Foxwood-21
The Foxwood Chronicles
By FreeThinker
The following may contain scenes of sexual activity between males. If you feel you may be offended by reading this or that it may be illegal for you to read this in your jurisdiction, please proceed no further. The author neither condones nor advocates the violation of any laws. Because the story begins in 1982, the characters portrayed herein may engage in behavior which could be considered unsafe or unwise, if not illegal. The author neither condones nor advocates unsafe or unwise behavior. The author, however, cheerfully condones and advocates exercising your imagination and your ability to think critically and rationally. Please do not copy or post this without the author’s permission.
If you would like to read other stories I have written, you may go to the Prolific Authors link on the Nifty home page and choose “FreeThinker.”
You may write to me at fthinker @ gmail.com. If you’ve not written to me yet, please do so. I would love to hear from you!
There are two very good articles in Wikipedia about Autism and Asperger's Syndrome. A special note: the descriptions of Adam’s sexual feelings are purely fictional and should not be taken as typical of people with an Autism Spectrum Disorder. Please remember that people with Autism or Asperger’s Syndrome are NOT retarded.
Be good. If you can’t be good, at least be interesting.
The Foxwood Chronicles
Chapter Twenty-one
It was late afternoon as Evan returned home from the Stuarts. As he rounded the corner of the house to the backyard, he found his grandmother sitting with the Sinclairs and Ryan’s parents, relaxing in lawn chairs, drinking tea, and chatting.
“Well, there’s the man of the hour!” Grant declared effusively, waving a huge hand toward Evan and gesturing for him to approach. Evan instinctively cringed. “How’s the hero doing?”
“I’m not a hero,” Evan replied shyly. “Dr. Atherton here did a lot more than I did. If it wasn’t for him, Officer Gibson would have gotten away with what he did to Adam.”
“Well, you’re still a brave young man; and, a little too modest,” Grant continued with more enthusiasm than Evan was comfortable with.
He came up to the group and shook hands with Ryan’s father. Nervously, he asked, “Did you talk with Jesse’s dad, this afternoon?” Dr. Atherton sighed and looked downward.
“I tried to. I knocked on the front door several times and no one answered. I was considering calling the police when Nancy appeared around the side. She said that George was napping in his office and that everything was all right. She tries so hard to keep that family together and that bastard just keeps making life miserable for them.”
“She needs to leave him,” Rosemary said with pity. “For the sake of those boys and for her sake. They don’t deserve to live that way.”
“If he could just go to AA,” Evan’s grandmother suggested. Dr. Atherton shook his head.
“It’s deeper than just alcoholism. There’s something wrong there. George has always had a temper and he’s always been opinionated. He was a bully in school and it’s just gotten worse. I think he has a need to abuse. If I had any concrete evidence, I’d have those kids out of there in a second. But, Jesse and Jeremy refuse to say anything against their father. I know he beats them; Jesse’s spent the night over our place numerous times to escape the bastard, but Family and Children’s Services won’t do anything without concrete proof. Maybe we’ll have reform there someday, in another ten or twenty years, but right now, it’s almost impossible to get kids out of an abusive environment.”
Evan almost spoke about the conclusions he and Adam had reached that afternoon, but decided he needed to get more facts before acting. In the lull in the conversation that followed, Evan looked at his grandmother and announced, “I’m going over to the club to play tennis with Michael Sanchez. Then, I’m going to spend the night over at Adam’s, if that’s OK.”
“It certainly is,” his grandmother replied with a smile. “Have fun.”
To the others, Evan said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to change. Cut-offs aren’t allowed on the courts at the club.”
As he jogged away, to his embarrassment, he heard more complimentary comments. If they only knew the truth about him, Evan thought with disgust. If they only knew what he was really like.
It took only a few minutes for him to change and grab his racquet. He sprinted out the front door and then relaxed as he strolled up Country Club Drive. His mind was working, trying to figure out a way that he might be able to prove that George Duncan and, maybe, Fred Gibson were the attackers. Just having red mud from the Duck Pond on his shoes wasn’t enough. He needed concrete evidence. The newspaper had said that the victims all reported the attacker had worn a black ski-mask. Attacker. Attacker! That meant one. But, the last one had said that an old-fashioned pick-up had roared away. Maybe one was the get-away driver. How many old, loud pick-ups in town were there? The Duncan’s didn’t have a pick-up, but did Fred Gibson? And, did it have red mud on the tires? He could check.
He was standing in the parking lot in front of the clubhouse when a car honked at him. He jumped, realizing that he had lost himself in thought as a black Olds roared past, just barely missing him, careening across he parking lot, and screeching to a stop near the front door, crookedly taking up two spaces. Evan was about to storm up to the car and complain when the door opened and George Duncan staggered out. Their eyes met and Duncan’s were full of hatred and disgust. Evan’s anger dissolved as they stared each other down and was replaced with fear. He began to consider his options for defense or escape when the front door of the clubhouse opened and two elderly couples emerged, chatting happily about nothing. George turned and stumbled up the sidewalk, barely missing the couple on the left. All four turned in shock to watch him enter the club house.
Evan slowly walked around the building until he came to the tennis courts in the back. He saw Michael lounging near the stadium court, leaning against the bleachers and flirting with a woman in tennis clothes, a woman almost old enough to be his mother. Michael waved him over and the lady turned and left, but not before giving him a coquettish wink and grin.
“Dude, don’t you have any control?” Evan asked with a grin. Michael smiled proudly.
“Dude, everyone wants Michael Sanchez. Besides, what’s wrong with it? Older women are hot. They appreciate it. They know how to really get into it. Besides, who said that only older men get to fuck young women? What’s wrong if an older woman wants a younger man? I’m a stud, dude.”
Evan rolled his eyes, even as he felt a stirring between his legs, which he struggled to ignore.
“You know, I think George Duncan is way drunk. He just tried to run over me in the parking lot and he could barely walk into the clubhouse. I think someone might need to call the police.”
Evan’s thought was that if George could be taken downtown, perhaps the police would find some incriminating evidence. The only problem was, he wasn’t wearing the clothes Adam had earlier described. Evan doubted there was any red dirt on his slacks or dress shoes.
“Dude, what’s happened to you? Are you getting all Donnie and Marie on me now? So what if he wants to knock a few back?”
Evan frowned in frustration. Could he trust Michael? Probably not. Michael probably wouldn’t take him seriously, anyway. With a sigh, Evan shook his head and said, “Never mind. Let’s play.”
He rested a foot on the bleacher and removed the cover off his racquet as Michael cast a lecherous gaze on Evan’s slim legs. The boy looked up when he saw Michael not moving and realized where his eyes were aimed. He felt a quick tightening of his chest and quickly stepped down.
“Now, remember, we’re just gonna play. We’re just gonna have a little fun, OK?”
“Sure,” Michael grinned as he spun his racquet and strolled toward right side of the court. “We’re just gonna play. We’re just gonna have a little fun.”
But, Michael’s first serve was anything but fun. He sent a blistering shot past Evan, whose eyes opened in stunned surprise. Setting his face in firm determination, Evan regained control of himself and for the next few sets, gave Michael a run for his money. Several times, college man stopped to give advice or to explain something to Evan. At first, it irritated the competitive teenager, but after listening and taking the advice, he began to see the value in paying attention to what Michael was saying.
Winning six-four, six-three, Michael finally called a halt. The evening sun was moving toward the treetops to the west and a cool, (or relatively cool), breeze brought relief to the two sweaty players. Michael walked over to the end of the net and put an affectionate arm around Evan’s shoulder. Evan immediately reacted with a surge through his body and a sharp intake of breath.
“You have serious potential,” Michael said. “We only have three weeks ‘till I have to go back to school. We don’t have a lot of time, but I might be able to make some progress with you.”
Michael’s sweaty man-smell was driving Evan beyond control as they walked to the bleachers. By the time Michael released him and they had sat down, Evan was rigidly erect, a fact not lost on Michael, who had expected it.
“It’s a shame that Catholic High doesn’t have a good tennis coach anymore. Coach Warren taught me a lot.”
He glanced down at Evan’s flushed faced and grinned.
“A lot,” he added lasciviously. Evan could imagine their private tutoring sessions and wondered if there was anyone Michael didn’t get it on with.
“Well, I guess we could work hard during the next few weeks,” he said with a shaky voice, immediately regretting the word “hard.”
“Oh, we’ll work hard,” Michael replied softly and as his left hand slipped over Evan’s right leg and began to caress the smooth skin inside his thigh, listening to Evan’s gasp, he added, “And, we’ll play hard, too.”
Evan’s mouth was open and his breaths were jagged. His hands trembled as they lay at his side. A flock of starlings were startled from the limbs of a nearby beech tree, circling over the courts in a black cloud before alighting along the power lines leading to the club house. Evan’s eyes followed them as Michael’s hand caressed him. He groaned and thrust his hips forward.
“I… have to get home… soon. I’m… supposed to go over to… Adam’s,” he struggled to say.
“Uh, huh,” Michael almost moaned. “OK. I think I can get you home… soon.”
His hands continued to caress Evan’s smooth skin and he almost whispered, “How about a ride in the ‘Vette?”
Evan inhaled deeply and breathed, “OK.”
Michael stood and held a hand out to help Evan up, who needed the help as his legs seemed unusually weak at that moment. Evan held his racquet in front of his shorts in what he knew was a futile effort to hide the erection straining against the tight white cloth of his tennis shorts as they approached the picture window in the grille. His eyes searched the window to see if anyone was watching and his heart stopped when he saw George Duncan slouching at a table near the window, a drink on the table before him, watching with en expressionless face. As Evan followed Michael, he quickly averted his gaze with a feeling of dread. It would almost have been better if George had looked at him with hatred and contempt. The blank look, the lack of emotion, seemed more ominous, more dangerous.
“Don’t you have to do anything to, I don’t know, lock up or close up or something?” Evan asked as they walked across the lot to the red ‘Vette. Michael shook his head and smiled.
“I paid Jack the bartender to take care of it for me.”
With a big grin, he walked around the front of the car and looked across at Evan by the passenger’s door.
“He thinks I’m banging Mrs. Lewis.”
Despite himself, Evan had to smile and shake his head.
Michael climbed into the car and unlocked Evan’s door. He slid in and the black leather felt so… erotic against his bare legs and arms. His erection surged as Michael turned the key and the engine roared to life.
“Makes ya hard, don’t it?” Michael said above the rumbling of the horses beneath the hood.
“Oh, yeah,” Evan breathed, his head leaning back against the seat and his eyes half-closed. “Oh, yeah.”
Michael smiled and revved the engine a few times and then, after opening the sunroof and lowering the windows, whipped out of the parking space. With a squeal of rubber against asphalt, Michael roared out of the parking lot, to Evan’s delight and the disgusted looks of a couple of golfers throwing their bags in the back of a Lincoln Town Car.
He didn’t even connect his seat belt, thrilling with the way the sharp turns, the quick braking, and the rapid accelerations were tossing his slim body about the seat. Michael tossed his long hair out of his eyes as he tore around the side of the country club and down a dirt road to the highway leading north out of Foxwood. They waited at the intersection for a Mayflower moving van to pass before Michael hit the pedal and gravel shot out from behind the car. It spun out onto the highway and Michael gunned it, overtaking the truck in a no-passing zone and easily flying past it. Evan was almost squealing with excitement as the car accelerated up the road. He glanced over at the speedometer and saw it max at 120 miles per hour. He knew they were going faster and as the passing fence posts became a blur, the car seemed to Evan to take off into the purple and salmon clouds of the sunset to his left.
After a moment, Michael let off on the accelerator and as the roar of the engine softened, Evan turned and gave Michael a huge grin.
“Oh, yeah,” he moaned as if he were in the throws of ecstasy.
“You like?” Michael replied with a grin of his own.
“Oh, yeah.”
Michael pointed to the glove box.
“Open that. Let’s relax a little.”
Evan knew what was in there, but he didn’t care. This was just too cool. This was just too great. He did as he was told and withdrew a pipe and a film canister as Michael raised the windows.
“Fill it,” Michael said, and as Evan complied, he asked, “So, you ever been in anything like this before?”
Evan shook his head as his fingers dropped some grass into the bowl.
“I’ve ridden in an Alfa and once…” he hesitated and then stated the name of one of Hollywood’s most closeted hunks… “took me out in his Porsche. We went out the PCH past Malibu and back. It was so cool.”
“I always wondered about him. I hear he screams like a girl.”
Evan giggled like a girl.
“I wouldn’t know. His mouth was full the whole time with me.”
Michael smiled at him as Evan passed him the pipe. Michael took a lighter from his pocket and holding the wheel with his knees said, “You’re really full of yourself, aren’t you?”
As Michael took his hit, Evan grinned and replied, “So was he.”
Michael almost choked on that and flipped Evan off as he held the smoke. Evan took the pipe and took a big, strong hit. He was having the time of his life. It was just like he was back home, living his old life of fun and excitement and flirting and getting into trouble. As his hair flew about his head, he handed the pipe back to Michael and sat back, gazing with joy at the flat Midwestern landscape flying past them. The sun was sinking below the horizon as Michael handed the pipe back to Evan.
The boy gazed upward through the moon roof at the darkening sky. It seemed like it had been so long since leaving California, the endless parties, the fun, the sex, his friends. He loved Adam, but at that moment, he was home and it was irresistible.
The car had turned around and Evan was filling the pipe for a third time as Michael commented, “You miss the life, don’t you?”
Evan was too stoned and too happy to become sad at the thought of his lost life; but he did nod and a wistful smile came over him.
“Yeah, I had some good times,” the fourteen year-old said, sounding like someone much older lamenting his long lost youth. Michael laughed.
“Well, maybe we can fly out during Christmas break. We can spend New Year’s there, if you like.”
“Yeah?” Evan replied with excitement. “Oh, that would be too fucking cool! You could meet Ricky and Robert and, oh man, Chad’ll cream his pants when he sees you and Kristen and Megan will love you and we can go to this place I know on La Cienega that…”
“Hold on there, Little Dude. Let’s just play it by ear and have fun. OK?”
Evan gave him a huge grin.
As they finished the third bowl, Michael took the car around on the bypass and as they passed car after car, Evan became both relaxed and excited, slipping down in the seat and gazing up at the stars through the moon-roof. Michael watched and his hand slipped from the gear shift he had been fondling for the last half hour. Slowly, he slid his hand across Evan’s left hip. Evan moaned and slid down further in the seat, his erection almost bursting through his shorts. Michael moved his hand further and cupped it over Evan’s cock. The boy moaned as Michael teased him, squeezing and caressing and working his hand around the hard, tight bulge in Evan’s shorts. Turning off the bypass onto the highway heading out west, Michael’s fingers popped the snap on the shorts and pulled the zipper down. Evan looked downward from the moon-roof as the car accelerated again out on the highway. He brought his hands up and slipped his shorts and briefs down to the floor around his tennis shoes. Without a second thought, he sat up as Michael’s fingers slid across his bare abdomen and whipped his Polo pull-over off, throwing it in the back. He sat back, naked, except for his sneakers, in the leather seat. With his hands flat against the seat beside him, he watched with undisguised lust as Michael’s fingers played with the silky golden hair above his penis. His erection stood up at more than a forty-five degree angle, bobbing stiffly with Evan’s heartbeat and the vibration of the car.
He stared at his cock in fascination. Evan had always been a narcissist and he had always loved jacking off in the mirror. Stoned out of his mind, flying along the highway on a summer night in Michael’s ‘Vette at a hundred miles an hour, naked and hard, with Michael about to feel him, Evan could have shot right then. This was the life.
Michael’s fingers slid up the throbbing shaft of Evan’s screaming boner. They played along the sensitive area beneath the head and then squeezed a drop of pre-cum from the slit before his index finger rubbed it all around the head. The sensitivity was almost too much and as Michael teased the head of Evan’s cock, making him almost cry out when it was too much, he felt a burning deep in his ass. He moaned and his eyes grew wide and wild, staring at the fingers as they teased him toward oblivion.
Michael suddenly withdrew his hand and slowed down. He pulled over and then made a u-turn, squealing the tires again. This time, however, he drove toward town at not quite the highly illegal speed at which he had left it. Once back safely into fifth gear, he moved his hand back from the stick shift to Evan’s dick and grasped it as he had the stick.
Fondling, rubbing, pumping, he pleasured the fourteen year-old and Evan writhed joyously against the leather, babbling incoherent nonsense as Michael brought him to the edge of orgasm. Just as expertly, he slowed his motions and allowed Evan to drift slowly down from the peak, as he cried and cooed and whimpered. Then, in a frenzied moment of insanity, Evan felt himself flying upward again, until, just as he was about to scream, Michael’s hand suddenly, frustratingly, moved from his desperate cock to his tight, churning boy balls. A finger began to tease his anus. Evan was crying.
Michael chuckled.
“You need it, don’t you?”
“Oh, God, yes. Make me cum. Please make me cum,” he begged.
“I am,” Michael replied, his voice firm and in command. “And, then, I’m going to fuck you.”
Michael reached forward and opened the glove box. He removed a small brown bottle from the back and held it teasingly in front of Evan’s face. They boy’s eyes grew wide with hunger.
“Poppers!” declared almost worshipfully.
“Welcome home,” Michael said with a hint of a sneer.
Evan desperately grabbed the bottle and took a long, deep hit before quickly screwing the cap back on. Even before the rush hit him, he was groaning. Michael grabbed his steel-hard dick and began to pump. As the rush exploded through his head, his body, his penis, Evan was lost. He was no longer aware of anything except the sex exploding through his body. Instinctively, he thrust his hips into the air, supported by his shoulders on the back of the seat and his feet on the floor. Anyone passing would have seen a naked teenage blond boy with his hips thrust into the air being masturbated by the hot Latino tennis player at ninety miles per hour.
Evan was crying and then, as his entire body went stiff. For a second, he was unable to make any noise as the feelings exploding through him were too intense, too great, so far beyond comprehension. And, then, he was cuming. Long, thick streamers if teenage cum shot from his penis across his body and the ceiling of the Corvette. He screamed and cried as his body bucked and quaked and jerked as spasm after explosive spasm detonated through his slim body. Michael never lost a beat as he stroked and squeezed Evan’s cock, reveling in the control he was exerting over the boy at that moment.
Evan collapsed on the seat, still writhing under the relentless masturbating of Michael’s hand, his screams declining to cries and then to whimpers and, finally, to gasps. He finally cried out in pain as Michael continued to stroke him beyond the point where it was too sensitive.
“Stop! Oh, God, STOP! Please, stop!”
Michael continued to stroke and squeeze. Evan desperately tried to grab the hand, instinctively curling into a ball to protect his penis, crying out in agony. Finally, Michael relented, having made his point as to who was in charge.
Evan collapsed, beyond breathless, panting, unable to catch his breath, covered in ejaculate, unable to focus his eyes. He was vaguely aware of the car slowing down, of the roar of the engine subsiding. Suddenly, he was thrown against the door as the car made a sharp turn to the left. He could feel the rough ride as they rumbled down a dark, country road, surrounded by tall trees, the only light from the headlights ahead. He was too exhausted to ask where they were going; or, too afraid. Yes, he was afraid and it shocked him to realize… it was a turn on. He had just had the orgasm of his life and… he was still turned on.
The car made another sharp turn and they passed an opening in the trees. He saw a mobile home, wretched and decrepit, as they roared past. Almost immediately they were rumbling over a wooden bridge and then back on ground, circling around and up a hill slightly. Finally, they came to a stop.
Michael turned off the engine and the silence was deafening. It took a moment before Evan could hear the night songs of frogs and the other denizens of the darkness over his breathing and that of Michael.
“So, little man, you feeling a little better now?”
Evan looked at Michael’s face. He wasn’t certain what he saw. It was the same handsome, friendly face, the same confidence, the same arrogance. Yet, there was something else and the fear Evan felt underneath his desire grew.
“So, here’s the great Evan Vanderlyn, the famous Evan Vanderlyn, naked and horny and desperate to get fucked.”
Evan was still panting, still desperate to be fucked; but, a warning bell was going off in his head. He was so stoned form the pot, however, and so buzzed from the poppers that he was having trouble thinking clearly about anything other than his desperate need to feel Michael up his ass.
“When I’m through with you tonight, you’ll never want to go back to that little dick of Adam’s, I promise you.”
Michael leaned forward and brought his mouth down over Evan’s right nipple. He began viciously to suck and lick it, sending Evan into spasms of ecstasy and eliciting more cries of joy. Yet, deep inside, something was telling him that something was wrong.
Adam.
Michael pulled away after a moment.
“I’m gonna fuck you, little man,” he breathed in Evan’s face. He turned, opened the door, and climbed out. Evan was breathing hard from lust and from fear. This wasn’t going to be any ordinary fuck. But, there was something wrong. From deep inside the fog of lust and chemicals came one word: Adam.
Adam.
You’ll never want to go back to that little dick of Adam’s.”
Adam.
Adam was probably sitting on the steps of the church at that very moment. Waiting. Patiently. Lovingly. Waiting.
Adam.
Michael opened the trunk and removed something. He came around the side of the car. Evan was loosing some of his delirium as he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Michael spreading a blanket across the ground beside the car.
Oh, my God, he thought as his fear began to grow. I’m in the middle of the woods alone and… he’s gonna fuck me. He’s not just gonna fuck me. He’s gonna rape me. And, I don’t know where I am. And, Adam is waiting for me.
Somehow, through the fog of chemicals and lust, Evan saw through the mirror that Michael was undressing. Evan wanted Michael to fuck him, to rape him, to scare him beyond anything he had ever known. But, underneath it all was the image of Adam sitting on those church steps, trusting, loving Adam waiting for him.
Evan grabbed his shorts and pulled them up. He looked to his right and saw Michael had dropped his shorts. He was naked, his huge cock, oh, that huge beautiful cock that Evan would have shot every friend he had in LA for, stood up rigid and beautiful and waiting to violate his hungry ass.
Evan crawled across the seat to the driver’s side and opened the door. Shakily, he stood. He tried to see his shirt in the back but couldn’t.
“Hey, baby,” Michael said from the other side.
Evan looked around. There was a telltale glow up ahead. In his confusion, he couldn’t quite make out what it was. He started running.
“Hey!” Michael yelled. “Where you going? Come back here, you little prick! Come back here! You fucking little prick tease!”
Evan ran as hard as he could. He ran as he had never run before. He could hear the crackle of brush behind him. Michael had to be chasing him. Evan cursed himself for not waiting until Michael was barefoot before taking off, but it was too late now. He ran toward the light.
There was water to the left. He could hear the angry quacking of ducks as he and Michael burst through the brush. He knew where he was. They had come in on the west side of town. They were on the far side of the Duck Pond.
“God damn you,”” Michael screamed. Evan ran, pain inside his chest, scratches on his arms from the brush. He could no longer hear Michael following him.
And, then, from further behind, he heard, “You’re dead, Vanderlyn! I promise! You’re fuckin’ dead!”
He was approaching a road, the road around the Duck Pond from the south side of campus. He ran on. There were headlights approaching, the rumble of an old pick-up truck engine. Evan ran on. The truck passed him, ignoring him. Evan stopped and watched it drive past. He took a few breaths and then ran on.
The hill leading up from the tennis courts to the rest of campus almost killed him. The pot, the poppers, and the sexual exertion of earlier had almost done him in. He paused. Across campus, he could see the storefronts on First Street. That was it. He would stop at Bohemia. Chris could help him. Chris would know what to do. He could call Adam from there.
He staggered across campus to the street. There was no sign of life anywhere. It was Sunday night in a small town on the Midwestern plains. Why would there be? Evan cursed not being in LA. He ran to the front of Bohemia. The lights were off. He stepped back and looked up at the windows in Chris’s apartment above. No lights were on. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees as he fought to regain his breath.
And, then, he cried out in horror.
He was standing in a pool of blood.
He looked all around him. There was blood all over the sidewalk, some of it splattered on the window, some of it on the door. Blood everywhere.
Oh, my God, he thought. The pick-up. The Duck Pond. Michael! Chris!!!
A light caught Evan’s attention. He looked back toward campus and saw headlights climbing the hill behind campus by the tennis courts.
The truck was coming back.
Evan turned and ran up First Street. He ran as hard as he could. He could hear the rumble of the pick-up behind him circling around campus. He heard it stop on College Street.
Evan was a block away from the church.
“Adam!” he tried to scream. He could barely breathe. “Adam!”
He could see Adam sitting on the steps of the church. He rose and waved to Evan. Evan shook his head as he ran and tried to wave Adam back to the house. He heard the rumble of the truck as it accelerated up First Street. It was coming. He had to save Adam. He had to save Adam!
“Get inside Adam. Run Adam! Run inside!”
Evan was beside the house across the street from the church. He desperately waved at Adam, trying to signal him to get in the house. Adam clearly didn’t understand. His hands rose to his head in confusion.
“Oh, God, Adam! Run!”
The rumble of the truck was right behind him. Evan crossed the street. The truck roared up beside him.
“Run, Adam!” he screamed.
He heard the door of he truck open and then another as he ran across the grass in front of the church. He saw a look terrified confusion on Adam’s face as the boy stood frozen, his hands clutching at his hair in panic. And, then someone knocked Evan to the ground.
He was thrown onto his back. In his face was a black sky-mask and a hand holding a small can. Evan instinctively raised a knee, but before he could defend himself, his face and eyes exploded in burning agony. He screamed and a hand clamped viciously down over his mouth.
“Shut-up, you little faggot,” said a familiar voice. Evan tried desperately to raise his hands to his face, but suddenly there was a horrendous explosion of pain in his groin. He rolled over and retched in the grass. His hands were yanked painfully back and duct taped, as were his feet. Two sets of hands picked him up as snot and vomit dripped from his face. He was thrown over the edge of the truck and landed on another body. A voice moaned. It was Chris Holland. And, then another; Michael. He was lying atop them both. In the background, he heard Adam’s horrified, agonized, “Ngggggg! Ngggg! Nggggg!”
“Fuck the retard,” he heard Fred Gibson barked. In a drunken slur, he heard George Duncan mumble, “Fucking retard.”
I was over in only a few seconds that seemed to Evan to last for hours. The truck roared to life and took off, throwing Evan backward. As he rolled off Chris’ and Michael’s struggling bodies, he fell on his face and retched again. His last thought was of the unspeakable, indescribable horror that must be raging through Adam’s mind at that moment.
And, then, there was nothing.
You are reading the climax of The Foxwood Chronicles. Please let me know what you think at fthinker@ gmail.com. I should have Chapter 22 up this weekend. Thank you.