Chapter I- Jack's Escape

Jack pulled his jeans back up about his naked waist, zipping them back up and groping around for his shirt. It was dark in the shed; they'd gone here for privacy at Jack's suggestion, the classic "how about we go somewhere quiet?" line. Tall, athletic, and energetic even for his age, Jack hadn't had much difficulty hopping out of his pants and into Megan Baker's. Try as she had to ignore Jack's flirting at school- in the beginning- she'd invited him over soon enough. Jack suppressed a laugh at how easy it'd all been. Girls were going to be putty in his hands soon.

His body hummed with excitement, even now- it had been everything his friend Jacob told him and more.

Jack hoped he could hold himself back better in the future; this first go, exciting as it had been, hadn't lasted long at all.

But while Jack was busy looking for his shirt- and admiring his thin but formidable body in the moonlight- Megan was still sitting on the work bench Jack had pushed her up on, her shorts still down around her ankles and her arms wrapped around her chest, looking cute and ridiculous at the same time. She looked… annoyed. Initially Jack could think of no reason why, but then frustration surged into him.

Girls. They were all the same. You could try and try, but they'd always complain about something. But Megan's comment wasn't quite what Jack expected.

"Jack, were you supposed to, you know, finish like that? My friends told me boys have to get out before they finish."

Jack stared at her in the dark. What the-? He hadn't even been thinking about that. He hadn't even given it a second's consideration.

But Megan continued her worry/pout act, so Jack just stopped looking for his shirt- he'd find it eventually, and it was plenty warm out anyway- and turned his full attention to Megan. Getting a coy look on his face, Jack ignored her worrying. He'd heard similar comments before, from his own friends- the truth was he just didn't care. He could have all the little Jack's he wanted; it wasn't like he was paying for it. "If we do have a kid… you wanna name him Jack Jr.?" he asked, flashing his most charming smile.

Before he could say anything else, though, a light flicked on in the shed. Jack's head whipped around, and he saw a large man, still dressed in mechanic's coveralls, standing in the doorway. The man was surprised, yes, even stunned- but he was quickly getting over that. There was no mistaking what that deep-throated growl meant. For Jack, it meant just one thing- it was time to go.

Thinking very fast, Jack bolted for the window and started planning a getaway, moving with surprising speed. He spotted his red t-shirt lying on the other side of the old riding lawnmower, but there was no time for that. The man- a vague sense of recognition told Jack this was his girlfriend's father- was charging for him, bellowing in rage. With the doorway blocked, Jack made a snap decision- jumping backwards and crashing through the shed window. Jack was in the kind of shape needed to execute such a move- he was not experienced enough to know how to do it properly.

He hit the grass hard, and even as he got to his feet he could tell the glass had cut him in a dozen places at least. But the man was hot on his trail- he was yelling at Megan to get her damn clothes back on, and something about going to kill that scrawny little excuse for a boyfriend. For a moment, even as he started to flee across the darkened backyard, Jack felt suddenly indignant. Scrawny? He wasn't scrawny! He was one of the strongest boys in his class! But then again, being fifteen, his arms looked like Megan's dad's pinkie fingers. Point taken. Jack ran faster.

Fear has a way of making possible acts that could never be done without the aid of adrenaline, or that the calm, logical mind would never allow. Jack bolted across the dark backyard with a speed that even he hadn't known was possible. In just moments he was closing in on the chain-link fence. No time to open the gate- or even check of it had a lock. Jack grabbed the top of the fence and heaved himself over, his feet narrowly missing smacking into the gate. Rolling on the grass and quickly getting to his feet, Jack fled across the front yard; he could tell from the sounds behind him that his pursuer was not quite so agile, and had likely bungled whatever attempt he'd made to follow Jack over the gate. Passing the big oak tree that dominated the center of the front yard, Jack paused, noticing for the first time the more than half-a-dozen cuts he'd given his back, chest and shoulders. The bleeding wasn't too bad, and in any case, there just wasn't time.

Breathing hard, Jack searched for an escape route. He had no shoes, no shirt, and with all these cuts and a sweaty face, people were not just going to let him walk all the way home without asking questions.

Then a light came on- not in Jack's head, but two houses down the street. It was a dome light inside the just-arrived pizza boy's car. An '85 Plymouth- Jack knew because it was close to the end of the Fury line. That name had died just a couple years later. He'd always fantasized about stealing one, hearing that V8 roar because HE, Jack, told it to… and now was the time.

No longer even concerned with Megan's enraged father, Jack sprinted down the driveway of Megan's house, into the side of the street, and threw himself flat just a few feet short of the car. Suppressing an urge to shout out a good oath as the bits of gravel and broken-up pavement scratched and cut at him, Jack glanced up and saw the pizza guy- some dude in his 20's at oldest- walking up to the door. The Plymouth's headlights were on, the engine was running- like many pizza boys accustomed to the business of making a delivery and hopping back in to make the next one, this one had even left the driver's door ajar. Jack crawled up to the Plymouth, slipped inside, swung the door shut… and suddenly realised he had no idea how to shift the car into gear.

The control was on the steering wheel column, he knew that- you moved it up and down; Jack had seen adults in so many cars and trucks with automatics do that for years. But how? He pulled up and down, tried both ways again and again, yet the stalk refused to move. Fear raced through Jack; his hands became shiny with sweat. He wasn't going to get his butt kicked by some big daddy, and he wasn't going to jail either. Right now he could already tell he was facing both.

Megan's dad was out in the yard, back up the street two houses, looking around…

The pizza boy was still at the door, but the boxes had been turned over to the house's owner and the change was in his hand…

Then Megan's dad happened to glance down the street. A shout and suddenly the pizza boy's head also turned in the Plymouth's direction… and right to the half-naked fifteen-year-old sitting behind the wheel.

The pizza boy clearly liked his car; certainly enough he didn't want to part with it just yet. "Hey! Hey, kid! Get outta my car, man!" he shouted, turning and starting to run down the walk to the car. He did so fast enough, though, that his feet had trouble keeping up with him. He tripped, swearing as he landed flat on his ass. Megan's dad had no such trouble, though; he was on his way down the street in a big hurry. Jack's heart pounded in his chest- he had just seconds to figure this out, get it right and get going, or he'd be done. In a panic, he floored the accelerator. The Plymouth's V8 roared, but the car went absolutely nowhere. Almost completely losing it now, Jack swore and smacked the shifter stalk.

It moved.

Jack noticed he'd been striking the shifter towards himself- and it had moved. Suddenly realising what he needed to do, Jack grabbed the shifter stalk, pulled it towards himself slightly, and shifted it up until the little box on the gauges display clicked into place over "D". Then he swung the wheel hard to the left and pulled out, tires screaming as they tried to get traction. The Plymouth shot out from the curb and across the street- it was a sloppy U-turn, and Jack was lucky the lawn of an elementary school was all that he ended up driving over. Bumping over so many lumps of dirt and tufts of grass, Jack overcompensated again, steering clumsily back out into the street. Hitting the accelerator pedal hard again, Jack sped away from the house, making a wide, hard right as he reached a corner. Flooring it, he completed his getaway- or so he believed. Jack, full of the thrill of escape, the thrill of success, never thought to look back and notice as Megan's dad reached the place two houses down the street, and together with the pizza boy rushed inside to phone the police.