Son of the Enemy by Ana Barrons

that.”
    “Poor Thornton.” Hannah glanced at the clock over the stove and was thankful classes wouldn’t start for another two hours. “As if it weren’t bad enough that his son’s missing.” She shivered. “I just hope to God Ty’s okay.”
    “One of the kids has to know where he is,” Larissa said. “He’s not stupid, and he doesn’t strike me as the kind of kid who’d go sleep in an alley or something.”
    “Not unless he had something to hide,” Hannah said, knowing in her heart that he probably did.
    “And Hannah?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I kind of hate to bring this up, but you know that woman who was butchered yesterday?”
    Hannah felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. “What about her?”
    “I swear, when they flashed her picture on the screen…I thought it was you.”
     
     
    Philip nearly spilled the coffee down the front of his shirt when he heard what the newscaster said. He and a couple of truckers were the only customers in the tiny convenience store, and he was the only one who seemed to be paying attention to the small-screen TV sitting on a low counter behind the cashier.
    …Bradshaw’s son, known as Ty, was involved in a drug incident at the Grange School yesterday, in which a student overdosed on powerful stimulants. The boy remains in critical condition at Middlesex Community Hospital.
    He recognized the man, Bradshaw, from the Washington Post photo that had led him here several weeks ago. That was the man who was giving so much money to the school. And now he knew the name of the boy he had met in the woods—Ty Bradshaw.
    Excitement wound its way through his gut. He wouldn’t have to go back to that damp hut in the woods. Bradshaw had a lot of money and a lot to lose if the police found out his son had given the other kid those drugs. He patted his jacket pocket, where he had stashed the baggie and the rolled-up fifty-dollar bill with the white powder still on it. He had known at the time it was a good idea to hold on to it, and he had reminded himself of that just yesterday when he had been so tempted to spend it on that necklace he saw in a store window. If he played his cards right, he could buy his Belle as many necklaces as she liked.
    “Hey, mister, you listening to me?”
    He pulled himself from his fantasy long enough to notice the small dark man behind the counter was frowning at him. He allowed himself the briefest image of slicing through the man’s throat, watching the blood spurt out and cover the brown-and-tan argyle vest he was wearing. “Sorry,” he said instead. “I was lost in thought.”
    “You going to pay for that coffee or what?”
    Philip smiled and reached into his pocket for a dollar. Then, on second thought, he grabbed a big blueberry muffin from the display case beside the cash register. He could afford to spend a little more money today.
     
     
    Ty felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked awake with a cry. “No!”
    “Hey,” John said. “It’s only me.”
    “Oh, Christ.” The relief was so overwhelming it made him want to cry. “Oh God, oh shit, oh thank you.” Tears ran down his cheeks but he was too happy to care.
    It all came back to him in a rush—the certainty that he was going to die and then the shock when the freak pushed him out instead of dragging him down. Running through the woods, falling, scraping his knees and elbows, constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure the guy wasn’t tracking him. Being more scared than he’d ever been in his whole life. Busting the basement window and dropping down into John’s office and making a little nest out of old costumes from the drama department.
    He raised himself up on one elbow and dragged a forearm over his eyes to dry them. Then he noticed the frown on John Emerson’s face.
    “I was planning to clean up the glass,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded.
    “What are you doing here, Ty?”
    It was a simple question, really. But boy oh boy, he sure didn’t want to