Page 73 of Spooks & Specters

“Eager to run away, huh? Just like a little coward,” Travis sneered, tossing his sweat-soaked towel in Austin’s direction.

The towel hit him in the face, then fell onto the bench beside him. He stared at it, his stomach churning with the familiar cocktail of helplessness and dread as Travis pressed closer, his gang of thugs forming a tight circle around Austin.

“Just leave me alone, Travis,” Austin muttered, feeling the cold metal of the locker against his back as he slowly edged away.

“Oh, come on, we’re just having some fun,” Travis said mockingly before suddenly shoving Austin against the lockers with a thud that rang sharply through the room.

The impact winded Austin, but it also sparked something inside him—a weary frustration, a tired anger. He straightened, pushing back slightly. “I’m not your punching bag,” he said firmly.

Travis laughed off the defiance. “Oh? What are you going to do about it?”

Austin slipped by Travis, and the group parted to let him go. Just as he walked past, Travis pushed him from behind, sending him sprawling across the floor. Really, he should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

The laughter that erupted from some of the boys stung almost as much as the fall. Yet Austin picked himself up quickly, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.

With as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the exit without a word. As he walked away, he heard Travis call out another mocking insult, but it was drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Before more could be said or done, Coach Warner’s voice cut through the tension like a whip. “What’s going on here?”

Travis backed away instantly, his demeanor changing as he put on an innocent front. “Nothing, Coach. Just messing around.”

Coach Warner eyed them skeptically but motioned with his head towards the exit. “Get moving. Practice is over.”

As the group dissipated, Coach Warner placed a firm hand on Austin’s shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Austin replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Okay.” Coach shrugged as he walked back to his office.

No, he was not good. Austin’s walk turned into a run as soon as he left the building. The hot afternoon air slapped him in the face, making it hard to breathe. His emotions stormed inside him.

He honestly didn’t understand why Travis had such a hard-on for him. They both came from money, and they both came from well-established families. He was Austin Dean Hathaway Berkshire, for crying out loud. The Hathaway Berkshire family owned Wayshire Real Estate Group.

The main difference between him and Travis, though, was that Austin had dirty laundry that had been plastered all over the gossip columns when he was just a kid.

Around age eight, his mom crashed her car and killed herself. It was only later that he found out she had been dead drunk. Not long after her death, his dad started getting physically abusive. But then the monster under Austin’s bed showed up and dear old daddy ended up in a lunatic asylum.

Yep, he had a monster under his bed.

Austin was now being raised by his grandparents, who were just as cold and formal as Austin’s parents had been. His best friend at the grand old age of thirteen was somethingunder his bed.

When he reached his home, Austin didn’t head straight inside as usual. Instead, he circled around back to the private little garden his mom used to be so fond of. He sat on one of the benches, trying to collect himself. This couldn’t go on. Something had to change, but despair nibbled at any solution that came to mind.

As he sat there struggling with his thoughts and feelings, a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Ms. Kinnon, the cook, standing there with a concerned look on her face.

“Austin, are you all right? You seem troubled,” she asked gently.

Austin hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I’m fine... just tired,” he lied unconvincingly.

How did she even know he was out there? Usually she was in the kitchen, her domain. Austin glanced at the back of his grandparents’ house.

Oh, right. The whole back of the house was nothing but windows. She probably saw him walk by. At least somebody in this house cared enough to ask him if he was okay.

Austin glanced up at their cook.

Ms. Kinnon didn’t appear fooled. She sat down beside him, her expression kind yet serious. “You know you can talk to me if something is bothering you.”

For a moment, Austin considered opening up about everything—the bullying, the helplessness he felt—but then he shook his head and forced a smile. Because seriously? What could she do?

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