Escaped (Little Boy Lost) by Barnaby J.P

Author:Barnaby, J.P. [Barnaby, J.P.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2013-06-22T16:00:00+00:00

“I’LL be gone most of the day. Nick wants to do some stills before we shoot. If you get hungry, I picked up a few more pizzas or there’s some ham and cheese for sandwiches,” Brian said as he stood at the foot of the bed with his shoes in hand. He looked gorgeous in the tight jeans and red T-shirt he’d decided on for their photo shoot this morning. I wanted to tell him that, but after three days of nearly no sleep, I couldn’t get the words out. After putting on his shoes, he came to my side of the bed and sat down.

“I know this is hard, but I want you to know that I am so proud of you. You just need to hang on for a little longer,” he whispered as he stroked my hair as a mother would a small child. Then, in the same fashion, he leaned down and kissed my forehead gently. As he moved away, our eyes met, and I smiled as best I could. Brian smiled back and kissed my lips gently before standing up. Once he picked up his wallet and keys from the table next to the door, he was gone.

I threw the covers back, revealing my jeans and sweatshirt, and got up. I’d showered and dressed just after dawn while Brian slept. Taking some of the cash I’d saved with Steven, I put it in my wallet and grabbed my shoes from near the door. The directions I’d written last night after putting our new address into an online mapping site would allow me to take the bus downtown.

The stomach cramps started again just as I locked the front door behind me.

“Damn it,” I muttered to myself and followed the instructions, which took me to a bus stop three blocks south of our apartment. A warped-looking shelter covered in graffiti was the only indication that a bus should stop on that corner. As I stood near it, I glanced around at the boarded-up store fronts that looked like their owners had abandoned them decades before. A couple of teenagers in baggy jeans and baggier sweatshirts passed around a paper bag as they watched from the opposite curb. Without a schedule, I wasn’t sure when the bus would arrive, but I didn’t feel too worried in the middle of the morning.

Ten minutes after I’d gotten to the stop, a rickety bus crept to a stop near the curb, and I stepped aboard. Someone had taped a sign that read, “DRIVER CARRIES NO CHANGE,” to the fare-vending thing at the top of the bus stairs.

“How much is the fare?” I asked the ancient man behind the wheel as I pulled my wallet from my back pocket. The uniform hung from his emaciated frame, and white hair spilled out over ebony skin from his matching hat. He looked as sick and frail as I felt.

“Dollar twenty-five,” he said, sounding bored as he stared out of the windshield. I fed two one-dollar bills into the machine and found an empty seat near the back.

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