White Collar Fic - The Wonder(ful) Years - Chapter 3

[elrhiarhodan]

Seventh Grade - Little League

It was the bottom of the ninth, and the score was 3–2. Peter Burke was on third, Clinton Jones was at second, and there were two outs. This was the last chance to score and maybe win the game. If they won, the Jayhawks would have a shot at the division championship, and it would be the first time their team would advance to the next round of play.

Neal retied his cleats, made sure his socks were on straight, and his fly was zipped before stepping up to home plate. He had a phobia about going to bat with his fly opened. It never happened, but it could. And even if it did, he had worse problems than taking a swing and having his cup show.

The coach put him in the game in the seventh inning, and this was his second at–bat. He struck out the first time when he got caught looking. Neal had simply frozen at the plate. Maybe because his stepfather, Vincent Adler, was at the game today.

Neal hated the man his mother married right after his eleventh birthday – and some birthday present that was. He didn’t care that he was a rich guy who had lots of stuff, he didn’t care that he and his mom moved from their little house with the leaking roof on Merry Lane to the big mansion in Upper Brookville. He’d much rather have a tiny backyard and do chores on Saturday mornings than stay in that house with the in–ground swimming pool, rolling lawn and the live–in housekeeper. With him.

Neal knew he was going to hate Vincent Adler from the first time he met him. He was a total bastard and made him lock their big marmalade cat, Ceci, in the basement because he was allergic. The day that he announced that he was marrying his mother, he said that the cat was going to “have to go.” He couldn’t abide her fur, it made him sick. It was more like the asshole was afraid that Ceci would mess up his white carpets and white couches and white draperies. He was worried that Vincent Adler would insist that they put Ceci to sleep if they couldn’t find a home for her. He was so relieved when mom told him that his Aunt Ellen would take Ceci, and Neal could go visit her every once and a while.

Vincent Adler – he often thought of him with the first and last name, never “Vincent” or “Mr. Adler” and he refused to call him “dad” or “father” in his head and certainly to his face – was a creep and a total neat–freak. He liked everything to look perfect and couldn’t stand even the smallest speck of dirt or disorder. He even insisted that Neal’s room maintain the same standards as the rest of the house. No posters on the walls, or games or any personal stuff was allowed to stay out, and if there wasn’t a place to put it, it had to be thrown out.

Neal couldn’t understand why his mom married this man. They were doing perfectly fine, just the two of them, since his dad was killed when he was eight. His dad had been a cop and he was a hero, and Vincent Adler hated that. He refused to allow Neal to hang up the framed picture of his father in his dress blue uniform, or the shadow box with his father’s badge and medal of commendation that the Mayor of New York City had given him – or given his mom – after his dad was killed while trying to stop a robbery.

Those things had to be packed away because Vincent Adler didn’t like them. Neal had to always check that they were in a locked trunk at the back of his closet, because he was sure that if his stepfather knew where they were, he’d take them and destroy them.

And worse than everything else, worse than giving away Ceci, worse than not being able to mention his real dad or have any of his own stuff, worse than his mom thinking the sun shone out of Vincent Adler’s ass, was how his stepfather looked at him, especially when his mom wasn’t around. He scared Neal. He’d stare at him and lick his lips. It made him feel weird and bad, and the times that Vincent Adler reached out to touch him, Neal was always careful to duck out of his way. And that made things worse, because Adler would get mean and nasty. He never yelled, he just tore him to shreds in this cold, horrible voice. He’d tell him he was useless and worthless and he’d never amount to anything.

Neal didn’t know why Vincent Adler was at the game today. But he was sitting in the front row, just behind the fence on the first base side. And he was paying attention, like he wanted to be here. But he wasn’t cheering or anything like that. He was just staring at Neal, with that creepy, intense look in his eyes.

This time, Neal decided to bat lefty – this way he wouldn’t have to see Vincent Adler when he was taking his at–bat. The first pitch was a little low and Neal didn’t swing. The next pitch was high and brushed him back. Neal stepped out of the box and took a deep breath. He couldn’t help himself – he looked over at his stepfather. Even from this distance, he could see the lip curled in contempt, disappointment all over his face. There was something else there, something he couldn’t name, something that made him feel sick all over.

Neal stepped back up to the plate, and got the perfect pitch. It was like everything went silent – no breeze, no screaming kids or parents. There was no sound at all, except for the crack of the bat as it connected with the ball. Neal didn’t wait to see where the ball landed – he just dropped the bat and ran. All of a sudden, the screaming and cheering registered, and as he landed on first base, his whole team burst out of their dugout.

He looked back. Peter had crossed home plate and Clinton wasn’t far behind. The opposing team was still trying to field his ball, which had landed just inside the playing field. Neal could have advanced, but the game was won.

Neal tossed his cap in the air, and looked to the coach – actually Peter’s dad – to see if he could join the celebration. Coach nodded and he rushed back to home plate. Someone – maybe Peter, maybe Clinton – lifted him up in a bear hug and everyone else mobbed him.

He made the game winning RBI, and for that moment he felt like Luke Skywalker when he took the shot that destroyed the Death Star. The celebration went on for a few more minutes, until the coach reminded everybody to be a good sport. They lined up and shook hands with the opposing team.

The teams then scattered, kids running off to collect their gear and find parents and siblings and go home.

Now that his mom was married to Vincent Adler, she had more important things to do than come to his games, although she usually did manage to catch the Saturday game every few weekends. Except for those rare occasions, Neal would catch a ride home with Gordon Taylor, who lived about a mile away from Adler’s mansion. But since his stepfather was at this game, Gordon and his folks left without him. Neal picked up his bat and cap from the playing field and went to the dugout to get his glove and change out of his cleats. He didn’t know if Vincent Adler had taken his shiny new German car or the limo, but either way, he wouldn’t let him in the car with his cleats on.

Neal took his time. He didn’t want to ride home alone with his stepfather; he never wanted to be alone with him. He picked up his bat and glove and cleats and reluctantly climbed out of the dugout. It was like his legs didn’t want to work. It seemed to take forever to make his way out of the playing field and into the parking lot where his stepfather was waiting.

Vincent Adler had driven his imported sports car with the hood ornament that looked like a peace symbol.

His stepfather gestured at him to come over. Neal’s feet felt like lead, and it was almost impossible to walk. So he stood there, looking at Vincent Adler, who was smiling at him. Neal swallowed against the icky feeling in his belly.

“Congratulations, son – you won the game.”

Neal muttered his thanks. He hated when Adler called him “son”.

His stepfather reached out, and Neal tried to dodge him, but he was too close and he found himself wrapped in the man’s arms. He could smell his aftershave and his sweat, nauseatingly sweet.

“You’re my good boy, right?” The man just kept holding onto him, and crooning. He was squeezing him and touching his hair, and Neal could barely breathe. It felt wrong and disgusting and he struggled against his stepfather’s hold.

“Let me go! Let me go!” His voice was muffled and when Adler wouldn’t let go, Neal kicked him and broke free. He wanted to run away, but Adler grabbed him by the arm. His face was now red and sweaty and angry.

“I guess you think you’re a hero. But you’re nothing more than a loser who got lucky. A crybaby and a loser.” Adler didn’t yell, but the words carried in the stillness of the late afternoon.

As much as he tried to stop them, the tears came. The fucking tears were rolling down his cheeks like he was a baby, as much for Adler’s cruelty as for what happened before that.

_________________

Because his dad was the coach, Peter was always the last to leave the park. Dad had to make sure the dugout was clean and cleared, that the bases and other gear was stowed and all the game paperwork done. He didn’t mind hanging around, especially when it was nice out. There were picnic tables near the parking lot and he’d wait there if Dad took a long time finishing up.

Today was no different. He stretched out on top of one of the tables, watching the clouds drift by, and thought about the game. It was a good one, especially the ninth inning. His run tied it, and Clint’s won the ballgame, but really, the victory belonged to Neal. It was his RBI that let them score. He loved games like this – snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. His dad taught him that phrase.

There were squirrels in the oak trees that shaded the table and Peter watched them chase each other around and around. It seemed kind of fun but sort of pointless. His mind wandered and he had an odd thought, How come you never see baby squirrels?

An angry voice interrupted his musings.

“I guess you think you’re a hero. But you’re nothing more than a loser who got lucky. A crybaby and a loser.”

Peter sat up and looked in the direction the voice was coming from. He could see a man and a kid in a blue and gold Jayhawks jersey. It was Neal, and the guy talking to him was his dad. But why would any kid’s dad say something like that?

“You struck out your first at bat – you just stood there like an idiot and let three perfect pitches pass you by.”

Neal said something, but Peter couldn’t hear him.

“Don’t you back talk to me.” A flood of abuse followed and Peter felt his own face burn at the words. The man wasn’t using bad language or anything like that, and he wasn’t really yelling. He was just belittling Neal, telling him how worthless, how stupid and useless he was; how he was a failure and a disappointment. Peter couldn’t understand it – Neal was the hero of today’s game, and he was a good kid too. Everybody liked him. Peter liked him; he always had, even though they never really hung out together after school. And Neal was really smart, so smart that he had skipped a grade, and now he was in the same class as Peter.

So how could Neal’s own father say those awful things to him?

Peter was listening so intently, he didn’t hear his own father come up behind him. “Son? What’s the matter?”

Before Peter could answer, Neal’s dad’s voice carried, “You’ve let me down for the very last time, Neal. Find your own way home. And if you go whining to your mother, you’ll regret it.”

They watched as the man got into a shiny black sports car and drove off, leaving Neal standing there. Peter looked up at his dad, who squeezed his shoulder and gave him a little push. “Go be a friend.”

Peter didn’t really know what to do and he wasn’t sure about his dad’s instructions. He walked over to Neal and just said “Hey,” to announce his presence.

Neal’s head whipped around, and Peter wasn’t surprised to see that there were tears on his face, which he quickly scrubbed away. “What are you doing here?”

“I – was …” He didn’t want to make things worse. “I was waiting for my dad to finish up. I’m sorry – I heard what yours said. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“He’s not my dad. My real dad’s dead. Vincent Adler is just the man my mother married.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter didn’t know why he was apologizing. It wasn’t like it was his fault that his stepfather was an asshole.

Neal didn’t acknowledge his apology. “When I was eight, my dad was killed by a robber. He was shot three times while trying to protect a bunch of people.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, so he apologized again.

“He was a hero cop. Vincent Adler is just a big, stupid jerk. I wish my mom never married him.”

Neal hefted his bat over his shoulder and started to walk away, which wasn’t right. Peter looked back at his dad, who nodded. “Hey!”

Neal turned around. “Yeah?”

“Wanna come over for dinner?” Peter wondered if that was okay and looked to his dad again. He gave him a nod and a smile. “We’re going to grill hotdogs and hamburgers.”

Neal stood there – looking out to the road and then back at Peter. “Can your dad take me home afterwards?”

His dad stepped up. “Sure – that won’t be a problem, Neal. What do you say we go to our house and you call your mom to tell her where you are? That way she won’t worry about you.”

Neal got a funny look on his face. “My mom won’t care. She and my stepfather are going to a big party tonight.”

Peter looked at his dad, this all seemed so wrong. Why would a parent just drive off? Why wouldn’t Neal’s mother care where he was? His parents weren’t perfect, they made him crazy sometimes, but he always knew that they loved him.

His dad squeezed Peter’s shoulder to give him his own reassurance, and he said to Neal, “You should call anyway – she’s your mom.”

Neal finally agreed. “Okay. I’ll tell Mrs. Barkley – she’ll give the message to my mother.” Neal added, “She’s the housekeeper.”

Peter thought he’d never seen anyone look as lost as Neal. It made his chest hurt, like the time that Satchmo had gotten sick after eating something he shouldn’t have and they thought he was going to die. He also thought about how Neal was at school, how he was everybody’s friend. But he didn’t seem to hang out with anyone in particular, except for that weird kid, Moz. His dad’s words echoed, Be a friend. He draped an arm over Neal’s shoulders and nudged him towards the car. Neal stiffened but didn’t duck away.

They piled into the back of his dad’s Chevy, rolled down the windows and listened to the Yankees game on the radio during the ride home. Neal sort of stared out at the passing scenery until Peter and his dad started talking about the game they just played, dissecting it inning by inning. Neal joined in by the time they arrived at the house, and he seemed to have forgotten all about the scene with his stepfather. He was talking about his hit, the hit that won the game, and Peter was careful to heap a lot of praise on Neal. Not that it wasn’t deserved. He caught his father’s proud look in the rearview mirror and smiled back.

Peter’s dad pulled onto the driveway and they ran to the house. Peter dropped his bat and glove on a bench in the garage and dragged Neal inside. His mom was in the kitchen, getting stuff ready for dinner, Satchmo was in the backyard and Peter felt like he was the luckiest kid in the world.

“Who’s this?” His mom smiled at Neal, and Neal held out his hand and introduced himself. Of course his mom cooed a bit about Neal’s manners.

“Peter, take your friend and go wash up. Your dad will have the grill ready in about ten minutes.” She turned to Neal. “I hope you’re hungry, we’ve got burgers and hotdogs and salad if my son doesn’t eat all of the cucumber before it’s finished.” She slapped his hand away from the bowl. “And there’ll be ice cream and pie for dessert.”

“ ‘Smores, too?” Peter begged.

“If your dad didn’t finish the all Hershey bars, yes, you can make ‘smores. If not, you’ll be stuck with homemade apple pie and ice cream.”

Neal looked at Peter like he didn’t believe what he was hearing. Peter knew his mom was overdoing it, but he didn’t mind. It actually made him kind of proud. He dragged Neal out of the kitchen, towards the back of the house where the bathroom was. “We can wash up here.”

There was only one sink and Peter tried not to crowd Neal, but a little splashing was inevitable. And then a lot of splashing. Neal started to laugh as Peter flicked a handful of water at him, and he returned the gesture. By the time his mom called them for dinner, they were both soaked to the skin and laughing like crazy. It was like that moment in the car when Neal started talking about the game and his dad smiled at him.

“Hold on, don’t want my mom to get mad.” Peter threw a towel at Neal and told him to mop up while he rushed into his bedroom to dig out two tee shirts. He tossed one to Neal, striped out of his wet baseball jersey and put the other one on. Neal laughed and Peter grinned. “Race you back to the kitchen.”

_________________

Neal stopped at the corner of Hightop Lane and Hazelwood Drive, his bicycle tires loud against the pavement. It was probably close to two am, and the only sounds were insects and his panting breath. He’d never been out this late by himself, but he couldn’t stay in that house, his house, not for one minute longer.

Neal had been riding around for hours, thinking that maybe he should just go to the train station and go to New York City and disappear, it wasn’t like his mom would care. He had some money, but going into the city on his own was scary, and what would he do when he got there?

He still had the twenty dollars that Aunt Ellen had given him for his birthday, plus another ten dollars he had saved from his lunch money. It would be enough for a train ticket, but probably not enough for a place to stay. He had thought about going into his mother’s pocketbook and taking some of her cash, but he didn’t want to steal. He would send the police after him if he did, and then he’d be stuck there and …

Neal didn’t want to complete that thought.

Peter Burke’s house was on this block. Vincent Adler didn’t know that he was friends with Peter. His stepfather had done his best to make sure that he had no real friends. Moz managed to stay under the radar – but he couldn’t go to Moz, who had his own problems with his folks. There was no one else. No one except Peter. Neal shivered at the thought. Peter probably didn’t remember, but he had stood up for him way back in fourth grade. He beat up a kid – Neal couldn’t remember his name – who had hurt Moz during a game of dodge ball. They had all gone down to the principal’s office afterwards.

The next day, Neal had brought Peter a package of Twinkies to thank him, but Peter wasn’t in school that day or the next. Neal had shared them with Moz, of course. And by the time Peter was back, it seemed kind of stupid, anyway.

Still, Neal had always looked for Peter during lunch, and he always tried to get Peter to play with him and the other kids at recess. They never became buddies, though. Until he skipped fifth grade, Peter was a year ahead of him. Even still, he probably didn’t want to hang out with any younger kids.

But a few weeks ago, Peter saved him again. What happened after the ballgame was both the worst day of his life and one of the best. Peter made him forget about his stepfather, about his mother not caring about him anymore.

That evening at dinner – it was like something from television. Like the Brady Bunch or Happy Days. Only better. They helped Mr. Burke with the grill, and he gave them a “tasting” – pieces of an extra hamburger that somehow just sort of fell apart – before the rest of the food was brought inside. After dinner, they ran around with the dog and watched the Mets game. Mr. Burke and Peter were Yankee fans, but Mrs. Burke liked the Mets, even though they lost all the time.

He didn’t want to go home. Ever. He still loved his mom, even though she married Vincent Adler and she didn’t really care about him any more, but he wished that he could live with Mr. and Mrs. Burke and Peter. He’d do chores and walk the dog and take out the garbage and do his homework at the kitchen table with Peter, and no one would look at him with creepy eyes.

Neal pedaled slowly down the block, trying to remember which house was Peter’s. He did remember that Mr. Burke had an old blue Chevy, and that their house only had one story. It wasn’t too hard to find, and Neal pulled into the driveway, behind the car. He didn’t know what to do. The house was dark and he didn’t think they’d be happy if he rang the doorbell. But Peter’s bedroom was at the back of the house, and he could tap on the window. Even if Peter didn’t wake up, Neal could sleep on the patio. There was a lounger, and that would be a better place to sleep than in a bedroom where Vincent Adler could come in and just stare at him.

Peter’s window was too high to reach, but the moon was bright enough that Neal could find a few stones. He tossed one at the window, waited and tossed another. A light came on, and relief flooded through Neal. Just as he was about to toss the last pebble, the window opened and Peter stuck his head out.

“Who’s there?” Not too surprisingly, Peter sounded groggy.

“It’s me.” Neal whispered loudly.

“Who’s me?” Now he sounded annoyed.

“It’s me, Neal. Neal Caffrey.” Neal hoped that Peter wouldn't be angry at him.

He could see Peter scrub at his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here?”

Neal hadn’t really thought about what to tell Peter, or his family. But he didn’t want to be thrown out or sent home, so maybe the truth would work. “I’m in trouble – I think my stepfather wants to hurt me. I need a place to stay.”

Peter scrubbed his face and yawned. “Go to the front door, I’ll let you in.”

Neal left his bike against the side of the house and met Peter at the front door. They stood there looking at each other, until Peter said, “Come in, before you wake the dog up.”

Neal stepped inside, and for the first time in days, he felt like it was safe to breathe. Peter tugged at him, and he followed him into the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“Yeah – do you have any OJ?”

Peter pulled out the carton and a glass. “Help yourself.”

Neal poured a glass, drained it and went to pour another but the carton felt more than half empty, so he went to the sink and took some water. He drank one glass, then another.

“You going to tell me why you’re really here?” Peter’s question made him ill and Neal thought he might just vomit back everything he drank. But he swallowed and breathed through his nose for a few seconds, before turning around.

“I told you, I think my stepfather wants to – ” He had to pause. “Hurt me.” He really didn’t want to tell Peter what Vincent Adler really wanted to do to him.

“Did he hit you?”

Neal bit his lip. He was going to have to tell Peter everything. “No – that’s not … what he wants to do.” The sick, shameful agony stopped the words.

Peter gave him a blank look, but suddenly, in the dim light, Neal could see comprehension come with a dark red flush across his cheeks. All he said was “Wait here.”

Neal sat down at the kitchen table and a sleepy Satchmo ambled over to him, licked his hands before collapsing bonelessly on top of his feet. He thought that was one good way to ensure that he wasn’t going to go anywhere. Neal sat there, waiting for what seemed like an eternity, and finally, there was a light from the hallway, and he could hear Mr. Burke’s deep voice, and then the higher tone of Mrs. Burke. At least they didn’t sound angry. A minute or two later, Peter and his parents came into the kitchen. Someone turned on the light. Peter looked at him and Neal couldn’t quite make out the expression on his face.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” Neal looked at his hands.

Peter’s dad sat down next to him. “Peter told me that you’re afraid your stepfather is going to hurt you. Can you tell me what happened, what he did?”

The weird knotted feeling in the pit of Neal’s stomach intensified. “You aren’t going to believe me.”

All he said was “Try me. Just start from the beginning.”

Neal took a deep breath. “The other morning – I think it was Monday – I was taking a shower.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “When I got out, Vincent Adler was just standing there, staring at me. He was holding my towel and wouldn’t give it to me.”

No one said anything, and Neal’s heart sank. Then Peter’s dad just nodded. “Go on.”

“He stood there – I asked for my towel – and he said I had to come and get it in this weird voice. I didn’t want to go near him. He got a funny look on his face, but he finally put the towel down and walked out of the bathroom.” Neal clenched and unclenched his fists at the memory. “The next night, I woke up and he was sitting on the chair in my bedroom. He was staring at me and breathing really hard. That’s what woke me up. I told him to get out and he did. I locked the door.”

Mrs. Burke sat down on the other side of him and took his hands in hers. “Did you tell your mom?”

“Yeah – fat lot of good that did.” Neal tried not to cry at the memory of that conversation. “She told me not to rock the boat, and just to keep out of Vincent Adler’s way.” He took a deep breath. “She really likes living in a nice, big house with a pool and lots of jewelry and stuff. She doesn’t care about me anymore.”

At least no one told him that wasn’t true.

Peter’s dad then asked, “Did anything else happen?”

“Yeah. I’ve been locking the bathroom door and my bedroom door. Two nights ago, I heard him trying to get into my bedroom; he was pushing and pushing at the doorknob. When I got home from school today – ” Neal remembered that it was after midnight. “Yesterday – he had someone come and change all the doorknobs. There’s no lock on the bathroom door, and my bedroom has a doorknob with a key on the inside, but I don’t have the key. And I can’t move anything in front of the door. All the furniture is too heavy.” Neal sniffled, trying to suck up the tears. “I tried to stay awake tonight, but I couldn’t. I woke up and he was in my bedroom again, and he was staring at me and touching himself. I screamed at him to get out, and I kept screaming. The housekeeper came, but my mom didn’t. He ran out of my room and then I took my bike and my stuff and I left.” He lost the battle with his tears and started to sob. It felt like his insides were tearing apart.

Mrs. Burke hugged him and told him that they’d keep him safe. Neal knew that she meant it, even if it wasn’t possible. He finally stopped crying, and took a few shuddering breaths. He looked up at Peter, figuring that his friend would be disgusted at him. He was shocked to see that Peter was crying a little bit too.

Mr. Burke took his hand. “Neal, listen to me. This is what we are going to do. You are going to go to sleep here tonight – Peter has twin beds. And you will go to school tomorrow, and come home with Peter. You are going stay here until we can figure out how make sure your stepfather can’t hurt you. Ever. Okay?”

“I wanted to go to my Aunt Ellen’s – my dad’s sister. I called her from the pay phone at the gas station. But she’s not home. And I thought that would be the first place he’d look for me.”

“What does your aunt do?”

“She’s a cop with the Westchester County police department now. She was a city cop – a detective – like my dad, but she retired the same year my mom married Vincent Adler. She bought the house I grew up in. It’s on Merry Lane.”

“You did the right thing, Neal. You were smart to come here. And like I said, we’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“How?” He had to ask, and Neal couldn’t help be catch the look that passed between Peter’s parents.

“Don’t worry – trust us, okay?”

Neal nodded. It wasn’t like he really had a choice.

Mrs. Burke stood up. “It’s nearly three in the morning, and you guys have school tomorrow. Peter – can you lend Neal some pjs?”

He felt like he was about to cry again. They were making everything seem so normal, and it wasn’t. But he got up and followed Peter to his bedroom. Mr. Burke gave him one more instruction, “Take Satchmo with you. He’ll be good company.” The Lab got up, his nails clicking on the linoleum floor until they reached the carpeted hallway.

Peter didn’t say anything; he just handed him a set of pjs that looked like a Yankees uniform and Neal went to the bathroom and changed. When he got back, Satchmo was stretched out on the extra bed – the one he was going to sleep in. Peter was sitting Indian-style on his own bed.

“I’m not a perv, you know.” Neal stuck his chin out, trying to feel brave.

“Of course you’re not.”

“I want to kill him. I wish I had my dad’s gun so I could shoot him a million times.”

“Then you’d go to jail and we couldn’t be friends anymore.” Peter said.

“We’re still friends?” Neal whispered.

“Of course we are.” He said that like there was no doubt. Neal sat down on the bed, giving Satchmo a bit of a push. The dog simply rolled on his side, taking up the rest of the space on the bed. Neal giggled. So did Peter. As he tried to get under the covers, there was the indistinct sound of adult voices coming through the wall.

Neal looked at Peter, who had gotten out of bed and jumped up onto his desk to adjust the flaps on a vent. The voices got louder. Peter’s parents were talking.

“Honey, I’m going to go see that sonofabitch tomorrow.”

“What are you going to say to him?”

“That if he touches the boy again, I’m going to kill him. That he’ll never see me coming and no one will come and save him, no matter how hard he screams. And that they’ll never find his body.”

Neal looked at Peter, eyes wide. Peter grinned, clearly proud of his father.

“Joe!”

“They still haven’t found Jimmy Hoffa.”

Neal couldn’t make out Peter’s mom’s reply, and after that, Peter’s dad’s words were indistinct. Peter closed the vents and hopped off the desk. He snapped off the light and got into bed. Neal gave the dog a shove, and the Lab finally shifted enough so he could get his feet under the covers.

Neal tucked his hands under his head and settled down. Even though the bed was unfamiliar and Satchmo took up almost the whole space, he was comfortable, and not a bit sleepy. After a few moments, Neal rolled on his side, facing the other bed. “Peter?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah - you’re welcome.” Peter sighed. “You don’t have to worry or be scared anymore. My dad will take care of everything.”

Go to Chapter Two <- ::: -> Go to Chapter Four

Comments

[ocmiss.livejournal.com]

Poor, poor Neal ... at least I'm glad Neal was brave enough to speak up and things didn't go further, plus the Burkes rock !