Page 49 of String Boys
The field, shadowed under the moon, backed up against a fence. Behind it was an apartment complex, one with a gate and some security, and trees. The trees cast absolute darkness over the fence, and even the field, with all its urban detritus, was brighter and better lit than that hollow of nothingness against the apartment fence.
Seth wasn’t even aware of where his feet were carrying him until he tripped over a patch of grass.
Low, mocking laughter from the void under the trees told him he wasn’t alone.
“You here for more?” Castor Durant rasped from the shadows. There was a glow as he inhaled from something—a joint, maybe, but one laced with a chemical smell, like cotton candy and drain cleaner, that made Seth want to puke.
Meth. He was smoking weed laced with meth.
The lone rational part of Seth’s brain started to scream that this boy was dangerous.
Very, very dangerous.
“I’m here to warn you,” Seth told him, not dreamy in the least. He was right here, right now, under the moon hanging low like rotting fruit. “You stay away from us. Don’t touch us again. Not ever again.”
“Or what?” Castor exhaled throatily. “What’re you gonna do? Suck my dick off?”
Seth kicked him.
He didn’t even know he was going to do it.
One minute he was standing—looming over Castor Durant as the boy got high and higher—and the next, he’d swung his foot back and landed a hard kick to his side.
Castor dropped his joint and yelped, and then propelled himself, crashing into Seth’s midsection and throwing him to the ground.
Seth kicked hard and tried to roll, throwing his elbows back and catching Castor in the jaw. For a moment, Seth was almost standing on higher ground, where he could kick the bastard’s face in, but Castor grabbed his foot before he got his balance, and he fell heavily, catching his weight on his elbow. He yelped, but his upper body was strong. Stronger than anybody suspected. He practiced for hours, until his back and chest ached and his biceps and triceps caught fire.
He rolled to one side on the ground that was littered with cigarette butts and worse and then rolled back, catching Castor Durant in the jaw with a hard elbow, leaving him stunned. With a heave, Seth pulled away, scrambling to his knees, and again, oh God, almost made it to his feet, almost made it to the point where he could kick the shit out of him, to where he could hurt him, make him afraid, make him never want a thing to do with Kelly Cruz or his family ever again.
But Castor was high, and desperate. With a snarl, he tackled Seth, trying to shove his face into the ground. But Seth was a runner. And tall. He used his leverage to roll his body over… only for Castor to straddle him. He hit Seth again and again, bloody and spitting and shouting obscenities, pinning Seth by the throat with one hand while he fumbled at his waist for something… something….
Seth’s vision was fading, his air strangling in his windpipe, cut off by Castor’s palm.Oh God, Kelly. Was this how you felt? Was this the place they sent you before they raped you and beat you?His struggles were weakening, his arms and hands heavy, the world growing dark… so dark…Kelly… Dad….
He was so far gone, he didn’t even realize he’d started breathing again.
He still felt heavy. Something like slimy cement weighed him down. He took some more breaths, enough to struggle, and pushed it off.
Castor Durant rolled over, a gaping red smile where his throat used to be, white bone gleaming in the moonlight.
Seth stared, aghast.
Blood that had pumped all over Seth, all over Castor, had slowed to a trickle, and from the corner of Seth’s mottled vision, he saw someone’s foot as they disappeared around the corner.
But he couldn’t make out whose it was.
The blood drenching him—had he done that?
Seth tried to remember, his head pounding, his throat bruised and aching.
Where had the knife come from?
Was that what Castor had been struggling for?
Oh God. Oh God.Seth couldn’t remember.He couldn’t remember. Castor Durant was dead. Not one breath gurgled from the gaping smile at his throat, and Seth couldn’t remember if there had been a knife.
SETH MADEit to the apartment wall before he stopped and threw up bile, his throat burning more than ever. Another few steps and he was on the sidewalk, the moon hanging over his head like a rotten lemon.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
