Free On the Edge of Humanity by S. B. Alexander

negative.
    A deep-seated dull pain pounded the sides of my temples. I needed food and my growling stomach confirmed it. I clicked out of the website and placed the computer back on top of the dresser when a car door shut. I scampered over to the window, the dull pain shifting to a sharper one. Mr. Jackson? My hunger pains turned into angry butterflies. I began pacing when the front door opened then closed.
    “Ben. Ben,” Mr. Jackson called out.
    “Dad, you’re home early.” Ben sounded winded.
    “The last two lectures didn’t interest me. I figured I could get home and hang out with you for a couple days while we’re both on spring break.”
    “Um, Dad? I don’t want you to freak out.”
    The door to the room was cracked, so I tiptoed over to it.
    “Son, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Mr. Jackson asked.
    “Sam and Jo are here,” Ben said.
    Mr. Jackson let out a deep breath. “Is that all? You scared me. Its fine, son. You know I like Sam.”
    “But the thing is, Dad…um...”
    “Spit it out,” Mr. Jackson said.
    While Ben searched for his next words, I walked out of his room and stopped at the top of the stairs. I moved cautiously down the first step, then the second. Mr. Jackson stood on the carpet that lined the small foyer in front of the door. He wore a New England Patriots ball cap that shadowed his unshaven face. As I descended the stairs, his chestnut-colored eyes blinked a few times at me. When I stopped on the bottom stair, his eyes grew as large as golf balls. Ben turned his head and peered at me through hooded eyes. He grimaced as if he were bracing for the firestorm that his father was about to deliver.
    Mr. Jackson fixed his eyes on Ben, then on me. He moistened his lips and said, “What happened?”
    At that moment, Sam appeared at the edge of the banister. He had pulled back his hair into a low neckline ponytail. “Mr. Jackson, we can explain.”
    “You sure will. Kitchen. Now. All of you.”
    His tone sent a shiver up my spine and reminded me of those times I sat in his office waiting for him to yell at Blake and me.
    Mr. Jackson led the way to the kitchen, but Sam and I hung back for a second.
    “I’m not talking, you are,” I said.
    “I got this,” Sam said.
    The angry butterflies were still swirling around in my stomach as we made our way down the hall. Once in the kitchen, my eyes started burning. I opened and closed them a few times, trying to clear them, but it didn’t help. I blinked a few more times, but it was no use. My eyes were on fire, as if someone had stuck a hot fireplace poker in them and held it there. I covered my eyes with both hands. Maybe it was the bright fluorescent lights that sprayed down from above.
    “What’s wrong?” Sam whispered.
    “I don’t know. My eyes hurt.”
    He grabbed my arm and guided me to a bar stool at the island that served as the kitchen table.
    “Just give me a minute. I think it’s from the shampoo.” I blinked a few more times.
    Then Ben handed me a wet paper towel. The coolness of it eased the burning sensation.
    Mr. Jackson spoke up. “Well, let’s have it.”
    “Mr. Jackson, you know Jo and I have been in foster care.”
    He nodded.
    “Well, about a month ago we moved to a new foster home. Mr. and Mrs. Birch seemed to be okay, but I wasn’t home much because of baseball practice. On Friday night, Ben and I had grabbed a bite to eat after practice and hung out. When I got home, I heard Jo shouting. I ran to her room and saw that creep Mr. Birch attacking her. I grabbed my baseball bat and hit him, but not before he stabbed her a few times.” Sam had a tear rolling down his cheek.
    My eyes watered as Sam told his side of the story. I glanced at Ben who leaned against the kitchen sink with his mouth agape. I didn’t know if Sam had told Ben the whole story or not, but from Ben’s expression it didn’t appear so.
    “Where was Mrs. Birch when all this was happening?” Mr. Jackson asked.
    “I’m not sure,”