The Year of the Rat
by Nico Grey
Chapter 10
I continued to check on Mike over the course of that winter. I don't know what he was doing during the day, but I was never aware that he had ventured outside of the church at night.
Each time I checked in, Mike was already asleep. He didn't seem to have any obvious symptoms of ill health, but he also didn't really appear to have much energy. I was worried.
I restocked Mike's food, vitamins, medicine — really, any of the supplies he needed — whenever anything looked to be running low. I thought that I would probably have to start buying ice for the cooler after Chicago's winter had retreated.
The one positive note was that Mike seemed to be working through his art supplies at a feverish rate. I didn't intrude on what he was drawing — I still had some scruples — but I noted that pencils were being worn down to nubs and assumed that the paper had to be consumed at a similar rate. So I bought more for him.
I hated to place demands on Taryn. Concerns about his friend Justin, this Rage character, and tension within the vampire world seemed to be causing him enough stress. But I was worried about Mike.
Taryn asked me if I had tried to scan for any diseases in his blood. That really hadn't occurred to me. He smiled reassuringly. There was still a lot about being a vampire that I really hadn't integrated into my thinking. He promised that he would check for me.
When we met a few days later, the news was both reassuring and concerning. Taryn hadn't found anything in Mike's blood that concerned him. He seemed generally healthy, despite the chronic illnesses that afflicted him.
"I think maybe he's giving up, Rat," Taryn tried to soften the news with a sympathetic expression. "Living on the street isn't easy. With all the stress your friend has, being in the country illegally, maybe he's just too tired to fight anymore."
I didn't know what to do. How could you make someone start fighting again?
For a moment or two, I thought that Taryn might have a suggestion. But in the end he just shrugged apologetically and assured me that I would think of something. "You have a good heart, Rat."
I tried to think. Taryn thought I had a good heart. I was starting to wonder if I had a good brain.
During the slow months of winter, I spent a lot of time praying in the old church chancel. I don't know if it made anything better, but I felt better for it.
Prayer is such an odd thing. I don't think there's any way to be sure it does any good. But for me, at least, it felt like it helped. It felt good.
And maybe it was doing good. Some mornings, as I drifted off to sleep, I would begin to sense something extra special on the edge of my awareness. I think maybe part of it was hope.
I was sure that it was on those mornings when the good father at St. Peter's was saying a mass for me and for my friends.
I decided that I needed to go back to see him.
Before I went back to St. Peter's, I spent another night with Mike. After I restocked his supplies, I just sat with him in his lair while he slept.
I tried to work out why he was always sick. He had good food. He had vitamins and medicine. He had warm clothes now. He had some heat for the lair. Clean water. Even some light to help keep the darkness away.
I tried to think through what he might have had when he was healthy, that he didn't have now. It seemed that all of our living conditions had been worse back then. But now he had given up... at least that was what Taryn thought.
I shared that space with Mike for hours, listening to his rough breathing and occasional cough. I sifted back through months of memories. They hadn't always been happy memories. But they meant so much to me because I had shared them with Mike.
When I noticed the sky starting to become lighter, I had to go. I stood over Mike again, curled up in his nest. I bent down and kissed his neck.
A faint smile appeared on his face. I watched him a while longer, but his expression never changed.
Finally, I couldn't help myself. I bent down again and kissed him gently on the cheek.
"I love you, Mike," I whispered.
His breathing seemed to even out. I left him sleeping peacefully when I returned to my lair.
The old priest at St. Peter's still remembered me. He seemed pleased to see me again.
I hated to impose on his time, but I thought that maybe he could help. On my previous visits, he had seemed interested in my life on the street. I used the visit to fill in some detail. To explain why many of us ended up on the street and the challenges we faced.
He was sympathetic. He offered suggestions. He listened as I tried to explain why some kids would find it difficult to take that advice.
We didn't find any answers that night. I gave him money for more prayers, then asked him to include everyone living on the street in those prayers. I told him that some mornings I was getting good feelings around the time Mass was being said. I was sure that his prayers were helping.
That brought a tear to his eye. He held my hand while he recovered his composure. It felt as good as a blessing to me.
I tried to add up all the money that I had, and then the money I had left with Mike, in my head. I was pretty sure it was more than five thousand dollars. I asked him if that might be enough for his church to start something to help homeless kids.
When he understood my intention, he started to tear up again.
"Just leave that to me, Rad. You'll need your money," he insisted. "But I'm going to do what I can to help."
Before I left, he told me that his name was Father Maxwell. I thanked him and promised him that I would name him in my prayers each night.
It was an emotional departure. On the sidewalk, I turned back toward the church entrance. He blessed me again.
Once again, I flew home.
By late March, the weather had started to turn. The work crew gathered outside the Grant Park restrooms more often than not. Business was starting to pick up.
Dylan and I adjusted our hunting plans accordingly. That last hunt in the restroom had been disturbing. It was the first time I had encountered a murderer, let alone one who targeted young sex workers. I started to feel more connected to the crew that worked the park. I worried about them.
The improved weather didn't bring Mike back to the park. I was both pleased and worried about that. I was pleased that he wouldn't be exposed to the risk of working there. But I worried that he still didn't seem to be more involved with life.
I was checking on him fairly regularly by then. I thought that his physical health seemed better. But I sensed that the illness in his mind might be growing worse.
At the end of each visit, I had my routine. I would kiss him on the neck, then the cheek, as I reminded him that I loved him. In those moments, he always seemed more peaceful. But I was at a loss for how to extend those tranquil moments for him.
I still saw Taryn regularly. The stress in his world didn't appear to be improving, but he always found time for me. His advice to me continued to be to lay low. As long as I was doing all right, there was no need to make waves or to call attention to myself. It was an unsettling time in vampire world.
We chatted a bit about Dylan. We had him in common. We both cared about him.
It seemed that Dylan had also told Taryn about the murderer that he had dined on recently. It didn't seem to have affected his health.
Taryn appeared to approve, although it was hard to tell. I think he still had conflicts over what we had to do to survive — even when a murderer was involved.
I tried to get more information from him about my extra. I still wasn't seeing any abilities that felt 'extra' to me. Those things I could do now, that I hadn't been able to do when I was human, were things that all vampires could do.
Taryn was trying to puzzle it out. He was still amazed that I could hear his mental conversations with other vampires while I was still human. And he thought that my ability to send and receive visual images of memories, beginning on the day that I was turned, was extraordinary.
He suggested getting me in touch with some vampire named Tim. Taryn said he was the oldest known vampire living in Chicago. Sometimes Taryn and his crew turned to Tim when they needed answers to difficult vampire questions.
He was still worried that his friends might think I was a mind thief because of my ability to communicate so well, mind-to-mind. He asked if I had ever read his mind. Or Dylan's.
I assured him that I hadn't. Sometimes I got feelings when I was around Dylan, Taryn and their friends. But I never went into their minds to see what was there. I never even thought about trying.
Taryn speculated about whether I could read his mind. But he seemed uncomfortable with the idea. I guess he had confidences to keep that he didn't want to risk.
Then he had a new idea.
"Would you let me read your mind, Rat?"
He seemed to think that might tell him about my extra, and whether I had ever intruded on a vampire's private thoughts.
That made me a bit apprehensive. I didn't think I had done anything wrong. But what would Taryn think if he knew everything I had ever thought or done? Would he think I had done something wrong? Were there bad consequences if he did?
I pondered the decision for a while. In the end, I decided that I could trust Taryn. More important, I thought I could trust myself. I was pretty sure that I was good. And I really needed somebody to help me figure it all out.
I didn't really know what to expect. Taryn just told me to clear my mind to the best of my ability, then relax. He told me that I would get some sensations in my mind, something that might feel like pressure, but that I shouldn't resist. I should just stay relaxed and let him go wherever he needed to. I should go with the flow.
I guess I went with the flow. I almost fell asleep. When Taryn brought me back to awareness, he looked perplexed. But he was also smiling.
He had been inside my mind. He had seen all my flaws. He didn't seem to mind them. I had a moment of appreciation for our shared humanity... or perhaps it was our shared inhumanity.
"I still can't tell you much about your extra, Rat," he informed me. "I see a lot of things in your mind that look like they could be extras. There's just nothing obvious there. Maybe you have a lot of extras?" He sounded uncertain, like the possibility really confused him. "I can't really pin anything down. All I can tell is that, whenever you're around, you try to do good. And good things seem to happen.
"I can tell that you have some amazing abilities to communicate mind-to-mind. I've never seen anything like that. It's almost like you could be a mind thief. And all those abilities that look like extras? Some people could think you've stolen them.
"I know that you didn't," he assured me. "I went everywhere in your mind." He grinned a little and I worried about that. "I can't see any evidence that you've stolen anything. More to the point, after all the time I spent in there," he reached out to gently tap my head, "I know that you're good. You're too good a person to even think about stealing something so important from another vampire."
That was a relief! I thought I was good. But you never know.
"The problem is that in order to prove that to people, you'd need to open your mind to just about any vampire that you wanted to trust you. And that might not be a good thing to do," he looked directly into my eyes, "Because not all vampires are good. You should only trust those you absolutely have to trust, and only after you're pretty sure that they're trustworthy."
So I wasn't too much closer to understanding my extra. And I wasn't any closer to getting connected with Taryn's crew, because I knew that Taryn didn't trust all of them. There was one in his crew that I knew was untrustworthy.
But the good thing was that I felt a much stronger bond with Taryn. And he thought that I was good! Which was good, because I was pretty sure that he was good, too.
He didn't ask me about Mike. I guess he had figured out that I was still worrying about that situation while he was in my head. But he did smile and reassure me before he left.
"You'll figure it out, Rat. You have a good heart."
And I had another good friend.
April 1st was, well, it was April 1st. It's never an ordinary day. I punched in for work outside the Grant Park restrooms that night. I came alone. The job was strictly about money that night, so there was no need for Dylan to be there.
I only knew a couple of the guys there. It seemed like the crew changed a lot. It looked like Mike might have retired. And maybe he wasn't the only one.
Our first customer that night didn't look any older than me... probably because he wasn't a customer. He dressed a little better than the rest of us, but he sidled right into line alongside our crew.
He looked very nervous. He also looked disturbingly familiar.
He was definitely a pretty kid. He was just about my height and build. His chestnut brown hair was medium length and looked like it might have been cut somewhat recently. Dressed well. Pretty. Familiar. I just couldn't quite nail the memory down.
I thought about going into his mind for the information. But I wasn't getting any disturbing vibe off of him — aside from his anxiety — and I had my ethics. Mindreading was mostly for hunting. I used it to ferret out those who might harm me or others, not to satisfy my curiosity.
We had a real customer next. He pointed at me. I told him that my name was Rat. I gave him the menu. He had some daily specials in mind.
Then he pointed at the new kid. The kid looked really nervous.
"Uh, the same things as Rat." He could barely get the words out. "Oh, and I'm Jebby."
I almost lost my self-control right there on the spot! Jebby Lee! I knew that he had seemed familiar!
Jebby was one of my nightmares.
How does a pretty boy who was no bigger than me become a nightmare? You might wonder.
It started when I was in third grade. I already understood that I was a pariah by the time I was in third grade, even if I had no idea what the word meant. I was shunned by all the boys in my class. The girls had no time for boys, especially not small and furtive boys. And my teachers regarded me as no more than another body to pass through the system, year after year, so they could collect their paychecks.
I was just about resigned to the idea of spending the rest of my life outside the herd. Tolerated if I didn't inconvenience anyone. Less tolerated when it suited the mood of the majority.
At the start of the school year, we were introduced to a new boy who had just moved to our town from Virginia. Someone new. Someone who didn't know that I had been excluded from the herd. Someone as small and insignificant as I was. Someone beautiful.
I didn't understand that he was beautiful at the time. I just knew that I wanted him to be my friend. I had given up any hope of ever fitting in with the other kids at school. Suddenly there was someone new. Different. Small. He would need someone to be his friend. For the first time in more than a year, I felt a small seed of hope begin to sprout in my chest.
We were both eight years old. There was definitely no sexual attraction between us at that age. And while I don't know what he felt, I didn't really feel any physical attraction to him, either. I understood that he was beautiful. But that wasn't why I was interested in him. I just wanted someone to be with, to share my interests. I wanted someone who would stand up for me while I stood up for him. I wanted a friend.
For almost a week, we cautiously circled each other. We made unspoken overtures, subtly hinting that we were interested in each other. I went home from school each day, dreaming about the things I would do with a friend. I don't know what he dreamed.
The school year was barely a week old when some of the popular kids finally decided that the new kid could join in their games. And he did. What kid wouldn't, I guess? But it still felt like betrayal to me. And the end of hope. I never dreamed of having a friend again.
You might think that doesn't sound so bad. The new kid was looking for friends. Friends found him. I snoozed, I loozed. That's life.
I couldn't disagree.
The nightmares started in fifth grade. That's about that age that boys start to become sexualized.
Before that time, kids sort themselves by athletic interests and ability, by academic ability, by the quality of their clothes, by the value of their possessions. But as boys begin to mature sexually, they begin sorting into shirts and skins... or normal and homos, queers, fairies and fags. The abnormal ones go by a variety of names. No ten-year-old boy wants to wear one of those labels.
It doesn't always matter if the label is accurate. You don't want to be called a homo, whether you are one or you aren't one. It's a lot worse than being unathletic, stupid, poorly dressed, or trailer park trash. You might be a loser. But if that 'homo' label gets attached to you, you become a LOSER! It's a fate worse than death for a ten-year-old boy.
Guess who got labeled a 'LOSER' in fifth grade. After years of being ignored, insulted, and pushed around, I discovered a whole new level of bullying in fifth grade.
I don't think I had done anything to deserve it. I know I suck guys' penises now... and have done just about every sexual thing two guys can do together. But in fifth grade I had never even considered the possibility. I might not have been interested in girls, but I sure wasn't interested in boys either. By then, I wasn't even interested in having a friend anymore. I just wanted to survive until the day came when we were all released from our confinement and set free into the adult world.
I heard it all in fifth and sixth grade. I was called 'homo', 'queer', 'fairy', 'faggot'. I didn't know it at the time, but there were dozens of more creative labels waiting in my future had I only stayed in school. That was my life.
Guess who made it my life. Guess who applied the labels to me, then repeated them almost every day until they stuck. I'm sure that most of the kids in my grade had called me at least one of those names. At least half of them had called me all of those names, many times over.
Do you know who did that to me? Did you guess Jebby Lee? That quiz was probably too easy. You all get an 'A'. There's no grading curve in my classroom.
So there I was, about to do a little show-and-tell project for class and the teacher decided that Jebby Lee should be my work partner! Could life get much worse?
But of course! The guy grabbed my hand. Then he took Jebby's hand.
He was a big fellow. He must have been several inches taller than six feet and weighed over two hundred fifty pounds. We were in the middle of Chicago, still recovering from winter, and he was wearing a Stetson hat and cowboy boots.
He led us out behind the restrooms. I didn't know him, but he must have visited our business establishment before.
"All right, boys," he told us once we were in the bushes, "here's the story. I'm goin' ta watch. I want you," he pointed at Jebby, "to fuck the pretty boy's heinie. You think you can do that for daddy?"
Jebby turned white. I seethed with rage.
"I gave you the menu," it was all I could do not to sneer 'daddy' at him, "and that wasn't one of the options. I don't do that."
"Well, son," the guy sounded like he thought he was being reasonable, "I know some of you little fellas don't want to take on somethin' as big as what I'm packin'," he squeezed his crotch for emphasis. "But shorely yew can handle this little fella's peashooter."
He turned to Jebby. "Show the little man wha' chew got, boy. Now yew just do that for yer daddy."
Surprisingly, Jebby showed me. He was pale. He was trembling. When his hands fumbled and he couldn't manage to lower his zipper, he just yanked his pants down and showed me.
That almost threw me off my game. But I was pissed.
"I don't let anyone fuck me, mister," I snapped. And especially not this little bastard that made my life a living hell for almost two years.
The guy drew himself up to his full height, like he wasn't already big enough to intimidate two twelve-year-olds. "We have a sayin' where I come from, boy. 'Money talks and bullshit walks.' Now I got the money, sonny. And the money makes the rules!"
I was really annoyed that Jebby was with us. I wasn't hungry. It was at least another week before I would need to hunt. But I was ready to do this guy for the justice of it.
Just to make sure, I did a quick scan of his mind. He might not have been a monster yet, but he was getting there. He regularly bullied people, including young boys for sex. Sometimes he beat kids if he didn't get what he wanted. He wasn't anyone that the world needed to have around.
"Pick something on the menu, mister. Otherwise, I have customers waiting for me out front." I started to turn on my heel.
When I felt the hand on my wrist, I thought I might have to dispose of the guy. I'd figure out what to do about Jebby later. But it was Jebby's hand that was holding me there.
He was looking at the guy, still trembling, but there was a pleading tone in his voice.
"Please, mister, is it okay with you if you watch Rat fuck me?" He really struggled to get that 'fuck' out.
The guy was pissed. He had a plan and he wanted to get his way.
I prepared to shake off Jebby's hand and return to the office.
The guy probably sensed the loss of a good deal if he held out for the best deal. Reluctantly, he turned his glare away from me and addressed Jebby. He tried to school his features into a pleasant expression.
"Wayulll, little fella, I did have muh heart set on lettin' yew pop this pretty boy's cherry." He aimed for magnanimous. "But if daddy's little boy has his heart set on gettin' fucked, then I guess I'd be a pretty poor papa to say 'no', now wooden' I?"
I wanted to smack the sanctimony right off his lying face. I wanted to leave the two of them to work out their daddy issues while I went back to work. I refused to let anyone stick their penis in my butt, but I really didn't want to fuck anyone's butt either — especially not Jebby Lee's butt!
But Jebby's eyes were pleading with me. It was weird. He looked both terrified and desperate at the same time.
I decided that we'd better set the terms of the bargain clearly up front, since we were working off menu.
"It's going to be two hundred, mister. A hundred for each of us. That's the going rate for a quick fuck around here."
Hatred seethed from the cowboy's pores. But now he had a bargain to strike.
"I'm not just goin' ta watch, little man. For that price, I get to play."
"You don't stick anything in me." That was bargain boilerplate at this price.
"If yew say so, little man. But you ourta know right now that I like to play rough." He gave my butt a solid smack. If it wasn't for the look in Jebby's eyes...
I held out my hand. "Payment up front."
"Why yew little sissuh... "
I spun on my heel and started to walk.
"Okay, boy. Okay." The guy started peeling banknotes off of a roll.
I took half and handed the rest to Jebby.
"Yore goin' ta pay for this," the guy snarled in my ear. He grabbed my shoulder. Hard.
I reached for the offending hand and sunk my thumb deep into the inside of his wrist. I was tempted to see just how much damage I could do with vampire strength. But it wasn't necessary. His eyes widened.
"All right, boy. Get started."
I had already decided that this show wasn't happening in the open. I turned down the path toward my copse of arborvitae.
"Hey!" the man called. "Whar the hell are yew goin'?" It looked like he was getting upset again. I hoped that he hadn't forgotten about his wrist.
"It's more private up here," I snapped. "You'll get your show. But the whole world didn't pay for it, so the whole world doesn't get to see it."
The guy actually seemed nervous as he followed us up the path. And he was definitely pissed off. I knew that I'd have to monitor his thoughts closely, just in case he decided to take a little more than he had paid for.
I led the way into the glade.
"Wayul. This shore is a pretty nice place yew all got here," he decided. He looked around the small clearing, making sure there wasn't any danger. I could almost hear his mind spinning as he tried to figure out a way to turn the situation to his advantage.
I really regretted having Jebby with us.
"Get yer clothes off now."
Jebby jumped to comply. He was stark naked before I had even pulled off my hoodie.
The guy insisted on some finger thrills once I was naked, too. I eyed him closely as he ran his hands all over Jebby's body. He was cooing some nonsense about how much he really loved 'daddy's little boy'. Jebby handled it stoically enough, but I could sense that he was frightened.
When the guy got to me, he wasn't as friendly. I got a lot of pinching, prodding, and squeezing. When he got to my balls, I looked him square in the eyes.
"No penetration. And if either of us get hurt, you're show's over."
He met my gaze and started to squeeze harder. "Whar I come from, we castrate ornery young bulls. And I'ma startin' to get me a hankerin' for some Rocky Mountain oystuhs, young bull."
Before he could move, I had his wrist in my hand again. And this time I did do some damage. He'd be a week or more before he felt like using that wrist to pleasure himself. He wasn't going to be able to do much more than watch the end of this show now.
"Make sure you stay right there, 'daddy'," I sneered. "You're show is about to begin."
The guy didn't move.
Jebby's mood was all over the place. It was probably more than just stage fright. But it was show time. And the show must go on.
"Have you ever done this before?" I asked him.
Jebby had a hard time answering. Finally, the shame just dripping from him, he nodded.
"I didn't plan for this. Do you have some lubricant?"
He shook his head. It looked like he might cry.
"Okay. I'll take it easy," I reassured him. I tried to think of what we might use. "Uh, Jebby? Do you mind sucking my penis? It will get me hard," I hurried on, "and your saliva will help it slide in and out a lot easier."
It looked like he understood. Maybe he had used spit before.
Once I got a steady rhythm going, I almost forgot about the guy standing there. He hadn't moved an inch.
It took a while, but eventually Jebby began to get into it. Soon he was squealing every time I pushed in, and following me every time I pulled back. I knew that I wasn't very long. But I guess I was long enough.
Part of me just wanted to get the show over and send the guy on his way. Butt sex really wasn't something that appealed to me. And fucking Jebby Lee, the punk that had spent years ridiculing me as a 'queer', raised all sorts of conflicts in my mind.
Of course it felt good. But I didn't want to feel good with the little bastard. And I really didn't want to make him feel good. On the other hand, there was something pathetic and almost helpless about the boy beneath me. He needed something to make him feel better. And he was squealing.
I pulled out for intermission. Then I rolled Jebby onto his back and started the second act.
I used my hands to stimulate his chest, then his stomach, then his genitals. I don't know whether it was sympathetic or an act of aggression, but I kissed the little bastard, too. First gentle, titillating licks and kisses on his chest and face. Then a long, lingering kiss on his mouth that just kept getting deeper.
He erupted long before I did. He was getting ready for another explosion when I finally finished, so I kept going with my hand until he climaxed again. We ended with a kiss that didn't stop until I had to come up for air.
Jebby was in shock. So was I. I thought I knew what I was doing. By the time we finished, I really had no idea.
It was only as our breathing started to return to normal that I noticed the guy again. He was a bully and an idiot. Instead of polite applause at the end of the show, and some appreciation for our performance, he still had his iPhone pointed at us, capturing the show for his future enjoyment.
That was against the rules.
I was on him before he could react.
"What's it worth to you, 'daddy', if I don't stuff that phone straight up your ass?"
He blanched.
I reached for the phone. He tried to stuff it into a pocket.
While we were contesting the fate of the phone, Jebby cried out.
"Please, Rat. Let it go. It's done."
I wasn't easily persuaded.
"Your wallet, asshole," I demanded.
The guy shook his head. "Muh ID an' credit cards are in there."
"The cash." I wasn't about to be dissuaded. You break the rules, you pay the price.
He managed to stuff the phone into a pocket while he was fumbling with his wallet. He reached inside, pulled out a wad of cash, and flung it at me.
While I reached down to collect the bills, he fled. Less than eighty bucks. That figured. I almost took off after the guy, but Jebby was still lying on the ground. I really had no idea what state he was in.
Besides, we had some unfinished business. Business from a couple of years ago.
I helped him to his feet. "So, you're a faggot," I sneered.
He had the grace to recognize the insult within the insult, and to look ashamed.
"I don't think so, Rat. I don't know. Maybe." His expression was pathetic. "But I am hungry." The admission was delivered with a note of resignation.
I couldn't be angry. But I sure wasn't ready to let bygones be bygones. In silence, I helped him find his clothes and get cleaned up a bit. Then we got dressed.
Jebby looked at the money in his hand. A hundred forty dollars would feed him for a while. Then he looked back to me for direction. I just turned and stalked back toward the front of the restrooms.
Jebby joined us a few minutes later. A couple of the other guys eyed him, and then me, curiously. I didn't feel the need to offer any explanation.
It was a fairly busy night. The air was still rather chilly. But after a long winter, the juices had started flowing again. Especially among the pervert community.
I handled five more customers. I thought that Jebby might see some business, too. He was young. And even through the lens of my hatred, or maybe my dislike, or, well, I was definitely conflicted; but I knew that he was beautiful.
I guess that our experience in the arborvitae had shaken his confidence. Most of the guys that stopped by our office barely spared him a second glance. I think he ended up back in the bushes twice, but both times he returned pretty quickly.
The work crew started to break up around midnight. Jebby sidled up to me before I could get away.
"Where do we go now?" he asked. He seemed awfully timid.
"Go?" I wasn't in the mood for nonsense. "You go home."
I started to turn away. I heard a sniffle.
"Rat?" the plea was spoken softly. "I don't have a home."
What did he mean, he didn't have a home?
"Well, where did you stay last night?" I demanded.
He shuffled his feet a bit.
"Some doorway." He couldn't meet my eyes.
I guess I didn't need to know more. The start of the story was familiar. I had lived it myself about a year earlier.
"Where can you go?"
He just shook his head and kept looking down. "Nowhere."
I should have just left the little bastard there. He certainly didn't deserve any help from me. But, well, I couldn't.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
