Free Second Chance by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

just as you were looking back, and I saw what you saw. Nobody. Too bad you didn’t learn to ride without running into garages.”
    Ryan figured Lionel was only teasing him, but he wasn’t in the mood for it and it made him mad. In fact, he felt more angry than hehad in a long time. Ryan had been known to be a bit of a hothead in sports when things didn’t go his way. And he could scream and yell at Raymie Steele and his other friends once in a while. But he felt such a rage at Lionel that he could hardly contain himself. He wanted to kill this kid, despite the fact that right then Lionel was the last friend Ryan had in the world—at least that he knew of.
    Ryan imagined himself jumping off his bike and charging Lionel, knocking him off his own bike and pounding him into the ground. He wondered if Lionel knew what he was thinking, because Lionel looked strangely at Ryan, as if he was worried about him.
    “Are you OK, man?” Lionel asked.
    “Of course I’m not OK!” Ryan shot back. “How could I be OK? My parents are dead, I don’t believe in God—at least a God who would do this—and I have nowhere to live! How could I be OK?”
    “You’ve got a place to live,” Lionel said. “I’m the one without a house. You just have to get over your fear and talk yourself into going inside. What do you think, that death is contagious or something? You’ll be safer in your own house than any other place I can think of.”
    “I just can’t, Lionel. Now don’t pressure me.”
    “Well, anyway, what I really meant was areyou OK with that scrape on your forehead? You need to get that cleaned and bandaged.”
    “Where are we going to do that?”
    “At your house. Follow me.”
    “Lionel!”
    “You don’t have to go in, you big baby. I’ll get the stuff and do it in the driveway. But I might try to get you inside if you’ll let me.”
    “I want to go inside, but I can’t.”
    “Let’s worry about that when we get there.”
    “Don’t try to make me do something I’m not ready for, Lionel.”
    When they arrived several minutes later, Ryan waited in the driveway while Lionel went in through the back. When he came out with a first-aid kit, Ryan thought he was strangely silent. “What’s the matter?” Ryan asked.
    “You don’t wanna know.”
    “’Course I do. What’s up?”
    “I’ll never get you in there now.”
    “Why?”
    “Just hush up and hold still. This is going to sting.”
    Ryan had to admit to himself that he was impressed with how Lionel was taking care of him and watching out for him, even if Lionel put him down and called him names sometimes. This was clearly a kid who either had it in his personality or character to helpothers, or he had really paid attention when his parents took care of him.
    Lionel pulled several squares of gauze off a roll, drenched them in a solution that smelled like a doctor’s office, and told Ryan, “Close your eyes, grit your teeth, and stand still. It’ll sting, but I have to clean that wound, and it won’t hurt long. The air will cool it, and the pain will go away quick.”
    “Wait! Don’t! Let me do it!”
    “Yeah, sure. No way. Now come on and let me. Hurry, this stuff evaporates faster than water. Now do what I say.”
    Ryan held his breath and shut his eyes. He forgot to grit his teeth, but that happened automatically when Lionel set down the first-aid kit and gently touched the alcohol-drenched gauze to his raw, scraped forehead. Lionel didn’t even rub it but it felt like sandpaper on Ryan’s wound. Ryan started to wrench away from the pain, but Lionel seemed prepared for that. He grabbed Ryan’s arm with his free hand and hung on. Ryan wanted to squeal, but he resisted, his teeth pressed tightly together.
    “OK,” Lionel said. “Hang on. I’m through and I’m going to let go. Just don’t touch that spot. It’s clean, and when it dries we can bandage it.”
    “Ooooh! Ooooh!” was all Ryan could say.It felt as if it would sting forever,