The world around Kevin seemed to slow down as Wes's hand reached out for him, and before he knew it, Wes had grabbed him and forcefully yanked him forward, sending him stumbling over the front stoop and then crashing to the floor of the porch.
Kevin let out a curse as he slammed against the hard concrete. For a moment, he lay there, stunned, his knees and palms smarting. But just as he was about to reflexively push himself back up, his gaze landed on an object only a few feet away: the heavy clay bowl they used for the cat's kibble.
Before he could reach out and grasp it, rough hands jerked at his shoulders, rolling him over and shoving back down on onto the concrete. Kevin only had time to glimpse the savage fury on Wes's face before he drove a solid punch straight into his stomach, and when Kevin went to double over in pain, landed another punch directly into his face, just below one eye.
Pain exploded within Kevin, radiating from his face to his torso, but in a moment of desperation, he reached behind himself, fumbling, for the clay dish. Somehow, as Wes was pulling back to punch him again, he managed to grab onto it and lift it above his head just as Wes rammed his fist forward. This time, instead Wes bringing another blow down on Kevin, Kevin bashed the bowl straight onto Wes's head, using as much force as he could.
"Motherfucker!" Wes instantly recoiled, drawing back from Kevin momentarily, but if anything, the retaliation seemed to infuriate him further.
He lunged for Kevin again, but operating purely on instinct, Kevin smashed the bowl into his face as many times as he could—once, twice—and then on the third time, it shattered, scattering sharp clay pieces all around them. As Wes fell back, trying to recover from Kevin's onslaught, Kevin dove for the largest shard he could find, ignoring when the impact reignited the stinging in his knees.
Then, perhaps overly confident that defending himself with the bowl had worked at all, Kevin sprung toward Wes, slashing at his face with the shard, a feral glee blossoming within him when Wes let out a cry of pain.
But his victory was short-lived, and Kevin realized too late that he never should have approached Wes, because the blows from the clay dish didn't affect him very long. Only seconds after Kevin came at him, Wes managed to grab him by the arm, trying to wrestle him down to the porch again, his full weight pressing down on him and driving him back to the ground.
With the terrifying realization that he didn't know what Wes was going to do to him if he held the upper hand for more than a second or two, Kevin gave an immense effort and wrenched himself free, tearing away from Wes and instantly taking off into the large front yard, only one solid thought ricocheting around in his mind.
Moose. Where was Moose? What had Wes done to him?
While Kevin may have been giving his best effort, he was still aching from the initial attack, and within a few paces, something gave in his knee, sending his entire lower leg spasming. The flare of pain, sudden and sharp and unforgiving, forced him to stop in his tracks.
Giving Wes just enough time to sprint up behind and tackle him to ground.
The crash to the ground aggravated Kevin's injuries entirely anew, the new ones Wes had just given him as well as the bruises from raping him, and Kevin found himself engulfed by pain. He could barely raise a hand to defend himself when Wes slammed yet another punch into his jaw.
"Never should have even bothered with a little bitch like you!" Wes raged, hauling Kevin up again only to sock him in the stomach once more. "Should have known that you'd go crying to someone eventually!" His next punch hit Kevin in the temple, sending sparks across his vision.
"Hey!" There was a new voice, an angry one, from nearby. It took Kevin longer than it should have to register that it was familiar. "Hey, get the fuck off of him!"
Wes was moving above him, and Kevin vaguely processed that he was getting ready to punch him again. And then, just as he was bracing himself, Wes was suddenly torn away from him, his foot jostling painfully against Kevin's ribcage as he was pulled away.
Kevin found himself lying there, fighting to catch his breath, as he registered sounds of a struggle very close by. Barely managing to gather the strength, he forced himself to roll over onto his stomach, then painstaking propped himself up on his elbows before pushing himself up onto his feet and turning slowly, scanning the yard for the source of the noise, black spots still dancing at the edge of his vision.
But then he spotted it, and a moment passed before it occurred to him that Moose was there, that he was there and absolutely whaling on Wes, pummeling him over and over and over like no one else Kevin had ever seen.
And maybe it was sick, but a brutal sense of satisfaction filled Kevin as he saw someone finally giving Wes a taste of his own medicine. Still, he could barely believe that he'd been lucky enough for someone else to intervene.
"Moose," he gasped out, too faint for anyone to hear, his breath rattling around in his lungs. It seemed like a phenomenal effort just to speak.
On unsteady legs, he dragged himself over to where Moose and Wes were locked in combat, relieved to see that it seemed like Moose was winning. As he watched, Moose delivered one final blow, and then Wes went still, slumping back against the ground.
Kevin could barely get his voice to work. "Is he—?"
Moose went to feel for his pulse, breathing hard, his hands shaking, no doubt due to the adrenaline. "Just unconscious." He stared at Kevin, not breaking eye contact as he stood to meet him. "Who the hell is this guy? Some tweaker?" He frowned, noticing how Kevin was holding himself. "You all right? Did he get you?"
" 'm fine," Kevin grated out, trying to swallow and moisten his dry throat. "We need to call someone. The police. My dad."
His dad. His dad would know what to do. He'd be so upset when Kevin told him what happened, and Kevin would have to tell him. His stomach twisted at the thought, but he knew there could be no more hiding it.
Dimly, he tried to recall where his dad was right now, and he thought that maybe he knew, but his mind was too cloudy for him to remember.
A questioning expression was plain on Moose's face, and Kevin couldn't help a stab of guilt and discomfort, and he had to look away to avoid his gaze. It was then that Kevin realized the white suit jacket Moose was wearing was now smeared grass stains and smattered with droplets of blood, and the guilty feeling in the pit his stomach swelled. They should have been able to have a fantastic time out at the dance tonight, but that had already been ruined.
"I don't have my phone," Moose said as he began searching more hurriedly. His gaze sought out Wes, his mouth set in a grim line. "He must have taken it. My keys, too. He jumped me just as I was walking up to the door. Knocked me out for a bit."
Kevin's guilt worsened, but something about what Moose had said bothered him, too, something he thought was important but he couldn't quite name. Eventually, he thought he had it figured out. "He must have known my dad wasn't here," he said, frowning in concentration. "And with no neighbors around, he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him."
Moose paused, his brow furrowing as he looked at Kevin, and he reached out to gently cup his face.
"Yeah," he said, glancing at Wes's prone form again. "Yeah, probably, but why? Why is he out to get you?"
"I—" Kevin couldn't explain. He had no idea where to start, and he couldn't think clearly. Pain was flaring up all over his body again, and every time he breathed, his ribs ached. Instead of answering Moose's question, he found himself checking his own pockets, realizing he didn't have his phone either. He couldn't recall if he'd even had it with him when he'd answered the door, and an involuntary shudder came over him as the image of Wes standing there flashed through his mind.
"Hey." Moose place a gentle hand on his shoulder, concern apparent in his brown eyes. "Listen, we don't have to talk about this now. He's out cold. Let me just grab my phone and my keys, and then we can call someone, and then this will all be over."
Over? Kevin could barely imagine it. He'd thought the fiasco with Wes was over when FP had promised he'd take care of it, but here was Wes, back again like a recurring tumor. Maybe Kevin would never truly be free of him.
Maybe it was already too late and Moose shouldn't even bother.
He opened his mouth to tell Moose as much, but with his sluggish thoughts, by the time he was capable of forming the words, Moose had already turned back to Wes and was kneeling down down to rummage through the pockets of his rancid jeans.
Instant dread overcame Kevin, a sharp, distinct feeling that the worst of this evening was yet to come, and he was just about to call out a warning when he saw, to his utter horror, Wes's eyes snap open. Moose, too preoccupied with searching for his belongings, didn't realize what was happening until it was too late, when Wes was already rocketing up towards him.
"Moose, look out!" Kevin yelled frantically, but Wes had already made his move, snapping out one hand to throttle Moose, and, when Moose's hands immediately went to pry out of Wes's grip, sending a fist flying into Moose's head.
As Kevin stood, watching in fear and disbelief, Moose reared back before dropping bodily back into the grass, where he lay there, limp and unmoving. For a moment, Kevin only could stare in dismay, praying that Moose would somehow manage to get up again, but he didn't so much as stir.
Moose may not have been moving, but Wes was. With a venomous stare fixed directly on Kevin, he began pushing himself up off the ground, attempting to stand. But Moose's attack had clearly left its mark; Wes was extremely unsteady on his feet, falling to his knees the first time he painstakingly tried to rise. It was evident that running or even walking would be a problem for him.
Without even really thinking about it, Kevin turned and took off as fast as he could toward the backyard, squinting as the haze of the lowering evening sun halfway blinded him. He could barely see, but he knew the area well enough that he didn't think he would have much of a problem.
Wes shouted hoarsely after him, in a voice so rough and raw with fury that Kevin barely recognized it.
"You can't run!" The words ripped from his mouth raggedly, almost a scream. "You can't run from me, not this time!"
His heart pounding a mile a minute, Kevin didn't bother to even respond, instead doing his best to concentrate on the strategy his mind was fighting to form. Between himself and Moose, he was the one Wes truly hated. If he could lure Wes away from Moose, get Wes to chase him, then Moose might be able to get to safety.
Moose was okay, he told himself, as the image of Moose going limp ricocheted around in his brain. He had to be okay.
And with Moose out of danger, then Kevin could take on Wes. This time, Kevin would fight him.
His resolve hardened the closer he got to the forest, moving as quickly as he could given his injuries. It didn't seem like Wes was rational anymore, his reasoning or logic gone and instead replaced by one main goal: revenge. On Kevin. And it made him a desperate man, one with nothing to lose. He had no self-preservation any longer, just a desire to hurt Kevin as much as possible. That gave him an advantage.
But Kevin had an advantage, too. This was his family's land. He knew the terrain. He'd grown up here, playing in the forest and climbing in and out of the gulley. And he had a plan about how to put his knowledge into action.
One time he'd vowed to fight Wes, to try to seduce him and then use the evidence against him. But he'd failed, mainly out of fear, out of helplessness. And during every confrontation with Wes, he'd fled, choosing flight over fight.
This time, Kevin would stand his ground and fight. Wes likely expected him to run, but not this time, not anymore.
At long last, Kevin reached the forest, momentarily sightless as his vision adjusted from the brightness of the open field to the the dimness created by the clusters of trees. To avoid tripping or stumbling, he wasn't able to keep his speed and needing to slow his pace to walk—and so would Wes.
That was his idea. To use Wes's abrupt loss of vision against him, to go on the offensive when he least expected it and wouldn't be able to fight back. A few good, solid blows would incapacitate him—or so Kevin hoped.
"Please let this work," Kevin muttered to no one in particular as he blinked rapidly, finally able to see properly again. "Dear God, I really need this to work."
He didn't even want to think about what would happen if his plan didn't work.
Staying as focused as he could, ignoring the way his chest and ribs protested as his lungs heaved, ignoring the jolts of pain from his knees and arms, Kevin made his way toward the stone bridge that was further into the forest. When he'd been there just the other day, he'd spotted some fallen oak branches, still thick and sturdy. He could easily bludgeon Wes with one, he thought, and he increased his pace. He needed to find his weapon right away. Wes couldn't be that far behind him, and Kevin needed the advantage of his sight loss—he'd never be able to best Wes in a one-on-one fight, not now.
Relief overcame him as the stone bridge loomed into sight, and Kevin allowed himself a brief feeling of victory before it was lost to his growing sense of desperation and panic. He had to remember his plan. He had to find his weapon and be ready to use it.
His mind was whirling with thoughts, and he must have been too preoccupied, because he didn't see the small stone in his path, not even once. He felt it, though, recognizing its shape and texture as one of his running footfalls landed on it, and he felt it again as it skittered out from beneath his one foot just as his other left the ground, causing him to frantically twist and turn as he attempted to regain his balance.
But it was useless. He fell forward, scraping his palms again and this time his elbows, too, and his ankle wrenched around, sending a burst of fiery pain shooting through the rest of his leg and bringing him to let out an involuntary cry.
As soon as he touched the ground, Kevin was already fighting to stand up, knowing he didn't have the time to try to recover, that he needed to keep moving. He tried standing, pushing past the sting in his palms as he tried to shove himself up off the ground, but another rush of intense pain had him giving up with a gasp.
He was stuck. He was stuck, and no one was coming to help him, not now. Moose was down, his father was gone, and no one else would be coming around the Keller house except for the limo driver. That wasn't for at least another twenty minutes, and there was little chance he'd even be able to find Kevin. There was no one else coming to save him, no cavalry charging to the rescue.
This was it. Wes had won.
Kevin let his head drop to the ground, ignoring the bite of the hard stone against his cheek. Anger and outrage built within him at the sheer unfairness of it all, at how fucking ridiculous it was that Wes had been able to destroy his life and that now he would probably succeed in killing him. It just wasn't right that Kevin should have to die like this, have to die just because of some guy he'd trusted when he shouldn't have.
Just as a fire was beginning to build within him, as he was beginning to seethe at how life had cheated him, some kind of object brushed against him and something began scraping at the open palm of his hand. Kevin started, automatically jumping at the contact, knowing that Wes would be there for him soon.
But as he reached back to find out what it was, his fingers met with soft fuzz. At first, Kevin thought it was some kind of woodland animal, but as it brushed against him again, Kevin turned his head and found a pair of large yellow eyes staring at him, practically luminous in the shadows of the forest. It was the small gray cat. She was checking on him, it seemed.
"Get out of here," Kevin told her desperately. He didn't want to see what Wes would do if he got ahold of some helpless animal. "Run! Go away!"
He tried to swipe at the cat with his hand, but he could barely coordinate his limbs, and a wave of dizziness pounded over him when he tried to move. The sensation was so intense that Kevin needed to lay his head down again and wait for it to pass.
And just as it was beginning to, he detected the unmistakable sound of someone crashing through the forest.
Wes, he thought with a bitter sense of defeat. Wes had come for him.
The gray cat registered the noise as well, her ears pricking up as she swiveled her head in the direction of the noise. Then, to Kevin's distress, she bounded off toward it, going right toward Wes's path. He watched her go with the hope that she'd be too quick for Wes to ever catch.
Speaking of being caught . . .
With a new burst of determination, Kevin again tried to stand and again found his ankle too weak to support him. Desperately, he searched around for a weapon he could use, but found none. Accepting his fate, he rolled over, switching from lying on his stomach to propping himself up on his side, making up his mind to fight Wes as much as he could even if he couldn't stand.
Wes might be there to kill him, but Kevin wasn't going to make that easy for him.
He adjusted to the new position just as he spotted Wes's outline lurching forward, wading out of the shadows like a creature from a nightmare. His bruised and bleeding face, riddled with scrapes and punctures, no longer handsome in the slightest, split open in an ugly grin when he saw that Kevin was left defenseless.
"Almost too easy," he remarked, slowing his pace, his limping run turning into an arrogant stroll.
Hatred surged through Kevin at his gloating. "Rot in hell, Wes. Fuck knows it's where you belong."
Wes's smirk disappeared. "Guess I'll see you there," he snarled, his pace increasing again, and he rushed forward at him.
Kevin braced himself, and even as he resolved to look death square in the face, he found himself closing his eyes.
So he would never be quite sure what happened next.
He heard Wes's footfalls approaching. Could smell his repulsive odor as he neared. Knew that he was close, too close, and that within a moment, would be reaching out for Kevin again, maybe to strangle him like he'd tried doing to Moose.
But something happened as Wes lunged for him. One moment, Kevin could feel the vibrations of his rapid footsteps, the next moment he heard a loud feline screech from right nearby, a horrible caterwaul that had the hair on the back of his neck standing upright. And then, before the awful sound was even finished, Wes shouted a curse, there was a brief scrabbling (later, Kevin would realize that it was Wes's shoes sliding over mossy stone), and then a thud with an audible crack that both came so quickly that Kevin couldn't tell which one had happened first.
Then there was nothing. No more of Wes's footsteps, no more of Wes's voice. No more Wes.
Daring to risk opening his eyes, Kevin was surprised and then relieved to find himself utterly alone, half-sitting, half-lying on on the path just where the stone bridge began.
Well, almost alone. Because just as he was beginning to wonder what had happened, the cat padded out of the tall grass just by the gulley's edge, making her way towards him.
Relieved she was all right, Kevin reached out to pet her, and she complied, eagerly rubbing her head against the palm of his hand. He gasped slightly at the pain of the friction against his already injured hands, and she paused, looking up at him as if in apology. Then she came closer, using two paws to lightly stand on his bicep and nuzzling her head against his chin, her movements careful and gentle, as if she knew he was injured.
"Glad you're okay," Kevin murmured to her, suddenly almost too drained to speak. With shaking hands, he stroked down her flank even as his palm stung. As he did, he glanced around in confusion, looking for some kind of explanation. What had happened to Wes? Was he still nearby? Was Kevin still in danger?
Dimly, off in the distance, Kevin thought that he could hear the sounds of maybe a half-dozen motorcycles coming closer and closer. Other than that, the woods were still.
Knowing he needed to go and make sure Moose was okay, Kevin took in several deep breaths, preparing himself for the sharp pain that would come as he climbed to his feet, and then began to drag himself closer to the wall of the bridge, cringing as the motion tore at the already sore skin of his palms but continuing anyway. Then, once at the wall, he reached for the ledge, gripping it as hard as he could, and hauled himself upward, taking the weight on his arms and shoulders and trying to put at little as he could on his legs. Even so, his ankle screamed in protest, and he needed to sit down on the wall and catch his breath before moving any further. When he could think through the pain again, he could see that he would need to reconsider his plan. No way would he be able to make it back the entire walk to the house in this state.
Just as he was scanning his surroundings, trying to find a better option, a flash of bright color caught Kevin's eye, and he looked back to where he'd glimpsed it, back down into the gulley.
"Jesus Christ," Kevin said out loud as he saw what it was.
It was Wes's red T-shirt. It was was Wes. He was lying there in the dessicated creek bed, facing upward. His eyes stared sightlessly, and his neck was bent at an awkward angle. It was evident that he was dead.
He must have fallen, Kevin realized, as the gray cat hopped up onto the ledge beside him. Most of most of the land surrounding the creek was sloped, making it easy to climb in and out of. But the part of the gulley right by the start on the bridge on all four sides was a sheer drop of ten feet, since the land had been carved away to build the bridge. And at that height, the fall had killed Wes.
But as Kevin thought back to what he'd heard, it occurred to him that Wes hadn't just fallen. He'd tripped, he realized, turning to look at the cat, recalling the distinct yowling he'd heard. Something had gotten in his way, causing him to go sprawling off the path and plunge into the gulley.
The cat, utterly unbothered, simply nuzzled against him again, rubbing her face against his arm. Knowing it was the least he could do, Kevin reached out to pet the cat again.
"Good cat," he whispered to her, but the moment he got the words out, it suddenly seemed like too much effort to speak, or even to sit upright.
And, negating his earlier progress, Kevin found himself slumping back to ground so he could at least lie down and rest.
He was tired. He was just so, so tired.
Maybe he fell asleep, then, because when he became aware of several pairs of footsteps running towards him, his mind felt fuzzy and dull, like he was just coming out of a deep sleep.
Vaguely, he was aware of someone putting their hand on his shoulder and jostling him, but he couldn't see their face. His eyes wouldn't focus.
"Hey! Hey, kid, you with me?" The jostling intensified.
Kevin knew that voice. Knew who it was, he was pretty sure. But at the moment, he couldn't place it.
He tried to peer up at them, but he could only just see movement, barely even make out the shapes. "Who . . .?"
"FP. FP Jones." There was an urgency to the voice. "Listen, kid, where's Ashton? We gotta get you away from him."
"Goddamn." It was a different voice. Kevin didn't know this one. "Look down there. Guy's dead."
"Good." FP replied, and yet another voice agreed.
For a moment, Kevin was confused, but then he remembered all the footsteps. It made sense: multiple voices, multiple pairs of feet. Looked like the cavalry had come to rescue him after all.
He laughed a little bit at that, but it hurt to laugh, and with a hiss of pain, he let his head drop back to the ground, closing his eyes.
"Kid? Kid? Kevin!" It was FP again, and it sounded like he was snapping his fingers. His voice made it sound like what he was talking about was important. "Listen, you need to stay with me, all right?" To someone else, Kevin heard him say, "We need to get him to a hospital. This fucking minute." To Kevin he said, "Hey, come on. Come on, kid—"
Kevin wanted to say something. Wanted to thank him for rushing to his rescue again, wanted to ask about Moose, wanted to beg for his father to come and be with him.
He couldn't manage any of those things, and it seemed like a Herculean effort just to whisper his next words.
"I'm sorry," he gasped out, and then he closed his eyes.
