friendly, but there was something about this line of questioning. Something threatening.
"I switched it off." My suspiciousness about this man was growing.
"Well," he said. "I promise to be a gentleman." He held up his hands. "I'll keep both of these where you can see them at all times." He grinned at me again.
I didn't answer, but he pushed past me and into the house.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. He was inside my house! How was I supposed to get him out?
"This will only take a moment," he said. I wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.
"I think I want you to leave my house," I said.
"I just want to ask you a question," he said. He was looking around me at the living room.
"I didn't ask you to come in," I said. I was starting to feel scared. What if he didn't leave?
The man took several steps into the room. I tried to step in front of him, to block him.
For some reason, I didn't want him going into the dining room where he might see Jason.
"Please leave," I said.
"I've lost my brother, you see," he said. "He's run away. I'm looking for him. I miss him very much."
"I haven't seen any British boys in this town ever," I said. "Now, please get out of my house." He wasn't leaving. He wasn't listening to me at all.
The man walked around me and into the dining room.
"I'm calling the police if you don't leave right now!" I nearly screamed, running after him.
But Jason wasn't in the dining room. My bag of chips and bowl of salsa sat at the table, all alone.
The man looked around. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he said to me. "I shouldn't have barged into your house. I just thought I heard..." He trailed off. "I guess I was mistaken."
"You shouldn't have barged in," I said. "And you need to leave."
"Okay, I will," he said. "Just...I have a picture, with my number? Might I leave it? If you see him, you could call me? I really do just want to help him."
"Get out," I said.
He took a picture out of his jacket pocket anyway and handed it to me. "And by the way, he's not British," he said. "He's my half-brother. He was raised in the States."
I took the picture and ushered him towards the door.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm really sorry."
I pushed him out and slammed the door after him. I locked it. And the deadbolt. And then I slumped against the door in relief. My heart was pounding away in my chest. I had been so scared.
Jason ducked out of the dining room, brandishing the baseball bat from the kitchen like a weapon. "He's gone?" he asked.
I nodded.
"This is bad," said Jason. "This is very, very bad."
I looked down at the picture the man had given me. It was of Jason. He was a little younger. His hair was shorter. And he was smiling. His smile was radiant and free as if he didn't have a care in the world. I'd never seen Jason smile like that. But it was definitely Jason in the picture.
"Do you know that man?" I asked.
Jason clutched the bat, looking furious. He was shaking, all over. I'd never seen him so out of control.
"Jason? Is he your brother?"
"I don't have any brothers," Jason bit out. He stalked to the window in the living room. Pulled the curtain back a little and peered outside. "Fuck," he said.
"Jason, who was that man?"
He lowered the bat. Rubbed his face with one hand. "He was a very dangerous man,"
he said. "A very, very dangerous..." He stopped and looked at me. "Call your parents.
They need to come home right now."
Terrified, I did what he said. Within ten minutes, my mom and dad, both looking very worried, were standing inside the kitchen with the two of us.
My mother gathered me into her arms. "Azazel, what happened?" she asked, her voice high pitched. "I've never heard you sound so scared. Sweetie, what happened?"
Jason was pacing the floor, his face a mask of anger. He didn't look like a seventeen-year-old boy. He looked like a commanding officer in the army. "Someone showed up here," he said. "Just like I was afraid
"I switched it off." My suspiciousness about this man was growing.
"Well," he said. "I promise to be a gentleman." He held up his hands. "I'll keep both of these where you can see them at all times." He grinned at me again.
I didn't answer, but he pushed past me and into the house.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. He was inside my house! How was I supposed to get him out?
"This will only take a moment," he said. I wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.
"I think I want you to leave my house," I said.
"I just want to ask you a question," he said. He was looking around me at the living room.
"I didn't ask you to come in," I said. I was starting to feel scared. What if he didn't leave?
The man took several steps into the room. I tried to step in front of him, to block him.
For some reason, I didn't want him going into the dining room where he might see Jason.
"Please leave," I said.
"I've lost my brother, you see," he said. "He's run away. I'm looking for him. I miss him very much."
"I haven't seen any British boys in this town ever," I said. "Now, please get out of my house." He wasn't leaving. He wasn't listening to me at all.
The man walked around me and into the dining room.
"I'm calling the police if you don't leave right now!" I nearly screamed, running after him.
But Jason wasn't in the dining room. My bag of chips and bowl of salsa sat at the table, all alone.
The man looked around. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he said to me. "I shouldn't have barged into your house. I just thought I heard..." He trailed off. "I guess I was mistaken."
"You shouldn't have barged in," I said. "And you need to leave."
"Okay, I will," he said. "Just...I have a picture, with my number? Might I leave it? If you see him, you could call me? I really do just want to help him."
"Get out," I said.
He took a picture out of his jacket pocket anyway and handed it to me. "And by the way, he's not British," he said. "He's my half-brother. He was raised in the States."
I took the picture and ushered him towards the door.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm really sorry."
I pushed him out and slammed the door after him. I locked it. And the deadbolt. And then I slumped against the door in relief. My heart was pounding away in my chest. I had been so scared.
Jason ducked out of the dining room, brandishing the baseball bat from the kitchen like a weapon. "He's gone?" he asked.
I nodded.
"This is bad," said Jason. "This is very, very bad."
I looked down at the picture the man had given me. It was of Jason. He was a little younger. His hair was shorter. And he was smiling. His smile was radiant and free as if he didn't have a care in the world. I'd never seen Jason smile like that. But it was definitely Jason in the picture.
"Do you know that man?" I asked.
Jason clutched the bat, looking furious. He was shaking, all over. I'd never seen him so out of control.
"Jason? Is he your brother?"
"I don't have any brothers," Jason bit out. He stalked to the window in the living room. Pulled the curtain back a little and peered outside. "Fuck," he said.
"Jason, who was that man?"
He lowered the bat. Rubbed his face with one hand. "He was a very dangerous man,"
he said. "A very, very dangerous..." He stopped and looked at me. "Call your parents.
They need to come home right now."
Terrified, I did what he said. Within ten minutes, my mom and dad, both looking very worried, were standing inside the kitchen with the two of us.
My mother gathered me into her arms. "Azazel, what happened?" she asked, her voice high pitched. "I've never heard you sound so scared. Sweetie, what happened?"
Jason was pacing the floor, his face a mask of anger. He didn't look like a seventeen-year-old boy. He looked like a commanding officer in the army. "Someone showed up here," he said. "Just like I was afraid
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