Page 22 of Chalk Outline

His tall frame closes in on the little boy, but the sly grin tugging at his lips spells an ominous sign.

The small crowd left outside rapidly shrinks in size, and my eyes search for the panicked face of a parent looking for their child.

Come on.

Where are you?

I dash forward.

Thick fog floats against my skin from the smoke machine.

Two kids trip over the tossed toys scattered on the ground. I help them up.

Hands holding cotton candy or popcorn zip past the lot from left to right.

Sounds of laughter, thrill, and chaos linger in the air.

I jump over a tent’s fence when a woman sprints toward the little boy and scoops him up before Dick can make a move. The little boy presses his head against her neck and wraps his tiny arms around her.

I exhale a sigh of relief as they disappear behind the curtains of the acrobats’ tent.

That breath soon catches as Dick advances toward me. My legs urge me forward. As soon as he spots my shadow, he begins to walk at a faster pace.

We’re on opposite sides of the circus, separated by vendors, tents, benches, and a playground.

The sick fuck quickens my heartbeat as if I’m being chased by a lion seeking to feast on its prey. He makes my skin crawl. Even if he had to slither in order to reach me, he would.

“Reeve Hardy.” His irritating delight echoes in his voice, sending a shiver down my spine.

He swaggers before me, brushing his hand over his coffee curls as if he casually strolled here. His greedy eyes devour every inch of my body, focusing on the gap of my old, loose shirt that exposes my firm chest. I may be fifteen, but I’m already six-foot-four, and aside from working out and reading, there’s not much to do here.

He slides his hand into his front pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“You’re always wandering around the circus, frowning at our guests.”

Mostly you, but whatever.

“Want a smoke?” He flicks the lid of the pack open.

I know he won’t let me off the hook so easily.

“Sure.” I grab one and push it between my lips. He immediately brings his lighter closer to the end, sparking it neon orange.

“How’s your Mom?” He asks.

I take a long drag, letting it burn the wretchedness within me. He already knows the answer. Everyone does. Two voices are waging war in my head, and I struggle to form an answer before I even open my mouth. I need to stay strong even when I feel weak. Hopeless.

“It’s okay. As long as she is managing to get by,” Dick says in an understanding tone, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing it into the narrow space between us.

I recognize the false façade of concern and strategic maneuver in every step he takes. Trust can take you a long way. Too bad I’m not buying it. He will change the subject because he only cares about himself and his needs.

“It’s my birthday today.” He smacks his lips together while flicking the cigarette at his side. “I am officially forty.”

I’m on the verge of making a bored yawn. It’s almost amusing how predictable he can be.

What should I do with this useless information that serves no purpose for me?

Perhaps I ought to make a wish.