Page 112 of The Bright Lands
Jamal couldn’t think of anything to say. He watched KT lower himself into the chair, felt his heart slowing. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.
And then a brilliant pair of headlights washed over the street out front. A truck rumbled to a stop at the curb. Jamal jogged around the side of the house to see Whiskey Brazos and T-Bay Baskin starting up the walk to the house. They gawped at him.
“You’re out,” T-Bay said.
“It’s a long story.”
Whiskey cleared his throat. “Are you here about Joel Whitley?”
“Joel?” Jamal looked between the two of them. “We’re looking for Kimbra.”
A second truck pulled to a stop behind the first and Jamal fought a violent urge to flee at the sight of the woman behind the wheel. It passed when he saw the way Officer Clark regarded him with nothing more than a cool interest.
“She’s with us,” T-Bay said. “We’re going to that place.”
Officer Clark rolled down her window and said, “Where’s KT?”
Jamal heard something. He slipped back into the yard just in time to pull KT down from atop the fence over which he was trying to escape. Jamal marched the shaking boy to the front of the house, a hand clamped over the back of KT’s neck.
“Right here. And he’s going to take us.”
LUKE
Luke heard the sound of a few trucks pulling up in the dirt, heard boys leaping out of them with a whoop only to go quiet—reverent—as they drew near. He swallowed. The new boys took their place in the circle that Luke felt around him. He’d lost count of how many people had arrived since Mitchell had slipped a blindfold on him a few minutes before.
What Luke did not hear in any of the cleared throats or muted chatter was the sound of a single girl.
At some signal, the low murmur of voices died. Silence tightened the air, finally broken by the squeak of a foot across a wooden board. From ahead and above him, Luke heard a man’s voice, gleeful and unabashedly smug, shout down to say, “This is a beautiful night, ain’t it, boys?”
A mumble of agreement.
“Then let’s not waste it,” the man said, and Luke recognized that it was Mr. Boone speaking, some big deal with the city government his parents sometimes had over for dinner.
Mr. Boone clapped his hands and a moment later Luke heard two people step into the circle. They grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugged it off over his head. Luke’s upturned face caught a glimpse of stars, the hooked moon, before the blindfold was fastened back in place.
He began to panic—the fuckwasthis?—when one of the boys locked an arm around Luke’s bare chest and clasped a hand over his mouth while the other boy wrenched loose Luke’s belt and tugged his jeans down over his thrashing legs. Tugged down Luke’s briefs.
Luke shouted into the boy’s hand as he was lifted up and his pants were pulled over his shoes. They struck the dirt nearby. His belt buckle clattered.
“Evers!” Mr. Boone shouted. “You’ve got some words to answer.”
The hands released Luke. He shivered with his hand over his naked crotch.
Not real, this wasn’t real.
“You are standing on hallowed ground, son. The edge of goddamn greatness, you hear me? I said do you hear me?”
Luke nodded.
“Say it!”
“I hear you.”
A hand struck the back of Luke’s head.
Boone shouted, “Boy, you will address me assir.”
“I hear you, sir!” Luke’s teeth were chattering. When had the night gotten so cold?
