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I brought my journal, one I bought at work, but I can’t write in it.
I’m hungry, so I decide to take the pills.
Pills are just a euphemism.
By the time we get to San Francisco, I don’t remember writing that.
I get a taxi to the church, but it’s too busy. I can’t get close. I ask the driver where the McDowell house is, and he takes me by it. I write down the address. Then I have him let me off at a park. I check the internet and he was right, my driver.
Why’s this pastor’s house so public?
Anyone could get in.
It was very stupid not to bring food.
I feel like I might pass out as I walk.
I’m at the gates of the place, feeling scared and stupid.
I’m not crying, though. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I’m a football player.
I’m so hungry.
Maybe they like football.
The boyfriend looked nice, and his name sounds poetic. All the forums said his name is Vance Rayne.
Should have stayed in Alabama. Someone drives through the gates right in front of me. I follow the car in and walk up the long driveway. I don’t feel well. Don’t they have security?
I see Miller from the bottom. My head in his lap.
I see these fantasies. Not for stepbrothers.
In the garage, I lie down to feel the cool cement on my skin. My mind whirs like a dishwasher. Promised land. And mentally ill. Keywords.
I pat my pocket for my phone before I pass out.
It’s cold in their garage, but I’m still thirsty. Can’t find water.
I can’t get my phone to work. My hands are shaking.
Stupid, stupid Christopher.
“It’s so disappointing, pastor. I had no idea that he was tempted by boys until his freshman year. Although there were signs.”
The cement floor is cool. My shoulder digs into it, hurting.
“Just be grateful we can pay for this place, Christopher. Other people like you have no help.”
I lie there till my throat feels like a rope’s winding around it. I can barely breathe, my tongue is so dry. My head aches so badly.
It reminds me of a time in that armchair, sitting up and Josh with a wet rag.
I’m thinking nonsense. Someone leaves out the back door. My heart’s beating weird. I wait as long as I can, and then I drag my body over to it. Rise up on my knees and turn the handle.
I hope they’re nice. I hope the Rayne one is here.
I try to get up and walk in, but my legs won’t let me. The last thought I have before the floor rises to meet me.
There’s spots in my vision. There’s this guy and baby. Not long hair, but he looks like the nice one. I inhale and hear myself ask, “Are you…Vance?”
"Who's asking?" The guy mean-eyes me. "We don't like to get surprise guests at our house. You need to start explaining or security will come down the stairs. Hold off for now, Steven," he calls, and my heart misses a few beats.
“I’m sorry.”
I try to get up—I’ve gotta go before this turns bad—but my legs are so weak. I end up grabbing for the wall and fumbling with some big painting, and the guy holding the baby gets more pissed off.
Everything is spinning as I sink back down to the floor.
Next time he talks, his voice is nicer. “What’s wrong, dude? What’s the what here?” I feel him standing over me. I hear the baby’s soft sounds. “You need some help or something?”
I lift my head to look up at him. “Don’t call the cops.” I’m gonna go soon…
He asks how old I am, and if I’ve got a knife or gun. I want to go, but I can’t get up. I don’t feel good.
“You have asthma? Are you hungry?”
He offers me food. Asks if I’m okay with dairy. Almost laugh at that one. Pretty sure he asks if I’m a Texan as the baby fusses and he moves around the kitchen, which is right down this hall.
I don’t think he’s gonna hurt me. I’ve been wrong before, though.
Eleven
Josh
July 29, 2019
I blink down at the frat porch’s dark wood floorboards, squeezing the phone as my mind stutters.
“Ezra what?” My voice sounds squeaky.
“His mother called Carl last night. She told him Ezra’s unaccounted for at college. She came down to visit and he’s not in his dorm. Apparently he doesn’t have a car, and the cell phone he’s using isn’t the number we have for him. He had a falling out with his mom and…I’m not sure. Seems like they haven’t been in contact. But she says he’s missing, that the people on his hall say he’s been gone a few days, and she’s going to file a report. Carl doesn’t think that she can do that, given his age, but—” Mom blows a breath out. “I’m calling you, Josh, only to just see if you know anything. Has he reached out to you? And can you keep an eye on your phone?”
