Page 75 of Only the Small Bones
“Today’s my birthday.” He glanced over my shoulder to where the double chocolate fudge cake waited in the kitchen. “But you knew that too, didn’t you?” he sneered.
I should’ve taken him up on his offer last night. I should have made love to him while I had the chance, should’ve told him I loved him while I had the chance, because I wouldn’t ever get the opportunity again.
I’d been stupid, and all the good reasons I had for it were now lost beneath the mess I’d made. No, we wouldn’t be making love tonight. We’d be saying goodbye.
“How old does that make me?” he asked, stalking me as I backed away. “I lost count early on. You’d be surprised how quickly you lose track of time when locked in a dark room for days, weeks,months,” he seethed before taking a moment to breathe. “Not trusting my math skills didn’t help. I don’t even remember what year I was born.”
“Ry—”
“Don’t!” he shouted, cutting me off. “I’m done with lies. Today we’re telling the truth. How. Old. Am. I?”
“T-twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six?” he whispered, his tone rife with devastation and betrayal. Tears flooded his eyes, and it killed me that we were now close enough for me to catch them before they fell but I couldn’t. I no longer had the right to. I never did. We’d always been on borrowed time.
He ran trembling hands over his cheeks and lips, as if searching for the truth in the smoothness of his youthful skin. “I-I thought I was older. Ifeelolder.” The weariness in his words gutted me. He stepped away, shaking as a waterfall of tears cascaded down his face.
“Say it,” I breathed, my eyes and chest burning me alive. “Say it. Make it real.”
He swiped the moisture away angrily, swallowing and raising his chin. “My name is Asher Gray.”
Malcolm
Nineteen Years Ago
My body felt heavy, and like the last few times I tried, I couldn’t open my eyes more than halfway. I thought maybe someone had strapped bricks to them. Maybe one of the people who took me from the park. Did my mom know I was missing yet? Had she found my bike? They’d left it flipped on its side in the dirt. I remembered the back wheel spinning as they carried me away. Everything went black after that.
We were moving. I could hear the engine roaring, and my back hurt with every bump in the road we drove over. I groaned, trying again to open my eyes. My mouth tasted funny, and my neck still burned in the spot where the big man had stuck me with a needle.
Through the fog in my head, I tried to remember what happened. Tried to make sense of it.
I’d been talking to a nice lady who’d complimented the nameplate hanging from my bike seat. It read: Piano Man. I’d saved up my allowance for it. She said her son played and would love to know where she could buy him one. She kept smiling as my answer to her simple request turned into a history lesson on Martha Argerich—child prodigy and my favorite pianist.
My mother always said it’d be a waste of time trying to lure me away with candy or cash. Classical music was the way to my heart.
Somewhere between my comparison of Martha and a few of the other historical greats, the lady’s smile turned mean, and she told the man who’d then grabbed me from behind to hurry and get me into the truck. I could still smell his cigarette smoke on me, could still feel his meaty hand over my mouth.
“Shhh,” a small voice whispered. I froze, noticing I couldn’t move my arms. “They’ll give you more medicine if they know you’re awake.” The voice belonged to a little kid. A boy, I guessed. I tried to scream, but my tongue felt heavy too.
The truck stopped. “They’re coming,” he whispered. He sounded afraid.
I blinked awake, my vision blurry and eyes stinging. I tried to rub them but my hands were tied behind my back. I pulled at the rope binding me, but it wouldn’t budge. Fear filled my empty stomach, and then every other part of me once my vision cleared. I wasn’t alone.
Up against the wall across from me, six girls—bound and gagged as well—trembled and cried. Their tears spilled over the silver tape covering their mouths.
I remembered the little boy who’d spoken to me. Where was he? Had they heard him speak to me? I scanned the damp space for him, finding him a few feet away from me. His terrified eyes were already on me. They were dark, watery and too big for his small face. Something about his helplessness bothered me, it made me want to get us out of here.
I leaned into the water pipes at my back, using them to push myself to my feet. I ended up slipping on the uneven floor and falling sideways onto my left shoulder.
My muffled scream of pain made the others stare at me with panicked eyes, like they were begging me to be quiet. It mademe more afraid than I already was, because what happened if we weren’t quiet?
“They’ll give you more medicine if they know you’re awake.”
I managed to sit up again, glancing over at the little boy. His cheeks were soaked with his tears, his breathing too loud. I scooted closer. It was the only thing I could do for him.
We’d been separated from the girls. Maybe because we were the youngest, or because we were the only boys. Maybe both. They huddled close together like they knew each other, and they all wore the same Columbia University t-shirts.
I focused on our surroundings next. We were in a basement. The overhead lights buzzed and flickered, and a bug floated in the dirty puddle of water near a drain. One of the pipes above my head leaked, dripping water onto my good shoulder.
