Page 65 of The Serpent King

Again.

Again.

The belt whistled and cracked across Travis’s skin. Bear it in silence; it’s the only way you can win, Travis commanded himself, but he cried out each time it struck. It felt like someone was painting his back and ribs with stripes of gasoline and chili pepper and setting them ablaze. Travis’s mom jumped at his father. “Clint! You’re hurting him! Stop it!” She tried to catch the belt. Travis’s father grabbed her by both arms and pushed her onto the ground. Hard. Her head hit the floor with a thud and she lay there, weeping softly and holding her head.

But she’d managed to distract Travis’s father long enough for Travis to jump to his feet. His father turned, saw him standing, and swung the belt at him again. Travis snagged it with his free hand and tore it away. He stood there for a second—belt in one hand, book in the other—tears and sweat running down his cheeks, facing down his father, who glowered at him, ruddy and panting.

Travis tried to sound as brave as he could. He tried to speak with a clarion voice. The way Raynar Northbrook would speak to his men before a battle. But the pain was too searing. His heart pounded too ferociously. His voice hitched and caught as he spoke—gasping, faltering, and stuttering.

“I’m n-not…afraid of you…anymore. You’ll n-never…make me…hate myself…like you hate me.”

He helped his mother to her feet while his father watched, fists clenched, still ready to fight, breathing loudly through his nose as his jaw muscles tensed and relaxed.

Travis threw the belt into a corner, looked his father dead in the eye, and pointed, his hand shaking like his voice. “You lay a hand on me again, I’ll break it off your arm. You lay a hand on my mom again, I will fucking kill you.”

His father pointed at him with his own trembling hand. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he said softly.

Travis kissed his sobbing mom, got his staff, and left.

Dill was in heaven. Lydia had left all of her music on her computer when she gave it to him. It was a sort of secret intimacy with her. Every night he’d lie on his bed, the laptop resting on his chest, earbuds in his ears, exploring and discovering, swimming in the Sea of Lydia.

Tap tap tap.

Dill paused the music and listened for a moment. Nothing. He hit “play.”

Tap tap tap.

He paused the music again and got up.

Tap tap tap.

Dill looked out his window to see Travis’s face. He jumped.

“Man, you about made me piss my pants,” Dill whispered as he jimmied open the window, letting in a blast of freezing air. Travis appeared to have been crying. “You all right?”

“I’m not doing so great. Can you sneak out and go for a ride?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” Dill put on his boots and jacket. He started to climb out the window.

“Wait. Do you have any aspirin or anything?” Travis’s face said that he would explain later.

“One sec.” Dill tiptoed into the kitchen and retrieved their rapidly dwindling bottle of ibuprofen. He returned to his room and handed Travis three pills. Travis popped them in his mouth and swallowed.

Dill climbed out the window and shut it behind him, leaving himself enough space to get his fingers under it and open it again when he returned. He and Travis sneaked through the shadows to Travis’s pickup, parked around the corner. They got in. It was still warm. Travis moved painfully. When his back hit his seat, he sucked in his breath. He took a second to gather himself before starting the engine. Dill decided he wouldn’t ask any questions. He’d just let Travis talk.

“Let’s go watch some trains,” Travis said.

They drove to Bertram Park without speaking. When they arrived, Travis parked as close to the train tracks as he could, leaving his truck running and the heater on.

Travis pushed back his cap and rubbed his forehead. “So I told my dad tonight that I’d kill him. Maybe.”

Dill looked wide-eyed at Travis. “You did what?”

“I got home. My dad was drunk. Talking about work. Saying I cost him a job. He tried to rip up my book that G. M. Pennington signed. I mostly kept him from doing it but we got into it pretty good.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. He took his belt to me when I wouldn’t let him at my book. My mom intervened and he threw her down. I got the belt from him and told him I’d hurt him if he ever hit me again. Told him I’d kill him if he hurt my mom again.”