The wind was blowing fiercely, kicking up billowing clouds of fine brown dust. Blair shrugged deeper into his jacket, clutching the chemistry set close to his chest. Jeb and Billy were both at home with the flu, which was a total bummer, because he had just come up with the ultimate experiment. He got the idea at the library, where he'd been looking over some old text books. Mr. Ehrlich, the librarian had been following him around the whole time. He was always suspicious of kids. The old guy didn't believe that someone as young as Blair would voluntarily read unless he was up to no good.

Blair giggled to himself. Well, this time he was right. What he'd found was a recipe for a kind of rubber cement. That in itself wouldn't be so bad, it was what he and the guys would do with it that was. They were going to get the ultimate revenge on Mr. Carlton, the history teacher. Red-faced and blustery, he'd been on Blair's case ever since he dared to question his American History book. Mr. Carlton always taught straight from the book; no discussion, no depth. He would have alternating members of the class read a paragraph, and he would put dates and names up on the chalkboard. Basically, it was a class in rote memorization, no sweat for Blair, he'd had teachers like that before. He rarely paid attention in class but always passed the tests with perfect scores. It was simply a matter of knowing the answers to the review questions at the end of each chapter. But, one day when Mr. Carlton had been discussing Little Big Horn, saying some stuff about the Indians that was just plain wrong, Blair had said something about it. Well, not just said something about it, more like spent several minutes explaining why it was wrong and citing references. Blair honestly hadn't noticed his teacher's face turning red as he gave his little speech. Before he'd moved to Smithton, Iowa, he'd lived in New York, and attended an experimental school. This kind of discussion was common there and he'd never been yelled at for it before.

Mr. Carlton had popped his cork. Lectured him on how Blair was the student and he was the teacher, and that he didn't know what kind of commie schools he'd attended before he got to Iowa, but he was in America now, by god, and he'd give his teachers a little respect. The part of Blair that wanted to hide under the desk won out over the Blair who wanted to tell his teacher he was a moron that day, but the whole incident had left him itching for revenge. He and the guys had been plotting it since that day, and now he'd found the perfect thing. See, Mr. Carlton was anal. Majorly anal. Every day he arranged his desk just so. The ruler had to be on the left side of his blotter, perfectly aligned at right angles with the edge of the desk. Pencils just so, pointer carefully placed, papers stacked and collated. So when Blair saw the chemistry book with the rubber cement formula, a light bulb had appeared over his head. What better way to get back at Carlton, than to cement everything on his desk in place? That way he'd never have to worry about anything being out of order.

Blair could have just gone to the store to buy some glue, but then that wouldn't be any fun. He giggled to himself again. This was going to be priceless!

Blue and rusty with a picture of a cat painted on the side, the railroad car appeared ahead of him, and Blair smiled. Home is where you make it, and this had become almost more of a home than the one bedroom apartment he and Naomi were living in. It was a perfect hangout, really. It was far back in the train yard near a rusty chain link fence that bordered on the old mattress factory. Weeds grew so high around it that it truly appeared to be abandoned. No one could see it from the road.

The wind rose up again and Blair shoved a shock of blonde hair from his forehead and adjusted his glasses. They didn't get MTV out here in the sticks, and no one realized that it was cool to have a lock of dyed hair. Most of the kids thought it looked dorky, but he had refused to color it brown again. Bad enough that he'd caved to peer pressure and cut it short in the back. Maybe he'd let it grow out again. Better yet, maybe he'd pierce his ear. Naomi would be more than happy to do it for him.

Reaching the door of the car, Blair set the chemistry set on the ground and slid the door smoothly open. The first thing he and Billy and Jeb had done when they'd found the car was fix and oil the door. Not much of a secret hangout if people on the other side of town could hear you entering it. Reaching down he grabbed the box and set it inside, then hoisted himself up. He gazed around appreciatively. The walls of the car were plastered with posters depicting the boys' differing tastes. Duran Duran dueled with Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. A picture of Carl Sagan was flanked by the Plasmatics and The Eagles. A movie poster for 'The Blade Runner' hung over the table, or rather, the empty cable spool they were using as one. In a battered milk crate in one corner could be found Billy's precious Marvel comics collection, which hid the three old Playboys that Blair had 'borrowed' from his uncle's extensive collection when Blair had visited him last year. They'd patched up some old lawn chairs, and there were a couple of candles and an old radio. A tiny, battered refrigerator took up another corner, under the poster of a bikini clad Cheryl Tiegs. They hadn't figured out how to rig up a power supply yet, so for now it held warm pop. A mattress topped with a sleeping bag and a throw pillow completed the scene. Jeb used it when his parents fought or his dad was drinking. It was safer for him here when that happened, and they didn't usually miss him anyway.

Blair plopped down in a lawn chair and put his chemistry set on the makeshift table. He dug around in his pockets, pulling out the photocopies he'd made from the library book. As he was carefully unfolding them, a familiar voice spoke from outside. One that made his stomach lurch with dread.

"Out here by yourself, genius?"

Deputy Bardgill. The one person who made Blair actually wish his mother would pull up stakes early this time. Right from the beginning, Bardgill had been making his life a living hell. Blair's clothes and hair were a constant source of commentary from the man. He was used to that, having dealt with his type for much of his life, but this guy was different. There was something unnerving about him. Off-kilter. He'd made it his personal mission to tell Blair how he ought to be behaving. Finding out that Blair was several grades ahead of his other classmates had only made it worse. Officer Bardgill, or Ossifer Bastard, as Jeb had dubbed him, was in his early 20's, stood over 6 feet tall and was dumb as a rock. His taunts were often childish. Blair had heard better insults from 10-year-old bullies, but this bully carried a gun and wore a badge. That alone was enough to scare him. Naomi had always taught him not to trust the police, because they had a lot of power but not a lot of brains. Blair had never quite believed that. His mother tended to get so passionate about her causes that sometimes she ignored the facts that didn't fit her beliefs. Bardgill, however, fit every preconceived notion his mother had ever had. His campaign of harassment had escalated lately into something very close to a campaign of terror. Three weeks ago, he'd come into the diner that Naomi had taken charge of (the owner was an old friend who was undergoing cancer treatment, and Naomi had volunteered to run the restaurant until her friend was well again), and asked Naomi on a date.

While Blair's mother was at times self-delusional, she was far from stupid, and she was an excellent judge of character. She turned him down in the nicest possible way. Bardgill persisted, however, coming in several days in a row, trying to break down her willpower.

Big mistake. Benton was a small town, and Bardgill considered himself quite the heartbreaker. Young, eligible, moderately good-looking, and capable of considerable charm when he put an effort into it, the young deputy had a hard time accepting the fact that any woman would turn him down. After the fourth day of persistent requests for dates, he asked loudly, in front of the whole diner. "Is it our age difference? I don't mind dating older women."

Blair had only heard it second-hand, but the reply Naomi gave, in her kindest possible voice, was true to form. "No, sweetie. It's not the age difference. It's the I.Q. difference. And your aura is, well, scary. I just couldn't date a man who isn't at peace with himself and the universe."

Naomi had succeeded, once again, in leaving a man utterly speechless. Bardgill had simply blushed furiously and walked out the door. There was no way he could vent his anger at Naomi. In the short time she'd been in town, she'd made many friends, and the Sheriff was a frequent visitor. Blair figured that was also the reason the deputy hadn't trashed the boxcar. The Sheriff knew he and his friends used it and saw no problem with it. Still, Blair was the easiest target for Bardgill's wrath and his verbal assaults had escalated to vicious and foul personal attacks. Now Bardgill was standing outside, and he knew Blair was alone.

"Don't pretend you aren't in there. I saw you. Get your skinny little ass out here on the double."

Shoulders slumping in resignation, Blair stood and walked to the door. He definitely didn't want the guy coming into his private territory to get him. "Yes, sir?"

Bardgill stood in his tan-colored, neatly pressed uniform, black boots polished to a high shine, hat tilted slightly back on his head, thumbs hooked in his gun belt. There was a distinctly predatory gleam in his brown eyes. "Where are your little fag friends today, Sandburg?" The deputy emphasized the last part of Blair's name, and he wondered if he were in for another anti-Semitic rant.

"Late."

"Don't bother lying. They've got the flu, just like half the other kids in town. Why aren't you sick? Your mother been making deals with Satan again?"

Blair considered explaining to the man that his mother's philosophy had nothing to do with devil worship, but then figured it would all go right over Bardgill's head. He settled for a sullen shrug. Focusing on the hole in the fence a short distance away, he mentally planned an escape route.

"I thought so. Saw Naomi out again last night. Different guy. Al from the hardware store. Your mother is fast becoming the town whore."

Blair tensed, his wish for escape being replaced with a burning in the pit of his stomach. He kept his eyes focused over the officer's shoulder, trying to contain his emotions. "My mother is *not* a whore."

"Sure she is. Gives it up for any guy who asks her."

Blair had heard less than complimentary things said about his mother in the past, but no one had ever come right out and said it to his face. It angered him more than he would have expected. He'd been pissed at Naomi before, for uprooting him so often, for having strange ideas that made him feel out of place in a new town, but he also loved her deeply and was fiercely protective of her. She was, for all her unusual ideas, a gentle and generous woman. People loved her because she loved people, with no preconceived prejudices. Well, except for the ones about authority figures, which at this moment Blair was beginning to believe.

"Screw you!" Blair practically spat it out, looking Bardgill straight in the eye with undisguised hostility.

"You little bastard. And that's what you are isn't it? Your mother opened her legs for so many guys I bet you don't even know who your father is."

Blair exploded, not taking warning from the dangerous look in the deputy's eyes. "You freaking Nazi! You're just an ignorant redneck stuck out here in the boondocks who thinks he can push everybody around. It's just 'cause you're pissed that my mother's smarter than you and she's beautiful and you don't have a chance in hell of ever getting a date with her!"

It was not the right time for Blair to practice his knowledge of psychology. Bardgill reached out faster than Blair would have thought possible and grabbed him by the throat. A second later, the deputy's service revolver was pressed against his forehead. Blair was petrified. He literally couldn't move. Bardgill's thumb was pressing deeply into his throat, causing him to choke, but he made no move to pull the hand away. He was about to die, and he began mentally promising to be a good boy and not talk back to any more adults, to not glue Mr. Carlton's stuff to his desk, to dye his hair brown again, but it was getting harder to think of things to promise because he kept looking at Bardgill's eyes. There was nothing but death there. Pure hatred was something he'd never seen in anyone before and he felt himself reverting to a childlike state, wishing his mom was here to make the nightmare go away. Bardgill's finger was tensing on the trigger, and finally Blair closed his eyes, mentally curling himself up into a tight ball.

"Ted, this is Dispatch. Carl wants to know where you want to meet for lunch today." The crackle of static from the radio seemed to cause the world to suddenly slip back to normal. Bardgill released Blair's throat, calmly holstered his gun and walked to his car.

"Tell him I'll meet him at McD's in 15 minutes Stacey. Over."

"I'll let him know."

Blair hadn't moved, although it would have been his best chance for escape. He was too terrified. Bardgill simply turned to him, his face as normal as it ever was. "Later, kid," he said as he got into his cruiser and drove away.

Years later Blair wouldn't be able to remember how long he stood, frozen. When he did move, his knees buckled, and he leaned over and emptied the contents of his stomach into the weeds, then he turned tail and ran home as fast as his legs would take him. The apartment was behind the diner, and he stayed there, curled up in a corner, until his mother came home. Naomi knew something was wrong right away. He could never hide anything from her, so he told her everything. She seemed calm enough about it, and Blair secretly hoped that they would pack up everything and leave town. Instead, she told him to get in the car, and they drove to the Sheriff's Office.

Blair was very nearly sick again. Naomi pulled him inside, a woman on a mission. The Sheriff's Office was small; with only a low railing separating the public area from the deputies desks. Naomi stalked over to the railing, gripping it so hard that her knuckles turned white and fixed Bardgill with a look that could have incinerated the man. Blair had never seen his mother this angry.

"You pig! How dare you pull a gun on my son!"

Stupefied, Bardgill sat still as a stone.

The door to Sheriff's office flew open and John Benton quickly took in the situation. "Naomi, why don't you calm down and tell me what happened?"

"He's been harassing my son for months, and today he put a gun to Blair's head."

Blair had been standing behind his mother, trying to shrink away from Bardgill's hostile stare. If any of his classmates happened in and saw him cowering, he'd never live it down, but for now it felt like a safe place to be. Naomi dragged him out of that safety by pulling him forward and tilting up his chin. "Look at his throat, Sheriff. Your deputy," she spit out the word. "did this to him. I don't know what kind of town this is, but if it's the kind where innocent children are terrorized by jack-booted thugs then I don't want anything to do with it."

Sheriff Benton turned to his deputy, "Go into the interrogation room and wait for me."

"The interrogation room? Sheriff, this kid is a liar, I didn't do anything."

"We'll sort it out, Bardgill. For now, I want you in the interrogation room, I'll be there in a bit. Naomi, I'd like you to wait out here while I talk to your son in my office."

Naomi grabbed her son and hugged him tightly, then pulled him back and stroked his cheek gently. "It's going to be OK, sweetie."

Dread crept over Blair. The cops weren't to be trusted, but here Naomi was, allowing one of them to drag him into an office alone. He kept his head down, staring at the worn tile floor and shuffled into the office.

"Have a seat, son."

Blair sat and cautiously took in his surroundings. A picture of the Sheriff's wife and children smiled at him from the wall. Various other pictures, presumably of friends and relatives hung there, along with plaques and official looking documents. Paperwork was stacked haphazardly on the desk and file cabinet. One small window overlooked some scraggly bushes and the potholed parking lot. Smithton was not a wealthy community.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

It took a while for Blair to decide whether or not to be completely honest. He remembered the time he'd lied about stealing a microscope, and the tremendous guilt he'd carried around until he finally confessed. What Bardgill had done was pretty bad, and maybe if Blair told the truth the Sheriff would do something about it. But what if he didn't? Then Bardgill would be even more pissed and maybe he'd really kill him this time. What if the Sheriff thought it was Blair's fault for yelling? There was probably some law against calling a deputy a redneck and a Nazi. As Blair struggled with his fears, Benton came out from behind his desk and squatted down beside him.

"Look kid, I've had my doubts about Bardgill lately. You don't need to be afraid of telling me the truth. I know he's been giving you a hard time, so just tell me everything and let me handle it. I'm not going to let him hurt you."

Blair looked the Sheriff in the eye, then. He'd never really had a father figure before, but Benton was how he had imagined one. Strong face, slightly greying hair, tall and muscular, with kind eyes. In that moment, he knew he could trust this man. As much as he could trust a stranger, anyway. He spilled the beans, from beginning to end, even confessing to his harsh language. The only part he left out was throwing up; he already felt like enough of a wuss.

"Don't tell my mom what Bardgill said about her," Blair pleaded as he finished his story.

"I'll try to avoid it." Benton had moved back to his desk, and now he stood, a look of anger on his face.

"Are you going to arrest me?"

The Sheriff looked surprised. "What for?"

"For calling Deputy Bardgill names."

"I'm surprised you didn't slug him."

I wanted to.

The Sheriff sent Naomi in to keep Blair company while he talked to Bardgill. It was an hour before he came back. When he did, he announced grimly that Bardgill had offered his resignation if Blair agreed not to press charges. He said that as it stood, any trial would involve Blair's word against his. The young deputy was popular and had lived in Smithton all his life. It would be a very difficult case, and if Bardgill got off, he'd remain a deputy. At least this way he would lose his job.

"Blair, I believe you absolutely. I have no doubt in my mind that Bardgill is nuts, but without concrete proof, my instincts don't count for anything. All I can do is make sure he gets out of town and doesn't hurt anyone else here. I apologize to you for not being able to do more."

Naomi shook her head, causing the long, red braid to flap angrily against her back. "He should be in jail. Do you know how close he came to killing my son?"

"Yes, and if you want to pursue this, I'll help in any way I can, but it's unlikely we'll get a conviction."

So they had gone home to discuss it. Naomi, as usual, let Blair make his own decision without judging him. This was one time he wished his mother would tell him what to do, but she seemed relieved when he decided not to press charges, and he knew he'd made the right decision. A week later, Bardgill had packed up and left town. A few months later, Naomi's friend had succumbed to the cancer, and the diner was left to Blair's mother. Feeling restless then, she sold it and they moved on to Cascade.

And that was it. Just like that, it was over. Except, it wasn't really. Blair couldn't shake the memories, and he began having terrible nightmares. The gun at his head went off in his dreams, sending him into a rapidly spiraling darkness.

It would be years before the nightmares stopped.

Muchos gracias to Dae, Tigg and Martha for beta reading for me.