Page 24 of Freedom
Jake nodded, not surprised. “Well, we’ll start a routine, light at first. I’m not gonna push you too hard; we’ll see where we can start. You gotta tell me if you start to feel dizzy or you need a break, okay? Always, no matter what we’re doing. I’m not gonna be angry, even if we’re stopping for a snack break every five minutes and you can’t get more than ten feet without a breather. Only way I’d be upset is if you end up collapsing and I have to carry you back after flipping my shit because you didn’t say anything beforehand.” He quickly added, “But I won’t be angry atyou.”
A too-rare smile flitted across Toby’s face. “Okay, Jake.”
“Good. Excellent.” Jake reached across to rub Tobias’s hand, looking him straight in the eyes. “I don’t ever want to see you hurt, got that? That’s the point. If you’re gonna be hunting with me, if you really want to do that, there’ll always be danger, and we’re gonna pick up bumps and bruises and stitches. But hopefully, if we’re a team, and I watch out for you and you watch out for me, we’ll keep ourselves in one piece.”
Toby’s smile widened the way that made Jake’s heart double-thump, and he turned his hand over, catching Jake’s fingers with his own. “Sounds good to me.”
Jake had always figured Toby was a tough kid, someone who could walk through hell and come out with the same strong, white-knuckled grip on his life and his sanity—he’d survived FREACS, and if that wasn’t hell, Jake didn’t know what was—but when they actually started Tobias’s endurance workouts, Jake was floored. The kid still looked like skin and bone, like he didn’t have any muscle or fat. Even after months and months of regular meals, the lines of his shoulder blades still pushed up like wings through every T-shirt. He said he hadn’t had any experience, but when Jake started them off light with half-mile runs, push-ups and sit-ups in increments of five, Tobias didn’t get winded, rarely got tired, turning to him expectantly every time Jake tried to slow down, as though to sayIs that all?Jake tried not to think about Tobias’s other “physical training,” but he supposed it had given him a different kind of endurance.
Tobias had promised to warn him the second it felt like too much, but Jake kept an eagle eye on him anyway. He didn’t doubt Tobias’s promise for a second, but he wasn’t sure if Tobias would notice his own limits before he keeled over on a run. So they ran, stopping often, guzzling water and Gatorade so frequently that they almost needed a bathroom more often than a breather.
Tobias’s speed at learning weaponry made Jake repeat his standard compliments so many times, increasing each time in fervency and admiration, that Tobias flushed redder from embarrassment than exertion. Tobias paid precise attention as Jake first explained all the parts and functions of the various firearms he kept in the trunk, then showed him basic safety procedures for using, carrying, and storing them. Tobias repeated everything exactly without a single deviation and remembered the steps better than Jake did sometimes; sure, some things became instinct after a while, but it wasn’t like he always did things in the same order or thought about them the same way, so sue him. When they actually went out to shoot some shit (empty beer cans on a fence and a license plate that would get him arrested for burglary in four states and grave desecration in another three), it took Tobias a few tries to adjust for the recoil and weight of the gun, but pretty soon he was reloading and shooting nearly as fast and accurately as Jake.
It was seriously badass. Jake told him so at length and with enthusiasm until Tobias was ducking his head to hide his grin and red cheeks.
He learned first aid even quicker, absorbing the information as fast as Jake chowed down cheeseburgers, with the kind of brainy osmosis Jake wished he had in school. After so many warnings about how there were no deadlines for Tobias to learn anything, that any training they did was at his own pace, Jake found himself struggling to think of things to teach, ways to present the lessons of a lifetime in a compressed form that Tobias would understand without having lived it. Tobias’s comprehension, even on days when Jake had to struggle through an explanation, was impressive to the point of unnerving.
Jake knew only one area Tobias wasn’t ready for yet, and that was sparring with him. He wanted to see what Tobias was capable of when it came to hand-to-hand combat, especially after what he’d seen of Tobias’s quick reflexes—his moves with that poker had been gorgeous, a work of art, an engine in motion—but even his tentative suggestion that Tobias could practice sparring against him brought the worst kind of blind panic to Tobias’s eyes, as though Jake had suggested he whip the skin off his own back and look happy about it. Jake wasn’t such an idiot that he thought Tobias would be capable of raising his hand against him in any way, no matter how lightly or playfully. So that was one project for the back burner, and in the meantime, Jake would just have to hope they didn’t end up in a bind where Tobias would need the serious hand-to-hand.
There were more literal kind of binds too, and those Jake didn’t want to put off until they came back to bite them in the ass. Jake had grown up fiddling with knots and lockpicks and handcuffs, Leon routinely timing him on old and new combinations. It had been a game, though Jake supposed most kids didn’t get handcuffed to a radiator with five minutes to uncuff themselves, find the hidden weapon, escape the room, and rendezvous at the Eldorado in time to get their McDonald’s bag while the fries were still hot.
He didn’t kid himself that he could make those lessons fun for Tobias. Took him ages—way after he’d figured out how to bring up tourniquets and knife throwing in the least threatening way possible—to even think about how he would introduce Tobias to a pair of handcuffs. He began slowly, teaching Tobias different knots, just a length of rope wrapped round the arm and back of a chair, around door handles and hotel luggage stands. Tobias handled the rope cautiously, letting it rest between his fingertips, but he was precise and quick with Jake’s orders. Jake had counted on that, but he tried not to think about it; he was only teaching Tobias what was good for him and what was important to know in this line of work, what would make him stronger and keep him alive.
He had never yet wrapped the rope around his own wrists or Tobias’s. Handcuffs were easier, less claustrophobic—they’d start there.
Jake began with a roundabout conversation about cops. He could admit to himself, if not always to anyone else, that he might have a bit of a prejudice against legal law enforcement professionals (fucking amateurs in the field, complete mess when a ghost showed up, and completedouchesif you asked his opinion, which no one did because they’d all heard it before), so Tobias had probably heard him talk about cops at length previously. Maybe not about what they were actually, technically supposed to do, but instead about Jake’s personal experiences with law enforcement, minus the actual examples of him getting grabbed when he was a kid and Dad ending up with a bullet in his shoulder after a job went wrong. Jake tried to focus on the practicalities, the ways not to piss off authority figures, to play nice and go slow and easy. And sure, maybe Jake didn’t follow his own advice there, and maybe he tended to get even mouthier than usual when presented with someone who thought they knew all the answers but was really neck-deep in shit he didn’t understand. But Tobias didn’t need to be harassed just because he followed Jake’s questionable example, which was always more for the sake of making a point and following up on decade-old indignities anyway.
“Cops always got the same basic set of tools. A radio, a nightstick, a gun in a holster, sometimes a Taser, and a pair of handcuffs.” Jake pointed to each item as he named it: the gun, Taser, and nightstick on the bed, then the clock radio on the bedside table because he hadn’t thought to get a walkie-talkie out of the Eldorado. He drew the handcuffs out of his duffel last, setting them on the table between them, and Tobias looked at them. His poker face was on, had been for most of the conversation aside from a twitch of his eyelids when Jake had mentioned the nightstick. Jake had experience with Tobias’s poker faces—they were some of the best he’d ever seen on anyone, including Leon—and he could almost be certain when it was a thin veneer before sheer terror. They weren’t quite there yet.
“These aren’t so bad.” Jake picked up the handcuffs, twirling them around his index finger. “Way easier than rope. You can pick ’em with just about anything, maybe even a blade of grass if it’s stiff enough. Though a paper clip’s a lot easier.” He held up one from his pocket, then slid it across to Tobias. “Go ahead and unbend it.”
Tobias picked it up, and his fingers shook slightly as they straightened out the paper clip. Jake took it back and showed Tobias how to insert the tip into the lock, how to jiggle and twist, until the cuffs snapped open.
“Piece of cake,” he said, and snapped them shut again. “Wanna give ’em a try?”
Tobias drew a deep, slow breath, rubbed his palms on his jeans, and took the cuffs and paper clip from Jake. His hands were definitely shaking now, and it took him a few seconds to even get the bit of metal into the hole. Watching, Jake made an effort not to hold his breath—like that would help at all—and fought the urge to snatch the cuffs back and save Tobias the agony. Instead, he offered a few careful bits of advice, trying to strike a balance between putting Tobias at ease and not distracting him. It took Tobias over a minute, and when the cuffs did snap open, he released a breath and pulled back in his chair, rubbing his palms again on his jeans as though the metal had burned him.
Jake swept the cuffs back into his bag, then reached across the empty table for Toby’s hands. After a moment, Tobias placed his hands in Jake’s.
“Hey,” Jake said. “You okay?” Stupid-ass question, like Jake didn’t have eyes to see or hadn’t learned a damn thing over these last months. Sometimes it felt like he hadn’t, like every tip or tool he’d picked up to help Toby cope was nothing but a plastic Cracker Jack prize. But he hoped Toby knew what this meant.
Tobias nodded, though he didn’t quite meet Jake’s gaze.
“That’s all we’re gonna do today, all right? It’ll get easier. You know how cops use ’em, and it’s just—it happens sometimes. Hunters rub cops the wrong ways, tend to walk over some polished, official toes. So sometimes, guys like us find ourselves in a police station cuffed to some asswipe’s desk, and meanwhile there’s a pissed-off spirit bulldozing a house and terrifying the neighbors. You don’t have time to explain and fill out eight pages of paperwork. So you gotta slip out the cuffs, crack a window, and shimmy down a drain pipe.”
Tobias swallowed, still not meeting Jake’s eyes. His fingers trembled in Jake’s, his grip loose to the point of nonexistence, justthere.
“Hey,” Jake said, quieter. “Can you tell me?”
Tobias drew in and released another breath, not quite steady. “It’s just,” he said, so softly, “in—back there. If, if a freak tried to get out of anything—” He shut his eyes and shook his head quickly.
Jake tightened his hands around Tobias’s. They hadn’t had many of these conversations; what had gone down in FREACS was still untested ground. The fact that Tobias even volunteered this much set Jake’s heart thrumming with adrenaline. “What would happen, Tobias?”
Tobias didn’t look at him, eyes shut hard, face turned away as though stinging from a blow. “Lose a hand,” he whispered, barely audible.
Jake sucked in his breath, squeezing Tobias’s hands until he realized his nails could probably cut straight through Tobias’s skin and he would never so much as whimper. He let go abruptly but didn’t have the heart to actually stop touching Tobias, to stop trying to offer some kind of comfort for all the fucked-up years when Jake hadn’t saved him. Instead, he rubbed at Tobias’s palms and swore a low, steady stream of invectives. It was soothing, he hoped.
“That’s not how it works here,” he said at last, when he was ready to try sentences again. “No one—no cop, or bureaucrat or smug-ass sheriff,no one—is allowed to do that, no matter what the fuck is going on. The possibility isn’t even on the books, and fuckwads don’t walk around with people-axes. That won’t happen to you, okay, Toby?”
