“Ah, great. You’re sure, Rye?”
“Yes.” This word came a little easier, though his throat still felt raw.
“Great, thank you, Rye,” Jake said, and Rye could hear the relief in his voice.
His mom’s hand rubbed his arm gently. When she spoke, there was some emotion in her voice Rye couldn’t quite understand. “How about I go get you some water, sweetie?”
Rye nodded quickly, and a moment later, his mom squeezed his arm again and then stood and was gone.
“Okay, Ryan, this’ll only take a few minutes. Would you like Jake to stay?”
His nod was even quicker this time, and his heart started thrumming harder in his chest as he heard quiet rustling and something unzip. Jake’s warmth settled on the bench next to him, and the same large, gentle hand from earlier came to rest very, very lightly on his back. Rye kept his eyes closed as he took a breath.
“Okay, Ryan, I’m just going to need to listen to your lungs and heart, okay? So I’m going to need you to unzip your coat...”
It was painless. And it really did only take a few minutes. Yet, by the time Sue was done, Rye wanted to find a corner to disappear into. She’d had to put a small, cold piece of metal on his chest and back, underneath his shirt, and he’d had to take slow, deep breaths in and out while she’d listened.
There was good news though—his lungs sounded “clear,” whatever that meant. He took it as good news because Sue sounded happy about it and Jake had murmured a very quiet “oh good” as his hand had pressed just a little stronger into Rye’s back.
Afterward, Rye fumbled to put Jake’s coat back on, and Jake left his side so his mom could sit next to him. It was one warmth replaced by another, and he found himself grateful for it.
But then everything got loud again. Rachel and the other police officer—the older man with the big voice whose name was Wayne, maybe—came back out of the office and started talking, saying something about some people who weregoing to be coming in tonight and tomorrow. One of them sounded important, like he was coming from a long ways away. And they’d want to ask Rye more questions.
More questions he was sure he wouldn’t be able to answer.
He wanted to tell them that. He wanted to explain himself. But as his mom started asking questions of her own, fear and desperation obvious in her voice, Rye found he was even starting to have trouble making sense of the words in his head. And the warmth around him started to turn cold.
“Jake, would you mind if we head out to your place first thing in the morning and check out the beach where you found him? Do you know which direction he came from?”
Jake said something short and light, but Rye didn’t hear the exact words. His mind plummeted him back to a week ago. The man’s anger as he’d been punishing Rye for... something. Hitting Rye again and again and again, and yelling profanities at him. Then the phone ringing from upstairs, the trickle of light coming into the basement through the not-completely-closed door. Rye’s decision. His escape. His frantic sprint through the forest. His certainty that there was an awful darkness chasing him, certainty that he’d end upfuckin’ dead.
He heard himself whimper, though the sound was also oddly detached as well, like it actuallydidn’tbelong to him. And the voices around him quieted.
“Ryan, my beautiful boy.” His mom’s fingers ran gently down his cheek, soft and careful. “How would you like to go home now?”
Yes. Please, yes, mama. That’s all I want.He nodded, folding his arms low across his stomach. “P-please.”I want to go home.
His mom stiffened next to him for a second, and he heard her sniffle. But then her fingers touched his cheek again. “Okay, sweetie. Okay.”
Ryesatwithhismom in the back seat of Rachel’s truck, his head on his knees and his eyes closed tightly. They’d stopped. And someone had said they were here.
Home.
He didn’t know if it was the same home he’d left fifteen years ago, and he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and look, despite the gentle voices around him telling him it was okay. His mom’s gentle voice next to him. And Rachel’s from the front seat. And then his door opened, and a rush of cold air hit him, along with more voices.
More voices he didn’t recognize.
And not for the first time that day, he couldn’t breathe. He tried to move away as a big, heavy hand set on his shoulder. A deep voice, a man’s voice, said his name, and something else. And suddenly, he was trapped there, the seat belt holding him in place with nowhere for him to go.
Darkness and panic erupted in him, surrounding him, and he instinctively reached up with both arms to cover his head, trying as best he could to protect himself.
The voices around him changed then. A scolding tone, an apology. And everyone backed away and gave him space. But his heart wouldn’t stop racing and his stomach wouldn’t stop churning.
God, he was an awful fucking mess.
The involuntary curse in his head sent a fresh wave of nausea through him, and he pressed his face more into his knees, willing everything to quiet down and those other voices to go away.
“Ryan, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just Uncle Jon. He’s sorry, he was excited to see you, and...”
