Chapter 2

thanks to jim for editing!

David Martin looked out his bedroom window. His face felt heavy, as if it weren't accustomed to the troubled scowl stretching over his face. It was late in the morning, and the day didn't look promising so far. Oliver was right. It was going to rain today.

"What're you gonna do, David?" Oliver asked quietly from somewhere behind him. He sounded worried.

"I'm going outside," David announced.

"Dad said we have to stay in... you shouldn't make him mad, David."

"I hate him," David whispered. "I hate them both."

"And you shouldn't say things like that," Oliver scolded.

"Why not? They hate me, don't they?"

Oliver didn't respond to that. "Let's play a game, David. It's gonna rain soon, anyway."

"No. I'm going out."

"How? They'll see you. You don't want them to see you. I don't want them to punish you again, David."

David frowned. They would punish him. The fuckers. And why not? He was the unwanted one. They couldn't get rid of him, so they liked to make him miserable. They wouldn't get away with it forever. He swore that. And they'd learn. They'd learn that they couldn't keep him trapped. Not like a caged animal. Like Oliver's chicken, kept in the two-foot-wide cage in the garage. They trapped it, and stole its eggs.

David opened the window, lifting the glass as far as it would go.

"David?" Oliver asked, sounding uncertain.

In a quick effort, David pushed the screen out and watched it land in one of his mother's flower boxes.

"David, please don't go outside. Frank's gonna come over."

David smirked as he lifted himself and dropped one leg out the window. "Sorry, Oliver. But Frank won't come."

...

Frank turned his flashlight onto a stack of crates in the storage shed behind his house. Like all the other junk in there, they were littered with cobwebs and he could see the dusty air floating in front of the light. His mom had asked him to clean it out today while she was in town with Rudy, and now he could see why. She hated spiders, and this place certainly had plenty of those, along with everything else the previous owner had left. The previous witch. He wondered what Oliver had meant by that as he went to explore the contents of a crate. A witch who obviously liked her preserves, he discovered, smiling to himself as he lifted out a few dusty bottles of jam. It looked like every crate was filled with stuff like that. His mother would definitely be happy. He made a mental note to bring in a few crates once the kitchen was more organized.

Everything else in the shed seemed worthy of a quick trip to the dump. There was an old bike separated into three different pieces that Frank had no motivation to do anything with, a few ugly lanterns among other appliances that all had frayed electrical cords. If he had to guess, he'd say that cats had something to do with that. There were two green oars that belonged to a non-existent boat, folded rugs on the ground that had the small space smelling like a litter box, and a bag of cat food that had become waterlogged with every drop of moisture that had fallen through a leak in the ceiling.

Wanting to save the task of cleaning out the shed for later, but knowing that his mom was counting on him, and taking on a sense of responsibility because his family needed the space, he propped the door open, placed his flashlight in the corner, and went to work tossing all the junk into the bed of a Ford pickup truck on the dirt path his mom called a driveway. They'd borrowed it from Mr. Dron, and Frank had spent most of the morning filling it up with boxes and everything else left over from their move. The contents of the shed topped it off, and by the time he was through all that was left were the crates and the oars. He saw no sense in throwing away perfectly good jelly, or boat paddles. After all, his family ate, and they lived on a lake. There was no telling when either would come in handy.

Once his and his sister's bikes were stored in the shed and the door was closed, Frank took a few moments to take advantage of the fresh air outside. The sun had faded behind the clouds during the morning, leaving the sky gray and dark where a storm lurked in the distance. The wind blew through his hair to cool his scalp as he looked over the choppy waters. Rain was so close he could smell it, and he wondered if his mom and sister would be back soon. Rudy didn't have camp over the weekend, so they'd gone grocery shopping together. It was their absence that caused Frank his sudden anxiety. Maybe they had electricity out here, but their surroundings were, in Frank's opinion, about a million years behind civilization. The road off the highway that led to the lake was just as bad as the one he followed to his trail, and according to Mr. Dron, it was prone to flooding and other disasters during a bad storm. The fact that he had no way of getting hold of his family didn't exactly make him feel better, either. He tried to stay optimistic, though, busying himself with the task of closing the windows in the house and placing most of their kitchen pots under every known leak in the house. Christ, this place needed a lot of work. As he moved through the house, he ran into two cats that had found a way in to avoid the storm. Apparently, they didn't realize that they no longer lived there, but Frank didn't bother to chase them out this time. He was too busy pacing by the windows to care that the smallest one had taken to clawing at the furniture. Rain had started to fall in large, slow drops, cold air was seeping through the gap at the bottom of the front door, and a low rumble of thunder echoed somewhere from above as if to say that this was hardly the beginning. And his family still wasn't home. If they didn't get back soon, Frank thought, he'd use bad weather as another example of why they shouldn't have moved there. Or at the very least, into such a corpse of a house.

The small town he could deal with. The culture shock he could tolerate. But he couldn't understand why his mom had to choose a house that was so secluded. Actually, he could understand, he just didn't agree with all her reasoning. It was on the lake. It was better than a double-wide trailer. Well, as far as Frank was concerned, if they wanted to see a lake, they could have driven to it from town, and he'd bet that most of the available trailers didn't have leaky roofs. This house was supposed to be their fresh start, according to his mom. Clearly, the woman was out of her mind. Frank wondered how long it would take her to figure it out.

He turned away from the window, and in the moment it took him to blink, the skies seemed to crack open and the static-like sound of a downpour erupted outside, causing him to look again. The water was falling so hard and so fast that it rocketed off the surface of the front porch, and puddles appeared beneath and around Mr. Dron's pickup truck. The raindrops splashing off the lake created a soft mist that made it difficult to make out the surface, and the first sounds of dripping rang through the house as the pots collected the water. Frank forced himself away from the window long enough to relocate a few, but he was back again soon enough, hoping to hear the cranky old engine of his mom's run-down Subaru over the sound of the storm. He didn't like this. Not at all.

He went to the closet closest to the front door, and was momentarily distressed when there was nothing in front of him, until he realized that all of their coats were still packed away in a box on the closet floor. He dumped the entire contents, and picked out a blue raincoat that was a little too aqua to be a masculine color. His mother's. She sucked at picking out real estate, but apparently, she was the only one sensible enough to own a raincoat.

Frank shrugged on the waterproof garment and moved out the front door, onto the front porch and into the rain, as if his presence outside would will his family home sooner. He began to walk around the house to look up the road that doubled as their driveway. He felt stupid for not going with them now. After all his complaining over being stuck in the middle of nowhere, he'd blown off a chance to go into town with his family for an extra thirty minutes of sleep. He could have skipped the chores to take a look around something closer to civilization, and he could have been around if his mom ran into trouble on the way back. He hoped that they were still in town, somewhere dry, or at least close to pulling up the drive. Not knowing was driving him crazy.

He began to pace back and forth as the humidity began to build beneath his coat. His clothes stuck to him uncomfortably and his pants became soggy around his ankles where the rain penetrated them. And it kept coming. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen this kind of storm, where the water fell like a never-ending beat, no harder or softer from one moment to the next. More thunder cracked above, this time echoing through the valley. Frank looked up. No lightning yet, but the sky was getting dark. A lot darker than a sky should look at noon, Frank thought.

He thought about going back inside. That was the sensible thing to do. Maybe he could occupy himself by hooking up the DVD player, or finish unpacking his room. His mom and Rudy were fine, and as soon as they got home, he'd feel ridiculous for worrying. But, Frank couldn't help worrying. They were all he had left.

Another eruption of thunder sent a chill up his spine. Still no lightning, but he forced himself back towards the front of the house, anyway, but paused as he looked out over the lake. The other side was nothing more than a bleary image now, obstructed by fog, but he could see light, faintly shining through a distant window. He stared at it for several moments, wondering if the people inside the house it came from were more comfortable that he was.

Above him, the sky suddenly lit up, the momentary brightness that Frank associated with fireworks. Streaks of bright white streaked across the sky and moved within the clouds. It was time to go back inside. He turned and ran towards his front door as if someone was behind him, unable to explain the sudden increase in his blood pressure. He reached the front porch, his right foot landing on the first step. And then, the attack came.

His heart leapt to his throat when he felt the pressure on his shoulder. It was like being lifted into the air, his feet flying above his body, and then there was pain as his back came into contact with the ground, even with his tailbone. The hood fell back from his head and sloshing mud splashed over him, the rain sloppily washing it away a moment later, and somewhere in his confusion, two confused, hazel eyes came into focus over his own.

"Are you okay, Frank?"

"Oliver?" Frank asked incredulously. Staring upwards, regaining his bearings, Frank found that Oliver was indeed leaning over him, garbed in jeans and a sweatshirt, both soaked through. Water dripped from his dark hair, down his face and off his eyelashes and nose, but he didn't behave as someone who noticed. Or cared.

"Sorry I scared you, Frank."

Frank reluctantly took the hand that was offered to him. Oliver's hand. And as the other boy helped him to his feet, he pieced together what had just happened. Oliver, who'd managed to sneak up on him, grabbed his shoulder, and Frank had simply slipped on the first stair. He supposed that it was good to know he wasn't facing a hungry bear with an appetite for teenagers.

"What are you doing here?" Frank demanded as he rubbed at his neck. It seemed a lot less embarrassing than rubbing at his sore bottom would be.

"You didn't come over," Oliver replied.

It didn't sound like Oliver was making an accusation, but Frank still found himself taking the defensive.

"Well, I've been kinda busy around here."

"Oh."

Oliver frowned, looking like a lost, wet puppy, and Frank sighed.

"Look, how'd you get here?"

Oliver pointed down the shoreline. "My boat was over there."

"You can't go back in this. Come on, let's go inside so I can change." Frank gave Oliver's shoulder a pat as he passed him and moved up the stairs, becoming irritated when he found that his fall had caused a limp in his step. He was definitely bruised. He just hoped that it wouldn't look as bad as it currently felt. "You can stay here until it stops raining," Frank continued as he reached the front door, but before walking through it, he paused, realizing that he was alone in his interest to get inside.

Oliver was still standing in the rain, looking at the house with a certain amount of trepidation.

"Oliver? What're you doing?" Frank asked. The only response he received was a negative shake of the head. Frank sighed. "Oliver, please don't make me limp back down those stairs. I promise you, there's no witch in here."

Oliver frowned. "She wasn't a real witch, Frank," he said, in a tone that suggested he was attempting to explain something to a small child. "But, she didn't like me. Wouldn't want me in her house."

"Well, it's not her house anymore, is it?" Frank replied. "I live here, so please just come inside. It's better than standing out in the rain, okay?"

Oliver seemed to consider it for a few seconds--a few seconds longer than Frank cared to wait. He decided to go inside without waiting for a response, and sure enough, Oliver was soon moving up the stairs to catch up. Frank held the door for him, and watched the other boy hesitate before stepping into the house, taking it all in slowly, from floor to roof. Frank momentarily placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but decided not to comment further on Oliver's fears.

"Sorry about the mess," Frank said of the clutter filling the living room. "We haven't found enough room for all our stuff."

"You need a bigger house," Oliver agreed, and despite his frustration over being covered in mud, and the pain he was feeling, Frank laughed.

"Come on in," Frank insisted, closing the door. "I'll find you something dry, then I'm gonna hit the shower."

Oliver moved further into the living room, inching his way between a dresser and a coffee table, but stopped and noticeably tensed when one of the cats appeared in front of his feet.

"Don't worry about them," Frank insisted. "They're everywhere. Can't seem to get rid of them. I'll be right back."

After a quick trip to his room, Frank returned with a t-shirt and some running shorts. He found Oliver near the sofa. The kid had had enough sense not to sit down while he was dripping wet, but he'd had no trouble finding the one family photo that Frank would have liked to see burned. Taken two Christmases ago, he'd had a bad haircut and been forced to wear a hideous orange sweater with a polar bear print on it, courtesy of his grandmother. He was pretty sure that if it had been anyone else looking it over, he would have snatched it out of their hands. But with Oliver, he just watched.

If Frank was right, then Oliver wasn't noticing the ugly sweater at all. He was simply curious, taking in faces with a wide-eyed expression, like a little kid who'd just opened a new picture book. He held it up, and pointed to faces, one at a time, looking to Frank for answers.

"My mom," Frank obliged. "If you meet her, she doesn't like to be called ma'am. She thinks it makes her sound old. Her name's Jessica... and that's my sister, Rudy. She's named after my grandpa, but don't tell her that. She wants a girl's name."

Oliver grinned over that, and then held the photograph in two hands, studying it again. "Frank, where's your dad's head?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "You ask a lot of questions."

"No I don't," Oliver replied, sounding confused over the accusation.

"We don't like to look at my dad's face," Frank explained. That's why his dad's head was carefully folded out of the frame. It was like that in most of their pictures. He tossed the clothes he'd brought onto the sofa. "There. Why don't you put those on. There's a box of towels on the kitchen table if you need one... are you gonna be okay if I take a quick shower?"

Oliver looked down at the clothes as he carefully placed the framed photo on the table where he'd found it. "You won't be long?" he asked.

"I won't be long," Frank promised, and then did his best to keep it. He only stayed in the shower long enough to feel remotely clean, which proved to be a challenge when he had to stand in a cracked and stained bathtub. His mom had scrubbed and scrubbed until they finally decided that as soon as they could afford it, they'd replace the whole thing.

The mirror was okay. Clear and new. They'd purchased that, since the house didn't come with one. Frank just didn't like what he saw in it when he finished bathing and looked over the damage from his fall. His lower back looked welted and angry red, where he'd taken the brunt of his impact. It looked nearly as painful as it felt. His right shoulder was the same way, and he'd managed to scrape his elbows. He suddenly found himself hoping that someone remembered to refill the icetray. It wasn't likely. He was the last one to empty it.

He dressed, including his shoes in his wardrobe, just in case he found a reason to run back out into the rain, and then he went to rejoin Oliver. Frank half expected him to be snooping around through their things while left to his own devices, but instead, Oliver appeared to be the perfect houseguest.

Oliver was sitting in one of the more awkwardly placed chairs, likely because one of the cats had found its way to the back of the sofa. He'd changed into the clothes Frank had provided and seemed reasonably comfortable in them, even if they were a little snug on him. The shorts didn't quite cover the tan line just above his knees, and the shirt seemed just a little tight around his shoulders. He had long, toned muscles, a body as developed as any healthy youth who was exposed to a generous amount of physical activity, and suddenly didn't seem as scrawny and frail as Frank had imagined him. In fact, just looking at him reminded Frank of his age, even while the expressions on Oliver's face remained entirely too innocent.

Frank chased the cat off the furniture, mostly because he had a feeling it was bothering his guest, and then he offered Oliver something to drink. Only, instead of responding to Frank's question, Oliver asked a question that Frank hadn't been expecting at all.

"Are you angry, Frank?"

"What?"

Oliver lowered his eyes, folding his hands in his lap. "I didn't mean to make you fall, Frank."

"It's alright," Frank replied, even as he stiffly rolled himself onto the couch. It was no surprise that Oliver didn't look convinced. "Look, you didn't make me fall, okay? I... well, I'm sure it was my fault for some reason. I mean, I shouldn't have been out there for one thing. I just thought... I was waiting for my mom. She and my sister aren't home yet."

"Are they late?" Oliver asked.

Frank thought over the question. "Not exactly. They never said when they'd be home. I guess I'm just worried that they won't make it home in this weather."

Oliver smiled. "Oh, this is nothin'. My parents get home in this stuff all the time. Don't worry, Frank."

Frank smiled back, only because Oliver sounded so sincere that he was inclined to believe him. Then, a thought occurred to him as he looked over his unexpected guest.

"Hey, Oliver, your parents are worried about you, are they? I mean, would they be? We don't have a phone hooked up yet so you can't exactly call from here, unless you have a radio... there's one here in the attic. It was there when we moved in."

"We have one of those," Oliver cut in brightly. "It was my grandpa's. David likes to use it to listen to people."

"Well, maybe if we figure out how to work the one there, you can use it to tell your family where you are," Frank suggested.

Oliver responded negatively. "I can't tell my parents where I am."

"They're not home?"

"They are... but I can't tell them. David doesn't want me to tell them."

Frank raised an eyebrow, his curiosity stirred. "Why wouldn't David want you to tell your parents where you are?"

"Cause he's mad at 'em." Oliver suddenly stood up, dodging one of Frank's mother's standing lamps on his way around the chair, much like he looked like he wanted to dodge the question. "How come you didn't come over, Frank?"

"I told my mom I'd do some work around here," Frank replied, deciding to leave out the part where he'd entirely forgotten Oliver's invitation. "Why's David mad at your parents?"

Oliver fell silent as he drew something in the dust that had collected on a round mirror where Rudy had placed it on a lamp stand after finding it in her room. "Sometimes David doesn't like them," Oliver said quietly. "He says it's 'cause they don't like him. When he doesn't listen, they punish him."

Frank smirked. "Yeah, parents are annoying like that, huh?" he remarked, earning himself a frown from Oliver. "Look, Oliver, you shouldn't let your brother get you in trouble. If your parents don't know where you are, they're probably worried. I think when it stops raining you should go let them you're alright, okay?"

"But I wanna stay with you for a while, Frank."

Frank sighed. "Well, you're in luck, because it looks like it's going to be raining for a while... Look, Oliver, I haven't had lunch yet, and I don't skip meals. Are you hungry?"

Frank stood, trying not to wince when his back protested, and Oliver moved around the clutter in the room to get closer to him. "I like peanut butter and ham, but not together. Want me to make you a sandwich, Frank? I make good sandwiches."

"That would be great, Oliver, but we don't have anything for sandwiches until my mom gets back."

"Oh. Then what do you have?"

"Eggs, and preserves," Frank replied as Oliver followed him to the kitchen. "Do you like eggs, Oliver?"

"Are they brown eggs?"

Frank didn't have any brown eggs stocked in the refrigerator, but as it turned out, Oliver didn't seem to notice the difference while he was eating them. They'd cleared enough room on the kitchen table to sit down and enjoy a quick meal, and Frank found that Oliver's company was distraction enough from the storm... and maybe, a little more enjoyable than he'd thought it would be.

Frank couldn't quite figure Oliver Martin out. He knew Oliver wasn't quite like most kids his age. His mannerisms, the way he talked--all of it reminded Frank of the kids from the special ed classes that no one ever talked to. He supposed that if he had to describe Oliver, the term that came to mind was slow. Except, that didn't seem quite right. As they shared their meal, and Oliver talked about places he liked to go around the lake, and shared his knowledge of secret trails, good fishing spots and what snakes were okay to catch and which weren't, Frank completely forgot that he'd thought of Oliver as anything less than normal. Except for when Oliver offered to help Frank clean up afterwards. None of Frank's friends back home would have done that.

"So why do you call the lady that used to live here a witch?" Frank asked as they stood over the sink, washing off their dishes.

"I didn't like her," Oliver said firmly, as if he wanted to leave no room for argument. "Said this side of the lake was hers, and to stay off. She threw a rock at my head once."

"What?"

"Yeah. Right here." Oliver rubbed at his forehead, and Frank leaned closer to see a tiny indentation marring otherwise clear skin that was indeed a scar."

"What a bitch," he decided, wondering why anyone would want to hurt someone as nice as Oliver.

As for Frank's choice of words, Oliver snorted. "That's what David calls her," he whispered. "Mom says he shouldn't talk like that."

Frank smiled. "That sounds like my mom. But it's true--she shouldn't have thrown a rock at you."

Oliver shrugged. "She doesn't live here anymore. She's dead."

For a moment, Frank looked around the house suspiciously. "She didn't die in here, did she?" He really hoped that that didn't explain the smell.

"No," Oliver assured him. "She drowned."

"Oh... that sucks."

"She wasn't careful," Oliver said. "But you'll be careful, won't you, Frank?"

"Um... sure."

"Good. I like that you live here now."

"Well, that makes one of us."

Oliver frowned and studied Frank searchingly. "Why don't you like it here?"

"It's not that I don't... I mean, I don't. I just think my family would be happier somewhere else."

"Oh. Then why do you live here?"

"I don't know," Frank said as he turned off the water and moved away from the sink. "We have to, I guess."

"Why?" Oliver asked as he followed Frank back to the living room.

Frank frowned, half irritated by the line of questioning, and half inspired by it. It wasn't like him to vent certain aspects of his life to people who were practically strangers, but he found that he was comfortable with Oliver. "My mom wanted to start over," he explained. "I mean, I think we all did. And... this was sort of what we could afford. He turned to face Oliver just as they reached the hallway leading to the bedrooms. "About a year ago, my dad left. First he quit my mom. Then he quit me and my sister... and he took everything with him." Frank momentarily glanced away from the hazel eyes studying him, feeling uncomfortable. The admission was harder than he expected. "I don't know why he got tired of us, you know? I thought he was happy. My mom calls it temporary stupidity. She says one day he'll come to his senses when it comes to me and Rudy and come back... I don't know, Oliver. My dad left, and that's why we're here, because where I come from, that's all there is. People look at us like we're leftovers. What he didn't want."

Oliver stared at Frank for a long moment, seemingly taking in this information, and unintentionally, making Frank feel like an idiot. It wasn't necessarily anything that Oliver was doing. Frank simply didn't like to feel vulnerable, and there he was, placing himself in that situation, and bringing up what he had sworn to forget, or at least not care about. This was supposed to be a new start. Parts of it definitely sucked, but it was still a second chance. Frank hadn't meant to drop any of that on Oliver. He even thought he owed the kid an apology now. But Oliver didn't seem to feel the same way as he did, something that had Frank questioning how normal he was all over again.

Oliver hugged him. It wasn't a loose arm over the shoulder accompanied by a pat on the back, or a gentle, quick embrace like Rudy gave Frank before she went to bed. It was more supportive than sympathetic, and it only tightened when Frank tensed, stunned by the gesture until he had no choice but to push Oliver away, or relax. He settled for the latter, the aches from his fall momentarily fading in the way Oliver had him wrapped so tight he could hardly move his arms. Oliver was warm, like he'd never been out in the rain at all, and he smelled like lemons. It wasn't a sour smell, but a clean, almost refreshing scent that Frank suddenly wanted to lean into. But, even if he relaxed, he didn't do that. And then it was over, and Frank was surprised to find himself blushing. Oliver, however, left no room for awkwardness as he grinned crookedly and then looked down the dark hallway behind Frank.

"It looks scary," Oliver observed.

Frank laughed. "That's what I said the first time I walked into this house," he remarked, and then gestured over his shoulder. "My room's back there... you wanna see it?"

Oliver nodded, looking delighted over the idea.

"It's messy," Frank warned, "and not just because I haven't finished unpacking yet."

"That's okay, Frank."

Oliver didn't have much to say over the disaster state that Frank's room was in, other than suggesting that Frank should make some shelves for all his stuff. He even offered to help. He also asked why Frank didn't have any fish in the old aquarium that he was currently using to store books in. Frank explained that the one goldfish he'd ever owned had died two days after he brought it home from a fair, and then found himself agreeing to allow Oliver to catch frogs to keep in it.

The afternoon went by quickly. More thunder was heard from above, a few more streaks of lightning passed through the sky, and for fifteen minutes the power went out, leading to a discussion where Frank had to convince Oliver that the old house wasn't haunted and the creaking floor and movement in the other rooms were likely due to the cats.

Outside, the rain finally slowed to a drizzle, and when Frank discovered that Oliver had left his entire wardrobe outside because he didn't want to leave wet clothes around Frank's house, Frank hung them inside and gave Oliver something of his that was more suitable to wear home when the time came. Frank was surprised that he was no longer looking forward to that time, even when he heard his mom's Subaru pulling up outside and Oliver said, "See Frank, they're back. You didn't have to worry about a little rain."