Cogent

TWELVE

The black BMW parked near the baseball field several blocks away from school went unnoticed for hours. None of the mortgage-paying suburbanites drove cars quite that shiny and black, but it wasn't that unusual to see them parked around town. People assumed it belonged to someone from Seattle. And that would've been true, in this case. But when the report of a stolen BMW with government plates reached the police station later that morning, it didn't take long for a passerby to call it in. When Chief Stewart arrived on scene and checked the vehicle, he found it empty, doors unlocked; abandoned.

***

Noah ducked his head when Kaleb came near the sofa with a rag in his hand. "Get away," he ordered, tucking himself deeper into the corner where he hid behind the couch. Covering his face with his hands, Noah felt the stickiness of the wet blood that coated his face and hands. The sleeve of his jacket was soaked with it.

Kaleb leaned over the back of the sofa and dropped the rag down there next to his brother. Noah reached for the rag with slow, painful movements. His body hurt everywhere again—worse than before. Once they were inside the school basement, he'd released the hold on his own consciousness. All at once, pain flooded him. He'd passed out at one point, the sudden return of agony too much for him to take. When he woke, Kaleb was gone. Worried but unable to go look for his brother, Noah had crawled behind the sofa to conceal himself in case someone else came down to the basement. Kaleb had returned a few minutes later with a rag, and Keith.

"You should let your brother help you." Keith said from across the room. He was leaning against his workbench, arms folded over his chest. He had a shadow of a mustache now and a cropped head of hair—different than the last time Noah had seen him. "You look like somebody tried to murder you."

"Shut up, Keith." Noah snapped, wiping at his face with the damp rag.

"I don't care what kind of trouble you're in." Keith said with a shrug. Lifting a hand, he chewed at his fingernails. "So long as I get paid."

"I'm going to pay you." Noah assured him bitterly. "Just give me a day or two."

"It's due tomorrow." Keith reminded him calmly.

"I'll get your money, Keith." He repeated in a tired voice.

"Whatever. Make sure you do, or I'll stop hiding the key outside for you." Keith warned. "I might not want to let you stay here anymore anyway. You're trouble, kid. Trouble, trouble, trouble."

Feeling the weight of the threat, Noah scratched at the wall, twisting until he was able to pull himself out from behind the couch. Blood covered his face, red smears tracing down his neck and covering his hands. Only his green irises shone through the sticky mess. He stared at Keith, eyes darkening. "You can't do that. I need this place. I need somewhere safe," he emphasized the word, hoping to convey his desperation to the man.

Keith shrugged again.

"We all need something." He said as he turned and left, stopping at the door to gesture towards Kaleb. "Don't bring anybody else down here again. I need this job, you got that?"

Noah grunted in response, trying his best to crawl around the front of the sofa, hoping to make it onto the cushions without having to fully stand up. The door slammed shut as Keith left.

Kaleb glanced at Noah. "Should I help you onto the couch?"

Noah let his head drop until his cheek pressed against the cold concrete floor. "No," he said, closing his eyes. "It feels good here."