Miracle - Chapter 21: Chapter 21

I pedaled my bike as slowly as I dared, remembering what Ezra had said about exercise making the pheromones worse. The Bucky Mart was four miles from our house. I could get there in around ten minutes, but riding that fast was a bad idea considering I wasn't sure how well the dredges of the blocker were going to hold up. I'd poured the last tiny bit onto a cotton ball and spread it over my danger zones as best I could. If I could just get to Mom's work, deliver the wallet, and get home in under an hour—without overexerting myself—I might be okay.
But the non-exertion part wasn't working out so well. For one, my butt was still hurting from the morning's belting, which meant I was trying to ride without resting on the seat. Between that and the constant throbbing of my burns, it was impossible to keep my heart rate down.
Then there was the nerves. Today was a bad-Mom-day, which had my emotions in overdrive. Maybe, if I could bring her the wallet fast enough and promised to pay the ticket myself, she'd calm down.
Usually when she got into moods like this, Maddy arranged for us to spend a few nights at a friends' house so we could avoid the worst of Mom's temper. But Maddy was gone, and I didn't have any friends. Even if I did, I couldn't go anywhere until Ezra brought more formula. I was half tempted to ask if he'd just take me with him tonight. Never mind the council, couldn't he sneak me into his place for a little while? But it wouldn't be a fair request. Nothing Mom would do to me was as bad as what he'd face from his government for breaking their laws.
No, I had to appease Mom somehow.
A couple cars passed me on the road and I held my breath. To my relief, they kept on going. I pulled up in front of the Bucky Mart and propped my bike alongside the building.
The electronic chime went off overhead as I stepped into the cool embrace of the air conditioning. The smell of freezer burn and stale coffee welled up around me, and I headed over to the counter where Mom was checking a customer out.
"I'm here," I said, lowering my backpack and digging through it as an excuse to keep my distance. The customer she was helping was a guy buying cigarettes, two six-packs of beer, and gas. He didn't seem interested in me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Mom ignored me, handing the man his credit card back with a bored, "Thank you for choosing Bucky Mart." He scooped his purchases off the counter and made for the door, and I hurried to put Mom's wallet down on the counter in front of her.
She snatched it up and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans. "Takin' your sweet time, eh?"
I gulped. "About the ticket, Mom, you don't have to worry. I'll pay for it."
"You sure will." She said it menacingly enough I knew she was promising another beatdown, but then she reached under the counter and threw a wad of fabric at me. "Put that on. You're gonna cover the store while I take a break. Stevie decided not to show up to work today and I'm 'bout ready to kill for a cigarette."
I pulled the polo over my head. It was black and several sizes too large, and smelled like B.O. I didn't care. Hell, maybe it would mask some of the pheromones. "Yes, ma'am."
She pinched my upper arm and angled me in front of the cash register. "Anyone comes in, you scan their shit, hit this button, take the payment and hit this one. Think you can handle that?"
I'd figure it out. "Yes, ma'am."
She stormed for the door, pulling a pack of Marlboros from her back pocket. I inhaled shakily, and looked down at the checkout. It basically looked like a computer. How hard could it be?
For the next few minutes, the store was empty. I pulled the stool up to the counter and eased myself onto it, wincing as my sore behind dragged against the fabric of my jeans. But once I was settled, a ringing came from my backpack. I pulled my phone out. Unknown Number. Either Ezra or Maddy.
I stared at the screen with longing. I'd be happy to talk to either right now. But the last thing I needed was Mom coming back from her break to find me on the phone. I sent the call to voicemail and silenced the ringer.
It was a good decision, because just as I tucked it back into my backpack, the electronic door chime went off. In walked a frazzled-looking mother with a young boy in tow.  "Excuse me, where can I find a tire pressure thingy? We're on our way to Amarillo and the light in my car just came on, I don't know what to do."
"Oh," I said, coming around the counter. "Are you parked by the air machine? I can show you how to use it." Then I thought about what Mom would do if I left the store unmanned. "Well, actually I have to stay inside. But it's not hard, the machines all have instructions on them."
As I explained how to find the pressure recommendations for her tires, I watched her pull her son closer to her side and stroke his hair absently. It was such a small thing. Probably normal for a lot of kids. Maybe even most kids, I didn't know. This one looked kind of annoyed at the attention. But a gentle, maternal gesture like that had never been part of my normal. I didn't know this lady and I had the sudden urge to beg her to take me with her, wherever she was going. To ask if she could be my mom too.
"And?" she said, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"Huh?"
"You didn't finish. I push the nozzle onto the air valve, the pressure stick pops up, and...?"
"Oh. Uh, that's about it. Just read the measurement and if it's lower than the recommendation, pull the trigger to add more air. Does your phone have internet? I could pull up some diagrams."
"You're a lifesaver," she said.
After I sent her back out armed with a WikiHow article, the door chime went off again. This time it was a middle aged, unshaven guy with long hair, worn Willie-Nelson style under a bandana. He wanted a Mountain Dew and a pack of Tic-Tacs. I followed Mom's instructions for the register, and it worked. She hadn't told me what to do with the receipt, but the guy didn't want it and walked off. The blocker must have been working, because he hadn't looked at me funny or anything.
An older woman came in wanting to buy a scratch ticket. I had a moment of panic because I had no idea how to sell her one, but she talked me through it quite kindly. She didn't even ask why I was behind the counter when I obviously didn't know how to do the job. And she won five dollars, which she said she'd cash next time she came by. I think she felt sorry for me.
I helped another couple folks after that, and started checking the time on my watch with growing anxiety. How long had Mom been gone? Surely she was done with her cigarette by now. It had been at least forty minutes since I'd applied the blocker. There wasn't much time left to get home. Not to mention, the Tylenol was wearing off and my burned hand hurt something awful.
I checked another person out, craning my neck to see if Mom was visible through the front windows. When the store was empty again, I held up my watch and tapped my foot with uncertainty. I had to get home, and fast. Where was she? If I abandoned the store now, I was better off making a bed in the corn field for the night than facing her at home.
But if she didn't come back soon I'd have something just as bad to worry about. That last male customer had been giving me a dazed stare that sent chills down my spine. Thank god he'd simply backed away and left in a hurry. I couldn't expect to be that lucky next time.
Finally I poked my head out the front door. Mom wasn't in sight, so I ventured out to the corner where my bike was parked. I still didn't see her. But when I took a peek behind the building, I glimpsed her familiar gray-blond ponytail by the big green dumpster, next to the bathroom entrance. She had her back to me, and the puff of smoke that rose over her head said she was still enjoying her nicotine fix. She was talking to someone on the phone.
Heart pounding, I pulled back around the corner. If I interrupted her, she'd be pissed. How was I going to explain that I needed to go home? For all I knew she planned to make me work the rest of her shift for her. If I said fuck it and got on my bike, where was I going to go? Not home, because she'd kill me when she caught up. And thanks to my screwed up body chemistry, I wouldn't be safe anywhere.
I was in some serious shit.
One thing was for sure, though, lurking out here was no help. I headed toward the front, trying to strategize.
Either interrupting Mom or taking off would ultimately have the same result—she'd beat the crap out of me. If I was lucky she'd wait until her shift was over, which meant Ezra might show up in time to stop her, if he felt like it. But if she decided to come after me right away, I was screwed. And anyway, the problem was bigger than just surviving today. I still had to live with her tomorrow, and the day after that, for God only knew how much longer. Keeping her happy had to be a priority, or what I'd experienced this morning would turn into a daily hell.
Staying here was dangerous too. But if I was attacked by a stranger, maybe Mom would focus some of her rage on him and that would soften her anger towards me a bit. If nothing else the convenience store was public, so if she didn't care to intervene, there was a chance someone else might.
I ducked back inside the store, wiping sweaty palms on my borrowed polo, and resumed my seat behind the checkout counter. While the store was still empty, I had the chance to look around and think. The counter was both good and bad. It could keep an attacker from getting to me right away, but it also trapped me in. The space back here was narrow, I'd have limited maneuverability to defend myself. An examination of my side of the counter revealed a red alarm switch, probably there in case of a robbery. But I had no way of knowing who it alerted. The police? A private security company?
I walked out into the aisles, looking for something I could use as a weapon. I found a tire iron, carried it to the counter and found a spot to stash it where it would be easy to grab on the run. And then I went back out to check the displays for a pocket knife. I found one kind, but it was fully encased in plastic. If I wanted it, I'd have to either buy or steal it. I had no money, and couldn't afford for Mom to catch me stealing.
While I was standing there, the door chime went off. I spun around to see three men entering the store. They looked to be in their early twenties, but these weren't college kids. They looked more like farm laborers, scruffy, sweaty, and loud. They elbowed each other and shouted curses for no particular reason, lumbering toward the refrigerated drink cases in the back.
I edged out of the aisle, leaving the pocket knives where they were, and backed up toward the counter where I'd hidden the tire iron.
At first, they weren't paying attention to me. They rummaged through the drink cases and picked out what they wanted, then moved on to the snacks. They were horsing around, throwing bags of chips and nuts at each other, but I wasn't about to ask them to stop. I hovered uneasily at the edge of the checkout counter, with one hand gripping the handle of the tire iron. These guys were big and rowdy. Once they caught my scent, God only knew what they were going to do.
The door chime went off again and another man came in, accompanied by a very pregnant woman. They eyed the noisy guys with distaste and headed to the slushee machine.
They'd made their selections long before the farmhands did, so I let go of the tire iron and sidestepped behind the counter to check them out. I scanned their slushee cups.
"We need to pay for the gas at number four," the woman said to me. "Do you have a restroom?"
I handed her the key, which was chained to a hunk of wood labeled TOILET. "It's around back," I said apologetically. I could only imagine how unpleasant the grungy, unisex facility would be in her condition. She nodded and went outside.
Her husband was still waiting to pay. I hadn't rung up a gas sale yet, and squinted down at the keyboard looking for a hint. "Gimme just a sec." I didn't see any buttons marked gas, so I checked the monitor instead. I clicked, and chose pump four from a drop down menu. The pump cost was added to the bill. "Got it," I said in relief. "That'll be forty-two dollars and twelve cents."
The man handed over a credit card. When I asked for his signature on the receipt, he grabbed my bandaged wrist instead of the paper. I gasped in surprise and pain, because the pressure of his grip on my burns was agonizing. Damn it, I should have been paying more attention. He pinched my chin in his other hand and surveyed me with fascination.
"You're such a tiny fella. You even old enough to be working?" His fingers left my chin to fondle a long strand of hair that had come loose from my ponytail. His tongue came out to trace his lip, and it was hard to tell if it was a face of disgust or desire. "Maybe you need someone taking care of you, huh?"
I jerked away from his painfully touchy hands and creepy tongue gestures. "If you could just sign the receipt, sir?"
He scribbled on the paper without breaking eye contact and held it out. Heck no, I wasn't getting within arm's reach of him again. The noisy guys had come up behind him in line, so I took the Coke that the first one was holding and started scanning it.
"Thanks for choosing Bucky Mart," I said to the man, hoping he'd get the point and put the receipt down.
He shook it in my direction instead. "Want this or not?"
The farm guys were giving me lingering looks too. I cringed and reached for the receipt, hoping to nab the end of the paper with my fingertips. But he seized my wrist again in triumph, and yanked me half over the counter. This time I couldn't help the yelp that burst from my chest.
"Yo," said one of the farmhands. "What the fuck you doin', man?"
He ignored them and pulled my arm harder. I shouted against the pain. "Let go!"
I think the man had well and truly lost it. His eyes had a sheen and were unfocused, his face red. "You're coming with me," he said.
"Jack, what's going on?" The pregnant woman had come back from the bathroom. She waddled up wide-eyed, with one hand on her swollen belly, and smacked his shoulder. "What're you doing?"
He released my wrist, and tears of relief sprang to my eyes. I snatched my hand back, cradling it to my stomach. The man continued to stare at me over his shoulder as his wife dropped the bathroom key on the counter and pushed him out the door.
"Kid, you okay?" one of the farm guys asked.
I blinked the tears away and nodded. "Yeah."
"How'd you hurt your hand?"
I just shook my head and started scanning their stuff. I wanted to get everyone out of here before I went into a panic attack. "You guys separate or together?"
"Separate," said the first one, handing me his credit card. I rang him up, and the heat of his eyes on me was like a spotlight I couldn't escape. "What's your name?"
"Uh. Connor." Maddy probably would have come up with some cutesy, flirty fake name. I couldn't think that fast.
The second guy punched his friend in the ribs. "Hah! Told ya it's a boy."
"No way, man. It's one of them chicks that likes people to think she's a guy. Get that shirt off and I bet she'll be in one of them chest bandage things."
I had to will myself not to grab the hem of my borrowed polo in self defense. "Three forty-two," I told the second one, doing my best to simply ignore their baited conversation.
He took his time fishing in his pocket, all the while eyeing me up and down. "That ain't hidin' no boobs. Look at 'im. Fuzzy upper lip 'n everything."
"That don't mean nothin', my ma's got one too."
"Shit, just ask," the third one interjected impatiently, and pointed a finger at me. "You a dude or a chick?"
I wanted to snap that it was none of their business. But that might not quite be fair, since my pheromones were probably pretty confusing. The bigger question was, which answer would make me less interesting?
I took the second guy's five dollar bill and quickly made change. "I'm a guy," I answered. "But, um, I have a twin sister. People say we look a lot alike."
They nodded amongst themselves, as if that explanation was perfect. The last one had an armful of snacks, which I scanned as fast as I could with slightly trembling fingers. I had to calm down. The more nervous I was, the worse it would get. I didn't have the spray to tone it down, so I had to keep myself under control.
I swiped the third guy's debit card, handed it back to him, and put all his stuff into a plastic bag without asking whether he wanted me to. I figured it would make his exit faster. "Thank you for choosing Bucky Mart."
"I forgot smokes," the first guy said, leaning over the counter a little. "Gimme a couple packs of Camels."
I tried to keep my expression neutral, though frustration was churning my stomach. Couldn't they just leave? It was a good thing I'd done a thorough inspection of the counter earlier, because I knew where the key to the cigarette display was. I unhooked it. After Marvin Pemberton, I'd learned my lesson, though. Rather than turning my back to them, I did a weird sideways twist to unlock the case. "These?"
"Yup."
I pulled two packs out, re-locked the case, and scanned them. "Fourteen eighteen."
He got his card back out, but held onto it when I tried to take it from him. "If you're this cute," he said, "your sister must really be somethin'. Can I have her number?"
I pulled the card from his fingers, feeling blood rise in my cheeks. "She's at school out of state."
"Huh. Shame."
As he was signing the receipt, one of his friends slung an arm over his neck and grinned at me. "We're headed to Sparky's," he said. "You know it?"
He meant the bowling alley. I nodded.
"You should come join us when you're off work. I'll buy you a drink."
The first one flung his arm off. "Shit, man, this kid's not old enough to drink."
"Whatever, you owe him for callin' him a girl."
"He looks like one, okay? Not my fault."
"Maybe you're just into pretty boys."
"Fuck off."
"You fuck off, cocksucker."
While they were arguing, I'd taken hold of the tire iron again. But they shoved and argued their way to the door, and I let out a breath as their voices faded down the sidewalk. They got into a car that was parked out front and drove off. I had to consciously peel my fingers off the weapon. My muscles were trembling.
Mom still hadn't come back inside. I hung up the bathroom key, wishing I could go out there myself and wash up. It was six P.M. Four more hours before Ezra would get here with the formula. How was I going to make it that long?
I closed my eyes and tried to summon the blue circle breathing he'd taught me. It was hard with all the adrenaline jittering through my veins. Inhale to the count of seven. Exhale to the count of five.
Ezra, if there's any way you can get here sooner... please hurry.
I felt bad for asking. I was pretty sure that making a seven and a half hour trip in ninety-seven minutes had given him a bad case of depletion last time. I didn't want him hurting himself on my account, but... shit, I was so scared. I felt even more exposed and vulnerable than when Zeke had been in our house.
My watch thumped once, and I hugged it to my chest in gratitude.
My eyes sprang open when the door chime went off again. This time it was Mom. She rolled her eyes and stalked up to the counter. "You takin' a nap or what?"
"No, Mom," I said quickly. "Here, these are the receipts I've done so far."
"You better not've fucked them up," she said, coming around the counter.
I handed them over and backed away cautiously. "Is it okay if I go to the bathroom?"
She shucked the key at me. "Whatever. Make sure you bring that back before you take off."
Oh, thank God, that meant I had permission to go home. "Yes, ma'am."
"I'm going out tonight. You better not destroy the house."
That was even better, and I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I mean, no ma'am. I won't." I grabbed my backpack, scurried out the door and around the building. Hope made it easier to breathe. Things were going to be okay. I would rinse off and take it really easy on the ride home. Maybe make a couple of detours across the cow pasture, to avoid people as much as possible. Once I got home, everything would be fine. I wouldn't have to worry about Mom seeing Ezra when he got here. And if she had a good time tonight, her mood might shift enough to give me a chance to make it up to her, the whole ticket thing.
Panting in relief, I turned the key in the heavy metal restroom door.
A beefy arm slid around my waist from behind. I was yanked backwards into a hot, sweaty body pressed all along my back. And the voice I dreaded most in the universe snarled in my ear.
"I finally found you, faggot."
"Tyler," I gasped as my feet left the ground. I started kicking, my throat sealing up in terror. I couldn't even yell for help.
He reached around me and pulled the bathroom door open. Dropped me onto my feet only long enough to shove me in the back, so that I went toppling onto the stained cement floor. It reeked of urine.
I caught myself on my hands and elbow, and pain shot up the side of my hand in a fiery, wet rush. I think one of the burn blisters had popped. Behind me, the metal door screeched shut, and the room was cast in shivering fluorescent light from the overhead fixture.
I rolled to my side to see Tyler hulking in front of the only way out of here, the bathroom key dangling from one finger. His expression was something I'd never seen before, deep shadows and lines under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a month, eyes crazed and shining like he was both terrified and enraged at once.
"You," he said, and his voice was shaking. "Fucking little coward, you're gonna tell me how you're doing it."
I scrambled back until I hit the brick wall. How I was wishing for that tire iron. "I can't help it," I wheezed. "Just let me out of here, I'll leave you alone, I swear."
"Not good enough!" The key clattered to the floor as he lunged. "I'm gonna make it stop!"
One meaty hand wrapped my neck and hauled me up. The other landed heavily in my stomach, forcing air and bile up my throat. I choked, my vision filled with stars. Tyler got up into my face, his pale blue eyes full of fury. "Today's the day I finish you, Hayes. You're never getting inside my head again, you understand? By God, I'm gonna sleep tonight."
"What—" I couldn't squeeze my voice past his grip on my throat.
"I bet they'll stop if you're dead," he spat, and clenched my neck so hard it felt like every blood vessel in my face was threatening to burst.
I scratched at his hand with my nails, thrashed with my feet enough to throw him off balance. He stumbled to one side and loosened his hold enough that a thread of air squeaked into my lungs. I started coughing.
He regained his footing and came after me again. I threw my arms up, trying desperately to get enough breath to speak before he choked me again.
"What'll stop?!" I managed to screech.
"You know damn well what! The nightmares. The snakes! I know it's you, freak. I'll be damned if you're gonna work any more of your voo-doo shit on me."
So he wasn't talking about his feelings of attraction for me? I had no idea what he meant. "That's crazy!"
"I ain't crazy, motherfucker, I can't fucking sleep!" His voice cracked as it went higher. "I close my eyes 'n it's nothin' but rattlers all night long. You think that's funny? I'm gonna teach you to mess with me, homo trash!"
He shoved me in the center of my chest so hard that my back slammed against the cinder-block wall.
"Tyler—"
"Shut up!" He socked me in the gut again. And then again. I doubled over, which gave him the chance to wind my hair in his fist and spin me around. The edge of the ceramic sink smashed into my hips with bone-crunching force, and I groaned. He yanked on my hair, and met my eyes in the tarnished mirror. There was so much hate in his face, I could feel it like battery acid pouring down my throat.
"You're disgusting," he said, then bit down on my earlobe and jerked his head. I cried out as his teeth tore into me. He was insane. Completely, utterly insane. I writhed against his grip, but he had both my arms pinned. My struggling only inspired him to pull more cruelly at my hair.
"This time I'm gonna fuck you up for real," he hissed. He let go of my hair and started wrenching the fly of my jeans open.
Oh. Oh, no. God, please, no, don't let him do this— "Tyler, stop it. Stop!" I twisted and thrashed so violently that he couldn't keep hold of my pants. So he grabbed my hair again, and the back of my neck.
He smashed my face into the mirror.
It sounded like a crack. Not the shivery crystal sound you'd expect of breaking glass. More like a gunshot, actually, loud and short. But there was a sick crunching feeling against my forehead and the bridge of my nose, followed by bright streaks of pain. Everything turned red. I was blinded by it, a sticky thick mess of heat and scarlet, a deep dull ache behind my eyes that was making my ears ring. I was too stunned to keep up with whatever else he was doing, jerking my body around like a rag doll.
My knees had buckled, so he had one of his thighs propped under my butt to keep me from falling. He used it to mash me into the edge of the sink, bruising my hip bones, and because he was so much taller than me my toes were barely touching the floor. Had he gotten my pants off? I wasn't sure until he cackled madly.
"Somebody already got to you, huh?" He slapped the welts from Mom's belting this morning, and managed to get a fresh cry of pain out of me in spite of my delirium. "Looks like I'm not the only one you piss off." I heard the clanking metal of a belt buckle, the rustling of fabric.
Just as I was getting some of my faculties back and started to straighten up, he grabbed me by the back of the neck again. My forehead hit the shattered mirror and all I felt was pain. Searing pain, everywhere. My head, my hand, my stomach, my legs. My back. My insides.
I screamed, but it was the only thing I could do. I still couldn't see. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Everything hurt so bad. The air in here was too thick, it burned my nose and clogged my lungs. My one good hand was slippery with blood, and I couldn't keep hold of the sink.
Help me! Somebody, please...!
And then there was a deafening crash. The shriek of metal tearing. Cooler air swept in around me, fresh air. Tyler let out a yell, and suddenly he wasn't behind me anymore.
Without him holding me up, I crumpled to the concrete floor as if my skeleton had turned to spaghetti.
A nauseating crunch, flesh striking stone. Maybe it was mine, I couldn't really tell anymore. I was one big throbbing mass of misery.
The smell of blood.
I was cold. Sweating. Shaking like my spinal cord had been flash-frozen. Every part of me felt pulverized and rancid, too weak to move. I just lay there, oozing like a rotted fruit. It hurt too much to open my eyes. And I didn't want to.
I was done with this whole stupid, fucked up thing. I was so done.
"Fuck this," I mumbled, feeling drool and blood seep from the corner of my mouth. And then I blacked out.