Of course, the Cruz family went in first, but Matty came out after just a minute, scowling.

  Seth just looked at him, too stunned to hide his hurt.

  “He doesn’t want me there,” Matty spat. “I hope you’re happy. My brother hates me.”

  “You betrayed him,” Seth said quietly. “You turned them onto him. You’ll have to live with that.”

  Matty took two steps forward, cocking his fist back, and Seth stood up and met him.

  “Go ahead,” Seth said. “Hit me and tell everybody why it’s my fault. You’re the one who’s choosing to hate, Matty. Your mom didn’t tell you to. They’re fine with it. Hit me and tell everyone why I had it coming.” He sighed and let himself wander away in his mind. A song was forming, swelling, something that had Kelly’s smile in it, the way he slouched when he walked, like he knew it was sexy, the way he rambled like a stream in the spring.

  Seth needed a song for Kelly so Kelly could remember himself.

  Matty was frozen, his fist falling limply to his side, and Seth wandered away for real, until Kelly’s dad stuck his head out. “Seth? He’s been asking for you.”

  “Dad! You’re just going to let him—”

  “Shut up, Matty.” Xavier Cruz looked exhausted. “I don’t want to hear it. What you said to him last night? You think you’re not responsible for this? Just sit down there and be glad it’s not you in the hospital.”

  Seth didn’t even look at Matty as he walked into the room, passing Linda and the girls as they left.

  They were all crying, Lily and Lulu leaning painfully against Linda as she guided them out.

  “He needs to hear good things,” Linda said softly. “Make him happy, okay?”

  Seth nodded and tried hard to pull himself from that place in his head. Kelly needed him.

  “Ouch,” he muttered, because who wouldn’t? Kelly had a brace around his throat, and his left eye was brick red, the flesh around it puffy and swollen. Various tubes were coming from his arm, and one from under the covers.

  “You think?” Kelly mouthed.

  “I think your mom’s not gonna let you leave the house for a year,” Seth said, pulling a chair up next to the bed.

  “No more Soccer Wednesday, anyway,” Kelly sighed.

  “Well, yeah, but in the fall—”

  Kelly frowned. “You’re going.”

  Seth frowned back. “You want me to leave?”

  “To Bridgford.”

  Seth’s stomach cramped. “No.”

  “Please—”

  “Don’t talk about it,” Seth ordered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stuffed animal, this one an absurdly bright orange. “Here.” He reached over to Kelly’s hand, which was wrapped, but not in a cast, like it had been injured but not broken. “I brought this for you.”

  Kelly smiled a little, his eyes watering. “Seth, what he did to me… it hurt. It hurt so bad.”

  Seth stood and leaned over the bed then, dropping the rail on the side and kissing his forehead gently. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make that better. All I want is for you to feel better. I’d do anything to fix that, fix that thing he did. But all I can do is wrap my arms around you forever. It’s all I got.”

  “I’m afraid,” Kelly whispered. “For me. For you. I’ll be afraid forever. You need to go so I’m not afraid.”

  Seth shook his head. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised rashly. “I’ll make sure you never have to be afraid again. I swear. He’ll never touch you. I promise.”

  “No—”

  But Seth was crying again, and so was Kelly, and they didn’t have words.

  It would take them years before they found words again.

  This moment right here, Seth holding Kelly’s hand around the little comfort object, them rubbing their salty cheeks together, crying, would be one big howl in their chests for long goddamned years.

  SETH’S DAD was asleep next to little Agnes when they got back, and Seth slipped quietly out of the apartment. They’d stopped for food on the way home, but Seth wasn’t hungry.

  He slid in his own front door and went where he always went—to his music stand and his instrument.

  He played angry scales, again and again, the rote memorization of the chords guiding his hands, his muscles, his talent—it was all he had.

  He finally set the violin down, hands and shoulders shaking, T-shirt drenched in sweat. Before he could ask himself what he was doing, where he was going, he’d slammed the door behind him, forgetting his phone and barely remembering his keys.

  He knew where he was going.

  Night had barely fallen, a faint river breeze ruffling the beech trees lining the sidewalk as Seth strode into the purpling dark. He wondered where his dad had gone. He’d probably offered to watch Lily and Lulu and help with dinner or something, and Seth was glad.

  His dad loved him. Loved Kelly. He thought Seth was a good boy. Seth didn’t have the heart to tell his dad that he had inherited the same violence in his heart that his father had. Craig Arnold had worked so hard to protect Seth from that in the past years.

  It wasn’t Craig’s fault it was roaring through Seth’s soul tonight.

  The vacant store was still marked by police tape, but as Seth moved through the night, he knew he wouldn’t find Castor there.

  The field, shadowed under the moon, backed up against a fence. Behind it was an apartment complex, one with a gate and some security, and trees. The trees cast absolute darkness over the fence, and even the field, with all its urban detritus, was brighter and better lit than that hollow of nothingness against the apartment fence.

  Seth wasn’t even aware of where his feet were carrying him until he tripped over a patch of grass.

  Low, mocking laughter from the void under the trees told him he wasn’t alone.

  “You here for more?” Castor Durant rasped from the shadows. There was a glow as he inhaled from something—a joint, maybe, but one laced with a chemical smell, like cotton candy and drain cleaner, that made Seth want to puke.

  Meth. He was smoking weed laced with meth.

  The lone rational part of Seth’s brain started to scream that this boy was dangerous.

  Very, very dangerous.

  “I’m here to warn you,” Seth told him, not dreamy in the least. He was right here, right now, under the moon hanging low like rotting fruit. “You stay away from us. Don’t touch us again. Not ever again.”

  “Or what?” Castor exhaled throatily. “What’re you gonna do? Suck my dick off?”

  Seth kicked him.

  He didn’t even know he was going to do it.

  One minute he was standing—looming over Castor Durant as the boy got high and higher—and the next, he’d swung his foot back and landed a hard kick to his side.

  Castor dropped his joint and yelped, and then propelled himself, crashing into Seth’s midsection and throwing him to the ground.

  Seth kicked hard and tried to roll, throwing his elbows back and catching Castor in the jaw. For a moment, Seth was almost standing on higher ground, where he could kick the bastard’s face in, but Castor grabbed his foot before he got his balance, and he fell heavily, catching his weight on his elbow. He yelped, but his upper body was strong. Stronger than anybody suspected. He practiced for hours, until his back and chest ached and his biceps and triceps caught fire.

  He rolled to one side on the ground that was littered with cigarette butts and worse and then rolled back, catching Castor Durant in the jaw with a hard elbow, leaving him stunned. With a heave, Seth pulled away, scrambling to his knees, and again, oh God, almost made it to his feet, almost made it to the point where he could kick the shit out of him, to where he could hurt him, make him afraid, make him never want a thing to do with Kelly Cruz or his family ever again.

  But Castor was high, and desperate. With a snarl, he tackled Seth, trying to shove his face into the ground. But Seth was a runner. And tall. He used his leverage to roll his body over… only for Castor to straddle him. He hit Seth again and again, bloody and spitting and shouting obscenities, pinning Seth by the throat with one hand while he fumbled at his waist for something… something….

  Seth’s vision was fading, his air strangling in his windpipe, cut off by Castor’s palm. Oh God, Kelly. Was this how you felt? Was this the place they sent you before they raped you and beat you? His struggles were weakening, his arms and hands heavy, the world growing dark… so dark… Kelly… Dad….

  He was so far gone, he didn’t even realize he’d started breathing again.

  He still felt heavy. Something like slimy cement weighed him down. He took some more breaths, enough to struggle, and pushed it off.

  Castor Durant rolled over, a gaping red smile where his throat used to be, white bone gleaming in the moonlight.

  Seth stared, aghast.

  Blood that had pumped all over Seth, all over Castor, had slowed to a trickle, and from the corner of Seth’s mottled vision, he saw someone’s foot as they disappeared around the corner.

  But he couldn’t make out whose it was.

  The blood drenching him—had he done that?

  Seth tried to remember, his head pounding, his throat bruised and aching.

  Where had the knife come from?

  Was that what Castor had been struggling for?

  Oh God. Oh God. Seth couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember. Castor Durant was dead. Not one breath gurgled from the gaping smile at his throat, and Seth couldn’t remember if there had been a knife.

  SETH MADE it to the apartment wall before he stopped and threw up bile, his throat burning more than ever. Another few steps and he was on the sidewalk, the moon hanging over his head like a rotten lemon.

  His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  The laundry room he and his dad used sat in the space between two of the three apartments on the ground floor of the fourplex. Seth and his dad did laundry on Sundays, always, so he didn’t often run into the other people there, and the Cruzes had their own unit upstairs.

  Seth fumbled for his key, his mind blank. Not even thought of the ocean could make this better. All he could think of was the black night and the obscene moon.

  The laundry room was vacant. Oh, thank God. An old beach towel nobody wanted to claim sat on the folding counter in the cramped space, and a washcloth hung from the soaking sink. Without thinking about it, Seth started to strip.

  T-shirt, cargo shorts, underwear.

  It was all soaked with blood. Saturated. He took off his tennis shoes and added those to the load, surprised when he found quarters—just enough for a wash—in his pocket.

  His hands were bloody too. Bloody as he touched his clothes, took everything off. After he shoved it all in the washer, adding soap from the communal box on the floor, he started running water in the sink. Then he scrubbed his face. Scrubbed his hands. Used the washcloth to scrub his arms, scrub his legs. To scrub his feet.

  Rinsed. Scrubbed himself again.

  Scrubbed the things he’d touched. Scrubbed the concrete he’d walked on, even though there were no prints. There was no blood on his shoes. How weird was that? Blood everywhere, on his hands, in his hair—

  He stuck his head under the sink and rinsed it off again.

  And his body, again.

  The washer lapsed into spin cycle and the change in the sound startled him—his shoes thumped warningly inside.

  He needed to go upstairs and put on some clothes.

  He needed to get quarters so he could dry everything.

  Or maybe he should run it through again, using bleach this time.

  He needed to move.

  He grabbed his keys from the bottom of the sink where he’d washed them off, and wrapped the faded beach towel around his waist.

  Not a soul saw him walk to his front door wearing only a towel and terror. That would puzzle him in the years to come.

  How could he have done something so terrible, so huge, and not a soul could say they’d seen him do it?

  Where was God when all this was happening?

  Where in the fuck was God?

  That sound haunted him. Beat at his brain. Pounded in his head as he jumped in the shower, scalding himself with hot water until it too ran cold.

  He’d brought clothes into the bathroom, and he dressed carefully, slowly, everything in his body hurting—his joints, bones, muscles, heart. He felt like an old man.

  His father was standing outside the bathroom, staring at him like he’d never seen him before.

  “Seth?”

  “Daddy?” His voice was hoarse, like Kelly’s had been, and he’d looked in the mirror. He had marks on his face, his neck. His eyeball was blood red.

  He looked like he’d been in a fight.

  “Son…. Son, what happened?”

  Seth swallowed, and it hurt too, and he had to fight not to look at his hands. “I….” But he couldn’t. He slid against the wall of the hallway, too exhausted to sob, weak tears trickling down the sides of his nose.

  His father sat next to him and slung an arm over his shoulder. “What do I need to know, son?”

  Seth swallowed again. He thought of that body, lying under the nightmare sky.

  “I should probably be on the bus to Bridgford next week,” he said hoarsely. “Do you think Kelly will forgive me?”

  “What happened?”

  Seth just shook his head. “Oh, Daddy….”

  And that’s all he could make himself say for the rest of the night.

  Kept in Cages

  “KELLY!”

  Kelly looked up from the tablet his father had bought him and smiled weakly at Seth. This was his third day in the hospital—the day the rape counselor had come in and talked to him about his injuries and how it was going to hurt to poop for a long time and how he needed to cry a lot before everything got better.

  He was done with crying. He just wanted to stare at the stupid little game on the bright glowing screen and be someone else for a while.

  But Seth was here, and that needed Kelly’s attention.

  Seth had come the first day and promised Kelly he’d be safe.

  He’d come the second day and had just sat there, way across the room full of all Kelly’s family, and turned his face to the wall while Matty glowered at them all.

  Kelly was supposed to go home tomorrow, and all he could think about was sitting on Seth’s couch and being somewhere he felt safe. Seth wouldn’t treat him like he had the plague.

  Seth had another one of those little stuffed animals in his hand. This made the third—Kelly was keeping them all lined up next to his pillow.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling, and to his dismay, Seth shook his head like he was shaking off the smile. His eyes looked hollow and red, and Kelly noticed he was wearing a shirt with a collar, even though it was still a bajillion degrees outside.

  “Kelly, I have to go tomorrow,” Seth said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to. But I have to go. Dad’s putting me on the bus to Bridgford. I… I don’t have everything I need, but he’s sending it to me.”

  Kelly gasped, and it still hurt, dammit. But Seth’s voice sounded like his—a sore croak—and Kelly wondered when that happened.

  “You have to go?” he squeaked, the betrayal acute. You told him to go. You told him. And then, But yeah, I didn’t think it would be that quick.

  Seth nodded and wiped his face with the back of his hand. One of his eyes was red, like Kelly’s, and he was wearing a sweater—an old man’s sweater—over his arms.

  Kelly squinted. “What happened?”

  More of that terrible head shake. “I can’t tell you,” he whispered. “I don’t know myself. But… but you’re safe, okay? Whatever happened, you’re safe. I’m not sure if I’m the one who made you safe, but you’re safe. And that’s all that matters.”

  “But I’m not safe!” Kelly cried. “Even if Castor Durant drops off the planet, there’s still my brother, who’s gonna fuckin’ beat on me for bein’ a fag and—”

  Seth ventured all the way in the door then and grabbed his hand, putting the little stuffed animal in it before leaning over so they could touch foreheads.

  “Your mom and dad won’t let that happen,” he promised. “I’ve heard them, Kelly. Even if they don’t know for sure, your mom, she won’t let your brother say shit to you. Trust her.” He nodded, like just doing that could take away the hurt of it. “And….” Oh! Kelly’s boy was crying. Crying so hard he couldn’t breathe. Crying so hard he could barely talk! Kelly’s arms were sprained at the shoulders, because two guys had held them behind him and he’d struggled, oh, he’d struggled so fucking hard. Carefully he raised his hand to cup Seth’s cheek and saw the bruises, then felt his stomach go cold.

  “Seth? Seth… mijo. What did you do?”

  “Whatever it was, you’re safe. But my dad… my dad will miss me.” Seth reached into his pocket and shoved something else into Kelly’s hand. “This is my key. My house key. Make a copy for me when you can, okay? But Soccer Wednesdays—go see my dad. He’ll be expecting you. I told him.”

  “You told him?”

  Seth took a deep, shuddery breath. “That night… right after you went to the store. He said… he said he’d do anything to help us. Just as long as I went and did this thing that everyone says only I can do. He said… he said he wouldn’t ever try to keep us apart. So… so be his friend, okay? He’s putting me on a bus, and he’s going to be all alone, and you’re going to be all alone, and I’ll miss you both. Just… keep each other company, okay?”

  Kelly nodded just a little, and dammit. Apparently being ready to be all cried out didn’t mean there weren’t any tears left. “You can’t go….” Hell. That wasn’t what he meant to say. “Don’t leave me!” That wasn’t it either. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I thought I could let you go, but I was wrong—”

  Seth kissed him.

  Kelly was so surprised he opened his mouth, and the kiss wasn’t gentle. It was needy and scared, just like Kelly’s, and it was salty and bloody like Kelly’s, from the cuts on the inside of his lips.