No Escape (2 page)

Alex had to resist the urge to swear at him. “It’s my leg, not my chest,” he muttered.

“So you’re not having trouble breathing?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

Alex shrugged, flashing back on that morning’s foot chase through the streets of Boston. Sure, he had trouble breathing. Every inhale sent a jagged pain through his chest, setting his lungs burning like someone had set a match to them. But he’d always had weak lungs. His mother used to joke that he’d been such a sick baby, she’d been tempted to leave him at the hospital.

Of course, in the end she’d left him anyway.

“I don’t like the rattle in your chest,” the doctor continued. Every time he bent his head to listen through the stethoscope, Alex fixated on the tufts of white hair growing out of his ears.
It must suck getting old
, he thought,
nasty patches of hair showing up in all the wrong places
. “Take a deeper breath, please,” the doctor said impatiently.

So Alex tried, managing another small pant against the cold metal.

The doctor kept frowning. He was a small man, about Alex’s size, five-six or so. The glasses he wore made his eyes seem larger than they were, turning his irises into huge green circles. A fringe of white hair above his ears was all that remained on his head, making him resemble a quizzical owl. Alex wondered if he was even a real doctor. He had his doubts—this was a free clinic, after all. And would a real doctor be more interested in poking around his chest than in examining his clearly injured leg? The doctor had barely glanced at the enormous lump on his calf before declaring, “Hematoma. It’ll heal.”

Worse yet, he still hadn’t been offered any meds. If the doctor didn’t whip out that prescription pad soon, the day would be a total wash.

The doc scribbled some notes on a chart, then sat back and blinked at Alex.

Two-HOO
, Alex thought, remembering an owl commercial from when he was a kid. The memory made him smile. His grin faded as the doctor continued staring at him without saying anything.

“What?” he finally demanded.

“You smoke?”

Alex shifted, making the paper he was sitting on rustle. “Yeah, sure.”

“For how long?”

Alex screwed up his mouth. The last thing he needed was some dude judging him for lighting up. Considering how he lived, smoking was one of the lesser vices he could be indulging in. “I dunno. Few years, I guess.”

In truth, he’d been sneaking smokes as far back as he could remember, stealing them from his mom’s packs when he was eight or nine. And he was sixteen now, so that made it … He bit his lip, trying to do the math without counting it out on his hands.

“How many cigarettes a day do you smoke?”

Alex shrugged again, feeling resentful. This guy, whose glasses probably cost more than everything Alex had on put together, had no idea what it was like out there. “As many as I can,” he finally muttered, which was true. Most of his smokes came out of the gutter anyway, half-burned butts that other people had discarded, or singles from the minimart. Rarely could he afford a full pack.

“Well, young man, I’m afraid it’s caught up with you. It’s hard to say for certain without a chest X-ray, but your lungs sound like they’re filled with fluid. It may be the beginning of walking pneumonia. And with your smoking, there could be more damage.”

That didn’t sound good. “So what, you give me some pills for that?”

The doctor didn’t answer right away, just keep staring at him. Alex was tempted to just storm out of there. Screw this guy. He didn’t seem like he wanted to help anyway.

“I can give you antibiotics,” the doctor finally said slowly, “but you have to take the full course.
All
of them. And if you don’t stop smoking, well … I don’t know how much help they’ll be.”

“Okay,” Alex said, a wave of relief washing over him. Sure, he’d take pills. That sounded easy enough, and Jenny would probably be psyched if his coughing didn’t wake her up anymore. “How much?”

“How much for what?”

“For the pills,” Alex said, thinking,
Man, this guy is slow
.

“They’re free,” the doctor said, sounding surprised. “This is a free clinic, after all.”

“How about some pain pills, too?” Alex asked hopefully. “My leg hurts like hell.”

The doctor scrutinized him. Alex gazed back, trying to maintain his best innocent expression. “I suppose a few couldn’t hurt,” the doctor finally said. “I have some samples; those will have to do.”

“Awesome.” Alex flashed a sincere grin as the doctor unlocked a drawer, then handed him four packets of Vicodin. This guy was all right, after all. “Thanks, doc.”

“Of course.” The doctor was already halfway to the door. “Please get dressed quickly; we’re behind schedule.”

Ten minutes later, the door to the Runaway Coalition slammed shut behind him. The sun sat low in the sky, flaring brightly as it hovered above the horizon. Alex squinted against the glare. He took a deep breath, testing his lungs. They felt a little tight, but the air tasted like spring, full of mud and the sickly-sweet perfume of early flowers. It must’ve rained while he was inside; the streets were still slick. Trees sent droplets of water cascading onto his shoulders while he stood there. All in all, he was feeling pretty good. He’d managed to dodge another stint in juvie. His leg wasn’t broken, he had pills for his lady, and the days were growing longer and warmer. Tomorrow he’d stick to a clean grab, try for a guy’s wallet this time; men were more reliable about carrying cash.

Another kid came out of the clinic, jostling him. Reflexively, Alex shoved back. “Watch it.”

The kid stumbled, then stopped short. He turned and eyed Alex, sizing him up.

Just like that the good feeling vanished, replaced by rage. The familiar red fog descended, honing his vision until all he saw was the scrawny kid facing him. Alex’s hands closed into fists, and his lips curled into a snarl.

The kid backed away. “Dude, chill,” he muttered under his breath before hustling down the street.

Alex gazed after him, hands itchy by his sides, in the mood for a fight. The fog was still with him, and now it had nowhere to go. He had an overwhelming urge to hit someone or something, needing to expel all the energy coursing through him. He’d been kidding himself. Life wasn’t good—at least not for him—and it never had been. Every day was the same as the next. He was nearly always hungry and hurt, too cold or too hot. People avoided making eye contact with him, unless they were actively trying to lock him up. All he had were the clothes on his back and a girlfriend who seemed to care a little more about her drugs and a little less about him every day.

The terrible unfairness of it all suddenly threatened to rise up and choke him. He wanted to scream at his mother for loving whisky more than him. Scream at the lousy social workers who’d finally taken him away, sending him to new “mothers” who were even worse. Scream at all the people passing by him, people who didn’t know what it was like to sleep under a bush in the dead of a Boston winter, who had no idea what real hunger was, how it could feel like your stomach was trying to chew its way out of your belly.

But he couldn’t scream, Alex reminded himself. He could barely even draw enough breath to talk. Couldn’t run, either—not with this hema thing on his leg.

Moodily, he popped the cap on the bottle of pills the doc had given him and chucked two into his mouth, chewing before swallowing them. They tasted bitter, chemical-like, and he wished he had something to wash them down with. He’d given the twelve dollars to Jenny for safekeeping, and didn’t even have enough change for a can of Coke.
Safekeeping
, he thought. That was a laugh. She was probably already at Mickey D’s with one of the others; maybe even JJ. That thought made his rage surge even more strongly.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Alex turned to find the doctor standing behind him. “I already took the pills,” he grumbled defensively, holding out the bottle and giving it a hard shake. “See?”

“Very good,” the doctor said, sounding pleased. “I hope they’ll clear that up for you. Walking pneumonia is no laughing matter.”

Alex had to repress the urge to say something rude. The guy seemed okay, all in all. He hadn’t tried to talk Alex into going back into foster care, and didn’t call the cops on him. So that was something. “Thanks,” he finally said.

The doctor eyed him from under those bushy brows. He was wearing a wool coat that looked too heavy for the spring weather, and had a scarf wrapped in a stranglehold around his throat.

“Well.” Alex threw him a wave. “See ya.”

“Wait. I had a thought,” the doctor called out before he’d gone two feet.

Alex stopped, but didn’t turn back around. Was the guy going to ask him to do something pervy? He hadn’t seemed the type, but you never knew. It would explain why he bothered working for free. “What?”

“I know a place that might be able to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Alex growled. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he started to limp down the street, the pills rattling as they bounced against the bottle.

“They’ll pay you,” the doctor called after him.

At that, Alex stopped and turned. “Yeah? How much?”

The doctor stood there silently, clearly waiting. After a beat, Alex shuffled back to him. Another kid came out of the clinic, letting the door bang shut behind him. He glanced at them both, then pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and loped away. A stray raindrop landed on Alex’s collar and snaked down his back, making him shiver.

Still, the doctor didn’t say anything. Alex met his eyes, expecting to see triumph there; instead, the doctor appeared concerned, questioning. Like he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing.

“How much do they pay? And for what?” Alex finally said to break the silence.

“It’s a medical study. And I believe they pay around a thousand dollars … if you meet the criteria,” the doctor added hurriedly.

“What kind of study?” Alex demanded. A thousand bucks was a lot of money. Enough for him to take Jenny far away from here, somewhere it never got so cold. Miami, maybe. Or even California. That much money could change their lives. But you never got something for nothing; he knew that for damn sure. “They’re not going to take my kidney or something, are they?”

“No, of course not.” The doctor made a weird sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. “They’re looking for teens like you who don’t receive regular medical care. And the tests are quite simple, really. Noninvasive. They’ll draw some blood, maybe give you an MRI.”

Alex had no idea what an MRI was, but was too embarrassed to ask. “And they’ll give me a grand just for that?” he said dubiously.

“There’s a lot of money in medical research, Alex.” The doctor reached into his coat pocket and took out a card. “I’ve written the address down. They’ll be expecting you.”

“What, right now?”

“Yes. This is the last day for them to accept test subjects.” The doctor focused on something past Alex’s shoulder. “Of course, you could always wait for the next round of trials—”

“No,” Alex interrupted, snatching the piece of paper before the doctor could change his mind. “I’ll go.” Jenny could wait a little longer for her pills. And this way he’d get to surprise her by showing up with a huge wad of cash. Hell, they could stay in a real hotel tonight. A hot shower, clean sheets, room service … “Thanks,” he said with a nod.

“You’re welcome,” the doctor said. For some reason, his eyes had gone sad. He turned on his heel and hurried away, head tucked as if he were cold.

Alex watched him go, then examined the paper. There was nothing on it but an address in South Boston, complete with cross streets. He knew roughly where it was, just a few T stops away. He could be there in ten minutes.

Deciding, he limped toward the subway station.

This is taking a hell of a long time
, Alex thought impatiently. And man, was he done with hospitals. After today, he never wanted to visit one again. He was lying on a cold table in a small room wearing nothing but a hospital gown. No wonder they paid a grand. First he’d had to fill out and sign about a hundred pieces of paper. They’d asked a lot of useless questions, most of which he didn’t know the answer to.
Were his parents alive? If not, what had they died of? What about grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings?
He’d only ever had his mom, and for all he knew, she was still slumped over a bar somewhere.

They hadn’t seemed put out by the fact that he’d left a lot of the answers blank, though; just sent him to this room and told him to take a shower before putting on the gown. Then a tiny Chinese lady in scrubs—a nurse, probably—weighed him, measured him, and took his blood pressure. She grabbed his clothes when she left, explaining that they’d be washed for him. Which was an unexpected treat, although it would’ve been even nicer if they’d offered new ones.