The Battle for Jericho (17 page)

I knew through bitter experience that it wasn’t a wise move to press Mac when he was pissed, but this latest mood swing of his had me so peeved that I was about to go after him and cuss him out for dumping on me. After all, I was grappling with my own issues, but I didn’t put him in the crosshairs of
my
lousy mood and pull the trigger. Fortunately (for me, not so much for Mac), Lissandra walked up behind me then.

“Hey, baby,” came her smiling voice over my shoulder. Her arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and her lips pecked at the back of my neck.

I turned around to her and kissed her hard. It surprised us both.

“Wow,” she breathed when I let her go. “You really did miss me, huh?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m glad you’re back.” I took her hand, and we started walking down the hall, and I tried to stop the guilt, which had slammed into me when I heard her voice, from burrowing any deeper into my heart.

F
RIDAY
afternoon, I walked home alone under a cloudy, gray sky through a misty rain. It had been a long but fairly typical week at school, and I was glad it was finally over. Lissandra kept suggesting all sorts of nice, romantic ways we could hang out after school, and I had to keep manufacturing excuses to avoid being with her. Needless to say, she wasn’t all that happy with me, but I felt that I had been unfair to her in some fundamental way, and going out on little mini-dates with her would only make things worse. By Tuesday, Mac had improved a bit in the mood department and even apologized for the way he treated me Monday morning. We started hanging out again, but I noticed that he didn’t say a word all week to either Gina Marie or Lester. I went through the week keeping my eyes off the other guys in the locker room after our PE workouts. That meant that I spent so much time looking up at the ceiling it had some of the guys wondering aloud if something had come loose in my head. I was especially determined to avoid any sight of Hutch in the showers. It made me very nervous now when he was naked, whether I looked at him or not.

I prayed a lot that week. My thoughts and my emotions were a jumble worthy of a master puzzle maker, and I was desperate for some answers. My questions were simple. Who was I? Who was God? Did God love me or hate me? See, nothing weighty there at all. I tried to call Dylan a couple of times, to bounce some of my troubling thoughts off him again, but he was never in, and I didn’t want to leave messages that would probably only make me sound as crazy as I felt.

After school on Monday and Wednesday, Hutch didn’t walk home with me. Some young (and sexy, but you didn’t hear that from me) college-type dude rode up to the front of the school both days and whisked Hutch away on a shiny red motorcycle. It made me insanely and inexplicably jealous. Hutch told me that he and the guy, whom he called Neal, were on some planning committee in the MLGBT Society, and they were meeting to organize the next dance for the teen members. He took off after school on Friday for another such meeting. Mac was on a bus ride to Benton High this afternoon, where he would be starting in his first game as a member of Gordon Browning High’s football team. I was dying to go to the game, but Mom and Dad wanted me to come straight home after school because they planned to leave for Louisville at four, and they had no intention of beginning their trip without making sure I was home safe and sound. In fact, they’d already told me that I was to stay at home all weekend while they were gone.

I did mention that my parents are kind of strict, didn’t I?

Their bags were stacked neatly by the door to the garage when I let myself into the kitchen. “Mom? Dad? I’m here.” I dropped my backpack on the floor, shrugged out of my jacket and dropped it over my backpack, and then went to the fridge. No Gatorade, damn it. How could Mom and Dad let the Gatorade run out? What did they expect me to use to kill my thirst?
Water
? I grabbed a bottle of apple juice, filled a glass, and started gulping it down.

Mom came into the kitchen wearing blue jeans and a lavender sweater, which made her look very girlish. She carried her shoulder bag by the strap. “London, bring my jacket, please,” she called over her shoulder. “And get a move on. We should try to beat the rush hour traffic.” She looked at me and smiled. “How was your day, Jericho?”

“It was fine, Mom. You look pretty.”

“Thank you. Sit down. There are a few things I want to go over with you.”

I took my glass of apple juice to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat. Mom fumbled around a bit in her shoulder bag, pulled out her keys, and then placed the bag and keys on the table. She looked at me. I knew what she was going to say. Hell, I could have recited it with her word for word because it was only the fifth time this week that she’d gone over this with me. But I listened attentively, nodding at all the right places.

“Your dad and I agreed to leave you here by yourself this weekend,” she said. “But I’m still not very comfortable with the idea. So I want to go over the ground rules with you again. Rule number one: Do not have anyone in this house while we’re gone. Rule number two: You are not to leave home while we’re gone. It’s okay for you to go next door to visit Maclin, but only if one of his parents is there. You two have a tendency to get each other in trouble. You can go to Maclin’s but no farther. Be sure you lock up the house if you go next door. Rule number three: You must eat actual meals while we’re gone, not junk food. Rule number four: Keep the house clean. Rule number five: Your Uncle Vic and Mrs. Travis will be checking in on you from time to time. Do not argue with them. If they tell you to do something, you do it. Are we clear on the rules?”

I saluted. “Ma’am, yes ma’am!”

Mom smiled at that. “My son, the nut. Come load this luggage in the car for me.”

She grabbed her keys and shoulder bag, I grabbed the luggage, and I followed her into the garage. She popped the trunk on her Ford Taurus. I understood why she wanted to take her car. Dad tended to get a little heavy-footed behind the wheel of his Mustang. Plus, he was very particular about where he parked that thing. He wouldn’t leave it under a tree, lest a bird decorate it, and he wouldn’t leave it near any other vehicle, lest the sides get dinged. Once he found a parking spot that suited him, he usually wound up walking farther to get to his destination than he drove.

“I stopped off at the supermarket on the way home from work today,” Mom said as I hefted the luggage into her trunk. “The kitchen is fully stocked for you.”

“Mom, you forgot the Gatorade.”

“No, I didn’t. You drink too much of that. I think you need to take a break from it.”

“But… what am I supposed to drink?” I closed the lid on the trunk.

“How about water?”

It was going to be a
long
weekend.

Dad came into the garage with his and Mom’s jackets draped over one arm. He was fumbling around, trying to cinch a leather-banded watch around his wrist. “Where the hell is my silver watch with the stretch band?” he complained, mostly to himself. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“We’ll have to look for it when we get back, London.” Mom put her shoulder bag on the trunk of her car, took her jacket, and held it out to me since Dad was still struggling with his watch. I helped her into her jacket. “Thank you, Jericho.” She turned around and kissed my cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I will.”

Mom handed her keys to Dad, grabbed her shoulder bag, and slid into the front passenger seat of her car. I waited as Dad finished securing the watch on his wrist and got into his jacket because I wanted to hug him good-bye.

He looked at me. “What the hell are you standing there for? Get the hell out of my way.”

I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Bye, Dad. Have a good time.”

I stood in the open garage bay, waving at them as they drove off down the street. Once the Taurus was out of sight, I let down the garage door and went into the kitchen. It was officially dinnertime. I grabbed a bag of cheddar cheese potato chips, a little canister of sour cream onion dip, a box of chocolate chip cookies, and a can of peach soda, went to my room, and noshed in grand style while I watched the latest episode of
Real Housewives of Mayberry.

T
HE
scratch came at my window just after nine o’clock that night.

To say that it scared the hell out of me is putting it mildly. I think I actually went wee-wee just a tiny bit in my boxers. It was dark outside, my parents were several hundred miles away, and I was lying across my bed in my jeans and T-shirt, thumbing like a robot at the controller and losing badly at a video game because I was slipping by slow degrees into a coma. That sound brought me upright and fully alert in an instant.

Oh God! Somebody’s breaking in!
My heart was banging so hard in my chest, I could barely breathe.
Run! What do I do? Get one of the guns! Call 9-1-1! Scream! Put a bullet through the window! Don’t pass out! Don’t panic! Scream! Run next door and call 9-1-1! Scream!
It took about two seconds for those thoughts to go through my head, not necessarily in that order.

Before I could do anything else, however, the sound came again, this time followed by a muffled whisper. “Jericho?”

Even as recognition hit me, I grabbed the cord at the window and gave a yank, raising the blind. Hutch peered in at me.

I put a hand to my chest, trying to calm my heart. “Hutch? What the—”

He cut me off. “Let me in, Jerry. Let me in….” His face looked weird, but it was hard for me to pinpoint what was wrong with it because he was half hidden in shadows. “Come on. Open the window.”

“No, go to the back door. I’ll meet you there. It’s okay, my mom and dad are gone.”

I let the blind drop and rushed through the house to the kitchen. I unlocked the door and yanked it open, expecting Hutch to be there, but he wasn’t. I stepped out onto the porch into the yellow glare of the porch light. “Hutch?” I called quietly.

He appeared from around the side of the house, moving slowly, pressing one hand against the wall to steady himself. It was very cold out; I could see his breath condense in the air around his head, like puffs of white smoke. He was wearing only a jersey and jeans, no jacket. As he got closer, I could see that he didn’t have on any shoes, just a pair of thick gray socks. Once he stepped into the light, I gasped.

He looked as if some giant had used his face to belt a homer out of the park. His left eye was swollen shut, and the surrounding skin—just about the entire left side of his face—was the deep purple of an eggplant. His right eye had a dazed appearance to it. His hair was damp from the misty rain, draped in limp strands over his scalp and forehead. He swayed slightly as he pulled away from the wall. I thought he would keel over and pass out at any second.

I went down to him on my bare feet, giving no thought to the cold, wet, brown grass. My arms went around his shoulders, steadying him. He leaned into me automatically. I had to just about drag his body to get him up the steps and into the kitchen. I yanked a chair away from the table. He dropped into the chair. After closing and locking the door, I turned back, and for a moment I just looked at him. Hutch stared straight ahead through his right eye, unblinking, unseeing. Other than his swollen left eye, he didn’t seem to be hurt anywhere else, but that black eye alone was horrible enough. I grabbed one of the ice packs Mom kept in the freezer for just such injuries, wrapped it in a towel, and pressed it gently to his wounded face.

“Hold this, man,” I said, but Hutch didn’t move. Taking his left hand, I raised it to his face, placing it over the ice pack. “Hold this to your eye.” This time he obeyed.

I smoothed the damp hair from his face with my fingers. His skin was chilled. His clothes were wet and cold. His socks were dirty and soggy, little puddles already forming around his feet. He had to be freezing, but his body wasn’t shivering. He just sat there, staring at nothing, emotionless, unmoving.

It was scaring the hell out of me. “Hutch?”

No response.

I thought about calling Mac’s parents for help, but I didn’t know how Hutch had gotten like this, and I didn’t want to dump any more trouble in his lap than he already had. That college-type guy he rode off with this afternoon could have done this to him. This could have something to do with Hutch being gay, and he sure couldn’t afford to have that get back to his mom and dad.

His body needed warming. I went down the hall to my bathroom and filled the tub, making the water as hot as I thought a person could stand. When I got back to the kitchen, Hutch hadn’t moved an inch. He looked as if he was sinking into zombie-hood. With an arm around his shoulders, I got him up and walked him down the hall to the bathroom. There I managed to get him out of his clothes, kicking them into a heap in the corner. At my urging, he stepped into the tub. If the steaming water was too hot, he didn’t give any sign. He sat down so clumsily and carelessly that I feared he would slip and hit his head even with my hands supporting his body. Drawing up his knees, he sank down in the tub until the water covered his chest, his head resting against the tiles. I grabbed his left hand, which still held the towel-wrapped ice pack, and pressed it back over his blackened eye.

His right eye stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Hutch? What happened to you, man?”

There was no answer. He didn’t move. He was injured and cold and naked. He seemed to have no conscious control of his body at all. He was so helpless, and somehow that made me feel embarrassed for him. I wanted to give him a few minutes of privacy, but I was afraid to leave him. The way he was now, if his head slipped under water, he’d just lie there and drown.

I got a towel, wet it in the hot water, and started gently wiping at his face, careful to avoid touching his injury. There didn’t seem to be anything else I could do for him. I grabbed my shower gel, got the towel all soapy, and I washed Hutch’s body slowly and gently because I didn’t know what else to do for him. I took the ice pack from his eye and put it aside because I didn’t want to add freezer burn to the injury he’d already been dealt. Then I went to work washing his hair.