Nods, Shrugs, and Occasional Threats

Tomas made it twenty yards toward the house before he stopped.

Sagen had already crossed half the distance, moving quickly over the cut grass. He turned and motioned impatiently.

“Come on.”

Tomas looked toward the tractor.

Red sat alone on the cracked vinyl seat.

Small.

Unattended.

Tomas imagined the two quiet taps from inside the locker.

He turned back.

“Where’re you going?” Sagen called.

“Forgot something.”

Tomas ran to the tractor, lifted Red, and pulled both straps over his shoulders.

Red didn’t speak.

Tomas felt the silence anyway.

“I came back,” he whispered.

Red tightened lightly against him.

You did.

Sagen waited at the edge of the field.

He had spent most of his life working the acreage, long before Kay ever owned it. A battered red ball cap sat low over his eyes. Cigarettes remained tucked into his shirtsleeve. His wiry body had been shaped by decades of weather, work, and things heavy enough to require both hands.

He looked at Red.

Then Tomas.

He didn’t comment.

Marleen reached them before they reached the yard.

“Kay needs you at the house,” she told Sagen.

“What for?”

Marleen glanced toward Tomas.

“For whatever’s in the warrant.”

Sagen’s expression tightened.

Not panic.

Not fear.

Concern.

He pointed back toward the field.

“You keep mowing. Stay out of the way.”

Tomas looked toward the cruisers.

Dogs moved along the fence line. Men in uniforms disappeared inside the barn. Another stood beside the equipment shed with a clipboard.

Kay remained on the porch, facing the man from the unmarked car.

“I want to know what’s happening.”

“No, you don’t.”

Sagen started toward the house.

Tomas stayed where he was.

Sagen stopped and looked back.

“Boy, there are times when knowing is useful and times when it only gives you something else to lie about.”

He nodded toward the tractor.

“Finish the field.”

Tomas returned to the mower.

Red stayed with him.

The sixty-one-inch deck growled through the tall grass.

Straight lines.

Slow turns.

The steady vibration rattled Tomas’s thoughts without shaking any of them loose.

The field should have taken an hour with both mowers running.

Alone, it took longer.

That was probably the point.

Tomas used to ask Kay why they didn’t turn the goats loose and let them eat the field down.

Her answer never changed.

Then what would you do?

The mower carved neat green lanes that didn’t answer anything.

Kay had secrets.

The police had a warrant.

Courtney had lied.

Red had forgotten an entire world.

Tomas laughed once into the engine’s roar.

“Right,” he muttered. “Because the talking bookbag is the simple part.”

Finally. Perspective.

He finished another pass.

From the far edge of the field, the house looked like controlled chaos.

Figures crossed the yard. Barn doors opened and closed. Dogs barked near the silos. Someone shouted over someone else.

Kay’s voice carried above all of it.

Sharp.

Unmistakable.

Tomas looked toward the narrow trail disappearing through the woods.

The old Barlow property waited on the other side.

Five minutes on foot.

Courtney didn’t live there.

Kay had confirmed it. No sale. No rent. No utilities.

Tomas wanted to see the lie for himself.

He shut down the mower.

Silence arrived harder than the noise had.

Red shifted against his back.

What are you doing?

“Looking for answers.”

Answers live at the abandoned house now? Convenient.

“Courtney wanted us to believe she lived there.”

She needed to stay close.

“She still lied.”

Both things can be true.

Tomas stared at the trail.

“You coming?”

Red tightened his straps around Tomas’s shoulders.

Apparently.

Tomas looked once toward the main house.

No one was watching.

Everyone who might have stopped him was occupied.

He entered the trees.

The trail crossed an old railroad bed before narrowing again. Gravel shifted beneath Tomas’s boots as he climbed over the rusted tracks.

The Barlow house appeared through the branches.

No car in the drive.

No lights.

No movement.

It sat exactly as it always had—hollow and untouched. Its windows reflected trees and sky, blind to everything else.

The house looked abandoned in a way that went beyond neglect.

As though it had stopped waiting.

Red went still.

Nothing lives here.

Tomas stopped.

“What?”

No birds in the eaves. No mice. No insects inside the walls.

“How can you tell?”

The quiet is empty.

Tomas approached the porch.

One board sagged beneath him and released a long complaint.

He stopped in front of the white door. Paint peeled from the panels. The hinges had been gnawed thin by rust and termites.

Tomas rose onto his toes and looked through the narrow window.

Bare floor.

Dust.

Nothing else.

“Maybe I should knock.”

That would be polite.

Tomas knocked once.

Then again.

No one answered.

He tried the knob.

Locked.

“Maybe around back.”

Less polite.

He circled the house.

“I could break a window.”

And return to school cleanup wearing an ankle monitor.

“Helpful.”

The back door stood open.

Tomas stopped.

Red’s straps tightened around him.

That wasn’t open because of the wind.

“You don’t know that.”

Neither do you.

Tomas climbed the cement steps.

“Courtney?”

The kitchen answered with dust and echo.

He entered.

His boots slid lightly over cracked linoleum. Every step returned to him from the bare walls.

No furniture softened the sound.

No clutter claimed the space.

He checked the kitchen.

The living room.

A narrow hallway that ended at two empty bedrooms.

Nothing lived there.

No nests.

No droppings.

No tracks in the dust.

Tomas could almost believe the house had been abandoned by more than people.

Red remained tense against him.

“She lied.”

She hid.

“What’s the difference?”

Intent.

“You know her intent?”

Red didn’t answer.

Tomas left through the back door and pulled it closed harder than he intended.

The old lock caught with a dry click.

Movement passed along the road.

A police cruiser rolled by.

Tomas froze.

That one was at the farm, Red said.

The cruiser continued.

For one hopeful second, Tomas thought it hadn’t noticed him.

Brake lights appeared.

The vehicle reversed.

Gravel crunched as it turned into the Barlow driveway.

“Great.”

You could run.

“I could outrun him.”

That isn’t the same as getting away.

The engine shut off.

A door opened.

Then closed.

“You gonna come out,” a man called, “or do I have to come get you?”

The voice was unhurried.

Unimpressed.

“Because I won’t be happy if I have to come get you.”

“You don’t sound happy now,” Tomas muttered.

Excellent opening. Establish dominance.

Tomas stepped around the side of the house.

His shoulders slumped. His hair fell forward, hiding part of his face.

The deputy was short and thick through the middle, both hands planted on his belt as if they had spent years finding the same position.

“What’re you doing back there?”

Tomas looked toward the woods.

Then the road.

Distance.

Weight.

Speed.

He could outrun the deputy.

He didn’t.

“I asked you a question.”

“What?”

“You hard of hearing?”

The badge caught the afternoon light.

BAKER.

“What were you doing behind the house?”

“Nothing, sir. Walking through the woods.”

“Nothing.”

Deputy Baker turned the word over, inspecting it for cracks.

His eyes moved across Tomas. Boots. Jeans. Grass-stained cuffs. Red on his back. The hitch still hiding in his breath.

Baker motioned with two fingers.

“Let’s look.”

They walked around the house.

Baker tried the back door.

It didn’t move.

“No broken window. No damaged lock.”

He looked at Tomas.

“You go inside?”

“No.”

The lie came too quickly.

Red tightened against him.

Baker tipped his head.

“Name.”

“Tomas.”

“Tomas what?”

“Calder.”

The deputy stopped.

Completely.

Silence settled across Tomas’s shoulders.

“Oh,” Baker said.

Tomas waited.

His stomach tightened.

“You probably came out here after…”

Baker let the sentence trail away.

“Yeah,” Tomas said.

He didn’t know what he had agreed to.

Only that it seemed to help.

Baker leaned against the siding and exhaled.

“Can’t blame you. Whole parade rolled into your place. State boys, dogs, warrant team. Everything except a helicopter.”

Tomas said nothing.

His mother’s voice carried faintly through the trees.

Baker straightened.

“Last chance. You sure you didn’t go inside?”

Tomas nodded.

Baker’s expression changed.

Not angry.

Disappointed.

“They train us to spot liars, son.”

Tomas looked down.

“Want to try again?”

“The back door was open.”

“That sounds more believable.”

“I just looked around.”

“Why?”

“I heard the house was empty.”

“So you wanted a clubhouse.”

“Something like that.”

Baker released a tired laugh.

“Kids.”

“It won’t matter,” Tomas said. “My mother wants to buy it. Move family here.”

Baker’s mouth twitched.

“Maybe.”

The answer landed wrong.

He checked his watch.

“They’re probably finishing up at your place. I’ll take you back.”

“I have a mower on the other side of the woods.”

“Someone may want to talk to you first.”

Tomas didn’t argue.

They climbed into the cruiser.

Baker pulled onto the road.

After a minute, he glanced toward Tomas.

“You know the family that lived there?”

“The Barlows. Twin boys. A little older than me.”

“Barlow boys,” Baker said. “Sounds like trouble.”

Tomas stayed quiet.

Baker chuckled.

“Nah. If they were trouble, I’d have known.”

Red pressed against Tomas’s back.

He knows something.

Tomas watched the empty house shrink in the side mirror.

“I know.”

Baker looked toward him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Deputy Baker took the long way back.

He filled the drive with the questions adults asked boys when they didn’t know what else to do with them.

Sports teams.

Positions.

Whether Tomas played, watched, or cared.

Tomas answered when required.

Nods.

Shrugs.

One-word replies.

Baker didn’t seem to mind.

He talked anyway.

Tomas found he didn’t hate it.

Someone else carrying the conversation felt almost generous.

When they rounded the final bend, the farm came into view.

Cruisers lined the drive like fence posts.

Deputies crossed the yard in loose patterns. Dogs strained against leashes near the barn, the equipment shed, and the silos.

It looked official.

Temporary.

Wrong.

Tomas spotted Kay beside the barn doors.

She stood across from Sheriff Calvin Rook.

Rook wore his authority like cologne—thick, deliberate, meant to linger after he left.

His uniform was crisp. His hat sat low. A folded document rested in one hand.

The warrant.

He spoke with small gestures meant to suggest patience.

Kay didn’t move.

Her arms remained loose at her sides. Her boots stayed planted. Her eyes were fixed on him as though she had already decided how the conversation ended.

Rook noticed Tomas first.

“What’s this?”

Baker parked.

“Found him at the Barlow place.”

Rook looked toward Kay.

“That where you sent him?”

Kay smiled.

Small.

Polite.

Empty.

“Sent who where?”

Rook stepped closer.

Not into her space.

Close enough to claim it.

“Don’t play with me, Kay.”

She didn’t blink.

“You don’t get to tell me what game I’m playing on my own land.”

Rook turned toward Baker.

“You search the Barlow place?”

“No reason to. House was empty. Just found the boy out back.”

Rook’s jaw tightened.

“Then you missed something.”

He looked at Tomas.

Really looked.

Measured him the way men like Rook measured everything—weight, value, usefulness.

“You went inside?”

Tomas opened his mouth.

Kay answered.

“No.”

Rook’s attention snapped back to her.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“You got your answer anyway.”

Deputies nearby slowed without appearing to.

Rook smiled.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You think standing there quietly means you’re winning.”

Kay leaned forward.

Only enough for him to notice.

“No. I think standing here at all means you aren’t.”

Something passed across Rook’s face.

Gone too quickly to name.

He turned.

“Take the dogs to the Barlow property. I want the house and woods checked.”

Baker frowned.

“That isn’t on the warrant.”

“Then stay outside the house.”

Rook’s voice sharpened.

“Search the surrounding land.”

The yard came alive.

Dogs barked.

Doors slammed.

Engines turned over.

Rook remained in front of Kay.

“If I find out you used that boy to move something—”

“You’ll what?”

Kay stepped closer.

Not aggressively.

Inevitably.

The brim of Rook’s hat almost touched her forehead.

Neither moved.

Then Rook stepped back.

One careful pace.

“I’ll be seeing you.”

Kay straightened.

“You already are.”

Rook walked away.

Kay waited until the last cruiser disappeared down the drive before looking at Tomas.

Her voice was level again.

More dangerous than before.

“What were you doing at the Barlow place when I told you to mow the back field?”

“I finished.”

Kay waited.

Tomas knew better than to pretend that answered the question.

“And then I went looking for Courtney.”

“Did you find her?”

“No.”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing. The house is empty.”

“Told you.”

Tomas nodded.

Kay looked toward the field.

“Did you leave my mower out there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Get it.”

Tomas started away.

“Hurry,” Kay called. “It’ll be dark soon.”

He stopped.

“What was all this about?”

Kay looked toward the road where the cruisers had disappeared.

“What do you mean?”

“The warrant. The dogs. Sheriff Rook.”

Tomas hesitated.

“The way he looked at you.”

Kay considered him.

Measured how much truth he could carry.

Then she shrugged.

“High school.”

Tomas stared.

“What?”

“I had a load of manure dumped into Calvin Rook’s prom limousine.”

“You’re joking.”

“He was inside.”

Tomas made a face.

“That’s horrible.”

“He cheated on my best friend.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No.”

A small smile touched Kay’s mouth.

“It made it memorable.”

Tomas snorted despite himself.

The smile vanished.

“Go get my mower.”

He turned toward the field.

Behind him, Kay began issuing instructions to the ranch hands. Doors closed. Equipment started. The farm resumed its work as though a warrant team hadn’t just crossed every inch of it.

Red shifted on Tomas’s shoulders.

She was distracting you.

“I know.”

The manure story was good.

“I know.”

Do you think she has pictures?

“Red.”

Reasonable question.

Tomas entered the field.

The sun had dropped lower. Long shadows stretched from the tree line and pooled in the low places.

The mower waited where he had left it.

Orange.

Obvious.

Alone.

Tomas slowed.

The field had gone quiet.

No engines.

No voices.

Only insects waking and leaves shifting in the woods.

Red tightened around him.

Something’s here.

Tomas stopped.

The sensation arrived a moment later.

Not fear.

Attention.

“Is someone there?”

His voice sounded small in the open field.

“Don’t shoot. I’m just getting the mower.”

Nothing answered.

A squirrel burst from a tree.

Tomas flinched.

“Stupid.”

Rude. It was minding its business.

He took another step.

The woods changed.

Not movement.

Expectation.

“Hello?”

His voice disappeared among the trees.

“Not Sagen.”

The answer came from everywhere at once.

Old.

Not weak.

Steady in the way of something that had learned patience instead of losing it.

Tomas froze.

Red went rigid.

His presence vanished from Tomas’s mind.

“Red?”

Nothing.

The voice spoke again.

“Did you enjoy the masks?”

Tomas swallowed.

“What masks?”

A low laugh moved through the trees.

Amused.

Tomas pressed both palms against his ears.

The voice remained inside his head.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, this is funny,” it said. “Almost as funny as that bookbag you carry.”

Cold moved down Tomas’s spine.

“Courtney?”

The name changed something.

The laughter broke.

For an instant, the word stupid pressed into Tomas’s thoughts—not spoken but felt, like a finger tapping the inside of his skull.

He stepped backward.

“Don’t.”

Something struck him between the shoulders.

Tomas stumbled forward and spun.

No one stood behind him.

Only air.

Trees.

Red remained silent.

“Tomas!”

Kay’s voice cut across the field.

Sharp.

Distant.

Grounding.

“She’s waiting,” the thing said. “Take the machine. Run home.”

Tomas wiped his palms against his jeans.

He approached the mower.

As his fingers touched the steering wheel, the machine rolled forward.

Tomas jumped back.

A pleased sound moved through the woods.

He reached again.

The mower rolled farther away.

“Stop.”

“Everything moves eventually.”

The mower stopped.

Tomas lunged and climbed into the seat.

The engine turned over beneath his shaking hand.

He looked toward the woods.

A shape stood between the trees.

Tall.

Still.

Almost human—if Tomas didn’t look directly at it.

If he did, the proportions changed. Arms too long. Head tilted at an angle a neck shouldn’t permit.

Red trembled against his back.

The shape raised one hand.

“Everything you carry answers to me.”

Then it stepped backward.

Shadow folded around it.

The trees were empty.

Red’s voice returned in a gasp.

Run.

Tomas drove the mower across the field faster than it had ever been designed to move.

Near midnight, Tomas sat against his headboard with his knees pulled to his chest.

Red rested beside him.

The bedroom door was locked.

The curtains were closed.

Neither of those things made the room feel safer.

“You went quiet,” Tomas said.

Red’s straps drew closer.

He made me.

“How?”

He reached through our connection.

Tomas rubbed the place between his shoulders where the invisible force had struck him.

“That was a Collector.”

Yes.

“You’re sure?”

Absolutely.

The word carried no humor.

No uncertainty.

“He knew about the masks.”

He controlled them.

“He touched me.”

Red leaned closer.

I felt it.

Tomas swallowed.

The admission frightened him more than the touch itself.

“He said everything I carry answers to him.”

Red’s zipper tightened.

He wants the stones.

“The ones inside you.”

The ones that are me.

Tomas nodded.

“Why didn’t he take them?”

Red remained silent.

Tomas looked at him.

“Red?”

Not yet.

“What does that mean?”

A faint violet glow pulsed beneath Red’s repaired side.

He doesn’t want me broken.

“Why?”

Broken things resist in unpredictable ways. They lose memories. They stop responding. Sometimes they die.

The glow strengthened.

When the stones are purple, I’ll be whole. My power will be accessible.

“And you’ll be able to choose.”

Yes.

Tomas understood.

“That’s when he wants you.”

That’s when I’ll be useful.

“He’s waiting for you to heal.”

And waiting for us to make a mistake.

Tomas flinched.

“That isn’t fair.”

Red’s voice softened.

No. But it is true.

They sat with it.

After a moment, Red’s strap rested against Tomas’s hand.

You came back for me today.

Tomas looked at him.

“At the tractor.”

Yes.

“I almost didn’t.”

But you did.

“Then I dragged you to an abandoned house and got cornered by a Collector.”

Growth is rarely tidy.

A laugh escaped Tomas.

Small.

Unsteady.

He touched the strap.

“You said Courtney is a Keeper.”

Yes.

“But she lied.”

Yes.

“She knew where I lived. Pretended she lived next door. Stole a car—or borrowed one in a way that looks exactly like stealing.”

Probably stealing.

“She won’t explain anything.”

She can’t explain everything.

“That’s convenient.”

Red shifted.

I understand why you don’t trust her.

“Then why do you?”

Red didn’t answer immediately.

Because she stayed.

“At the school.”

She could have run when the masks appeared. She could have taken the stones when I shut down. She could have left you holding an empty bookbag.

Red’s zipper loosened.

She didn’t.

“Maybe that makes her better at lying.”

Or better at guarding.

Tomas stared toward the covered window.

“You think she’s the answer.”

I think she’s the balance.

“Between you and the Collector.”

Between taking and protecting.

“And if she isn’t?”

Red’s voice became quieter.

Then we’re in trouble.

Wind brushed the siding.

The house creaked.

Something moved outside.

Then didn’t.

Tomas pulled the blanket higher.

“I don’t want him to come back.”

Red remained silent for a long moment.

Then—

He will.

Tomas closed his eyes.

But he can be stopped.

“How?”

I don’t remember yet.

“That’s reassuring.”

I’m doing my best.

Tomas opened his eyes.

The violet glow beneath Red’s fabric flickered.

Alive.

Fragile.

Trying.

“I know.”

They settled into silence.

Beyond the farm, something waited among the trees.

Not laughing.

Not rushing.

Watching Red heal.