Page 21 of Be Courageous

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Grayson was so hungry that the soles of his shoes would have tasted good. Brian’s spaghetti, made from a box of pasta, a jar of sauce, and sausage from the freezer, was every bit as delicious as the kind his mother made. Sitting at a table for four in the dilapidated kitchen with peeling wallpaper, Grayson discovered it was awkward but not impossible to eat with a fork, even with his wrists tied together.

“I grew up in this house.”

Brian’s admission had Grayson picturing him as a kid, sitting at this very table.

“My grandparents raised me right, but they were strict.”

Grayson easily pictured him—a quiet, sullen boy wedged between a stern, older couple.

“I’m glad they died before…before everything happened.” Brian stared out the window at the bleak backyard with nothing in it but a woodpile.

Curiosity got the better of Grayson. “What do you mean by everything?”

Brian looked over at him. “Before I got into trouble the first time,” he clarified. “They were long gone by the time Tommy got shot by the police.”

Grayson laid his fork down as he put two and two together. “My father? My father shot your son?” His appetite vanished.

Brian shook his gray mane. “No, but he might as well have. I would never have been arrested again if it weren’t for Jerry. Every day he would come into my gun shop, and we’d talk. I thought he was my new friend.” A sneer turned the scar on Brian’s lip white. “So when he asked if would I sell a semiautomatic to some guy with a criminal record, I did it, just for him.”

Staring at Brian’s haggard face, Grayson couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“You know, there’s a term for that kind of trickery. It’s called fruit of a poisonous tree, and it’s just wrong. I was in the back room making some coffee when they came to arrest me. Tommy’d thrown up that morning, so he didn’t go to school, and I had to bring him to work with me. The troopers said he popped up over the counter holdin’ a water pistol.” Brian’s voice thickened with grief. “They shot him, thinking it was me with a real gun. Tommy caught two bullets, and I got ten years at Augusta Correctional Center.”

Goose bumps scrabbled up Grayson’s spine and dug into his scalp. Poor Tommy. Poor Tommy’s dad.

Brian swiped the back of his hand under his nose and sniffed. “All I could think about the whole time I was there was how I was gonna make Jerry Saunders pay for what he did, trickin’ me into breakin’ the law.”

Brian’s words, spoken through his teeth, raised the hairs on Grayson’s forearms.

Say something.

But the tension rolling off his abductor as he picked up his fork and swirled his noodles kept Grayson’s throat clogged. He focused on Brian’s beefy hand and the tattoos inked onto his knuckles, right there where he would always see Tommy’s name. Grayson could only imagine the sorrow and regret the man carried in his heart. Pity rose in him.

“You could let me go, you know,” he suggested softly.

Brian’s head came up sharply. His deep-set eyes narrowed.

“I’ll just say I ran away. Everyone would believe that. I haven’t been myself this last year.”

His captor’s shaggy eyebrows sank slowly together. “Hush,” he finally growled. “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“I’m notlying. Trust me, they’ll believe I ran away. I swear I won’t tell anyone anything about you. I don’t want you to get into any more trouble.”

Brian shot out of his chair, which would have flipped backward if the wall hadn’t caught it. Grayson flinched, expecting to be backhanded, at the very least.

“Dinner’s over.” Reaching across the table, Brian swiped Grayson’s plate and fork away. He carried them to the sink, where he proceeded to scrub them viciously.

Grayson sat heavily in his chair, afraid to move. The emotion rolling off his captor filled the room with a stormy energy that warned him not to say anything. He peered out the window at what remained of the fading sunlight.

Another day gone. He’d been here for a day and a half with no indication that anyone was even looking for him yet. The rope around his wrists seemed to burn whenever he moved his hands. He wanted a bath, to brush his teeth, to lie in his own bed in his great big room and listen to the hoot owl that lived outside his window.

Brian turned off the water and wiped his hands on his grimy jeans. By the time he turned around, meeting Grayson’s cautious regard, he seemed calmer.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Grayson swallowed hard. God help him. He might just end up living here forever.

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