Having changed into shorts and a t-shirt, Brady now searched for his house key and a safety pin to secure it to his shorts. The house was quiet. Not even the humming of his computer could be heard. Sitting idle in the corner of his bedroom, near the window, it sat collecting dust. For a moment, Brady was tempted to sit down and turn it on; just to see if he had missed anything during his mini-hiatus. However, he wasn't going to go there. Not today. He had better things to do. Real things.

Although everything wasn't perfect, Brady felt happy. And why shouldn't he? For once everything, almost everything, was going his way. He was moving around again, feeling healthy. He had made a real friend who was quickly becoming much more. But still, the thought of Mark's father, the same man who called him 'son', being the one person who could destroy his new-found world lingered in the back of his mind. No matter how hard Brady tried to ignore it, the thought still remained. How could such a nice, slightly scatter-brained, man have such a strong ignorance against the same thing that Brady yearned for.

At last, Brady found his house key and attached it to a safety pin then fastened it to the waist of his, basketball style, black nylon shorts. He then ran down the stairs toward the front door where he sat down to put on his shoes. The hollow sound of forced air travelling through the ducts, creating a deep howl which quickly consumed the house, as the air conditioning turned on. Paying little attention to his shoelaces as he tied them in a tight bow, he stared at his thin, pale legs. The slightest evidence of, nearly transparent, hairs were beginning to grow just above where his socks ended, neatly folded over so that they didn't bunch up. Randomly, Brady's thoughts were drawn from current worries, and he wondered if his pubic hairs would ever thicken. And if not, would Mark, if he ever saw him in such a state, make fun of his immature gathering of hair.

"What's wrong with me?" Brady whispered to himself, half-smiling. 'It's only hair,' he thought.

Pushing back his thoughts for now, Brady stood up, took one last glance at the empty house, and then exited through the front door.

It was another hot day outside, which Brady found surprising. When he had first woken up this morning, and ran across the street to his home, it was cloudy and looked like it was going to rain. Now, though, the sky was nearly clear, with only a few scattered clouds slowly sailing by, and the sun was bright and inviting.

The park was quite full this morning. There were people jogging the trails, others on mountain bikes, and several different groups playing a variety of different sports. Keeping a close eye above, for any runaway footballs, Brady leaned against a tree to stretch-out before he started his run.

Even though it was still quite early, in the parking lot, no more than fifty feet away, an ice cream truck was already parked and serving treats to all the children. Through the loud, disturbing melody of the truck's nursery rhyme jingle, rap music could be heard on the far end of the lot. Brady could see a cluster of teenagers showing off on their skateboards, and he wondered if they were the same kids as before. The ones who were responsible for distracting him when he was attacked by the arbitrary ball.

While touching his toes, trying not to bend his knees, Brady felt himself smile. Though that day was humiliating in almost every way, it was also the best day that he'd had in a long time. He wondered, if it weren't for the ball, would he have met Mark by the fountain? Or would he have been just another piece of nameless eye-candy, like everyone else was.

Satisfied that he had stretched enough, Brady began his jog, first, at a very modest pace. It felt good to be moving, though he wished he were moving with Mark. Brady smiled again. 'Moving with Mark would be great', he thought to himself, realizing he was blushing. That strange lump in his chest returned. Fortunately, this time, the nasty edges from before were gone. Instead, it felt warm and comforting, like it had found a nice little nook inside of him to cuddle up to. He could feel his heart-rate increase, but he wasn't sure if it was due to his movement or his thoughts; probably both.

Before Brady knew it, he had passed the parking lot for the fifth time, and his speed had more than doubled. He felt good. It wasn't just a happy feeling, it was a free feeling. Like he had finally been released from the heaviest of shackles and chains and no longer had to carry their burden. However, like all things, his cloud-nine-like state was quickly brought to an end.

"Where've you been, Brady?" asked a cocky, familiar voice.

Brady turned his head to the left to see Riley and his thugs standing next to the water fountain, the same place as before.

"Come here for a minute. I wanna talk to you," said Riley, jumping in front of Brady's path, so that he had no choice but to stop.

Immediately, Brady came to a halt, nearly crashing into Riley in the process. Riley's thugs, Allan and Jerry, walked in behind Brady, forming their own miniature Bermuda Triangle around him.

"What do you want?" asked Brady, bravely, in a tone of impatience with the slightest hint of dread.

Riley, though, could see right through Brady's mock-valiance, and he grinned in amusement. "Where did that come from, Brady?" asked Riley, smiling so widely that his lips were stretched out over his teeth. "Where's your boyfriend today?"

Brady looked away, staring at the ground, forcing himself not to say anything else. Riley paced back and forth in front of him, half-circling like a wild cat eyeing its prey. Looking around for anyone who may be watching, Riley balled his right hand into a fist and thrust it forward into Brady's stomach.

Feeling the wind escaping him, causing that lump in his chest to rattle, Brady was forced to crouch forward as he gasped for air.

"James is off for a tournament. Did you know that?" said Riley. "No one's here to save you this time, you little bitch."

Brady looked up at Riley then eyed his surroundings. There were people everywhere. Lots of them. But no one seemed to be paying attention to what was happening near the fountain. "I didn't rat you out," lied Brady, referring to the bleachers that Riley and his gang had burned down.

Riley laughed and tapped his palm against Brady's left cheek. "Come on, Brady. We've already done this. I know it was you. I saw your statement, remember?"

Realizing he had just dug himself in deeper, Brady became even more worried than he already was. He knew he shouldn't have tried to lie; he knew that Riley already knew it was him. But all of his nervous energy was beginning to work against him, and he spoke before he had time to think.

At that moment, Allan and Jerry grabbed Brady by the arms without being prompted by Riley. Before Brady could react, Riley repeated a punch to his stomach, in the exact same place. This time, though, it felt twice as hard as it had before. The wind was knocked out of him so quickly that Brady could taste the metallic slime of mucus in the back of his throat, like it had been catapulted from his lungs.

Through the blur of his watering eyes, Brady noticed Riley pulling back his leg, winding up for a kick. Just as the heavy looking boot changed direction, most likely aiming for his groin, Brady lifted his foot, bent his knee, and hammered down his foot. Sounding like a basketball smashing against the court, the bottom of Brady's shoe made contact with the reinforced toe of Riley's boot. Brady stomped his foot over Riley's, pressing it to the ground. And before either of the thugs could react, Brady twisted his torso, first downward to the left, then at an upward angle, forcing his elbow into Jerry's mouth. Jerry stumbled backwards, slapping his hands to his face in shock, as Brady shifted his weight, pivoting on his left foot, and pushing his right knee into Allan's gut.

"What the fuck!" cried Jerry, still holding his face.

During the commotion, Riley had fallen backwards and was sitting stupidly on the asphalt path. Without waiting around for the three to recover, Brady pushed Allan back and turned to run down the path.

"Get him you faggots!" yelled Riley, struggling to climb to his feet.

Brady could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins. It was like he had been pumped full of electricity and his muscles were unable to cope. Every limb, joint, and organ seemed to have been filled with blood, now growing heavier by the second. His legs burned and his hear was racing, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself stop.

Occasionally, he'd look behind himself to make sure that he wasn't being followed. Now, however, he had been running along the path for so long that he feared he would complete another lap and wind up right back where he started: with Riley.

Suddenly, Brady's hearing dimmed, or returned, he couldn't decide which. And the high-pitched melody of the ice cream truck could be heard to his right. Finally, Brady felt it was safe enough to stop; nearly collapsing when he did.

He dropped his head between his knees and supported himself up with hands against his lower thighs. "Jesus Christ," he groaned and panted, trying to work out what had just happened. Had he really, finally, defended himself? And come out successful?

Before Brady could come to terms with his actions, or even fully catch his breath, ahead of him he noticed Riley and his boys approaching. "Damn it!" he moaned and ran for toward the parking lot.

Jumping forward, he heard his foot crash against the chain-link fence, about four feet tall, that separated the park from the lot. With his hands gripping around the fence's top, Brady kicked his feet upward and hopped over the fence. On the other side, he nearly tripped over the parking brick, used to prevent careless drivers from hitting the fence, but managed to regain his balance. Behind him, he could hear the fence rattle, and he had to assume that it was Riley.

At first, Brady considered running over to the ice cream truck where a crowd of people had gathered, but quickly decided against it. He couldn't count on anyone else protecting him, and even if they provided him sanctuary, eventually he'd have to go home; and of course, Riley would definitely wait for him. The problem was, though, that the parking lot's exit went in the wrong direction. If he followed the street, he'd end up running out of breath before he even made it halfway.

In desperation, Brady snapped a quick left and ran toward a tall wooden fence. From past experience, he knew the yard contained a rather large dog, and up until this moment he had no intention of ever reliving that dreadful experience. Today, though, he could see no other choice.

Cutting through several bushes, Brady neared his destination Fortunately, where the park's bordering fence ended, the wooden wall began. Jumping forward and kicking out his right foot, Brady felt his weight push against the mesh of metal, and he thrust himself upward so that his right hand was able to easily grasp the top of the wooden fence, followed by his left foot. Hooking his ankle over the top, Brady rolled his weight over to the other side and dropped down to the grass.

The moment Brady's feet touched the ground, he heard the clanking of a heavy-sounding, unravelling chain, followed by the snarls and growls of an oversized and neglected pit bull. Brady pushed himself back, forcing all of his weight against the planks of the wooden fence, standing on the tips of his toes. Running toward him, he saw the blur of a large, red and white American pit bull terrier, that looked like it had been crossbred with a horse and pumped up on steroids.

Brady watched helplessly, unable to move, with one eye half open and the other clenched tightly shut. The dog's barking seemed more like guns the blasting on a firing range than that of a living animal. Although, it wasn't the noise that scared him. It was the teeth that left Brady mentally paralysed. They were a bright, glowing yellowed-white, gleaming with the sheen of thick saliva. Drool poured from either end of the beast's parted mouth, and the razor sharp, dagger-like fangs seemed to grow in synchronization with every rapid beat of Brady's heart. And just as the animal reached him, Brady closed his eyes.

"FUCK!" shouted Jerry, kicking his foot against the tall, wooden fence. "I almost had 'em!"

Riley stopped several feet from the bushes to catch his breath. "It's all right, Jer." Riley smiled and stood up straight. "That's Mr. Foster's yard."

Finally catching up, Allan stopped next to Riley, wheezing like sixty-year smoker. Just before he was able to collect himself enough to speak, a deep, echoing series of snarls and barks could be heard on the other side of the fence. "Holy shit!" said Allan, jumping back away from the fence. "Did he go in there?"

"Damn straight, he did," said Riley.

Jerry walked away from the fence but kept an eye on it at all times. "Since when did he grow a pair?" he asked, nodding to where Brady had hopped the fence.

"Fucked if I know," shrugged Riley. "Guess that faggot boyfriend of his is filling his balls. Not that it matters, though. That fucker won't be able to pull that shit off on us again."

Both Allan and Jerry nodded.

"Think he'll make it out of there?" asked Allan, gesturing toward yard.

"Probably." Riley turned around and walked back the way they came. "Let's go wait for him at his place."

As soon as Brady closed his eyes he heard something like a twang followed by the clanking of a falling chain. He opened his eyes to see that the dog had, most likely, approached too quickly and been snapped to the ground when the chain's slack had ended. The dog, now more angry than ever, was struggling to climb back up onto its legs. Brady, however, didn't wait around for it to recover.

As quickly as he could, Brady ran the length of the yard, staying as close to the fence as possible. Behind him, he could hear the beast gaining on him fast. Brady hoped, though, that the dog's chain would prevent him from reaching the fence throughout the entire yard, like it had done only moments ago.

Finally, Brady made it to the gate at the side of the house, which was only held shut by a flimsy-looking, half-rusted clasp. Fortunately, so far, the chain seemed to be doing its job because if that thing ever broke free this poorly maintained door wouldn't stand a chance.

Suddenly being reminded of his current dilemma, as the dog barked and chomped at the air behind him, Brady pulled open the gate, spun himself around, and yanked the door shut behind him. Taking a moment to peer over the gate, considerably lower than the rest of the fence, Brady felt himself shudder when he realized the true size of the dog, which had to have been at least one-hundred and twenty pounds. The beast was still barking and still bearing its teeth, but now it seemed more curious and excited than the ferocious monster that it was only moments ago. Of course, Brady didn't feel the need to test that thought.

Turning around, Brady studied his surroundings. So far, there was no sign of Riley and his gang, but he knew they weren't that far behind. In front of him, just beyond the front yard was the start of an alley that steered away from the end of the road. Brady thought, trying to recall where the back lane led, but came up with nothing. 'Better than the park,' he thought to himself, and quickly crossed the street.

The alley was lined with tall fences, garages, and large garbage bins. The concrete had been formed like a curve, designed to draw water away from people's property and guide it toward one of the drains, which seemed to have been placed every couple hundred feet or so. The narrow street twisted and turned for what felt like hours, until, finally, Brady came to a crossing.

He stared down the street, in both directions. To his left, all he could see was a long line of houses, but to his right, only several houses down, he saw a four-way intersection and a street post.

"Willow Grove," said Brady, just below his breath.

Recognizing the street, adjacent to his own, Brady's mind began to form a plan: If he were to cross the street and continue down the alley for another block, he'd then be able to hop a few fences and then he'd be in Mark's back yard.

Deciding this to be his best option in this extremely covert operation, Brady ran across the street and continued down the alley. Barely fifty feet away, he could see the rooftop of Mark's neighbour's house. Brady, first looking behind himself to make sure he wasn't followed, edged toward the farthest point of the first backyard's fence. With his back against the wooden plank, Brady noticed another large, steel garbage bin, conveniently located only feet from the fence.

Brady jumped from beside the fence and next to the bin, dropping on his knees to peer around the corner again, to make sure he wasn't being watched. Satisfied with his privacy, Brady stood up and then climbed on top of the bin. The top of the bin had a strange, rubber-like lid, stretching a length of at least six feet. Due to its flexible material, Brady had to crawl on his hands and knees until he reached the edge of the bin. Carefully, Brady eased himself into an upright position and peered over the fence to make sure there were no blood-thirsty animals.

Seeing the yard to be vacant, Brady reached and rolled himself over the fence, then clumsily fell to the ground with a thud. Without taking a moment to assess any possible injuries, Brady climbed to his feet and ran straight across the yard, making sure to stay as low as possible. When he reached the other side of the yard, he could hardly believe his luck. Directly in the corner of the yard, right up against the next fence, was a perfectly positioned tree that was just right for climbing.

Reaching for the first limb, Brady pulled himself up into the branches, where he took a second to scope out the next yard: a lot of bushes, a couple trees, and a chubby little pug sleeping underneath a lawn chair. Not worried about the dog, Brady hopped over to the other side, this time managing to land on his feet. The next yard was Mark's, which meant that he was practically home free.

Suddenly, Brady heard the sounds of scampering little feet, accompanied by wheezing and growling. Noticing that the pug was headed straight for him, Brady ran in the opposite direction, toward the house. The dog barked and huffed right in behind him, at times it even managed to sink its tiny teeth into the heels of his shoes. Unsure why, Brady began to laugh.

The dog raced in behind him, angrier than a goose protecting its eggs. Every-now-and-then, Brady could feel the animals teeth catch his sock and press against the skin of his ankle but didn't break the skin. After a few repetitive circles in the middle of the yard, Brady finally made it to the end. When he got there, before climbing the fence, Brady knelt down and gave the old-pup a quick scratch behind the ears. "That's a good boy," he told the pug, apparently surprising it in the process.

The dog tilted its head, its eyes wide, and stopped barking. As Brady stood back up, the dog sat down to watch, curiously studying the strange boy as he attempted to pull himself up and over the fence. As if understanding, the dog jumped up onto all fours and ran halfway across the yard then started barking. Brady turned around to see the pup spinning in circles around the leg of one of the lawn chairs. "Clever doggy!" Brady said happily and ran to fetch the chair. "That's a REALLY good boy!"

Patting the dog's head one last time, Brady grabbed the chair and brought it over to the fence. "Thanks!" he said to the dog, still carefully watching, just before climbing to the other side.