He was so stupid!​ Now what was he going to do? Just chuck it? No, they'd find it, and then they'd... and it wasn't even his fault! That was the craziest part. It wasn't even his gun! Everything he'd done was in self-defense, and he had a witness, Gloria had been standing right there, but who knew what that whack job was going to say once it came right down to giving testimony to the cops? Why, she could put the whole thing on him! She could say Trevor attacked that Bobby guy who only pulled his gun out to defend himself and...Trevor felt like crying, and that was bad because Trevor never cried. And it was cold out, too, so damned cold. Trevor shivered. All he had on was a pair of jeans, for God's sake, and in the middle of winter! He didn't even have any shoes on! Oh yeah, here it came. He got all ready to have a good cry right there on his scooter with only his jeans on in the cold morning air.

     It didn't happen, though, because right then he spotted a cop car.

​     Shit! Trevor saw an alley. He braked hard and skidded to his left. Then he punched the gas again to zip down the alley. He heard the piercing whine of a cop's siren. Fuck! He heard the wheels of the cop car turn into the alley right behind him. Fuck! Fuck! 

​     He took a left into someone's back yard, then sped between two houses onto another street. The street was empty for the moment, thank God. He sped across the street, over a lawn, and between two more houses to find himself in someone's fenced back yard. He had to open a gate so he could get him and his scooter into another alley. 

     An alley where, at that exact moment, cop cars came at him from either end. 

     Fuck! Trevor really sobbed then. Panicked. Terrified. More lonely than he'd ever been before in his lonely life. He crossed the alley and zipped between two more houses. He'd killed a man! He really, really hadn't meant to. It had all happened so fast. Jeez, that was the first time he'd ever even seen the guy.  

     The next street over, there were, like, a dozen cop cars, all gathered in a bunch, their lights swirling. Under no circumstances were they going to let him get away. 

     Thick, hot tears rolled down Trevor's cheeks. He didn't want his life to be over, right then, that morning. He missed his life so much in that moment. He twisted the scooter around and zipped between two houses. The scooter's tires slid on some mud so that the scooter slid out from underneath Trevor's legs. He hit the ground sideways, getting mud all over his jeans and bare feet and torso. The gun also went skidding. Trevor grabbed it before it slid completely away from him. Along the bottom of the house were a row of windows. Leading to a basement, Trevor assumed.   

     Trevor aimed the gun at one of the windows and blasted away. 

     BOOM! 

​     It jammed his arm all the way to the shoulder. He'd been lying on his side as he pulled the trigger. The force of the blast blew him back a couple of feet on the ground. 

​     One moment, there was a window there. The next moment, after the BOOM! nothing. He wiggled like a snake through the now-shattered window. Minute, jagged bits of glass lined the window frame. The bits tore into his flesh along his chest and gut, even his bare feet. Now he'd be bleeding along with everything else. Panic gripped his throat until he almost choked. From behind him, he heard the SNAP! of someone's rifle going off, then the sound of metal scraping cement because the bullet'd hit the scooter to send it skidding away. 

     Now they were shooting at him! Damn! 

     And then he was in some stranger's basement. He crossed a small hallway to get to an unlocked door and open it. It led to a room that maybe had once been a bedroom but was now filled with boxes and junk. Trevor hid in a corner behind a row of stacked cardboard boxes amongst a bunch of old vacuum cleaners and rakes and broken things. He stepped on something, on some sort of electronic-plastic-gizmo-something, and that hurt! Ouch! He heard running feet. They were coming right after him. Sixteen years old, and already his life was totally and completely over for good. Now tears flooded from his eyes like lava from a volcano. It just wasn't fucking fair! His life had never been much of a picnic anyway, and now...

     He fingered the big old clunky gun he still had in his hand. If he raised it and aimed it anywhere near a police officer, he'd be dead within seconds. Death by cop.

​     Aw, fuck it, he thought. Why make them go to all that trouble?

​     He pointed the gun at his own skull. He wanted the first blast to take him right out. No turning himself into a vegetable hooked to machines for the rest of his life. The gun packed a hell of a wallop, but pulling the trigger wasn't hard at all. He didn't figure there'd be much...

     Someone pulled the gun from his hand. 

     "Who..." Where did he come from? If it was a he.

     No, it was a guy.

     A really old guy. Like in his nineties old guy. The owner of the house was all Trevor could figure. Trevor stammered, "Mister, listen, I...I had no idea that..."

     "Shh. Shh. None of that." Gramps put a finger to Trevor's lips. "I came here to stop you from killing yourself. You're far too young and far too talented for that kind of narcissistic, melodramatic bullshit. I need you. We need you. All of Infini needs you."

​     "But first we've got to get you out of this basement."

END OF CHAPTER ONE

HOME

​