know what’s going to happen. Those guys are going to wait for you to leave school, and then they’ll kill me as payback. You won’t be here to protect me.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” I say.

“You can take me with you.”

This is why I don’t connect with people. They are complicated. They want things from me, things I can’t give.

“I hate it here,” Howard says. “I have no life.”

“It gets better,” I say. “Haven’t you seen those videos?”

Does it get better? For Howard? For me?

I can’t be sure.

“I can be useful to you,” Howard says. “Do you need money?”

“I’ve got plenty of money.”

“I can make sure you get straight A’s.”

“I don’t need A’s. Howard, how can you do all this stuff?”

“I told you, I’m good with computers.”

I think of Howard in front of the computer yesterday, his
fingers moving at blazing speed. I thought he was just a lonely kid with computer chops. But he’s more than that.

“You really are a hacker.”

He nods. “I can get into sites. I can erase your identity and create a new one.”

That troubles me. I’m not sure how elaborate my cover is online. For normal searches it’s fine, but could it withstand serious scrutiny from an obsessive kid with upper-level hacking skills?

Howard is dangerous to me.

Or useful.

I think about last night, my inaction around the mayor, my wondering about guilt and innocence.

What if I could prove that the mayor is guilty?

Then I would understand why I was sent here, and whatever is happening with Sam wouldn’t matter so much. My hesitation would disappear.

The problem: It’s forbidden to ask why I was sent.

I cannot reach out to The Program for information of this sort. The only option is to go rogue, to find the information I want on my own.

But that would betray every principle of my training.

I will not do it.

My phone vibrates with a secure text notification from Father. Three numeric signs:

###

It looks like someone slipped and pressed a key too many times, but in fact it’s code. An order for an immediate and mandatory check-in.

I didn’t call him back last night, because I was stalling for time. I thought I’d be done by now, and I’d have good news to report.

Unfortunately that’s not the case.

“We have to talk about this another time,” I tell Howard.

I move him toward the door.

“So you’re going to think about taking me with you?” he says.

“I’ll think about it.”

Anything to get him out the door.

“I owe you one, Ben. I won’t forget that.”

I get him outside and lock the door behind him.

Then I call Father and I wait for the line to go live.

“You didn’t return my calls last night,” he says.

“I’ve been busy, Dad. Sorry.”

“Good busy or bad busy?”

“I’m at school, so I can’t get into it.”

“I know where you are,” he says.

How does he know?

I glance at the stall doors. There’s nobody in here. I look at the ceiling and along the molding, searching for drill markings or camera pinholes.

Father says, “I know where you are now, and I know where you were last night. You were having a good time when you should have been doing your homework.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Then tell me what’s preventing you from handing in your assignment.”

“Complications.”

Sam is a complication.

No, my reaction to Sam is the complication. And my reaction to her father.

“I need a little more time,” I say.

“About that. There’s been a change. Your assignment has to be turned in by tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

That’s four days instead of five.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Father says. “I got the message, and I’m passing it along to you. Do we understand each other?”

“Completely.”

“Should I expect more complications?”

Silence hangs in the digital space between us.

I make my voice cold, professional.

“No complications,” I say.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he says, and he ends the call.

Tomorrow.

That means I have only one more day to get to the mayor and finish my assignment.

That’s a disturbing thought, but it’s followed by an even more disturbing one:

One last day to finish means I have only one more day with Sam.