Thanks to those who reviewed, and for the record, I own nothing.
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From Here to Heaven
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Part 2: Hunter
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"Well, Mr. Irvine," Shawn said in a way that left no room for argument. "You're coming with us."
The kid's eyes flared in anger and his breathing grew pitched. "Listen, okay, I'm really thankful for you helping me and all. It was really, really kind of you. But now you can just leave me alone. I'm really fine by myself."
I was getting impatient and exasperated. Despite my dislike of the kid, I could see he had a point. It really wasn't any of our business. We had been good Samaritans, saved a kid's life, but now Shawn practically wanted to adopt him. Shawn was a good-hearted man, a man who loved God, yet he was taking things too far now.
"You know, he's right, Shawn," I said. "It's really none of our business."
"It's our duty to help the less fortunate," Shawn said, smiling up easily at me, as if I were a lost child.
"I'm very fortunate," Chris snarled. "Listen, mister, just leave. I really appreciate it, but you and I do not understand each other. Listen to your friend, sir. Please, just GO!"
I was mad now. "Shawn, leave him alone. Let's go."
"No," Shawn objected, still with that idiotic grin stretching his face. "He's hurt."
"Shawn, this is not a convention to save the children," I said hotly. "He's fine."
"So, Chris, where are you hurt?"
The kid looked up at him with eyes wide as quarters. "Please-"
"I can see we do not understand each other," Shawn sighed and stood up from his kneeling position. "I'm going to bring the car around, Hunter. Persuade our little friend to stay here, would you?"
"Shawn!" I said furiously as he turned on his heel and headed across the street. I almost turned and ran after him, leaving the kid to the shadows. I took one step forward, but suddenly my steps seemed burdened. I hesitated, and turned back toward the injured kid, who was struggling to get to his feet. "I'd say you need to run, kid, before he gets back. He's really strong."
"He's an ass," he shot.
"I'd watch my mouth if I were you," I replied heatedly, feeling a zap of anger. I felt alright calling Shawn names, but not this low-life hoodlum kid. "He's a better man than you'll probably ever be."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." His voice was pained and he was panting. He was on his knees in a jockeyed position, trying to get to his feet. I watched him shuffle forward toward the wall on the ground in the muck and grime, swearing softly until he reached the brick wall that made the alley.
"Let me help you." Without realizing what I was doing, I rushed to him, ignoring completely my anger. This kid was hurt badly. "Kid, let me help."
"I don't need you help," he huffed, grasping the brick wall and in a sudden jerk, pulled himself to his feet. He left loose a soft yelp of pain and favored his left leg. Peering closely in the dim lights, I could see the splotchy bruises on his face, one eye completely circled in black and purple. He slouched, so I could guess that he had some damage to his ribs as well. He favored his left leg and crooked his right arm. He wore a loose jacket that was torn and dirty, worn and ragged jeans covering his legs. His blonde hair dirty, muddy, and looked like a halo around his painfully thin body.
"Kid, you need help." I touched his shoulder and he yanked away, hissing in pain. "You know, I hate kids like you. Kids who think their all that and run drugs to get what they want, instead of making an honest living."
"I do not run drugs!" He glared at me in the dim light.
"The first stage is denial."
"Don't give me the stages crap, I've heard enough of it in my life," he growled. "It's what I always hear. I've always got the problem, you know, nobody else does, only me."
"Well, running drugs is a problem, you see." I smiled at him cockily. I didn't hate kids in general; I disliked intensely the ones who broke the law. Laws were not made to be broken.
"I'm saying it again, I do not run drugs." He said it in a savage way. "Stop saying that!"
I heard the whinny of tires and turned around. Shawn parked the car and stepped from the driver's seat, letting the engine run.
"Well," he said as he reached the darkness. "Let's go."
"Shawn-"
"No, I already said-"
He ignored both our pleas and in a swift instant, grabbed the kid around the middle and hefted him up over his shoulder. Chris yelped in pain and screamed obscenity. I watched in disbelief as Shawn waded straight through the sea of traffic streaming down the sidewalk, calmly open the door and dump the kid inside, and race around to lock the doors from the driver's seat, all the while Chris screaming in pain and in anger.
"Hunter, get in the car," Shawn yelled and slammed his door shut. In the dimness, I could see the kid struggling and kicking in the back, clawing at the window, desperately trying to escape. I stared in disbelief for a few more moments, at the sight that Shawn had actually the nerve to pick an unknown kid up and throw him in the back of the car. Then again, with Shawn, maybe I shouldn't have been.
Despite my anger and frustration with Shawn, I opened the passenger door and got in, locking it shut. Chris howled in the backseat, but as he was too injured to do more than complain, he just roared obsenties and death threats at us. His knowledge of vocabulary surprised me. He knew the usual lingo of cursing, but in between the curses, he was using actual grammar and some words people my own age had trouble saying. So this was a kid who ran drugs, but somewhere in between the mob matters, he had gotten himself educated.
Shawn pulled the car into the freeway, ignoring the howling kid in the back, as if he didn't exist. The ability of the human mind to ignore bizarre things amazes me. Just as it had happened as the gang had attacked the kid. It was utterly bizarre.
"Where's the nearest hospital, Hunter?" Shawn asked.
"Not the hospital!" moaned Chris. "Please, not the hospital! They'll take me back!"
For a moment, the car in Shawn's control wavered and I pitched around the seat, remembering that I hadn't strapped on the belt by my side.
"Who'll take you back?" Shawn asked finally. Something rose inside me, but I couldn't name it. There was a resolution, a fine edged background for this kid rising in my mind and instantly a wave of pity rushed over me. I looked at the kid in the mirror and saw wild panic in his blue eyes.
He laughed a scream. "If I tell you, you will take me there!"
"Trust us, there's nothing left to lose anyway," I said.
He seemed to contemplate my words, as if I had said something profound. Maybe I had. But he looked in the mirror at us with his big blue eyes and then closed them, as if in very hard decision. For a moment, his face was utterly emotionless, and then turned back into the grimace of pain that seemed forever etched on it. His eyes opened and he said, after a loud moan of pain, "You're right. I've got nothing left to lose."
"That's the spirit," Shawn said enthusiastically. That's right, Shawn, scare the kid. The pity washing over me turned into a river.
Chris turned his eyes upon the mirror again for a moment, and then he looked out the window. He spoke as if speaking about a different life form. "Alright, you already know my name. I think it's my real name." He paused, uncertain. "It's not too uncommon about what's happened with me, I can tell you that. Practically all the people I meet know some kids like me." He paused uncertainly again, as if whatever he was going to say was about to determine whether he went to the hospital or not.
"I guess you can say I've lived a messed-up life. My mother abandoned me when I was five, I think. Five or six, I can't exactly remember. It was a long time ago. Anyways, I became a warden of the country- that's Canada. I lived in Canada. I was born in Canada and when I can, I'll go back and die in Canada." He paused there, and for a moment his eyes slipped back to the mirror, and he seemed to challenge both Shawn and I. We said nothing; Shawn put on his blinker and pulled into the slower right lane. Chris's eyes turned away from the mirror in an instant. He never skipped a beat, as if he had never said anything. "Well, okay, in Canada it's kind of different. I was shuffled around in foster homes. Most of them were okay- most of them were really okay. I was clothed and fed at least; nobody was hurting me." This time he paused again, and just out of the corner of the mirror, I could see his eyes closed, as if in pain. Then he was up and talking again, speaking in the same emotionless tone. "Then when I was ten, my foster parents died in a wreck. The damn idiots-"
"Watch your mouth," Shawn said mildly. He cursed avidly, but he had never been a fan of young people doing it. I never really understood it; it may have had to do with his religion.
For a moment, the kid stopped in bewilderment and gazed in the mirror. Shawn was watching the traffic, but I was looking in the mirror. The confusion in the kid's eyes stopped me cold and made me smile, straight into the mirror. After a moment, I realized what I had done and turned away quickly. I didn't like this kid. There was to be no smiling at him.
The kid coughed and continued in a passive tone, "They were killed in a wreck. So after that, they sent me to another home. It was a real bad one." He continued in a dead voice, so dead Shawn looked up into the mirror in surprise. After what the kid said, I expected any emotion. "They had five other kids, so I was just another to the heap. They hit us all. They knocked three teeth out and blinded one of the kids before the authorities realized what had happened. They took us all out of there real quick. I guess they were afraid we were going to sue them or something." He choked a laugh. "So they put me in another one, and it was the same situation. This time the father- he was a drunk- put another kid in a hospital. They took us out quick and put us other places. It was like that for three years. A string of bad homes didn't make me any more grateful for the system."
"So you ran away?" Shawn guessed gently.
"Yes," Chris said. "I ran away a year and half ago. I've been living by myself ever since."
"So why are you all the way in Massachusetts?" I asked.
For a moment, he faltered, and he made a hesitant noise. I think I should have known right then he was lying when he spoke again. I had learned to read people. In the mirror, I could see the hesitance in his crystal blue eyes, and the hushed tone to his usually broad voice. I should have known he was lying.
"I hopped trains," he said, after the slight falter. "I hopped trains and hitchhiked. It was pretty easy, actually."
"Where do you think you were headed?" I asked him critically.
Again, he hesitated slightly. "I'm heading as far away from Canada as I can. I was thinking California, right near Mexico. But I mean, if you're hopping trains and heading toward the US, why not take sidetracks and just cruise? It's not like I'm going anywhere." He raised his head and glared into the mirror. Shawn and I both saw the look in his eyes. "I mean, I wasn't, until now. Now I'll just go back to Canada, you know, and I'll go straight back into the system."
Shawn looked at me and uttered a single word: "No."