Out of the Woods

"Bored!" Andy groaned to nobody in particular. He lay on his back, his legs straight up the back of the couch, his brand new gym shoes in the air and his head dangling off the seat, watching TV upside-down. There was nothing at all on, just some soap operas and about a half dozen talk shows with loud, mean-sounding women talking about what jerks men are. It wasn't any more interesting upside down than it was right side up.

It was his eighth day of captivity in Charlie's house and he was feeling just good enough to be miserably bored. It hadn't been so bad the first few days with Charlie there to keep him company, and besides he hadn't really felt like doing much because of his injuries. They had passed the time watching tapes, eating, sleeping and playing games, but you can't play Parcheesi alone, and Charlie didn't have a computer or Nintendo. Andy was pretty well burned out on Star Wars, too. He liked it and all, but eight days is a lot of the Force being with you.

It was obviously something very special to Charlie. He sat in almost reverent silence watching it, and when asked, all Charlie would say is that Star Wars reminded him of an old friend. Andy enjoyed sitting curled up on the couch next to Charlie, resting his head on the man's shoulder, feeling the warmth of that big arm around him. Charlie would sometimes affectionately pet his arm or leg, whatever was handy at the time, and it was nice. There had been virtually no touching at Andy's house, other than hitting.

Andy drifted off sometime during last night's showing of Return of the Jedi and woke up briefly while being tucked into bed. Had he dreamed the next part or did he really kiss Charlie goodnight, like a little kid? Oddly, he didn't mind too much if he did. At eleven years old he seemed suspended between two worlds; one minute far too grownup to be treated like a child and the next on the verge of blubbering for his blankie. And maybe now that he had someone who was willing to pamper him when he felt like he needed it maybe he had a right to make up for lost time. It felt good to give himself over to Charlie, and he wasn't going to give that up just because some people might say he'd had too many birthdays. Besides, nobody was around to see, anyway.

All that lovely attention from Charlie seemed years ago. He had gone back to work right after that first weekend, leaving Andy to his own devices day after boring day. There were other tapes besides Star Wars, of course, like E.T. and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and Harry and the Hendersons, but he was restless and sick of sitting around. He touched the remote and mercifully silenced the mean women.

His body was feeling pretty good -- considering -- and he longed for some physical activity, anything to stretch him out and make his heart beat a little faster. The thought made him smile as he remembered what happened when he woke up early that morning, a while before Charlie stirred. He knew he must be getting better because it was the first time since he'd been at Charlie's that he had awakened with a boner.

Andy was only eleven, and masturbation was not yet a big part of his life, but he was hardly a stranger to it, either. As an only child with his own room -- and parents who didn't give enough of a shit to check on him -- he'd always had plenty of privacy for experimentation. He figured out by age six or seven what to do with a stiff wiener, though it was only in the last six months or so that he realized he could make it stiff anytime he wanted to and facilitate his play. Still, he mostly took advantage of the boners nature gave him rather than manufacture his own, and those didn't yet happen all that frequently.

He did get quite a charge out of doing it in a strange house, in a different bed, and with Charlie down the hall instead of his parents. He'd never been caught at home but he knew if he had been the Old Man would have smacked him for it. He also somehow knew that Charlie would be different on this subject as on so many others, and here in this house he wasn't the least bit worried about being caught.

It took him by surprise that morning, actually. When his eyes came open there it was, tenting the covers just like it sometimes did at home. It seemed even extra stiff somehow, and as soon as he realized how early it still was and that Charlie would certainly still be asleep there was never any doubt of what he was going to do. When he threw the covers off and saw how severely his brand new Batman pajamas were bulged Andy was suddenly more in the mood for it than he could ever remember.

Eagerly he stripped the PJ bottoms down his still somewhat sore body and kicked them off and away. His immature member was at its full stretch of just over three inches, angling slightly up his flat tummy and rising and falling with his breathing. Seeing his own exposed tool was exciting in its own right, and enthusiastically Andy reached for it, gripping his favored way, with his thumb lengthwise along the top of the shaft and his four fingers curled around so that on every stroke the sensitive tip would gently brush the pad of his thumb and the pinky would jiggle his balls, immensely multiplying his pleasure.

He had discovered this as a happy accident, of course, but now it was the only way to do it. Back when he first began playing with himself his tiny snorkel had accommodated only his thumb and one finger, and that had been more than sufficient at the time. A year or so ago, however, he had enjoyed a sudden and significant growth spurt in the dick department that ushered in a brave new world of grips and positions.

He had escaped the depressing reality of his grubby bedroom and his torn and filthy sheets by creating a world of pleasure that was his alone. Sometimes he lay on his tummy and ground himself into the mattress, or dragged the tantalizingly rough cloth of a woolen sock back and forth across its deep pink head and around and under his balls until he thought he'd scream. Mainly, though, he took it in the aforementioned grip and moved the taut skin up and down, up and down, faster and faster, with longer and longer strokes until the feeling got so intense he'd scarcely dare to breathe, afraid he'd break the spell and ruin it, and never reach the wonderful pulsing and shaking that arched his back and tensed his muscles so intensely. Andy didn't know what to call it so he just thought of it as "the feeling" ever since it first came upon him as an amazed and mystified nine-year-old. Even without a name he held it in the highest possible regard.

He rubbed himself with abandon that morning at Charlie's, throwing himself into the task with all his strength and soul, and after nearly ten minutes of intense, sweaty, heart pounding effort was rewarded with some of the best convulsions he could ever remember. His body jerked on the bed, the spasms overtaking him like rarely before, and he had to clamp his jaws tightly shut to keep from crying out in his ecstasy. It may have been the very first time he had ever truly relaxed and allowed himself to fully enjoy it. Even now, lying on the couch remembering, he felt himself swell to firmness. He'd never tried to get the feeling twice in one day before, and he wondered if such a thing was possible. He said aloud, "What the hell?" There was nothing else to do.

Even as he reached for his zipper a sound caught his attention and he recognized the deep rumble of a big diesel engine in the street in front of the house. His lust was forgotten as quickly as it had arisen and he rolled off the couch to peek carefully through the curtains.

A yellow school bus was stopped at the corner and happy children streamed off with book bags and backpacks and lunchboxes. One tiny girl struggled with some sort of musical instrument in a huge, battered gray case nearly as big as she was. They were grade-schoolers, Andy's age and younger, and he was suddenly seized with a desperate longing to be out there with them, running and laughing and playing in the crisp January sunshine. He couldn't believe how jealous he felt of these kids, for even though they had to go to school when three-thirty rolled around they were free and Andy was still in solitary confinement.

Charlie usually got home about six, and Andy moaned aloud. How could he possibly stand two and a half more hours of this torture? He stared at the kids like a starving waif watching through a restaurant window while rich people eat.

The last child to appear looked familiar to Andy, and as the bus roared away and the boy crossed the street directly toward him Andy recognized him as someone from his class, Kenneth Something-Or-Other. He wasn't exactly friends with the kid; more like nodding acquaintances. Andy watched him pass by on the sidewalk only 20 feet from the window and it was all he could do to keep from calling out. He stared as the boy climbed the front porch of the house next door and stepped inside.

In that instant it became a hundred times worse to be cooped up inside, knowing that a potential playmate lived right next door! Kenneth, with the short black hair and the pasty face, who couldn't climb the rope in gym or manage even a single pull-up, but who, to be fair, was a decent soccer goalie, suddenly seemed like the most desirable friend there could ever be.

Andy drifted into the kitchen and downed a glass of water, and just coincidentally found himself at a window that overlooked Kenneth's house. He just coincidentally sat and stared at the house, too. Kenneth's house was at least as entertaining as upside-down women.

Suddenly he brightened, when up the driveway between the houses came two extremely blond boys, one his age or maybe a year younger and the other about 9. He watched as they exchanged an unsmiling few words, whereupon the bigger shoved the smaller a few steps to the side, and then rang Kenneth's back doorbell. Soon the pasty-faced boy appeared, changed already into his play clothes, and joined his two friends in the back yard. As Andy watched with puppy dog eyes the three began exactly the sort of rough-and-tumble play he had been longing for.

It was delicious torment watching but not being able to join in. It started as a free-for-all, every boy for himself, and Kenneth being the biggest of the three managed pretty well to hold off both attackers if they came one at a time. It didn't take the younger boys long to forge an alliance, however, and arrive at a coordinated plan of attack under which the unathletic Kenneth fell with only the barest resistance.

Andy couldn't contain his giggles as the boys sprawled in the grass, especially knowing that even sore as he still was he could probably take all three of them at once. Or at least he and the littlest boy could take the two bigger ones, no problem. The little guy looked pretty good, in fact, not scared to get right in there and mix it up. That was always Andy's advantage in the world of boys' roughhousing, the fact that he wasn't afraid of a little pain. Compared to what he went through at home he knew no kid could do him any significant damage. Andy had been blessed with a strong body, too, perhaps made stronger by the adversity it had been through, but it was his attitude that truly afforded him victory.

"Behind you!" Andy found himself exclaiming when the middle boy made a lunge for Kenneth from the blind side. It was only right to root for his classmate, out of loyalty as well as his being the two-against-one underdog. Andy was standing at the window now, completely unmindful of the fact that he was openly visible from the outside. Down Kenneth went, and immediately the youngest boy landed on top of him with a knee in his solar plexus. Kenneth's grunt was clearly audible in the house, but he fought valiantly and managed to dislodge the boy atop him. A second later the other, bigger antagonist replaced him, sitting astride his chest and holding his arms pinned above his head. It looked like it was all over.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the littlest boy hurled himself at the middle boy, knocking him sideways off of Kenneth with an old-fashioned flying tackle.

"Us against you, now!" he cried, and just like that the tables were turned, Kenneth was suddenly part of the tag team, and the top boy of a moment before now found himself on the bottom. It was wonderful, and Andy howled in delight. This was a boy he wanted to play with, this little one! Here was a boy with a sense of adventure, someone who knew how to have fun! Charlie would understand, wouldn't he? Andy just had to go out there!

He ran up the stairs, noting with glee that he was capable of it, and dashed into the guest room that was now so familiar to him. He tore at the big plastic bag from the expensive men's and boy's store in the next town and pulled out the new down-filled vest Charlie had bought for him. He took no more notice than any boy would of the price tag. He hurried down the stairs while pulling the vest on. The back door banged closed behind him as he hurried straight to the pile of wriggling boy arms and legs in the next yard.

It was a beautiful day, even a bit warmer than the usual upper-30s of north-central Missouri in January, and he took a deep breath of the fresh, cool air. It was wonderful to smell something other than Charlie's house.

"Hey you guys, can I play?"

The boys immediately stopped their giggling and squirming, and Kenneth stared blankly up at him from under the middle boy's armpit.

"Andy?" he said in his high-pitched squeak. Andy had forgotten that Kenneth's voice was a bit annoying. "Hi. What are you doing here?" The boys quickly disentangled and sat facing Andy, their faces and clothes decorated with mud and dead leaves.

"Uh, I was just walking in the woods and saw you wrestling," he lied, fairly convincingly he thought. "You looked like you were having fun."

"It's a riot," the littlest boy said, his weather-reddened lips curled up in a friendly smile and a gleam in his blue eyes. "If you play it can be two against two."

"You weren't in school again today," Kenneth said.

"Yeah, uh..." Andy searched his brain for a reasonable explanation, but came up empty. "I was sort of sick, but now I feel better." It sounded lame even to him, and he was sure the dark-haired boy was appraising his cuts and bruises, but he just smiled and hoped for the best.

"This is my friend Tommy," Kenneth finally said, indicating the middle boy, who smiled and nodded, "and his brother Petey."

"Hi!" the little one said with a flourish, leaping to his feet and shaking Andy's hand with an exaggerated pump like Alfalfa in the Little Rascals. The kid had a good grip and Andy liked him already.

"How about me and Petey against you guys?" Andy said. "That would be pretty fair, huh?"

"Yeah!" Petey shouted, not waiting for a reply and diving headlong into his brother's unguarded midriff. In a second the melee was joined and the four boys rolled happily in the dirt.

Petey was not quite a match for his big brother but Andy had no trouble overpowering Kenneth and soon had an arm left over to come to his partner's rescue. It was exhilarating to play again, and indeed it was the first time in recent memory that he had really let himself go and played with the carefree innocence of boyhood. Sure he'd wrestled a thousand times, but always with the dark cloud over his head of knowing he eventually had to go home. Now home seemed like something he'd only dreamed a long time ago.

Andy wasn't yet completely pain free. When Tommy drove a surprisingly strong shoulder into his chest while Kenneth lay prone behind his legs Andy went down pretty hard and discovered that his recently ravaged butt was not yet completely healed. He wouldn't give Tommy the satisfaction of crying out, of course, but he silently looked forward to lowering his sore buns into a tub of hot water later on. He flashed on big, gentle hands in the bath that first morning and wondered if Charlie would consider bathing him one more time. How odd, he suddenly realized, that he found himself enjoying such kid stuff as baths and cuddling and goodnight kisses. He had only a second to ponder the question before Kenneth's renewed attack demanded his attention.

The outcome was inevitable. Tommy was a worthy opponent but Kenneth soon tired and offered only token resistance. Andy sat on Tommy's chest, pinning his arms, while Petey sat similarly atop Kenneth, the vanquished squirming but getting nowhere.

"OK, we give," Tommy grunted in disappointment, and, after allowing the victors a moment for whoops and high-fives, "So lay off already, huh?"

Andy rolled off of the boy and smiled at him warmly, receiving a sheepish grin in response. There was admiration in this exchange for the battle well fought and Andy felt the connection they had made. Kenneth was a different story, but Andy felt too happy to be stingy with his friendship so he smiled at the pasty-faced boy as well.

And then there was Petey, the irresistible little ball of fire that had lured him out of the safety of Charlie's house in the first place. They grinned at each other and Andy felt an even greater connection than with his brother. He watched as the littlest boy turned celebratory somersaults in the leaves and he was very glad he had decided to brave the outdoors, or he never would have met his new friends.

"Hey, Andy," Tommy asked. "Do you play football?"

"Just fooling around," he said. "Not on a team or anything."

"Yeah, me too. You guys wanna run some plays, maybe?"

Andy started to reply, but was interrupted by a sudden grab at the back of his collar and a handful of scratchy dead leaves shoved down inside his shirt.

"Hey!" He clutched comically at the back of his neck in a futile attempt to dislodge the itchy invasion. Petey's giggle betrayed his guilt, as well as his quick retreat from the bigger boy's grasp. He danced just out of reach, grinning his mischievous grin and taunting Andy.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Andy said, still trying to dislodge the bulging mass down the back of his shirt. "I'll show you what's funny."

He lunged for the boy, narrowly missing him, and falling into the sort of chase small boys have raised to an art form, the quick change of direction. Petey could never outrun Andy on the straightaway. His only hope was to dart this way and that, throwing little fakes to fool his pursuer, and taking advantage of whatever natural barriers presented themselves. A tree trunk made a nice cover and they circled it for a while before dashing on, but a large bush was no fun since Andy had no chance of reaching him around that. Petey abandoned that secure barricade and made a break for the corner of the house, with Andy in hot pursuit. Tommy and Kenneth followed, noisily shouting their encouragement.

"Get him!" Tommy cried, no sympathy at all for his sibling.

"Yeah, get him!" said Kenneth, originality not one of his strong suits.

Petey was extraordinarily quick, and though Andy got a hand on him a couple of times the boy always managed to wriggle free and dart away again. The chase went on and on, across the backyards and even into the woods and back out again on the other side. Andy was getting winded and realized with embarrassment that he may have to give up the chase and admit defeat to the little shit. Petey apparently reached the same conclusion judging by the satisfied grin he wore, and so Andy decided to try one last desperate effort.

He had been paying attention the past few minutes and noticed that more often than not Petey's fake was to the right, after which he would dodge left. Andy threw a fake of his own, acting like he was going to leap straight at the boy but at the last second throwing himself instead a few feet to the left. The smaller boy ducked to avoid the lunge he thought was coming, but to Petey's dismay and Andy's delight the boy ducked straight into Andy's true course and found himself firmly, undeniably in his pursuer's strong grasp.

They tumbled to the ground in a giggling heap, and Andy scrambled on top of his little tormentor and immediately began stuffing every available opening of the boy's clothing with leaves. Petey laughed uncontrollably as his shirt filled with crumbling vegetation. He didn't wear it tucked in, so it was easy for Andy to stuff huge amounts of leaves up under the flannel, and when he grew bored with that began stuffing leaves down the front of the boy's jeans.

"Hey! Not down there!" Petey cried, but this only fueled Andy's revenge and soon the little boy looked like a living scarecrow, clothes bulging with stuffing. Tommy and Kenneth had caught up by then, howling with laughter at Petey's outrageous condition.

When Andy finally decided it was enough he pressed his hand against Petey's shirt one last time to mash the leaves inside and grinned down at the panting, exhausted boy.

"That ought to teach you," he said, unable to really be mad.

"You got leaves down my underpants," Petey whined, but with a grin. "I got scratchy old leaves all around my wiener." This sent all four boys into hysterics, and Andy rolled away, laughing and panting from his run. Catching his breath, he looked around and found they were in an open field, huge mounds of dirt piled up to one side of a concrete foundation and three cinder block walls of some new building. There wasn't another soul to be seen, but he could hear traffic just beyond the dirt mound.

Petey got to his knees and began shaking the leaves out of his shirt, but the pants would be another matter. He dug inside his jeans and brought out handfuls of leaves, but obviously considerable amounts remained inside. He was still smiling, but it was starting to try his patience.

"Really, you guys," he said, discomfort painting his usually smiling face. "It's really itchy down there."

Tommy had a brotherly comment. "You asked for it, shrimp." Then he softened. "You better go home and change clothes."

"I can't walk that far with all this in my pants! It's scratchin' me."

"What else are you gonna do?" Tommy said. "Take off your pants right out here?"

"I would if the wind wasn't so cold," Petey said. "Heck, we take everything off in the summer when we skinny-dip in the pond."

"I'll bet there's no wind inside those walls," Kenneth said, and Andy shrugged in some small respect for the intellectual ability of the pasty-faced boy. He still had a lot more respect for the athleticism of the blond brothers, but brains were something, at least.

They moved slowly over to the walls, their speed limited by Petey's tiny, cautious steps. Just outside the walls the wind whipped around even colder than in the open but on the inside it was dead calm, and with no roof the warm sunshine was sufficient. Petey opened his jeans and wrestled them down and off over his gym shoes, looking comical in his tiny white briefs with the unmistakable outline of leaves and twigs showing through. It certainly looked uncomfortable, and Andy regretted what he had done.

Petey handed the jeans to his brother, who turned them inside out and snapped them whiplike five or six times to dislodge the leaves. Without hesitation Petey slid the underpants down his skinny legs and stepped out of them, and Andy found his eyes drawn to the small genitals with the crumbs of brown leaves sticking to the sensitive skin. The penis was tiny, its tip barely peeking out of the folds of his circumcised foreskin, and the little balls were tight and shriveled in the cold. Andy wasn't quite sure why he was drawn to the sight, and he thought once again of the boys after swimming, and of Charlie that first morning.

Petey surprised Andy by handing him the underpants, but since the whole thing was his fault Andy accepted the task of cleaning them off without protest. He brushed them and snapped them like Tommy had done the jeans but kept one eye on Petey as the boy picked little flakes of leaves from the tiny folds and crevices of his privates.

"It's still kinda cold," Petey said, a trace of his old grin returning. "It feels like there's more. Andy, look and see if there's more, OK?"

Andy hesitated, but again, it was his fault. The least he could do was help the kid fix it. He dropped to his knees before Petey and examined his bare little package closely in the strong sunlight.

"There's a little piece just over here," Andy said, pointing but careful not to get too close.

"Well, get it out!" Petey said. "I can't see from here."

Andy hesitated again. Still, he had to do his new friend this favor. With his left forefinger and thumb he delicately grasped the head of Petey's little dick and stretched it out. With his right hand he picked the crumb of leaf from the fold of skin just behind the boy's glans ridge. He had never touched another boy's penis before and he noted with surprise how incredibly soft it felt.

"It feels like there's some under my nuts," Petey said, and all four boys giggled at the sound of that statement.

Andy wasn't so hesitant this time. He bent and peered closely, but didn't see anything at first. "Underneath?" he asked, and got a nod from Petey. Bolder now, he gently lifted the shriveled scrotum with its two rolling eggs and, sure enough, found several crumbs of brown leaf nestled in the crease between the scrotum and the boy's slim thigh. He brushed these away with a fingertip and turned to examine the other side, which also required brushing. Somehow it no longer seemed so strange to be holding the boy's testicles in his hand. After another quick inspection of the entire area Andy pronounced Petey clean and released him.

"Thanks, Andy," Petey said as he hurried into his clothes once more. "It was scratching the shit out of me."

"I'm sorry I did that, Petey," Andy said.

"I started it. Did your leaves ever come out of your shirt?"

"No!" Andy said, pretending annoyance, but smiling.

"I'll help you," Tommy said. He stepped behind Andy and helped him pull the shirt tail out of his jeans then reached up inside to brush the leaves from Andy's back.

"At least I didn't have to touch your dick," he said. The four boys laughed again and Andy noticed Tommy and Kenneth sharing a smirk, but had no clue why.

"Where are we?" Andy asked, tucking his shirt tail back in and noting with dismay that his new clothes and gym shoes were covered with dirt. Charlie wouldn't be pleased, but it was wonderful not having to worry about getting beat up over it. He still hated to disappoint Charlie but he wouldn't have traded this afternoon's play for anything.

"Over by the highway," Kenneth said. "They're putting up a new store or something."

"Hey, you guys!" called Petey, who had wandered over to the wooded side of the construction site. "There's great dirt clods over here. Wanna have a war?"

"What time do you think it is?" Andy asked, still thinking of Charlie.

Naturally Kenneth was the one with the watch. "Four-thirty."

Still plenty of time for a good dirt clod war. "OK," Andy said, "Me and Tommy against Kenneth and Petey Leaf-Dick!"

Kenneth was too busy laughing and mocking Petey's new nickname to realize he'd been placed on the guaranteed losing team. In seconds the boys had established their positions and the dirt clods were flying. Tommy and Andy mercilessly pelted the two weaker boys, though Petey got in a few good ones and even Kenneth scored a direct hit squarely in the middle of Andy's chest. If not for the padding of the down vest it would've hurt.

"C'mon, Tommy!" Andy said with hushed urgency, gathering up an armload of clods. "Let's attack!"

Tommy was with him in an instant, and on Andy's signal the two boys rushed over the hill they had been using for cover. With screams worthy of a horde of Vikings they hurled themselves headlong across No Boy's Land toward the enemy enclave. Howling in mock terror, Kenneth and Petey turned and retreated around the partially built structure, pausing occasionally to unleash a hastily and inaccurately-aimed salvo.

Just as Andy dashed around the corner to the highway side he skidded to a stop and choked on his battle cry. He stood an eternal second, mouth agape, eyes wide, not even noticing when one of Petey's missiles caught him in the shoulder and dotted his face and neck with black dirt. The Old Man's pickup sat in stopped traffic at the light not twenty yards away and it's driver stared at him in surprise. Andy didn't watch long enough to see his father scramble out of the driver's seat and begin lumbering toward him, but he heard the horns of the cars behind blaring their anger at his abandoning the truck in the middle of the street. His new friends stared after him slack-jawed as Andy spun without a word and disappeared into the woods on a dead run.

For the second time in eight days Andy tore down the path as fast as he could run, only this time he was physically able to cover some serious ground. Terror filled his mind again and it was as if his brief freedom had been only a cruel joke. How stupid he had been to disobey Charlie and leave the house! A dozen times he thought he heard heavy footsteps just behind him and he could almost feel the huge hand that would grab him by the collar and snatch him off his feet, the hand that would hold him like a vise while the other balled into a fist and came crashing down on him again and again. His vision blurred with tears and he stumbled over a root, but on he ran, his heart pounding and the stinging sweat running into his eyes.

Once he summoned the bravery to glance back but he didn't see anyone, and he hoped with all his might the Old Man was too drunk to run over the uneven terrain. It occurred to him to head away from Charlie's house to throw the Old Man off the track, but some primal force had control of his body and all he wanted was to get back as fast as he could to the one place in this world that meant safety. Why hadn't he listened to Charlie and stayed inside? Playing had been fun but nothing was worth the fear he felt now. He had to get back to the house.

There it finally was! He hurdled over the battered cardboard suitcase his friend had never gotten around to retrieving and dashed out of the woods into Charlie's back yard. He knew he should grab the suitcase and take it inside just in case the Old Man followed this far and recognized it, but the house was an overpowering lure and at this point rational thought had little to do with it. He hit the back door at full gallop, scrambling inside and slamming the door behind him, throwing home the dead-bolt with a solid, reassuring thunk. He slumped to the floor, his back against the door, chest heaving in horror and exhaustion but believing he had pulled it off. There was no way the Old Man could have kept up with him through the woods and now there was no way he could know which house Andy was hiding in. He had escaped again.

His heart pounded in his chest and sweat slicked his whole body as he cowered on the kitchen floor. All that filled his mind was the big man's angry scowl, his huge, roughened hands clenched into white-knuckled weapons, and his profane bellow like a beast in torment. All that fury would be for him, and his next beating would be his worst.

As his breathing slowed Andy came to a decision. He was now sure that he would never be safe until he was far from this town. Somehow the thought of leaving was much more depressing now than it had been the night he left home. That night there had been absolutely nothing here he cared about. Now there was Charlie. It was ridiculous, he knew. He had no claim on Charlie. Why would a grown man want to saddle himself with some fool kid with a crazy father? Dreaming of Charlie being the Pop he never had was just stupid, like those stupid lies he used to tell the kids about hunting trips and baseball games. Charlie probably couldn't wait to have him out of his hair.

Tears wet Andy's cheeks as he dragged a kitchen chair over to the counter and climbed up to reach the top shelf of the cabinet. He had seen Charlie take a few dollars out of there a few days before, on his way out to the store. It was a testament to Charlie's trust that he hadn't made any effort to conceal this hiding place from his house guest, who after all he had known less than a week. Andy fumbled around and finally pulled out a wad of bills.

He counted the twenty-four dollars slowly, the damn tears refusing to dry up. Leaving Charlie hurt him, even more than losing his mother, but there was no choice. On the pad next to the telephone Andy left a scribbled note in his childish, uneven script.

Father spotted me. Had to go. I'll send you your money back somehow, I promise. Thanks for everything. Andy.

He laid down the pencil and took a step away, then suddenly turned back and grabbed it up again. He inserted before his name, "Love", the tears flowing freely down his round cheeks and falling, dotting the page. He wiped his eyes, trying hard to calm himself. He had to concentrate on what to do.

It got dark around 5:30 this time of year so he could be out and gone before Charlie got home from work. Under cover of darkness he could get to the bus station and be on the road for Chicago before the Old Man could even sober up. He'd love to see Charlie one more time but he knew he'd try to talk him out of leaving, and Andy couldn't let that happen. He would pack his things -- the things Charlie had given him -- in the backpack Charlie had bought for him. Andy didn't own a single thing from his old life anymore. All he'd brought were the clothes on his back, which had been consigned to the county landfill on Day Two, and the little ruined suitcase, which lay abandoned in the woods.

He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, heading for the stairs to go up and pack, when movement out the window caught his attention. His eyes grew wide once more when he realized what he was seeing, and it both terrified and angered him. There in Kenneth's front yard stood the Old Man and he had Petey solidly by the collar.

The boy looked Lilliputian next to the Old Man, and though he kicked and flailed Petey didn't have a prayer of escape. Andy had a momentary vision of himself attacking the Old Man, defending his new little friend, but then his heart sank again for this was fantasy and he knew it. An army of Andys and Peteys couldn't handle the Old Man. He shook Petey violently, said something sharply to him, and as the boy bawled in terror he finally saved himself and stretched out a small index finger to point directly at Charlie's house.

"Oh, shit!" Andy cried, his anger turned instantly to horror. He wanted to run but his feet seemed rooted to the carpet as he watched the big man toss Petey aside like a stuffed toy and stride up to the front door only a few feet away. Heavy fists pounded the wood and the angry voice of his drunken father boomed.

"I know you're in there, boy! I'd'a thought you'd be long gone by now but I seen you run off into them trees!"

Andy backed away slowly until his back met the opposite wall and he pressed against it, barely breathing.

"I went and found your mother and brought her home," the Old Man shouted, still beating the door furiously. "And you can bet your sweet ass I'm gonna bring you home too, you ungrateful little fuck! You think you can run off and make a fool outta me? You answer me, boy!"

Andy began to whimper. He pushed against the wall as if he thought he could melt through it into some other dimension where little boys don't have to fear their fathers.

"I can wait!" the Old Man yelled, but a bit quieter, a tone of sick pleasure in his voice. "You got to open this door sometime, and I can wait all night." He laughed bitterly. "I ain't got no job to get to, that's for goddamn sure."

Andy wracked his brain for what to do. He could wait it out until Charlie got home. That was still over an hour, and if the Old Man got impatient before then and broke in through a window it would be the end for him. He could hide, but he knew the Old Man wouldn't hesitate to tear the house apart looking for him. What he needed was to get the hell out of there, but how?

"What do you want here, mister?" came a deep voice Andy had never heard before. Through the sheer curtains over the family room window he could make out three men. Two of them were over 60 and no physical threat, but the third, who was speaking, was big, younger than the Old Man and in good shape. From behind this man peeked little Petey, sneering now at the giant who had threatened him so effortlessly a few minutes before.

"This ain't none of your concern," the Old Man said, no longer pounding the door. "My son is in there and I come to bring him home."

"You made it my concern when you put your hands on my nephew." The younger man's fists were already clenched and he leaned forward as if ready to pounce.

"What makes you think your son is in there?" asked one of the older men. "That house belongs to my neighbor, Charlie Topps, who's off at work like always. I've never seen a boy around here."

"That kid said so."

"He was hurting me," Petey said. "I said he came from behind that house, from the woods."

The younger man stepped forward. "Where the hell do you get off twisting my nephew's arm and shaking him by the collar?"

Much as he would have loved to see the Old Man get clobbered, Andy knew this was his chance and he sure didn't want to still be there if the Old Man won. He slipped quietly into the kitchen and slowly, carefully slid open the back door dead-bolt. The men were arguing loudly in front of the house, not coming to blows as yet but certainly preoccupied. He slipped out and eased the door closed, and with only one glance backwards hit the woods yet again, listening as the argument faded to silence behind him.

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Next time:

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