The Field

Trapped

The doorknob felt like ice in Will's hand.

The man said, "You don't look like you have any Girl Scout cookies." His gravel-like timbre kept Will's knees locked. "And I don't see you holding any pamphlets promising me eternal life with Jesus and pals. Hmm. You going to tell me why you're holding onto my doorknob like it's your nubby little prick, or am I going to have to call the authorities?"

The cops? Will turned to run, but the man blocked Will's escape.

"Hey," the man said, "wait a second. I've seen you before." The man adjusted the worn bill of his baseball cap and leaned over with his hands on his knees. "I've seen you with my boy, haven't I?" He ran his tongue across his upper teeth in thought. "Yup. Wesley or something, right?"

"W-Will."

Eddie's dad was built like a scarecrow. Frayed arm hair, like singed hay, stuck out of the cuffs of his flannel shirt, and a greasy mop of hair spilled down his neck, framing his gaunt face. He straightened, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. "That's right," he said, squinting at the sun. "School's still in, I know that much, unless it's another damn holiday I don't know about. That still doesn't explain why you were trying to get in my house."

Will couldn't look away, his gaze held by two bloodshot eyes.

"Nothing to say, huh? I bet a few of those fellas in the black-and-whites will make you talk."

Will's tongue flicked around inside his dry mouth. No words would come.

Eddie's dad shrugged. "Suit yourself. Don't move." He stepped around Will and opened the door.

The street wasn't far. But where would he go? He couldn't outrun the police forever. Sooner or later, they'd find him. "Wait," Will said.

Eddie's dad appeared in the threshold. "I'm listening."

"I was looking for Eddie. That's why I'm here. I'm sorry I was trying to get inside. No one was home, and I haven't been able to find him, and—"

"Did he take something of yours? That little fucker is always coming home with shit that I know I didn't buy him. He's got no damn money, either. I swear to God—"

"Yeah, yeah. He borrowed something, and I was just coming to get it back."

"All right. Well, he ain't here. He'll probably be scrounging around for something to eat soon, though. So"—he scratched the graying stubble on his chin—"you're welcome to wait for him if you want."

Will swallowed.

Eddie's dad grinned. "Just fucking with you about the police and all. Come on in."

***

Muted sunlight spilled through drawn curtains, catching dust motes on its way to the carpet where it was absorbed by stains that were probably older than time itself and ready to pull him back to whatever dimension they had come from. Will decided he would stay on the curled linoleum entryway where, he hoped, the ground would remain solid. Eddie's dad ambled across the living room, settled onto a tattered recliner, and kicked his feet up on a pile of magazines.

While Will's eyes adjusted to the meager light, other forms within the room took shape. A TV with wooden housing, its screen webbed with cracks, stood on a folding tray across from the recliner where Eddie's dad sat. The walls were bare and as faded as everything else. It reminded Will of the house where he had attacked Rick, except the scattered glass was replaced by empty TV dinner boxes and beer cans.

"You mind closing the door?" Eddie's dad asked. "Damn flies love the heat, and this fucking house is a hotbox."

"Sorry," Will said, closing the door. The living room was even darker now.