Never Let Me Go

 

Who was the badass now?


The voice carried inside Hayden, but he didn't let it get to him. He smoked his cigarette, ignoring the aggravation inside him. It lived inside his head. Usually, he never let it take over because he always did what he was told. But he wasn't gonna do anything bad to Mia. Not yet. Anyway.

So the cigarette light burn was a bit more nasty than he thought it would be. Funny, how that happened. But still, he wasn't gonna feel bad about it. He just couldn't. She should be used to this by now. He'd burned her hair once, but that was just an accident.

Smoking and making out, do not mix.

But of course, someone laughed at him. The voice that carried like a voice over a  narrative when you hear the beginning of a tale in a movie or tell you how it ended. It was Hayden's secret. No one needed to know he heard a voice. It wasn't just any voice. All right, sometimes, he did try to fight back. He did when he was a kid because the voice got him in so much damn trouble. Well, it was foster care. Even so. Hayden was there when it was alive and.... well, it had made him watch at the top of the staircase. The last home he really knew was where he had a mom and dad.

He remembered the blood. On their faces. The wall splattered with specks of blood like rain. He tried not to look. But he couldn't take his eyes off... about what was there. Their stare, like a zombie. And then he saw Evil as he would come to know. The mass of darkness put his forefinger to his lips to tell Hayden to be quiet. If he were quiet, he'd let him live. Hayden just didn't know then, he'd have to be trapped in the attic for the next few days to come. The stench of death was all around. Hayden was so sure he would be next to go. But then Evil came back for him.

Evil had a large face. Almost of a giant. Hayden thought of him now as an acne-eaten-faced creature with long dark hair who didn't speak much English. He was truly the boogie man. And Hayden went with him, walking days it felt like, among the corn fields of Kansas. They'd find farmhouses while the people were out, and Hayden remembered stealing white bread and jars of peanut butter. Something for the road. He'd drink beer with Evil, and smoke cigarettes too. He almost felt close to him. Almost. Because the rest was history. Evil liked to make history when he felt like it.

Sometimes, Hayden would stay at the library while Evil did his misery. Hayden would find a quiet corner, and try his best to learn to read on his own. He knew a little. He wasn't completely illiterate. So he had time for books and math. Then Evil would come for him. He'd watch Evil have a bloody steak at a nearby truck stop. He never asked for much from Evil. Hayden kept his mouth shut mostly, buying his time, he guessed.

By the time he was ten, it might have been too late. It started when a woman saw how filthy his hands were at a grocery store when he touched a bright red apple. She pointed to Evil. She swore she'd seen his poster at the Post Office. What was a man like him doing with a blue-eyed little boy? Something was wrong.

Evil didn't stick around long. They fled on foot. Took the alleyways and before Hayden knew it, they were back in a cornfield in the middle of nowhere. This time though, something was happening to Evil, who dropped between the rows like an injured plow horse.

It puzzled Hayden at first. This was not good. He wasn't sure how to react. He put his hand on Evil's chest. Evil grabbed his hand intently.

"Never let me go." He was out of breath.

"What?" Hayden didn't want to know what he was talking about, but he had a good idea of what he meant.

"You have to stay with me." His face, was long and dark, perhaps that of a warrior. Maybe the face of Crazy Horse.

"I don't want to die." Hayden fought back tears, bitterly.

"I know." His words were so solemn. "I will be with you. Always."

Hayden shook his head. He tried hard to pull his hand from Evil's.

"I will help you. Listen to me. Without me, you will fail." His voice burned through Hayden as a truth he couldn't let go of. He had never felt more alive after Evil's last breath. He ran then. He was on the run now.