Danny Read online

  The three dogs arrived first. They burst into the copse, yapping and snarling. Ganymede put his hand on the knife sheathed in his belt and brandished a spear. The second spear was strapped to his back. The animals formed an instant triangle, their ears low. Their body language made it clear that if Ganymede moved, they’d tear something off. Ganymede paused uncertainly. He could easily take out one dog with a spear and probably a second with the knife or his second spear. But fighting three dogs at once would probably earn him some serious bite wounds—or worse, if the dog got lucky. And how would Minos react if Ganymede killed some of his favorite hounds? He glanced at the tree behind him, but the lowest branches were out of reach. No way to climb.

  Minos appeared at the edge of the copse. He spoke a sharp word, and the dogs backed away, though they didn’t take their eyes off Ganymede. Ganymede relaxed, but only a little. The dogs stood at heel, and Minos had caught him at last.

  Ganymede started to speak, but his voice wouldn’t quite work. He coughed and tried again. He could do this. “Your Majesty,” he said. “It looks like you’ve caught some pretty strange game.”

  Minos moved forward with none of the languid ease he had displayed in his garden and banquet hall. Here he moved with confidence and power. The simple brown tunic showed thick muscle, and no purple paint tipped his fingers.

  “I have,” Minos said. “I’ve finally caught the little prince of Troy.”

  A chill breeze rushed through the copse, rustling leaves and stirring ferns. A crack of thunder drowned out the dogs’ growling. Minos passed the dogs and abruptly Ganymede realized he was still brandishing his spear—at a king. He quickly dropped it, feeling weirdly naked without it in his hands. Minos came forward until he was only a step away from Ganymede. Ganymede could smell the sweat on the king’s skin.

  “You like to run, don’t you, boy?” Minos said. “You like to joke and tease and taunt and play little games. You think it’s funny.”

  Now Ganymede felt confused. “Majesty?”

  “Don’t worry, boy.” Minos closed the final step and put his arms around Ganymede, who forced himself not to flinch, readied himself for a cold kiss. “I’ll teach you how to play it right.”

  He slammed Ganymede to the ground.

  BOOK 8

  PART III

  I don’t know how Eryx can sleep like this. We’ve stopped three times, this latest time for over an hour. The bus stop is next to a Denny’s, and I can smell hot fat and fried potatoes and coffee and bacon. The driver and all the passengers have gone over there for something to eat. Eryx and I are still on the bus. I’m really, really hungry, but it’s three o’clock in the morning and I don’t usually eat at three o’clock in the morning so I’m telling my stomach to shut up because I should save our money.

  Our money. How did it become our money? I took it. But what am I gonna do, buy food for me and not for him? He went through worse shit than I did. And he’s still sleeping in his seat. I wonder if he took something.

  I feel like such an asshole. I can’t believe I used to hate him, that I punched him in the face over a fucking video game. Right now, I’d kill to be worried about unlocking a stupid G4 engine.

  It’s all because of Myron. Myron and my mom. I can’t believe she hooked up with such a fucking lo—

  Shit. My hand is shaking again. It makes the letters wobble like leaves on an alcoholic tree.

  BUS STOP

  Alone. With his tiny snores

  And a bill huddled in my pocket like a frightened dime bag

  Alone. With fifty other people

  And just beyond the door, a world that smells of the stale, half-eaten food

  They’ve left behind.

  “Eryx,” Myron said. “Where’s Danny?”

  Under my bed, I bit my lip and curled tighter around myself. My intestines twisted like snakes, and I thought I might mess myself. A pause hung in the air. I didn’t know it was possible to be so fucking scared. Out in the hallway were two men with hard-ons for me, and a third man who wanted to arrange for me to meet them, and the only thing standing between us was a kid I had just socked in the face. My knuckles still hurt from the punch. Sweat ran down my face, even though my room was cold.

  “I dunno,” Eryx said. “I haven’t seen him for a couple hours.”

  I didn’t dare to breathe. Eryx was covering for me? I could hardly believe it. A tiny bit of relief slipped over me, but I didn’t relax. I couldn’t.

  Myron made an annoyed sound. “I knew I should have gotten him a cell phone. Did you two fight?”

  “Yeah. We kinda got into it, and he took off. I think he said something about spending the night at a friend’s house.”

  “Well that’s a crock of shit,” said one of the other men.

  “Hey, it’s all good,” Myron said in an oily sort of voice I had never heard him use before. It made me feel gross, like my skin was on inside-out. “Eryx can handle the extra, no biggie. You’ve seen the web site, you know what he can do.”

  “I wanted the virgin kid, the one from the shower,” said the second man. “I’m not paying for a first-timer if I’m only getting sloppy seconds.”

  “Tell you what.” I heard a faint slapping sound and figured Myron was clapping the guy on the shoulder like a salesman closing some kind of deal. I wondered what Eryx was doing. Just standing there, listening and watching while they talked about passing him around like a half-smoked joint? “Tomorrow I promised to take Danny to the Go-Kart track. I’ll just drop him by your cabin instead. Free delivery, no extra charge.”

  I went cold all over.

  “What about tonight?” the second man said. “I want something now.”

  “If you don’t want to wait, I’ll cut you a deal on Eryx. You can handle both, right, buddy?” Another slapping sound. This time Myron was clapping Eryx on the back.

  “Yeah,” Eryx mumbled. “Sure.”

  “That’s my boy.” I heard the grin in Myron’s voice, and I swallowed hard to keep from throwing up again. “Eryx, this is Ron. Take him into your room. Nick, let’s go down to the living room. We can have a beer and watch the game until it’s your turn.”

  Footsteps tromped around in the hallway. My room is—was—next to Eryx’s, and we shared a heating vent. It meant that I could hear almost everything that happened next. I can’t write much about it, not even on pages for the lake to swallow. Here’s what I can handle.

  The guy Ron didn’t say much, but I heard small noises and creaks and regular thumps, and one time Eryx yelped. I winced hard. Then Ron walked out without a word and the second guy Nick went in. That was worse. He wanted Eryx to talk to him. He wanted Eryx to call him “Daddy,” and not like “Who’s your daddy?” joking, but “I’m your dad” serious. I heard a couple hard slaps, and Nick yelled that Eryx was a bad kid who needed to be punished. Eryx asked, then begged, him to stop, and it sounded like Eryx meant it, like it was real. I wondered if Myron would overhear and come and stop them, but he didn’t. The sounds got worse and worse, and the whole time I lay there on the scratchy, dusty carpet thinking, “That’s what he wanted to do to me. That was supposed to be me.” I wanted to stuff my fingers into my ears and block out the awful sounds and horrible words, but I felt like that would be betraying Eryx. He had taken my place, even after I’d punched him, and listening to what happened was, in a small way, like holding his hand. If he could handle this Nick guy doing that stuff to him, then I could goddam well handle listening to it.

  Nick finally finished. Eryx’s door opened and shut, and Nick’s footsteps went away down the hall. I heard distant voices talking. The front door slammed. Cars drove away. I lay there for a long time, but the house was silent. Eventually I rolled out from under the bed. My muscles felt like rusty hinges, and it hurt to move. I made myself sneak into the hallway. I tried to knock on Eryx’s door, I really did, but I couldn’t make myself. Instead, I skittered past like a nervous lizard and did a quick check of the house to make double sure Myron and those guys h
ad really left. My heart was pounding. What would I do if I found Myron watching TV or something? But he was gone.

  I went back to Eryx’s room and forced myself to knock. “It’s me,” I whispered. I knew there was no reason to whisper when it was just the two of us in the house, but talking in a normal tone of voice felt wrong, like playing Marco Polo at a funeral.

  Eryx didn’t respond. I knocked again. Now I was worried. Maybe Nick had really hurt him. Myron hadn’t come up to check on him or anything. Eryx could be lying there unconscious or bleeding or something. I twisted the knob and went in.

  Eryx’s blinds were drawn, and the room was dark. Unlike me, Eryx keeps his room completely tidy. The place looks like a department store display. Bed, dresser, night stand, lamp, that’s it. No posters on the walls, no photos on the dresser. Not even a mirror. Before I found out about the cameras and … the other stuff, I thought it was a little weird. Now it kind of made sense. Eryx doesn’t put anything on display if he can avoid it.

  Eryx was sitting straight as a ruler on the edge of his bed, which he had already made. He had also gotten dressed in a black t-shirt and baggy black jeans with a chain hanging out of the pocket. Eryx looks good in black—blond guys usually do. I have to admit I was kind of relieved he’d gotten dressed on his own. I wouldn’t know what to say to a naked guy, and it would have been seriously weird—weirder—to get him cleaned up and into some clothes. I didn’t see any cuts or bruises or any shit like that, but on the other hand, I couldn’t see much of him because of the aforementioned non-nakedness.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said.

  We both sat there for a long time. What the hell do you say to a guy who took a … who took something like that for you?

  “You okay?” I said at last.

  He shrugged.

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  “Damn,” I said.

  “Ass,” he said.

  “Hell,” I said.

  “Crap,” he said.

  “Boobs,” I said.

  He looked at me sideways. “Boobs?”

  “You took the last good one,” I said.

  “What about bitch?” he said.

  “Bitch,” I said.

  By now we were lying flat on our backs laughing, our feet still on the floor. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Ten minutes ago, I was hiding in the next room listening to him being … to that guy doing shit to Eryx in here, and now we were both laughing on the same bed. Fucking crazy. Bedbug loony tunes nucking futs crazy. My stomach hurt and the mattress shook, but I couldn’t quit. The laughing went on for a long time. Too long, really. Finally we managed to stop.

  “Thanks,” I blurted out.

  “For what?”

  “For telling your dad I wasn’t here. For … taking that …”

  Eryx sat up. “Nothing happened.”

  “I heard it,” I said. “I was in the next room and I heard—”

  “You didn’t hear shit,” he said in a voice as cold and dead as a Dumpster in winter.

  I sat up too, ready to ask what the hell he was talking about, and instead looked around the room. Nothing in it. Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to happen. And Eryx was nothing, too. Nothing could happen to nothing. Nothing hurt nothing. I started to see why Eryx ghosted around the house all the time. Nothing making noise.

  “Okay,” I said. “So thanks anyway.”

  I sat next to him for a little longer. I didn’t know what else to do. I was getting nervous, restless. Myron would come back eventually, and the thought of being here when he did made me sick again.

  The house is full of metal eyes

  That stare and prod and poke

  The walls were built by carpenters and masons,

  Helped by perverts and pimps.

  Nothing lives here.

  I went into my bedroom, found my school backpack, and dumped everything in it out on my bed. Notebooks, loose papers, pencils, a couple books, and other shit tumbled away. I yanked open my dresser and shoved some clothes from it into the pack. A framed picture of Uncle Zack standing on the beach went in, too. Then I turned for the door and almost ran into Eryx. He must have been watching me, silent as an owl. His eyes were as big and blue as Lake Trick, and his golden hair looked like a startled haystack.

  “What are you doing?” A tremor rippled in his voice.

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?” I said. “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

  “You can’t leave,” he said. “Not after … you can’t. Dad’ll get really, really pissed.”

  “All the better reason not to be around him.” I pushed past him, pack over one shoulder, and stood in the hallway, thinking. I would need money, but I had maybe fifty cents in my pocket.

  “Where are you gonna go?” Eryx asked behind me. “Your mom lives here. She sold your house. Where are you gonna live?”

  “Not here. Mom won’t want to stay either after she finds out what happened.”

  Eryx spun me around. His face was gray as dust. “You aren’t going to tell her.”

  “The fuck I’m not.”

  And Eryx hit me. Punched me right in the stomach. The air blasted out of me and I went down to one knee, dropping my backpack as I went. Fuck, that hurt. My whole middle felt on fire and I could barely breathe.

  “You won’t tell anyone!” Eryx yelled. “You won’t tell! You won’t tell!”

  I didn’t want to fight him. I couldn’t, knowing what he’d just been through and what he’d done for me. He could have blackened both my eyes, beaten me bloody, and broken my bones, and I wouldn’t have touched him. I crouched there, waiting for another hit, but it never came. At last I looked up. Eryx was gone. His bedroom door was shut.

  I grabbed my backpack and went into search mode. Mom and I would need money when we left. Everything in Myron’s office was locked, and I wasn’t sure if it would be worth the time to break into any of the cabinets or drawers. Plus, Eryx might get blamed for it. The bedroom Myron and Mom shared, though, was wide open. In one of Myron’s drawers I found three $100 bills. I stuffed them in my pocket and looked for more, but that was all I could find. I didn’t know what Mom had done with the money she’d made from selling our house, but it would be enough for us to pay rent with for a while, I hoped.

  I knocked on Eryx’s door. No answer. “Eryx, I’m leaving. You should come, too. You shouldn’t live with this shit.”

  Still no answer. I didn’t want to leave him here, in this horrible house with Earth’s number one contender for Fuckwad of the Universe. But I couldn’t exactly drag him out by his hair, either.

  “Come on, guy,” I said. “Let’s get out of here. You helped me, now I’ll help you. Let’s blow this place and get the dodge out of fuck.”

  Nothing.

  “Last chance, man. Come on. It’s easier with a friend to back you up.”

  Graveyard silence.

  “Okay,” I told the door. “Thanks for … everything. Good luck.”

  I walked away from the door with shoes made of granite. In less than an hour, the whole world had gone funhouse mirror. My room had changed from private island to public display. Myron had changed from standup stepfather to slick sicko. Eryx had changed from creepy freak to total hero. Now I was ditching him. I didn’t know what else to do. No way could I stick around, even for Eryx.

  I was halfway down the hall when I heard his door open. I spun around, and my backpack almost pulled me off balance. Eryx was standing there, all in black, blond hair still messed up, expression tombstone flat.

  “Hey,” I said, and relief that he was coming after all washed over me. “You ready?”

  “I just wanted to say good luck,” he said. “I hope everything works out for you.” And he shut his door again.

  Shit.

  I ran then. I yanked my bike out of the garage and pedaled hard all the way to the Moose Place, the bar where Mom works. The sun was going down, and it was getting c
hilly. The trees around Lake Trick looked like giant flowers ready to explode from holding in all the color. I looked up at the sharp blue sky and wondered if the stories were true, if dead people like Uncle Zack really looked down at survivors like me. It seemed like a pretty shitty deal. I was stuck missing him and he was stuck watching helplessly. What kind of asshole came up with a system like that?

  I did—do—miss him, too. He was the one I really wanted to talk to about this whole shitpile. He was the one whose voice I wanted to hear say things like, “It’ll be okay,” or “I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.” I wanted to see his stupid flannel shirt, the one that matched the autumn leaves, and I wanted to hear his heavy boots clump against the floor of the shack where he cleaned fish and game. I even wanted to smell the thick, nasty odor of blood and bile that spilled into the sink and across the floor under his sacrificial knife because it would mean he would be there to make it happen. I’d help clean every slimy fish and cloudy-eyed deer the hunters brought in if it meant Uncle Zack could come back.

  My eyes were wet when I arrived at the Moose Place. Since it was October and tourist season had ended, the bar was mostly empty. The main room was dark and gloomy, and the jukebox was playing something from the eighties. Sawdust scuffed under my feet, and I saw Mom wiping down a booth in the back corner. I made straight for her. She looked really surprised when I grabbed her arm.

  “What the hell?” she said. “What are you doing here? I don’t get off work for three more hours.”

  “Mom, I have to talk to you. It’s an emergency.”

  She looked at me, then abruptly led me back to the women’s bathroom. She pushed me inside and locked the door behind us. The bathroom was a two-staller, with a double sink and a condom machine on the wall. Another wall machine sold tampons for fifty cents. I guess the unspoken message is if you use the one, you’ll still need the other. It felt weird and wrong to be in there.