The Other Side of Me - 5. Chapter 5

Thanks to jim for editing!

The clouds were dispersing above, leaving the woods full of long shadows while the wind rattled the trees and made it nearly impossible for Frank to hear anything else around him. He inhaled the earthy scent left by the rain while his eyes watered and his lungs began to burn from exhaustion.

Frank didn’t know how long he’d been running. He was certain that not much time had passed, but he’d run so hard that he could feel the heels of his feet all the way to his knees, and the aches from his fall earlier in the week were beginning to aggravate him. But he was too close to stop, he told himself. He had yet to discover who the assailant was. Small glimpses when Frank got close only gave away that he was dealing with a male who was very good at keeping the hood of his jacket up at all costs, and he knew the area. So well, in fact, that nothing had managed to slow him down.

Frank wasn’t sure why it was so important that he catch the guy. It likely had a lot to do with the fact that he felt like his family had somehow been violated. He wanted to protect them. Protect Rudy. They were his. All he had. And he was furious. He had his suspicions over who it was, and if he was right, a certain member of the Martin family had a lot of explaining to do. He hadn’t minded it when David took his picture without him knowing about it, but to think of a picture of Rudy which should have never been taken in the first place, wrecked his nerves.

The fact that Frank eventually had to stop, accepting defeat, wrecked his nerves, too. He’d come to a fork where two trails crossed paths, and there was no longer any sign of what he’d been chasing. No more glimpses, and as he strained to listen for more clues all he could hear was the wind, blowing like a whisper in his ear, that prickled the nape of his neck. He released the breath he’d been holding when he heard nothing of significance, and then couldn’t seem to catch it as his lungs worked to slow down. His head ached, his throat was dry, and his face felt hot against the cool air as he absorbed it, wishing he would have slowed down sooner. For long moments he rested his hands on his knees until he caught his breath, but as he focused on his surroundings again, he found that he was not relieved at all.

Frank didn’t know where he was. The shadows crossing over him were nearly suffocating, and he was disoriented as he realized that the brush surrounding him was so thick that nothing was visible, not even the lake. There was too much he couldn’t see, and if he’d been the hunter only moments ago, he now had the uneasy feeling of being watched. He spun around to the sound of nothingness, his pupils dilating as his blue eyes took in too many dark places. When the possibility that he hadn’t lost the stranger at all came to mind, Frank was no longer pleased by it. He was afraid of it.

He told himself that it was unwarranted, this fear. But it wouldn’t cease. His skin itched and prickled, and the sensation caused him to feel trapped inside of it. Frozen to the point that he was too afraid to look behind him, as if the action itself could cause some unseen force to strike, like a little boy afraid of the shadows on his bedroom wall at night.

When Frank was a child, he’d gone through a phase of nightmares. It wasn’t long after his first sleepovers, where a friend’s older brother had told horror stories that no six-year-old had any business hearing. For weeks afterwards, he’d wake up with a dry throat, his small body frozen under the covers as the moving shadows in his room threatened disaster until the fear took over entirely. He wet his bed, and he’d cried. Back then, it had been his father who would rescue him from the terror. He remembered gentle hands cleaning him up, big arms holding him, supplying enough comfort to take it all away. Reassuring whispers in his ear until he could fall asleep again. He’d never felt more at ease. But his father wasn’t here to chase these nightmares away. Likely never would be again. Despite Rudy’s hopeful delusions the man was gone, and at the moment, Frank was alone.

He took in a steadying breath and attempted to appear unbothered by the uncomfortable sensations flooding his senses for any watching eyes, or perhaps his own mental well-being. His hands shaking at his sides were only one sign of his failure as he looked straight ahead to a thick span of trees, his vision narrowing down to a to a tunnel as he directed his attention to a shadow moving within the space. Instinct told him to run, but still he moved closer, his feet feeling like dead weight as he urged them to take small steps.

And then he heard something. Breathing. It came in short, harsh breaths along with hard, fast-paced footsteps nearing him at a dead run. Only, it wasn’t coming from in front of Frank at all. Frank spun around and braced himself. His hands flew up in natural defense, and as a body nearly collided with his own from out of nowhere he gripped at its shoulders, holding the heavy force at bay as he prepared himself to strike back if necessary.

“Frank!”

Frank stared into familiar hazel eyes and a flushed face. But still, he wasn’t satisfied until he took notice of his own clothes below the other boy’s neck and allowed himself a relieved breath.

“Jesus, Oliver,” Frank whispered in a hoarse voice. He let go of Oliver, but stood next to him so that they were shoulder to shoulder as he redirected his attention to the suspicious shadows. He wanted the contact. Any contact. Any comfort. At the moment, Oliver provided it.

“I don’t know where he went,” Frank said quietly. “Did you see him?”

Oliver shook his head, seeming uneasy. “We should go back, Frank. Your mom said to come back.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “Some asshole took pictures of my sister. Oliver, you’ve gotta tell me. Was it David?”

Oliver lowered his head. “David gets in trouble, Frank. I don’t want him to get in trouble anymore.”

Frank frowned, and his guard faltered as he turned to face the other boy. “Look, if it’s David, you have to tell me, okay? What he did isn’t right, Oliver. He can’t... what he did was wrong. Very wrong. Do you get that? Oliver, please...”

Frank paused in mid-sentence as shadows moved around him. As he turned, all he could see was a flash of pale skin and a black jacket covering a tall figure that held a threat in his hand that promised an act of violence Frank could only begin to comprehend. The thick branch was swung with purpose, but not at Frank. It’s target was Oliver, he realized as they were rushed from the side.

“Look out!” Frank shouted.

Oliver’s eyes widened as he dodged to his right, gasping in shock when he didn’t move quickly enough and the harsh wood cracked against his upper arm, just below his shoulder. It was the beginning and the end of the attack, but it was enough. Oliver fell as his attacker dropped the branch to flee.

This time, Frank was close enough. He dived and tackled, latching onto dark clothing as he wrestled the perpetrator to the ground. He grabbed a thick shoulder, intent on rolling over the body beneath him, but took a sharp elbow to the face for his troubles.

Blood flooded Frank’s mouth as his top lip split against his teeth and the pain subdued him long enough for his captive to struggle his way to freedom, and then he was gone. Frank was left in a state no less than shock as he dabbed at his bloody lip with the back of his wrist, wondering if he should pursue another chase. It was Oliver’s presence that decided for him.

“Are you alright?” Frank demanded as he crawled towards his friend, who was now sitting on the ground, clutching at his injured arm with a red face and gritted teeth. “Oliver?” Frank lifted his hand, but stopped himself from placing it on Oliver’s shoulder, for fear of worsening the pain. Instead, he carefully pried Oliver’s hand away from the injury and rolled up the sleeve. The welt was visible already, swelling and bruising with every second that passed. Frank cursed. “Did you see him?”

Oliver shook his head, and winced when Frank touched his tender injury, even with gentle fingers. Frank stood, and held his hand out for Oliver to take.

“Come on,” Frank insisted. “Let’s get back.”

Oliver lifted his eyes to Frank’s face, where they suddenly widened. “You’re bleeding, Frank!” Oliver said, as if it were his only concern in the world.

“I’m okay,” Frank insisted. “Come on, Oliver. I wanna make sure my sister’s alright, and we need to get some ice on your arm. I don’t think it’s broken, but someone should look.”

“It’s not broken,” Oliver replied. “Just hurts real bad.”

Frank helped him to his feet, and while he was concerned over Oliver’s injury, he was happy to have him there. Oliver knew the way back, and with his guidance, they reached the house rather quickly where Jessica Seaberg was waiting at the front door with Rudy. She took one look at her son’s bloody face---which Frank insisted looked worse than it was--and went into a full-on motherly assault unit as she dragged him to the kitchen, forced him down at the table and forced a wet rag and bag of ice upon him.

“I can’t believe you!” she said angrily. “And look at you, Frank!”

Frank glanced towards Oliver as he sat nervously in a seat next to him, still holding his arm while his mother turned her back and continued her tirade. He tried to offer a reassuring smile to his guest, but it came out as a grimace when Frank realized that that particular expression hurt. But, Oliver seemed relieved when Frank handed over his ice pack, sliding it beneath the other boy’s sleeve.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” Jessica demanded, rounding on her son.

Frank only sighed, and looked towards the kitchen entrance, where Rudy looked shaken, standing by the door. “You alright, Rudy?” he asked her. The question seemed to instantly calm his mother, who went to hug his sister.

“Of course we’re not alright,” Jessica said angrily, but when she faced Frank, she was calm again. “Did you see who it was?”

Frank frowned as he glanced at Oliver for a moment, but then shook his head. “No.”

Jessica looked between the boys at her kitchen table as Frank used the washcloth to clean the blood from his mouth, but her eyes ultimately settled on Oliver as she noticed the ice had switched hands. “What happened?” she asked, going to the boy that was not her son.

“We cornered him and he attacked us,” Frank said simply.

Jessica lifted a worried looking Oliver’s sleeve, and gasped at the knot she found there. “Oh, Oliver... you hold that there,” she ordered, moving to the freezer for more ice. “And no one saw him?”

“I couldn’t say who he was,” Frank replied. “Not for sure.”

Jessica frowned as she took a long moment to look around the kitchen at her children, and one that wasn’t hers. “I want everyone in the car,” she decided.

“What?” Frank demanded. “What for?”

“We’re going to file a police report,” Jessica stated. “And we’re going to see about getting some better locks... Oliver, I’m going to have to take you home first...”

“What? No,” Frank stated. “Mom...”

“Frank, he can’t come with us. His parents wouldn’t like it. And we are going.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Frank stated, and when he saw a warning look grow over his mom’s face, he changed his tone. “Look, you take Rudy and go... someone should stay here, anyway.”

“Frank, I don’t want...”

“Mom, please,” Frank said, his words becoming muffled as he held the rag closer to his sore lip. “I’ll lock the doors. And the windows... just... I want to stay here.”

“I wanna stay with Frank,” Oliver chimed in.

Angela turned her attention to Oliver. She was beginning to look exasperated, and Frank knew they were pushing it, but still jumped in before she could say anything. “Take Rudy and go report this to someone, alright? I don’t want to leave the house, in case the guy comes back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jessica stated.

“Mom, I don’t want to go, either,” Rudy suddenly said, and that was what did it for Jessica, and unexpectedly, gave Frank what he wanted.

“No--Rudy, you are going with me,” Ms. Seaberg stated. “Get in the car. Now. Let’s go. Frank, you don’t leave the house, keep the doors locked. Unless the Martins come over to pick up Oliver. You’ll have to tell them what happened.”

“I can’t do that!” Frank objected. Although, it was unclear which part he didn’t like.

“You have to,” Jessica stated. “And I’m stopping at Mr. Dron’s on the way out to ask him to check on you. Open the door for him.”

“But...” Frank started.

“I shouldn’t be gone any longer than an hour or so... Frank...”

She was giving him her worried look, and Frank could understand why. He felt a little shaken himself. It hadn’t been as bad since he’d made it home, and he was still numb with adrenaline, but he was disturbed over the afternoons events. But he didn’t want to leave the house. Someone had been sneaking around their windows. If he left, Frank wasn’t sure how safe he’d feel when he came back.

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” he finally said. “I’ll let Mr. Dron in.”

Jessica stared at him for a long moment, and then let out a breath. “Keep ice on your face,” she ordered, and then looked at Oliver. “Oliver, does your arm hurt really bad?”

“It’s not broken, Mom,” Frank answered for him. “We’ll be fine.”

Frank wished that he felt fine, too. But, even after he’d locked the door behind his mom and his sister, he had trouble sitting still. He’d washed off his face and checked the damage. The split lip wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t that bad, either. At least, not physically. It was unclear if it was his ego doing the thinking for him, but Frank felt like he’d just lost something more than a fight. He wished that he knew what it was.

He didn’t feel safe. Since he’d moved, he’d always thought of his family’s new home as a little...uncomfortable. But, this was the first time he didn’t feel safe in it. He went through the trouble of making sure every single window was locked, drawing the curtains for good measure. Oliver followed silently, holding ice to his arm. In the kitchen, Frank swallowed down three full glasses of water. Oliver sipped one. And in the living room, Frank paced, repeatedly checking the front window for visitors, and Oliver waited patiently on the sofa.

Frank was happy Oliver was there. It would be worse, he thought, if he’d been completely alone. He suddenly stopped, allowed his breathing to slow, and looked over his friend. Oliver’s ice had melted, and he was regarding the bag as if it had betrayed him. Frank found himself smiling at that, and feeling guilty. He opened his mouth to ask Oliver if he was alright, but suddenly Oliver’s eyes lifted to meet his.

“You didn’t tell your mom it was David,” he said, as if he’d sensed that Frank was finally calm enough to talk.

Frank frowned. “Was it him?”

Oliver lowered his head, his brow knitted, and after a long moment of consideration, Frank decided that he simply didn’t know. He sighed, and joined the other boy on the sofa where he rested his head back against the thick cushions and closed his eyes. He could hear the natural creaks in the house, and somewhere in the distance, the purring of a cat and the hum of the dishwasher. They didn’t strike him as comforting sounds. “Some freak has a picture of my sister,” he said quietly. It was wondering over the content of that picture that had him worried, but he was afraid to even think about it, let alone say it out loud. It was all too frustrating. There was too much going on. He’d been worried about Oliver. Now, he was worried about his own family. He didn’t get this place. He didn’t know if he wanted to. “I hate it here.”

Frank felt the cushions beneath him shift, and didn’t react when he felt his companion’s head rest slowly and gently on his shoulder, but when he felt Oliver’s hand climb over his own, Frank opened his eyes and watched the other boy’s fingers play over his palm. “Don’t say that, Frank,” Oliver insisted. “You’re my only friend.”

Frank looked down at the top of Oliver’s head at the messy dark hair and inhaled the scent of fresh lemons. He swallowed tightly, and without thought, found himself snuggling in closer to the warm body at his side as his hand closed over Oliver’s. “Right now I think you’re mine, too,” he admitted, suddenly resenting everyone that used to be in his life. He blamed his father for the situation that he found himself in with his mother and his sister. It was his fault that they had to move away from all their friends. It was his fault that they had to live in a run-down dump that smelled like cat urine. And it was his fault that the dump they had to live in didn’t feel safe. Because it certainly wasn’t Frank’s fault that he felt so out of sorts. He’d been uprooted, and now more than ever, he was feeling it. Between his mom working and having to help out around the house, making new friends, building a new life--it had all become a difficult task. A lonely task, since he hadn’t even heard back from any of the friends he’d written to, another thing that Frank resented. At the moment, besides his mom and his sister, Frank truly felt that Oliver was his only friend, and that small detail did a lot of explaining as to why Frank was feeling protective of that friendship... and of Oliver.

Oliver suddenly lifted his head, turning so that he and Frank were face to face, with no apparent regard for personal space. Frank didn’t seem to notice, but when Oliver smiled at what he’d said, taking it as a compliment, he wasn’t able to return it this time. Frank’s eyes fell to Oliver’s arm, to the place where the other boy was now holding a bag of water.

“Does it hurt really bad?” Frank asked.

“It just hurts.”

Frank met Oliver’s eyes, frowning. “Why’d you follow me?”

Oliver looked at Frank as if he didn’t understand why that particular question was being asked, not as if he didn’t understand the question. Frank sighed.

“I’m sorry you got hurt, Oliver.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt, too, Frank,” Oliver replied in all sincerity as he put down the bag and lifted his hand, bringing his fingers close to Frank’s face.

Instinctively, Frank flinched at the sudden gesture, but somehow managed to keep his own hands from interfering as Oliver’s fingers hovered over his sore mouth for a moment, and then ultimately came to rest alongside it at his cheek.

Frank self-consciously wanted to look away, the close proximity beginning to affect him, but instead, his eyes remained on Oliver’s, a task easily achieved only because Oliver wasn’t meeting Frank’s eyes directly, but looking at his injured lip instead. His gentle fingers and concerned expression seemed sweet to Frank, and as ridiculous as it seemed to Frank, he was touched by the indiscreet attention. Oliver moved his thumb, gingerly touching Frank’s top lip near the cut before pulling his hand away. Frank could hear his own breathing, his vision blurring as he continued to watch Oliver at close proximity; and when his tongue moved from his mouth to touch his injury he could taste his own blood and salty flavor left from Oliver’s fingers. When he suddenly realized that Oliver’s eyes were once again meeting his, Frank pulled his head back enough to bring the hazel rings into focus. It was just in time to take in a surprised breath as Oliver leaned forward, and as the other boy’s lips came to rest at the corner of Frank’s mouth he counted off the three delicate seconds that the kiss lasted.

When Frank looked at Oliver again, he was sitting back on the sofa, still watching Frank in the calm manner that Oliver seemed capable of pulling off no matter what the circumstances, causing Frank to believe that he was the only one experiencing any amount of awkwardness. He told himself that he would have let the moment pass, accept the gesture of comfort for what it was. Innocent. Sweet like Oliver. And he would have. But then the corner of Oliver’s mouth quirked up in a shy smile as he regarded Frank sidelong, and suddenly Frank wondered if Oliver was innocent at all. Innocent, perhaps. But something in the dark-haired boy’s expression gave him away, told Frank that he’d known exactly what he was doing. There was something there. There had to have been, or Frank never would have lifted his hand to brush a stand of soft hair behind Oliver’s hair, or slide his hand to the back of Oliver’s head to pull him forward.

Frank’s approach wasn’t nearly as gentle as Oliver’s, and he paid for it when a sting rose from his injured lip, but his aim was more intimate as his mouth collided with Oliver’s. He heard the other boy’s breath hitch, and then felt Oliver’s lips parting beneath his, feeling soft and careful. Their tongues lightly touched, Frank acting first, but then Oliver startled him as he deepened the kiss in a way that suggested that the experience wasn’t at all new to him. It was Frank who pulled back first.

Frank could feel the color rising in his face, but it had nothing to do with embarrassment. Staring at Oliver, he felt depleted. Perhaps it was the earlier adrenaline leaving him, and the excitement of the day, but that kiss had unexplainably drained him and he discouraged himself from wanting to do it again. Not only because he was afraid that to continue would exhaust himself, and perhaps Oliver, too, completely.

Frank rubbed at his mouth, and gently touched the wound there as he glanced at Oliver. “I’m sorry, Oliver,” he said, feeling that an apology was necessary, even though he didn’t sound sorry. Maybe he wasn’t. Caught in the moment, Frank had felt closer to Oliver, and as much as he wanted to convince himself that there had been an underlying meaning in Oliver’s kiss, he still saw it as a gesture of comfort that he’d promptly taken advantage of, and Oliver’s naivete on other matters had Frank questioning whether or not Oliver had kissed him because he wanted to, or because he was trying to do what Frank wanted.

Oliver, on the other hand, changed Frank’s mind again when he appeared to be irritated over the interruption. “Why, Frank?”

Frank shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

Oliver frowned. “Well can I do it, then?”

Frank outright laughed, while Oliver continued to study him with a faint, but detectable amount of annoyance until Frank leaned forward again. Oliver’s frown faded, and for the moment, so did any doubts Frank might have had.

.....................................

It sounded like someone was scratching on the ceiling. Scraping over old wooden boards. The creak of a door opening, and the thud of something falling. Perhaps a box, spilling small objects which rolled across the attic floor.

Frank was standing with his back firmly against the living room wall, right where he could see the entrance to the kitchen, the dark hall leading to the bedrooms, and the stairs leading upwards. His eyes darted from place to place, each moving shadow causing another knot in his throat, but nothing was going to get by him.

Cats , he told himself, it’s just the cats. In fact, he believed himself to be correct in that regard. But it still did nothing to rest his mind. Frank was tired of being on edge. He was tired of every sound making him jump, and the stiff sensation in his neck and back, caused by uncontrollable anxiety. An hour ago he’d been fine. Stretched out on the sofa with Oliver, watching a funny movie to calm both of their nerves, and a few shared kisses had made it easier for Frank not to think about the strange occurrences he didn’t understand. The physical intimacy with Oliver had been a comfort, and a challenge, when Frank realized that if their innocent affection escalated, he’d likely cross an invisible line he’d set for himself as far as Oliver was concerned. And he didn’t think Oliver would have minded, which only made the dilemma worse. But, he still felt like hiding Oliver away when Mr. Martin had pulled up alongside the house in his yellow truck just after seven o’clock.

Oliver seemed happy to see his dad, though. And, his dad treated Oliver in the same respect, confusing Frank. His gut still told him that something was wrong, but whatever it was, he couldn’t seem to see it, even if Mr. Martin seemed more than a little standoffish towards Frank when he discovered that Jessica had left them alone at the house. Frank had done nothing to smooth over the situation. He didn’t like Mr. Martin as it was, and despite his mother’s orders, he feared the truth would cause the Martins to reconsider their decision to allow Frank to see Oliver. So, he only mentioned that she had to take his sister to town, and planned to be back shortly. Oliver had seemed to understand what Frank was doing, and even added that he’d had a fun time and thanked his dad for letting him stay. He’d smiled at Frank through the truck window as they drove away, and Frank was sorry to see him go. Everything seemed to have gone downhill since. Being alone was just plain creepy in that house, and Oliver’s absence had managed to alert Frank to the fact that his mom and sister had been gone for much longer than an hour. When he’d become even more aware of the sounds in the house and the darkening sky outside, he’d grown so uncomfortable that it felt nearly impossible to sit still for anything, and he even wished that Mr. Dron would stop by to check on him.

Frank was so tense that when the sound of a key unlocking the front door clicked in his ears before it opened, allowing in a burst of humid air, he jumped even as he saw his mother standing there with Rudy just behind her.

“What good is a sheriff’s office with no officers in it?” Jessica demanded irritably, seeming unaware of Frank’s strong sigh of relief.

“You said an hour,” he said accusingly as he moved to meet them at the door.

Jessica frowned. “I’m sorry, but I was sent all over town looking for some man who supposedly would be able to help me,” she explained as she ushered Rudy into the house and closed the door. “I finally found his wife, who said he’s out catching their dinner--can you believe that? Catching their dinner? Anyway, she told me that she’d send him to us when he came home. I have no idea when that will be, and in the meantime, it looks like we’re on our own.”

“My stomach hurts,” Rudy said from behind her mother.

“Go pull out something for dinner, Rudy,” Jessica replied, “and we’ll get started.” She looked at Frank seriously. “Was everything okay here? Where’s Oliver?”

“His dad picked him up.”

“How did that go?” Jessica asked as Frank followed her towards the kitchen.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Meaning you didn’t mention what happened today? Frank, Oliver got hurt. His parents have a right to know...”

“So they can change their minds about letting him out?” Frank cut her off. “Mom, you know how they treat him’s messed up, and if you tell...”

“I don’t know that, Frank,” Jessica stated. “The Martins have their reasons for wanting to keep a close eye on Oliver, and I’m sorry, but given their situation. I can’t blame them for it.”

“Their situation with Oliver?”

Jessica stopped walking and turned to Frank with an expression that begged him to remain calm. She’d just realized that they’d never managed to finish their earlier conversation about Oliver. “Frank, I honestly believe that the Martins are doing the best they can. Listen... I know Oliver seems like a nice boy, and he is, but I think he has a few problems that might be a little over your head.”

“Like what?” Frank demanded, naturally taking offense.

Jessica sighed. “As the Martins explained it... there are times when Oliver has a few lapses. Sometimes he just... doesn’t understand why he’s doing something, or he’ll forget why he’s doing it in the first place. He...”

“He forgets,” Frank finished for her. “Sometimes he wakes up and doesn’t remember. He told me, Mom--and it sounds fishy.”

“It’s not fishy, Frank. That boy went through a lot when he was younger. Before his surgery, Mrs. Martin said that he couldn’t even feed himself. He’s come a long way, and it probably has a lot to do with his parents.”

Frank frowned. His mom was obviously going to be stubborn about this. “That still doesn’t explain the bruises... I know they’re hard to see, but they were on his face this morning. He looked like hell. He can’t even remember what happened to him, but Mom, there is definitely something going on over there that...”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jessica admitted. “But have you considered that his parents have nothing to do with it at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“They talked to me a little bit about David, too,” Jessica replied, wiping her wrist tiredly over her forehead. “I’ll admit I did think it was unreasonable for them to keep him as tightly leashed as they do Oliver after what you told me, but according to the Martins, David wants to stay home with his brother. Mrs. Martin thinks they’re very close, but...”

“But what?” Frank asked.

“Well... it seems to me that they might be focusing on taking care of the boys so much that they can’t really see that something might be wrong. It seems David has a temper. You know, that’s why they didn’t want you coming around, Frank. They were afraid David might try to cause trouble for you and I guess I can’t help but wonder if that’s because David’s jealous of Oliver more than David and Oliver being close to one another.”

“Jealous?” Frank repeated.

“Think about it for a second, Frank. Oliver’s parents are completely focused on him and what he needs. They’re bending over backwards trying to support his needs and keep him educated, and while I’m sure they care about David... he probably doesn’t get as much attention as his brother, so he acts out. The Martins are probably so overwhelmed already that their way to deal with David is to ground him. They try to control him rather than try to help him, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out David is taking some of his frustration and anger out on Oliver.”

“You think David hurt him?” Frank asked, more thoughtfully than skeptically.

Jessica shrugged. “It wouldn’t be unheard of, one sibling picking on another. But, the Martins probably don’t see it because Oliver looks up to David. I suppose the only one who would know the answer to that is Oliver. Maybe you should try talking to him. The Martins think he likes you.”

“They do?” Frank asked, surprised.

“That’s why they’ve decided to let him keep coming over here... and, I convinced them that you’re worth spending time with.” She suddenly narrowed her eyes, albeit playfully. “Don’t you dare make me eat my words, young man. Come on. Let’s get something to eat...” Jessica suddenly lowered her voice and spoke to her son seriously. “And Frank, let’s talk about happy things, okay? Your sister’s pretty shaken up about what happened today.”

Frank sighed, nodding in agreement. Happy topics sounded good to him, and he could hardly blame his sister for being upset. He only hoped that they’d find out who’d been snooping around their house, and none of them would have to be upset for much longer.

.................................

Howard Crook wasn’t happy about having to leave the comfort of his bed an hour earlier than usual before heading to his job at the taxidermist’s. At sixty-two, he considered himself a reasonable old man entitled to his leisure time, even if it cut into things like regular bathing and brushing his teeth, which he hadn’t done in a while he thought as he picked a piece of last night’s supper out of his two front teeth--or what was left of them--and then promptly popped it right back into his mouth. His wife, Brenda, was a good cook, and he had the gut to prove it. But Brenda could also be a pushy little banshee, like she was that morning when she threatened to withhold breakfast if he didn’t get on up to the lake to check out a complaint from the new teacher in town.

So, not being one to give up a meal so easily, Howard had strapped on his boots, clipped the sheriff’s badge he shared with two other men in town to his shirt front, and headed to the other side of the lake. He never really liked it there, up in the hills. His whole life he’d lived in this town, and the residents in the hills had always seemed separate. It didn’t really matter that their area code was all the same. Most of them were older residents who’d been there for years. Hardly any of them showed up for Sunday service, and they stared out at the boats that drifted into their territory like invading enemies. Someone probably should have told these Seaberg people they would have been better off in town, Crook mused. Least of all, they shouldn’t have moved into Odetta Grover’s old place. He was surprised that the town hadn’t had the house condemned after the woman’s death.

That was the last time Howard had been in the area, a year ago when they’d fished Odetta’s waterlogged corpse out of the lake. He’d been the volunteer deputy on call that morning, and had been the first to arrive. He wasn’t sure how the word got out on the accident, but before he was able to clean up the scene where the boat and Odetta’s body had apparently washed ashore, the entire town had shown up to see what all the excitement was about. He hadn’t seen so much traffic in the area... well, ever. There’d been people everywhere, all curious about one cranky old woman who’d been crazy enough to take her boat out in the storm. Odetta had been a real reclusive woman. She was someone people liked to tell crazy stories about, and during all the craziness of that day, people had invaded her home, taking souvenirs. A dish. A bowl. Little knickknacks that looked as wicked as the old house did, and a few people even took cats. Odetta hadn’t had any relatives that anyone knew of, so the town had taken ownership of the house until recently, when they’d sold it to Crook’s most recent assignment.

He hoped that this Seaberg woman wasn’t about to waste his time. Many of the few complaints dealt with by Crook and the other volunteers involved silly things, like Mrs. Sander’s missing gloves. The last time he’d shown up to help the senile old bat find them, she’d been wearing both. His wife had mentioned that the Seaberg woman had sounded upset, but Howard still had a hard time imagining what it could be about, other than her choice in housing. Apart from the occasional prankster, the town wasn’t prone to a lot of crime, which is why Crook once again felt disgruntled that he was making this trip in the first place. His tune changed, however, as he pulled up to the Seaberg house and caught sight of a young-looking woman with curly brown hair down by the water with bare feet and cutoff shorts. She was splashing in the lake, just along the shoreline with her redheaded daughter, while an adolescent male who Crook thought could use a haircut sat on an old tire nearby watching. Mrs. Seaberg was a pretty little thing, Howard thought as he grinned to himself. Back in her day, his Brenda had been quite the catch herself, but somewhere over the past ten years the woman had stopped shaving her legs and grown something of a mustache. Crook never complained, but he also never turned down the opportunity to talk to a pretty lady.

Turning the key and shutting down the engine, Crook wet his fingers with his tongue and straightened his bushy eyebrows in the rearview mirror. When he got out of the car and waved to the Seabergs, his smile was just about as greasy as the balding patches of gray hair on his head, and the family regarded him warily as the boy went to stand near his mother and sister in such a territorial manner that Crook nearly laughed. Instead, he pointed to his badge and walked towards them.

“Someone call for a sheriff?” he asked.

Mrs. Martin noticeably relaxed, and came to introduce herself and her two children. Crook, now less eager to leave, did his best to be polite as he asked the family how they liked the area, and did the neighborly thing by inviting them to church. The little girl was so timid she hid behind her brother the whole time, and the brother was more than a little standoffish as he continued to watch Crook’s every move, but it didn’t matter, since he was more interested in dealing with their mother. But as Jessica Seaberg explained the problem, Crook was a little confused over the whole thing.

“You say he took a picture?” Crook asked when Jessica had finished.

“Yes,” she replied. “Through my daughter’s bedroom window. Would you like to write any of this down, Mr. Crook.”

“No need, no need,” Crook said animatedly and then tapped at his temple. “I keep it all in here, sweetheart, all in here.” He laughed, but the family didn’t join him in it so he cleared his throat and looked at the redheaded little girl. “He didn’t take a picture of anything indecent, did he?”

Rudy turned as red as her hair, and Frank moved protectively in front of her, appalled by the man’s blackening teeth and total lack of finesse while handling the situation.

“She’d been changing,” Jessica intervened. “ She thinks the picture was taken while she was dressed, but this boy was still outside of her bedroom window.”

“I see, I see,” Howard said, although Frank looked skeptical over that. “And you say your boy and his friend chased him off?”

“They fought,” Jessica said, and Howard looked at the young man’s split lip and grinned.

“He gotcha a good one, didn’t he?” Crook remarked.

“He took us by surprise,” Frank said tersely. “He hit Oliver, too.”

“With a big stick,” Jessica added, wanting the sheriff to have all the details, despite the fact that his competence concerned her. “If you’d like to talk to him, too, he’s...”

“No, that’ll be alright,” Crook said as he waved her concern away with his plump hand. He coughed, tasting last night’s cigar, and wiped some of the sweat from his brow as he looked over the family, and then at Jessica, his eyes moving straight up her body from her legs to her face. She was frowning at him. “I’ll do my best to ask around and see if anyone knows anything,” Howard offered. “But I gotta tell you, Miss, this is probably nothing. You know how kids are, anything to entertain themselves through the summer.”

Jessica’s frown deepened. “Mr. Crook...”

“There’s even a picture-taking club back in town. A bunch of kids who get together every week and... take pictures.”

“You think it might have been someone from a photography club?” Jessica asked.

“Could be. Maybe they came up here to find something more interesting, and one of them thought it would be funny. Like I said, I’ll ask around. In the meantime, you and the kids try not to worry. I’ll get in touch if I find anything.”

“That’s it?” Frank demanded.

“Sorry, son. It’s all I can do for right now. Unless you saw who it was?” Howard watched the boy closely for a moment, but only because he looked away, as if to hide something; but then their eyes met again and Frank shook his head.

“Nope.”

“Well then,” Crook said as he reached to shake Mrs. Seaberg’s hand again. “If you think of anything else, you be sure to let me know about it.”

“We will,” Jessica said. She sounded disappointed, but it was unclear whether or not Howard Crook noticed it as his big body slowly moved back to his vehicle and he drove away while the family watched.

The truth was, he didn’t really care about the way Jessica Seaberg seemed to be overreacting over the situation. But, she was a woman, so he really expected nothing less. But as far as Crook was concerned, some kid had gotten curious, and a few boys had exchanged blows. Not really a big deal. Still, nearly half a mile down the road, the dark figure of a man in a hooded jacket filled Howard Crook’s rearview mirror, and he hit the brakes before he looked again to make sure it wasn’t a shadow. Seeing that the figure hadn’t moved, he struggled in his seat to look out the back window. He saw a shadow move, and then whoever it was was gone.

Howard shook his head and hit the gas. He hated it up here in the hills. He wanted to get back to town. He needed to get to his real job, anyway, and didn’t have time for the new teacher’s silly complaints. Besides, the object in the figure’s hands could have been anything besides a camera.

...............................

Oliver Martin sat up in his bed, yawning and stretching before he rubbed at his eyes, adjusting to the morning light coming through his bedroom window. He could smell cinnamon oatmeal and pancakes, and hear his parents talking about their plans for the day somewhere on the other side of the door.

He adjusted his boxer shorts as he climbed out of bed, smiling to himself as he moved to look out the window. It was going to be a good day, he just knew it. Any day he saw Frank would be a good day as far as he was concerned. Not even the large, painful bruise on his arm was enough to dampen his spirits. It was a small price to pay for the afternoon he’d had yesterday. Being with Frank was wonderful. Everything about Frank was wonderful.

Oliver stared at his reflection in the window glass, noticing that it seemed to be coming closer and closer to him until it stopped and he realized that it wasn’t smiling back. Sighing, he opened the window and spoke through it at his twin.

“What’re you doing out there, David?”

“You’re waking up kinda late, Oliver,” David replied. “I thought you wanted to go see Frank today.”

“I will after breakfast,” Oliver said, and then fell silent for a moment as he thought over his next words. “You can’t take pictures of Frank’s family anymore, David. He doesn’t like it.”

“I’ll take pictures of whatever I want,” David said decidedly.

Oliver frowned. “You’re gonna make him mad, David.”

“So?”

“Frank’s my friend.”

“No he’s not, Oliver. He’s just some guy who feels sorry for you. I’m your only friend. Me and you--we only have each other. Don’t you remember that, Oliver?”

“Frank’s different. He likes me, David! And you told me he was different. Remember, David?”

“I said you should say hi to him, not fall for him. He’s using you.”

“That’s not true!” Oliver snapped in a rare outburst of anger towards his brother. “He likes me. He told me so. He likes me more than you, even.”

David laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t everybody? He’s not really your friend, Oliver. We don’t have friends.”