Free A red tainted Silence by Carolyn Gray Page B

said. Then, not hesitating, I pulled off my boxers, pulled on my shorts, and helped him on with the boxers, which, thankfully, stretched enough to fit. He leaned into me and I started to lead him away.
    “Wait, my wallet,” he said.
    I let go of him and picked up what was left of his leather pants, fishing in the pockets, and pulled out a set of keys, a whole bunch of change, his wallet -- and one of Jenny’s flyers.
    I stuffed everything except for the flyer in my pockets, then wrapped my arm around him again.
    We hurried away from the scene, Nicholas leaning on me so much I was almost carrying him. When we reached their car, I looked inside and cussed -- I’d hoped the keys would still be inside, but they weren’t. “Come on, they’re waking up and might try to follow,” I said, then turned back down the street.
    “Where are we going?”
    “To my parents’ house.”
    He stopped. “No, I can’t --”
    I tugged on him. “Yes, you can. My mom will understand. I told her all about you.” He looked at me then, hurt and confused, but didn’t argue. We made quite a pair, I thought -- stumbling, filthy, bleeding, me half dressed, him in boxers. I wished a cop would drive by. Of course that didn’t happen.
    We turned the corner just as we heard the souped-up engine start. “Shit,” I said, and I felt Nicholas curl into himself.
    “They’re coming back!” he said, panicking.
    I grimaced. “Come on. We’d better hide.”
    I looked up at the abandoned apartment building we were in front of and decided it would have to do. Half-carrying him up the steps, I tested the door and, surprise, found it unlocked. Boxes, old furniture, pure junk littered the floor. I pushed my way inside and pulled Nicholas after me.

    A Red-Tainted Silence
    45

    I closed the door and, letting Nicholas go, pushed all the junk I could in front of it, blocking it as best I could by shoving a half-broken chair under the handle. Hopefully if they tried the handle, they’d think it was locked.
    It was hot and dark inside, and musty, and it stank, but we’d be safe now. Taking Nicholas by the hand, I gently pulled him up the steps. We climbed one flight, then two, before I found an open door to an apartment in the front of the building. Using my shoulder, I pushed my way inside, grimacing at the mess. But there were windows where I could see out on the street below, and maybe we could open one and cool off.
    Night was rapidly falling, and the streetlights were flickering on. We both heard the souped-up engine idling right outside our hiding place. Yeah, they were searching for us, all right. Looking around, I found some relatively clean cardboard and put it on the floor by one of the windows, which was open a crack. Then I found some old, rank sofa cushions, half torn, no doubt by rats and I didn’t want to know what else. I grimaced, but propped them against the wall. I sat down then and leaned against the cushions
    “Come here and sit down, Nicholas. Come on.”
    He came to me and slowly eased down, his breath hitching from the pain. I knew he hurt all over, and it would only get worse. The streetlight bathed his pale face, and my heart about broke, seeing the fear and pain there as he looked numbly out onto the street.
    Outside, the car doors opened.
    “They’re getting out,” he said, his voice small and trembling. Gone was the commanding stage performer, his confidence, his presence that had so wowed me, replaced by a desperate young man trembling with unrelieved fear. I didn’t want to think the Nicholas Kilmain I’d seen on that stage was an illusion and this was his reality. I couldn’t bear the thought that he lived in constant fear for his safety, for maybe even his life. All because he was openly gay, and most people in the world weren’t like his friends at the bookstore.
    I remembered my earlier envy and felt sick -- I had a strong feeling he’d been through this before.
    I wanted to reach for him, but was scared to. He