“Shut up,” he said, shoveling handfuls of jelly beans into the bag. “Quit laughing and freaking help me.”
I knelt down, and we both pawed around in the mud. Andy stood up a few moments later, and the candy spilled back out of a hole in the bottom of the bag. Once again, I laughed hysterically as he scooped them into the pockets of his cargo shorts. He was just about to say something back when he cocked his head and held his hand out toward me, trying to shush me.
“Quiet,” he said, his own voice dropping, and all at once, I heard it too. I locked my hand onto Andy’s shoulder and pressed a finger to my lips. Both of us froze, listening to the sounds of the woods and the strange noise that was drifting through it. It was a panting sound, a deep-breathing moan that my mind translated instantly to be the voice of the Toy Thief, no doubt in the middle of killing his latest victim. Andy’s furrowed brow evened out as he listened. Then a half smile rose on his lips. With a single finger, he motioned for me to stay put as he glided soundlessly forward for a closer look. I refused to let him out of my sight, following along about ten yards behind, but Andy either didn’t notice me or didn’t care. Then, all at once, he held up his hand for me to stop, which, for once, I did without question.
The breathing was louder now, and I watched as Andy peered through a line of trees, out into a small bare patch. From where I stood, I couldn’t see a thing, but Andy was apparently close enough to see it all. He stared for ten seconds, maybe less, and then turned back to join me.
“Let’s go,” he said almost silently in my ear.
“What is it?” I whispered back.
He placed an angry finger onto his lips and then pointed toward the trails behind us, motioning back the way we’d come. I pushed back against him, me being bullheaded for no real reason at all, and the two of us were locked for a brief moment in silent combat. Somehow, I lost my footing and stepped off the trail, onto a dried handful of branches. Andy grabbed my arm, helping to steady me, but it was too late. The crunching echo of branches rang through the Trails like an alarm being sounded, and the steady breathing stopped.
“The fuck?” an angry voice echoed from the opposite side of the tree line.
Andy pointed toward the exit and silently mouthed the word, Run. We were off. I didn’t glance back, but I could hear the heavy footsteps behind us, the angry cursing, the promise to catch us and make us pay. I didn’t recognize the voice, not at first, but after a barrage of curses, the voice came into focus.
It was Barnett.
I think I’d heard from someone in the neighborhood that his first name was Albert or Alvin. Something painfully uncool. So, after his first stint in juvie at age twelve, he started going by his last name: Barnett. He had always been big for his age, and now that he was seventeen, he was big for any age. He might have been six three or so, but it was hard to tell back then, as short as I was. It didn’t really matter though. If half the stories passed around the neighborhood were true, he could be three feet tall and it wouldn’t make a difference. Being a giant was only window dressing.
The stories. Jesus, those stories.
I knew it was him by that point, because I’d been around him on three or four different occasions. You’d forget about him while he was in juvie, or living with his uncle out of state, or shipped off to some boarding school, and then, all at once, there he was again, a giant standing among a group of children on the street corner. We’d be playing hide and seek or capture the flag or whatever, and he’d appear, expecting a welcome from the neighborhood. Why the hell a seventeen-year-old convict-in-training wanted to spend his time with kids ranging from eight to fifteen was beyond me. Now that I’m grown, he might not scare me as much, because I’ve realized that a hardass among children really isn’t a hardass at all. Good luck telling me that when I was nine though.
So there we were, hauling ass through the woods with fucking Barnett after us. I still didn’t have so much as an inkling as to why the hell he was chasing us, but it didn’t matter. When an elephant ran toward you, you ran away. That was just how it worked. The only good news about all this was that we were smaller, and when it came to the trails, smaller was better. We cut through the lines in the woods, jumping roots, never looking back even as his screams grew angrier and oddly desperate.
“Andy,” I whined as I sprinted beside him, wondering what could possibly make Barnett so bloodthirsty, but my brother refused to explain.
“Go!” he yelled just over my shoulder. “Don’t stop.”
We finally broke through the wall of brush and into the field, the knee-high weeds whipping at my legs as I beat the ground with my tiny feet. We were out, but I didn’t quite know if we were free or not. Being small was good for the trails, but out here, it was hard to say for sure. Barnett was bigger, and he was more athletic than either of us, especially Andy. In a straight shot, I wasn’t overly confident that we could get away.
I realized quickly that none of that mattered. The familiar footsteps just behind me faded off, and I realized with horror that Andy had stopped running.
When I turned, I saw him, standing a dozen yards away from the mouth of the woods, machete held to the side, guarding the only way out.
“Andy,” I yelled, but he didn’t even acknowledge me.
And there Barnett was, a wall of flesh, shirtless for some reason, wearing nothing but jeans with grass stains on the knees. He towered over Andy, and I realized in that moment that we weren’t dealing with a peer. We were kids, involved in silly kid shit. This was, by most measures, a man, a dangerous thing for kids to reckon with – and the look on his face told us he wasn’t playing any games.
“The fuck is that?” he asked, his breath catching between words.
“Go back,” Andy said, ignoring the question.
“What the hell did you say to me?”
He took a step forward, and Andy tightened his grip on the machete. It was still, even then, a pitiful weapon, but it was all he had, and he held it with a confidence that I didn’t know existed.
“What did you see?” Barnett asked, his voice smoothing out, hiding something I couldn’t quite place. There was anger in his voice, but desperation as well, the rage masking something deeper and much more dangerous.
“Enough,” Andy said.
Barnett’s hands balled into fists, and he stomped the ground with his boots. He began walking a tiny circle, his feet refusing to sit still as he pulled at the sides of his red hair like a crazy person.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he said to Andy as he stopped circling and took a step forward.
“Try it!” Andy screamed. “You’ll have to! Not just me either, but her too. Because we know. We saw. So unless you’re ready to kill me or die trying, then you need to turn around.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” he screamed back, his voice containing more fear than anger now.
“Because that’s the only way we’ll never tell. If you lay a finger on me, she’ll run. The cops will know. The papers will know. The whole fucking town will know. I might be dead, but it won’t matter because they’ll know.”
Barnett fell down onto his knees and began punching the ground. I didn’t understand, not then, what exactly was happening there, but I did know that Andy had him firmly in some kind of checkmate. Barnett’s fit subsided, and he leaned back up like a man roused from a nap, his hair in messy curls on either side of his head.