Good For Gone

Trust

I had to go back and get my stuff, so I decided that I would give him that amount of time to explain himself.

My key was still in my pocket so I locked the door and directed him down the porch steps with the gun, "Start talking."

I made him walk out of arms range, although he came to that decision on his own due to the gun being point at him.

"Um, okay," he stuttered as we walked down my driveway, "I grew up, not around here. It was a place in the woods."

"Very descriptive." I mumbled.

"I'm trying," he said, before continuing, "Anyway, I lived with the master, the elders, and other boys."

"No girls?"

"Well all the elders were all women, but other than that no." He shrugged, "But we lived in really tiny houses, mostly made out of fabric."

"Like a tent?"

He sighed, "That's probably your word for it I guess. Our houses definitely weren't that big. I and the other boys stayed in a house that actually had a door, so they could lock us in every night."

"And you didn't think that was creepy?"

He looked confused, "No." But continued on with his description, "The other boys and I did labor mostly, taking care of livestock and the garden, as well as school. And I don't know, yeah, that's about it."

We'd finally made it down my driveway and onto the road. I thought for a second, the story didn't really answer any of my questions, so I had to ask a few more, "And they made you cut yourself?"

"No, we used to always have an elder who would watch us and if we sinned she would cut us and put the blood into one of the glass jars they always had to carry. I just do it now, because I feel like I have to I guess." And surely enough he had a brand new row of fresh slices.

"What did they do with the blood?"

He just shrugged and kept walking, seeming wary of the story telling. But I couldn't let him stop this easily, I needed to know who we was to some degree, and whether or not he was truly dangerous.

I changed the subject, "How did you end up out here then?"

He shrugged again.

I let out a breath, "What's the last thing you remember?"

We were nearing the shack and his uncomfortable pauses had taken up way too much of the walk. The more he neglected to tell me the less I could feel myself trusting him, as much as it hurt.

I wanted him to stay the dopey weirdo who fed ants and attacked mannequins. But that monster had engrained itself in my brain.

He rubbed his arms anxiously, "It's bad."

"Shoot." I insisted, nothing could be worse than what I'd already seen.

"Elder Hamilton and I were very close, she taught me how to play guitar. She was amazing, beautiful Raven hair and a voice that made your toes practically tingle. She was the only woman who ever touched me without cutting me." He paused for just a moment, his eyes getting a bit dreamy, "She would rub my arm whenever I played well, and brush the hair out of my eyes when I concentrated too hard. She said it was our little secret, and that it wasn't bad, even though I knew it was."

He was flushed with embarrassment. I didn't know how to feel, he spoke about this woman like she was all that was good in the world, and it left a bad taste in my mouth, "Go on." I urged.

He cleared his throat, "We were very close. I had lessons with her every day in the evening, and she used to let down her hair and take off her outer shall. I'd never been that close with anyone before." I saw him wince a little bit, "But one day Master found out about the particular nature of our lessons and walked in on us."

He stopped again. This time he was absolutely beet red and refusing to make eye contact with me, but I said, too engrossed in the story to care, "And then what?"

"He took me out into the woods and told me that no men were allowed, only boys, and that if I insisted on doing manly things I would have to pay the price," He finally looked over to me, "and that's honestly the last thing I remember."

I thought for a second, relaxing the gun at my side as we approached the house. None of the story really told me why he came back from the dead, or what had happened the night before. But I bit back some of my harsher questions.

He looked so tired from telling me that story alone. So I said the first thing that popped into my head, "God that's awful."

He opened the door for me and we went inside. Nothing was out of place besides the blanket I'd thrown off of myself last night that now laid limply on the floor.

"I don't know. Things aren't so bad now. I just don't want you to be mad at me."

"I'm not mad," I sighed, "It's just, I don't know who or what you are."

He laughed, "What I am?"

"Yeah."

"I'm human." He said it like it was obvious.

"Really? Because I've seen you do some profoundly inhuman things." I grabbed my phone off the ground and tucked it into my pocket.

"Like what?"

"Well last night you attacked me. You looked like you weren't even a person anymore. Your eyes were totally black."

"Well I mean I sleep walk, all of the boys sleepwalk. That's why we needed to be locked up, so we didn't hurt ourselves." He picked up the blanket and folded it.

"That wasn't sleep walking. I've seen people sleep walk."

He shrugged his shoulders, "I'm sorry, I wouldn't scare you on purpose."

"There's another thing too," I said, sitting down on the recliner, "I don't know how you'll react to hearing it."

He looked as worried as I expected, "What's that?"

"When I originally found you, you were dead."

He laughed like I was joking, "No I wasn't, I was just asleep."

"No you were dead. Bloated, maggots, the works."

"That's not funny," he said, "That's not even possible."

"Well it's true."

He shook his head, obviously not convinced. But then I remembered the pictures I'd taken with my phone. I pulled it out, there was a miniscule sliver of battery life left, but it was good enough.

"Look," I clicked on the image so his bloated frame filled up the whole screen, "I took this back when I saw that you were healing. You woke up a few days later."

He took the phone out of my hand and began pacing around the room. His face fell as he recognized his old clothes and the floor he'd woken up on.

He walked back over to me and dropped the phone in my lap. I was going to say something but he plopped onto the ground and buried his head between his knees.

I immediately felt like an asshole. He obviously had no idea, and this was not easy news.

I slid to the ground and crawled towards him slowly, "Are you alright?"

He looked up, eyes wet but not spilling over, "I promise, whatever is going on, I'm not doing it. I didn't know."

"I know." I realized the gun was still in my hand, and I leaned over to set it down a few feet away. It was the ultimate test, if this was all an act, he could easily kill me now.

As I withdrew my hand from the cold metal he caught my wrist. The grip was light and hesitant, and his palms were drenched in sweat.

I looked up at him, his eyes had cleared but remnants of grief still creased his face, "I don't want to be scary."

He took his hand back quickly, but I smiled to reassure him, "I know, we're going to figure out what's going on, promise."