Page 66 of The Friend Scheme
“I shouldn’t need to stand up for you,” he says. “You don’t have to take any crap from anyone.”
“That would imply they bothered me. Which they didn’t.”
“Well, good.”
They kind of did, though.
I want to go back to the car so bad.
I know whatever is waiting for me is something I’m going to hate. But I can’t turn around. Everyone already thinks I’m soft, but I haven’t actually given them a concrete reason to think that yet. If I went back, it’d be more than a suspicion.
It’d be a fact that’ll follow me for the rest of my life.
I’ll be known forever as a coward.
Plus, even if I did have the guts to ask, they wouldn’t let me go.
I know that I’m a weak spot in my family. Dad is so strong, so theone way that they can all get to him is through me. Because I represent him, much to his chagrin. It’s even more important now that he’s been taken out of the game, at least for a while. Luke and I need to represent him while he heals.
Still.
If I don’t leave, I’m going to see a guy Vince has tortured.
And I’ll never be able to get it out of my head. I slow my pace. I need to do it. I need to leave.
I turn, and see that Luke is watching me. He shakes his head slowly.
Okay.
He knows.
That’s okay.
I should trust him. Luke has always been so good at this stuff. If he tells me I should stay here, then I should listen to him. Seeing whatever is waiting for me might be bad, but leaving would be worse.
Probably way worse.
Vince stops walking and pockets his switchblade. His two daughters are grinning.
The shipping container in front of us is totally unremarkable. It looks pretty much the same as the thousands of others. Rusted metal, chipped paint, and a damaged door that’s seen better days.
Vince lifts up a roller door, and I have to hold back a gasp.
Sitting in the middle of the container is a boy.
Or, a man. Just, a young one.
He’s chained to a chair, and there’s a bloody burlap sack over his head.
He’s shirtless, and his body has been cut a few times. Rivers of dried blood run down from the cuts. He’s still breathing, as his chestis rising and falling, but he’s alarmingly pale and limp. His hands are tied behind his back and are lying slack.
How long has he been here, like this?
“I’m back,” says Vince. “Did you miss me?”
The boy starts thrashing. He strains against his bonds, but his hands are tied tightly, and his ankles are bound to the legs of the chair, so he’s helpless. He struggles, but he’s not going anywhere.
“Now,” says Vince to us, ignoring the thrashing guy. “What I’m about to show you will shock you. But I think it’s in all your best interests to see this yourselves. I want you all to hear the story from the horse’s mouth.”
