Broken Boy - 1. Story: Part 1

With the cold metal pressed against his ear, Keith listened to the annoying mechanical tone. He took another drag from his cigarette and felt his nerves somewhat calming.

“Pick up the phone, Dumbass,” he muttered though gritted teeth.

At the same moment, a voice said, “Hi. Looking for Andrew Turner? Well, I’m kinda busy right now. So leave a message after the tone. I’ll call you back… or not.”

Keith felt like reaching through the phone and punching his friend. But he simply waited for the tone.

“I’m standing in front of his house. I’m going in. If I get caught or killed because of your stupid bet, I swear I will drag you to hell with me,” he said and snapped his phone shut.

He took a last drag from the cigarette and flicked it in the road. He looked at the deserted surroundings, trying to pick up any movement or sound. But all he heard were some dogs rummaging through a nearby trash bin. It was now or never. Zipping his hoodie shut, he walked across the road. He couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this.

It was all his damn fault. Why did he have to bet on that stupid horse? Not only did he place a large amount of money on it but he also had to claim that he would do anything if it lost. Why did he have to make such a claim in front of all his friends? And that stupid horse had to lose. He scowled as he recalled Andy’s gleeful face when he lost. He should have known better before making that bet. He should have known that Andy would want revenge for all the times Keith won over him. And payback was indeed a bitch.

That’s how he found himself walking toward the huge one-storied house. He had to get in, not steal anything but just to get in. That was the deal. It wasn’t any house. It was John Shephard’s house. Shephard was probably the most influential person in the town. He worked in the bank in some prestigious post. He had been trying to get into politics for the past two years. And from what Keith had heard, he was very close too.

As Keith stood in front of the mahogany door, one thought crossed his mind.

If he was caught, it was the end of him.

With a scowl, he looked around and saw several huge flower pots. Checking to see if someone was around, he lifted the pots. Under the third one, he saw a pair of keys glinting under the moonlight. Grinning, he took the keys and opened the door.

Keith closed the door behind him. He didn’t dare turn the lights on. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness and weaved through the house. It was obvious that Shephard didn’t lack for money. Everything in here seemed to have been taken right from some pricey showroom’s catalogue. The lush tapestry, the antique furniture, the crystal chandelier… even the stupid business magazines seemed to be strategically placed after much reflection. Everything seemed perfect.

Keith fished out his mobile from his pocket. He took a few pictures, just for proof. This way, he could tell dumbass Andy to shove it. As he turned away to get out, he looked at the stairs. The bet was just to get in. He already had the pictures and he wanted to get out of here as soon as he could. Yet as he looked at the stairs, he had this weird feeling he should go up. He didn’t want to land in any kind of trouble but…

“What the heck,” he muttered as he started climbing the stairs, “I’m already in.”

Keith saw a long corridor when he got to the top of the stairs. It probably led to the bedrooms. He wondered what kind of bed Shephard slept in.

‘With massive gold bed posts and dollar bill bedsheets, maybe,’ he thought as he smirked. He tried the first door. It was locked. The second was locked too. He went to the third one at the end of the corridor. He felt his heart skip as he realized that it was locked only from the outside.

As the door opened, he felt his stomach turn to lead. Crystal blue eyes looked back at him from the corner of the dark room. The first thought that formed in his mind was that he was caught and that he should bolt out as soon as he could. But the next instant, as he took a step back, he stopped. He looked at the boy in front of him and realized that something wasn’t right. Dried blood covered his soft blond hair and his face. Bruises marked parts of his face and arms.

Keith immediately grabbed his phone from his pocket. As his fingers were about to punch in the number, he froze. Who was he going to call? The ambulance and the police?A cop was the last person he wanted to see in this situation. Getting caught trespassing in Shephard’s place would be a surefire way to make his life hell. But this boy needed help… His mind reeled as he dithered on the same spot.

He silently took a step back. The blue eyes remained locked with his green ones, as if a plea. Shaking his head, he turned and walked away. He had to get out of here as soon as he could. His legs seemed to move on their own as he fled the house. Standing on the road, he released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the boy standing at the doorstep. He watched as he took a timid step out of the house.

Keith stuffed his hand in his pockets and walked away. His loud footsteps resounded in the still air and fainter ones echoed behind him. They sounded like two sets of heart beats trapped in one body; alien from each other yet linked in some sick pervert way. As he walked, his mind screamed at him to run, to flee but something else held him back close to the weak footsteps. Was it the ghosts from his present? Or were it those from his past? He rubbed his temple as horrors of his own life flashed in his head, horrors he had seen in those blue eyes.

Keith reached his house. With his hand on the gate, he glanced back at the boy. His face was hidden in the shadows but his hands were fidgeting with the hem of his bloodied shorts. His feet kept moving, as if unaware where to go. Chewing his lips, Keith stood still caught in the same dilemma. Which way should he go? He finally opened the gate and went it. Aware of the eyes following him, he entered his house, leaving the door open. Peeping between the curtains, he saw the boy standing on the road with his hand on the gate at the same place where Keith’s rested a few minutes ago. The man switched the porch’s light on. He strode to the adjoining empty room. He opened the old wardrobe. He grabbed some of his old clothes. He laid them on the bed. His body moved on its own, making the decisions for him. He was barely conscious of his brain’s scream for caution dulled beneath all the headaches.

Keith came to a halt as he came out of the room. His breath stuck in his throat. The boy stood at the doorstep. His face was clearer in the light and so were the bruises. Patches of purple marred his pale skin; his lower lip was swollen; his forehead was swollen and bloodied as if hit against something… The dark-haired man gulped. He opened his mouth but no words came out. What could he even say? Which words would soothe away the horrors he had been through? Welcome? Sorry? He simply walked away, letting the light in the room stay on.

He grabbed the first aid box from his room and went back. He found the boy in the bathroom linked to the small room washing his face. He winced each time his hands touched the bruise. The blue eyes met his in the mirror. The boy remained still, almost petrified. The moment Keith took a step forward, he jumped back. The soap slipped from his hand, tumbling down along with the kit of toothbrush and razor. His back was pressed against the wall, with his hands roaming around searching for an escape. An animal-like guttural sound escaped his throat. He gazed as Keith with his eyes round with fear.

Keith set the first aid box on the counter and backed away slowly. However, the image never left his mind. It was like a caged animal scurrying around to escape the inevitable death and the bloody fate. Blood… He gazed at his own hands and saw them covered in red, mingled with his tears of sorrows. Shaking his head, he returned to his room. He washed himself and changed for bed. Minutes gave in to hours yet sleep never came. He kept tossing around, trying to escape the haunting memories. Eyes opened or closed, he could see them- the blue eyes, the brown eyes, the bloodied forehead, the bloodied chest, the warm corpse in his lap, his screams piercing the dark night…

Keith tossed off the blanket and got up. He grabbed his box of cigarettes. He knew that if he smoked, he wouldn’t be able to sleep for another few hours but it was the price to pay to evade those memories. Walking in the dark, he paused in front of a door. Faint sobs could be heard on the other side. His hands wavered over the door knob but then settled on the cold wooden surface, with his thumb stroking it gently. He rested his head against the door as the sobs filled the silent night.

******

Keith sat at the table, pouring the cereal in his bowl. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the boy entering the room, standing away, unsure. He was wearing the change of clothes he had left on the bed with a clean Band-Aid on his forehead. The green-eyed man pushed the box of cereal and the carton of milk toward the other bowl he had set. He started his breakfast while the boy took the seat furthest from him. He sat there for a while as if on the verge of saying something but then he grabbed the box hesitantly and poured the content in his bowl. He kept throwing furtive looks at Keith, as if expecting him to strike him but the latter kept reading the newspaper by his side while munching on his breakfast.

When finished, Keith rose from his seat. He grabbed his work bag and made his way to the door. He paused, wondering if he should say something. But before he could, he went out the door.

Keith could hear the jokes and laughter of his colleagues over the mechanical rumbles of the machines at the construction site. Normally, he would participate in defending his favorite sports team or making plans for the next weekend get together. Today, he remained silent for a chaos reigned in his mind. Questions plagued him and each one he answered sprung ten new ones. Each query led to the sight behind that closed door.

His grip tightened on the spade as he kept shoveling the cement in the pails scattered around him. He ignored the pain in his fists. The image of the scared blue eyes floated in his mind’s eye. Why would someone do that to him? Why did he follow him to his house? How could someone seek shelter in a stranger’s house? It made no sense. Did he mistake him for someone else? Did he undergo some sort of trauma after those abuses? Or was it for the same reason Keith let him in, for he had seen the horrors in his green eyes too?

Images of his past overlapped those of yesterday. He saw himself on the asphalt rocking his body in his lap and screaming for help which would never come. And the blood… He froze as he saw the blood running from his hand along the spade. He suddenly felt the cold breeze of the night on his back. He closed his eyes as he shook his head.

“It’s not true, it has been over two years,” he muttered to himself.

“You okay there, Keith?” Andrew voice broke his trance and caused his eyes to open.

“Yeah, just a bit tired,” he answered as he continued shoveling. The full pails were being carried away and replaced with empty ones.

“So you managed to get in that Shephard’s house?”

“No.”

“What happened? You chickened out?” Andrew sniggered.

“Yes.”

“I knew it. You’re such a pussy.”

Keith remained silent, continuing with his work. He never raised his head to look at his colleague or to defend himself. He could feel a pair of eyes on his back.

“You sure you’re okay, man?”

“Yes.”

Andrew grabbed some of the filled pails and walked away. Keith barely noticed it. He fought with all his might against the resurging images of the past. ‘Think of the present.’

He thought about the boy at his place… if he was still there. His stomach clenched uneasily. He should have told him to stay. What if he went away? He probably had nobody to go to. He was in a terrible state also. Keith ran his hands through his hair, feeling more frustrated with each passing second.

The day dragged on like a strenuous torture. He barely felt the sweltering sun on his back or the fatigue creeping through his body. The only thing on his mind was the dull ache in his head along with the tensions and doubts. His cigarettes provided little, yet sought, relief. His lunch was just two mouthfuls of a sandwich and the rest went to the stray dogs roaming around. When the day ended, he left his colleagues behind without any words and headed the way home. A few times, his steps would be hurried, hoping to tell the boy to stay back and other times, they would slow down, dreading what he would see.

The night had already crept over the day by the time he reached his home. He sighed in relief as he saw the lights on inside. Hearing some noises from the kitchen, he went inside and saw the boy standing in the corner. He threw furtive looks to the left. Following his gaze, Keith saw one of his Tupperware containers sitting on the table. He opened it and saw steaming pasta mixed with some chopped vegetables inside. The warm scent filled the room. The boy had cooked for him. He wondered if it was his way of saying thanks. A small smile appeared on his face but it disappeared as soon as it came. There was only one set of plates on the tables.

Keith turned and saw the boy standing close to the door. Now, he realized that he had changed into his previous clothes, albeit a bit cleaner.

He was leaving.

Their eyes met. The boy opened his mouth several times but nothing came out. He just stood there. Keith tried to say something but everything he had been thinking the whole day disappeared. His eyes went over the bruises which had taken on an ugly shade of purple. The lips were no longer swollen but the cut was still visible.

Keith turned and grabbed another set of plates. He placed it on the table opposite the first ones. Without uttering any word, he walked out of the kitchen to his room. He took his shower kit and entered the bathroom. Beneath the cascade of cold water, he leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes. His mind kept admonishing him for not saying anything back in the kitchen but his lips remained closed, as if sewn together. Getting out of the shower, he changed in some comfortable clothes and made his way to the kitchen.

The boy was sitting at the table, his hands again in his lap, squirming, as if he wanted to hide somewhere. Keith sighed and took the seat opposite him. He filled his plate with the steaming pasta and after he was done, the boy filled his cautiously. Sounds of the clinking silverware against the china filled the room as they ate. A strange silence had settled between them, almost like a third person, one both of them refused to look at or even acknowledge. Yet, they knew it was here. A friend or foe, it remained to be seen.

As Keith rose from his seat, he wondered if it was better this way. Who knew what would happen if he uttered any word? Would he break more than the silence?

*****

The rest of night and the morning went by like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. The broken stranger still lurked in his home, trying to hide in corners, the touch of the past horrors still lingering on his present. There was the uncomfortable silence which blew between them. Worst was his own demons who followed him from the silence of his home to the noises of his workplace.

Wiping off the sweat from his forehead with his head, Keith approached the foreman. The bulky man, busy looking at some papers, raised his head and stared at the young man.

“Lenny, I’m not feeling well today,” Keith said, stuffing his hand in his pocket to hide his nervousness. “Can I get the rest of the day off, please?”

The foreman gazed at him intently while the latter shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He rarely missed work so it was surely weird that he asked for a half-day leave.

“Okay, you can go. But we are working extra hours on Friday. You better stay and replace these lost hours.”

“Definitely,” Keith smiled. Jogging to the front, he grabbed his bag and walked out. The sound of the construction site faded, only to be replaced by those of the bustle of the city. Men and women passed by him but he kept his eyes down on his moving feet. Yet, strangely, he was barely aware of where they were leading him. By the time he raised his head, he was in front of Shephard’s house. He gulped as he took an involuntary step backward. Biting his lip, he strode to the shop opposite the house. Shelves of products covered the walls, with a boy cleaning some wares in the back. He walked to the large man behind the counter, who was looking at him.

“One box of Benson and Hedges, please,” Keith asked. While the man rose to grab a box from the shelf, he continued. “That’s Shephard’s house in front, right?”

“Of course. Everyone knows that. You new around here?”

“Kind of.” The lie tumbled out of his lips, before any thought could even form in his head. He hastily took the note out of his wallet, to hide his nervousness. “I used to live around here when I was kid. It has been years since I’ve been here.”

“Yeah, many things changed around here.” The man kept the box along with the change on the counter.

“Yes, it seems so. He has a son, right? I remember him. We were in the same school.” Even if it sounded plausible in his head, he regretted it as soon as he said it. He should have been more subtle.

The man’s demeanor changed. He crossed his arms and his eyes peered at Keith calculatingly. “Yes.”

“So… so, how’s he?”

“Haven’t seen him much. You want anything, else?” The man uttered the last words with a touch of finality.

“No, that would be it. Thanks.” Keith walked out, well aware of the pair of eyes on his back. He mentally kicked himself for his mistake. He should have prepared himself about what to say. As he walked away, he lit a cigarette from the box.

“Hey wait.”

Keith turned and saw someone jogging toward him. Upon looking more closely, he recognized the boy wiping the wares inside the shop.

“Yes?”

“You are looking for information on Shephard’s son?”

“Kinda.”

“Well, I might tell you something.” When Keith remained silent, he continued. “What will I get in exchange?”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Oh,” the boy said, looking rather disappointed. But then his eyes focused on the box of cigarettes.

“You can have this, if you want.”

“Really? You aren’t a reporter or journalist, are you?”

“Do I look like one?” Keith couldn’t help the sneer on his face. He was still in his work uniform with the cement dust clinging on the blue overall.

“Sorry.” The boy’s shoulders relaxed as he grinned.

“So what do you know about Shephard’s son?” he asked seriously, ending all pretence of subtlety.

“Shephard caught him with someone on his bed.” The boy wetted his lips as he looked around before continuing in a whisper. “With a guy, a fag.”

“And?” Keith asked, though he already knew the answer. Shephard was very popular among the conservatives. Having a gay son would be a terrible blow to his reputation.

“They tried to cure him. Church people used to come, but always at night, late night. There were chants and prayers while he would scream for help, as if they were torturing him. People say that he tried to escape on his eighteenth birthday. There was a small party and all, but he got caught and brought back. After that, they locked him in. One day, all the screams stopped. All you would hear was the chants, stronger than ever. I think they finally cured him.”

Keith stood still, his mind reeling from the information. He silently handed the boy the pack of cigarette. His steps echoed in his ears as he walked away, bringing back the image of the boy huddled in a corner.

Back home, he found the boy sitting at the table. Keith looked at the bruises on his face and on his body. His own father had done this, the one who was supposed to protect him, to guide him. How could…

Clenching his fists, Keith went to his room to refresh himself. The rest of the night passed in a haze. Many times, he found himself looking at the boy, recalling what he had been through. He had screamed. He had been tortured. They didn’t cure him; they broke him.

After dinner, Keith sat on the steps of the porch. He gazed at the stars with a cigarette lit between his fingers. He no longer resisted as his own demons caught up with him. A familiar face smiled at him- Daniel. They had grown up on the streets together. Keith had always been ostracized because of his dark skin but Daniel had kept him close to himself and had called him his brother. They shared no bonds of blood yet they had always been there for each other. Daniel had raised him, had supported him, had protected him. Till the end.

Keith closed his eyes as the darkness of the night weighed in his shoulders. He heard his hurried steps on the cold asphalt. The hoodie barely hid his dark skin, his bushy afro hair. The taunts, the insults echoed in his ears. The fear urged his legs to run. It was too late. Blows landed on his face, kicks on his body. He cried for help, he howled. Daniel appeared by his side. He fought for him. He protected him. A gun shot tore the silence of the night. He felt the weight of the body falling on him. His brother lay in his lap. His hands were covered in blood, mingled with his own tears. He screamed for help. But no one came.

Keith woke up from his memories as something warm wrapped around him. He didn’t realize that he had been shivering. He hurriedly wiped off the tears from his face. He looked at the woolen blanket placed around him and saw the boy sitting next to him. Their hands touched as the pale hand rested next to his.

The clouds faded to nothing, letting them bask in the soothing embrace of the moonlight. The purple bruises were more visible than ever but the blue eyes looked back at him, twinkling in the night. Keith felt his own lips mirroring the smile on those bruised lips. Daniel’s last words came back to him:

“A person’s worth is his heart, Keith. Never let someone make you believe otherwise. Always protect the heart, always help the broken.”