Breathless:
Book One of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy
by
V. J. Chambers

 

BREATHLESS
© copyright 2009 by V. J. Chambers
http://vjchambers.com
Punk Rawk Books
Smashwords Edition
Please do not copy or post this book in its entirety or in parts anywhere. You may, however, share the entire book with a friend by forwarding the entire file to them. (And I won’t get mad.)

 

part one

“Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem.”

-Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

chapter one

To: Hallam Wakefield <hwakefi@risingsun.org>

From: Alfred Norwich <anorwic@risingsun.org>

Subject: Re: New England

Hallam,

Clearly, Jason has left the region where he was sighted last. You must pursue him south, where our Intel has determined he is heading.

Keep me in the loop regarding any new developments in this situation.

Yours in pursuit of the Purpose,

Alfred

 

It was a typical Friday night in Bramford, West Virginia, and I was spending it in a typical way, making out with my boyfriend Toby in his Ford pick-up truck. As usual, I was trying to fondle his crotch. He was pushing my hands out of the way.

Yes, that’s right. While the situation was typical for Toby and me, we were the reverse of the standard American teenage couple. I wanted us to have sex. Toby wanted to wait so that it could be special.

Seriously. In all other ways, he appeared to be a normal, red-blooded teenage boy. He played football for Bramford High. He was addicted to video games. He and his friends even went to great lengths to snag cheap beer in order to fuel parties they held when their parents went out of town. Most guys Toby’s age would die to date a girl who wanted to go all the way. Not Toby.

“Azazel,” Toby sighed, grabbing my wrist and forcing it away from his pants’ zipper. “Not tonight, okay?”

It was an old argument. I was getting sick of it. Toby and I had been dating since freshman year. We were seniors now, both of us seventeen. Everyone else was doing it. Sometimes, I felt like we were the oldest virgins in our school. No. In the world.

I sat back in the seat, gazing out of the windshield at the shadowy trees surrounding the truck in the darkness. We were parked somewhere off a dirt road in the middle of the woods. I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked the trees, not looking at Toby.

“Azazel, please,” said Toby.

I turned on him. “Am I ugly? Aren’t you attracted to me?”

“You know I think you’re beautiful,” he said.

“Then what is it?” I asked. Why wouldn’t any teenage guy in his right mind jump at the chance to have sex with his girlfriend?

“I just want it to happen when it’s . . . you know, right.”

“I don’t know,” I said, sulking.

“And I don’t want it to be in this truck,” he said.

“Right,” I muttered. “You want music and candles and rose petals and champagne.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” said Toby. He shook his head and looked out the window, looking pissed.

Toby was hot. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, and his shoulders were huge and muscled, because he lifted a lot of weights. He was a nice guy, too. He volunteered at the animal shelter in town. He was polite to my parents and respectful to authority figures. He made good grades at school. In most respects, he was the perfect boyfriend.

“When is it going to be right?” I asked. I felt like I was always asking this. I didn’t know why I bothered anymore. I guess I just kept thinking that if I got beyond his zipper, I might be able to get him so turned on that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Not that I really knew how to get a guy turned on. It was supposed to be easy. I was just supposed to be willing, and he was supposed to jump my bones.

“I don’t know. But we’ll know when it is. Can’t we just kiss?” Toby asked, looking frustrated.

“I don’t feel like kissing you anymore,” I said.

“God,” said Toby.

“It’s just you’re always rejecting me,” I said. “After a while, it tends to wear on a girl’s self-esteem.”

“Look,” said Toby, “you can’t just try to make me have sex with you all the time. I’m the guy. It’s my job to set this stuff up. You’re . . . you’re just rushing things.”

I glowered at him. Sometimes, he was just so damned annoying. “I love you, Toby,” I said. “I know that. And I want to lose my virginity to you. I want to be with you. I want to be as close to you as I can possibly get. And I want it all the time.”

“I love you too,” said Toby, leaning across the truck to kiss me again.

His kiss was sweet and soft, and he stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers. I let myself get lost in his kisses. Let my hands roam over his back, barely caressing the hard muscle of him. His body was gorgeous. Every time I saw him, I felt a little stirring between my legs, as if something there was waking up. Seeing Toby, being with him, made me feel like I was slave to this strange desire. I stroked his back, my hands going a little lower to cup the curve of his ass.

Toby pulled my hand off.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaimed.

“Please,” he said. “Let’s just kiss.”

“Screw you,” I said, pushing him away. “Are you gay?”

He glared at me. “You want me to take you home?”

Ooh. Maybe saying that was hitting below the belt. “What time is it?” I asked.

Toby looked at his watch. “Ten-thirty,” he told me. “We’ve still got a few hours before your curfew.”

“You wanna go get a milkshake or something?” I asked. The McDonald’s drive-thru was open late. Sometimes kids in town got food and then sat on the picnic tables behind the restaurant. I thought that some of our friends might be there. Somebody might even have beer. Not that I really liked beer. It tasted awful.

“Well,” said Toby.

But he never finished, because we both suddenly heard a thrashing sound, as if something were running through the woods.

Our heads both snapped towards the sound.

“Probably a deer,” I said, craning my neck to see.

Toby turned the key in the ignition. Flipped on his headlights.

But instead of a deer, what we saw was a boy—a man—a guy—racing into the clearing we were parked in. He ran like something was chasing him. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His clothes were dirty and torn.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, flinging open the door to the truck.

“Azazel, wait,” said Toby.

But I was already out of the truck, hurrying to intercept the stranger. I rushed to him, throwing my arms out to stop him.

He couldn’t stop in time. He collided with me.

Up close, I could smell him. He smelled like sweat and earth and fear. His eyes were deep and dark. His breath came in gasps.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

The guy shot a glance over his shoulder, still breathing hard. “Get me out of here,” he said.

I grabbed his hand. Pulled him towards the truck.

Toby had gotten out too and was making his way towards us.

“Toby, let’s go,” I said, pushing the boy into the truck ahead of me and squeezing in beside him. I slammed the door shut.

Toby got back in the car too. He looked at me and at the guy, his eyes full of questions.

The guy’s eyes never left the woods, as if he expected someone or something to burst out at any second. “Go,” said the guy. “Drive! Just drive.”

Toby put the car in reverse. His tires squealed as he pulled out and back onto the road.

* * *

My name is Azazel Pandora Jones. My parents named me after a Jewish demon and the girl in Greek mythology who was responsible for bringing evil into the world. Azazel himself was sort of the Jewish Prometheus. Instead of bringing fire to the people, however, he led the rebellious Nephilim before the flood and taught the people the art of warfare. Like Prometheus, he was chained to a rock somewhere for eternity as punishment. Unlike Prometheus, no eagles ate out his guts every day. My mother said she thought the name was pretty. But my parents were both sort of second-generation hippies, and they probably thought the names were significant. My parents didn’t believe in evil.

Really. When I was a little girl, instead of being told that hoarding my toys was bad, my parents sat down with me and said, “Now, Azazel, if you don’t share your toys, your friends won’t want to play with you.”

If I replied, “I don’t want to play with them anyway,” then my parents would shrug apologetically at my friends and my friends’ parents, and say, “She doesn’t want to share.”

Once, when I was in elementary school, I dug my fingernails into the forearm of a boy who was picking on me. I got punished at school, but when I got home, my parents asked me, “Did he stop bothering you after you did that?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You might try asking him to stop in the future before you resort to violence.”

And that was it. My parents viewed the world in terms of actions and consequences. There were productive consequences. There were nonproductive ones. They didn’t believe any action was wrong. They evaluated it in terms of its consequences. The most productive consequences were the ones which made the world better for as many people as possible.

That all being said, I don’t want you to get the idea that my parents were neglectful or anything like that. To the contrary, everyone in town considered my parents swell people. My parents were foster parents. I was their only biological child, but I had three adopted brothers (two of whom were older than me and didn’t live at home anymore), and there were always at least two or three other kids temporarily placed at our house. My parents often gave a home to adolescent boys. The more troubled, the better.

Adolescent foster boys often didn’t find permanent living situations, and my parents wanted to make a difference. Often, these guys came to us when they were sixteen and stayed with us until they outgrew the system. While my parents weren’t rich enough to send all of their foster kids to college, they did the best they could to help all of them out in some way, shape, or form, even if that meant being a character witness in their grand theft auto trials. Hey—my parents gave these guys a loving home. That didn’t mean that they saved them from whatever path they were already on.

My home was always filled with people. There was rarely anything in the refrigerator. Teenage boys ate. A lot. I had to deal with the fact that usually there were at least four guys crowded around the television, watching sports or playing video games. The toilet seat was very rarely left down. But overall, my home was a warm, happy place. It was a place where people felt like they belonged.

And so I didn’t think twice before I told Toby that we should take the stranger to my parents’ house. He kind of fit their profile, if you know what I mean.

Sitting in the truck with him, wedged between Toby and me, I wondered who he was. Even though we’d driven away from the woods, had put miles between us and the site where we’d picked him up, he kept looking over his shoulder out the back of the truck, as if he expected something to be following us.

Toby seemed a little annoyed. “You want me to take you home then?” he asked me. “Leave you there with him?”

Did Toby still think I wanted to go the McDonald’s drive-thru? After something this exciting had happened? I just said, “Yeah.”

I looked at the guy again. He looked like he was about our age. Maybe a little older or younger. It was difficult to tell. He had dark hair and dark eyes. His face was dirty, and he had few days’ growth of stubble on his chin. He looked desperate and frightened and harrowed. I was intrigued.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

His breathing was starting to slow. He looked at me. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Yeah. Um, thanks. Thanks for getting me out of there.” He looked at Toby, including him in his statement.

“Was someone chasing you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. He rubbed his face and looked behind us again. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Was it the police?” I asked. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” I sounded like my dad. He was always asking things like that of the foster kids we took in. My dad was also a high school history teacher, and he coached football. He spent a lot of time talking to teenage boys.

“Not the police,” said the guy.

“So who?” I asked.

The guy shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

We were quiet. Toby leaned forward and switched on the radio. Music filled the truck, loud. I reached over and turned the music down, annoyed with Toby. Wasn’t he curious about this guy?

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Jason,” he said.

“I’m Azazel,” I said. “And this is Toby.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Jason. “Both of you. And thank you. Again.” He stole another glance behind us. “Look, you two can just drop me off along the main road.”

“No,” I said. “I’m taking you back to my house. My parents are foster parents, and they take in a lot of teenage boys. It’ll be safe there, and you can, you know, get some food and get cleaned up and—”

“No,” he said. “I can’t. It won’t be safe.”

“I swear, it will. Even if you’re on the run from the police, my parents will work with you. They’re not gonna just turn you in.”

“I’m not running from the police,” said Jason. “And I didn’t mean safe for me. I meant it won’t be safe for your family.”

“Where do you want to me drop you off?” asked Toby. He was pulling his truck onto Route 50, which was as much the main road as anything is in Bramford.

“You’re not dropping him off!” I said. Why was Toby being like this? To Jason, “You’re coming back to my house.”

“Azazel,” said Toby, “he doesn’t want to go there.”

“We can’t just leave him on the side of the road,” I said to Toby.

“I’ll be fine,” said Jason.

“He says he’ll be fine,” said Toby.

“Who’s after you?” I asked Jason. “Are they dangerous?”

“The less you know about that, the better,” Jason said. To Toby, “Anywhere along here is fine.”

“Toby,” I said, “we aren’t dropping him off. We’re taking him back to my place. What if something horrible happens to him, and we could have stopped it?”

Toby sighed. “She’s right,” he said to Jason. “I can’t just drop you off. We should take you to the Jones’ house.” Finally, he was acting like a rational person.

“That’s a bad idea,” said Jason.

“Well you’re not talking me out of it,” I said. “I’m pretty stubborn.”

Jason looked at me and laughed. It was a short laugh, and it almost sounded as if he were out of practice. Like he didn’t laugh very often. “You are, huh?” he asked.

“She is,” said Toby.

Jason looked away from me. “Just for a while,” he said finally. “I can’t stay too long.”

* * *

My mother was in her nightgown and robe in the kitchen when we got home. My brother, Chance, and the two foster kids who were living with us at the time (Cameron and Nick) were in the family room playing Diablo. My dad wasn’t home. He played poker with his friends on Friday nights. My mom and the guys all dropped whatever they were doing when I brought Jason into the house.

My mom went into mothering mode. She stuck Jason in the bathroom with fresh towels and a change of clothes. While Jason was showering, she heated up some frozen pizza. She shooed the guys and me into Chance’s bedroom to put new sheets on the extra bed. Chance was always complaining because I was the only one in the house who got her own bedroom. He always had to share. Our house had four bedrooms. At times, we had as many as three guys in one bedroom, and at Christmas, the house became a crowded madhouse. My older brothers came home. Many of my parents’ previous foster children came home. There were guys sleeping everywhere. On the couches. On air mattresses. On the floors in bedrooms. And the bathrooms were a mess. They were covered with shaving cream and hair gel and bottles of cologne. Guys had just as many grooming products as girls these days.

I was used to the frenetic atmosphere of my house. After we made up a bed for Jason, and the other guys donated various articles of clothing to him, which we piled next to his bed, we all went back to the living room. Toby had stuck around for a little bit, helping my mother in the kitchen to make hot chocolate and set the dining room table. He joined us too.

The guys couldn’t shut up. Chance made Toby and I retell the story of how we picked up Jason at least four times. Nick was convinced that Jason had escaped from prison. Cameron thought he was a drug dealer and had sold someone bad stuff.

“He says he’s not on the run from the police,” said Cameron.

“He’s lying,” said Chance. “Nobody runs like that unless they’re on the run from the police.”

“Oh, like you’d know,” said Nick, shoving Chance playfully. My parents adopted Chance when he was five. He’d lived a pretty normal life, unlike Nick, who had rattled around in the foster system for years. Nick was fifteen, like Chance.

“Whatever,” said Chance. “Like you’ve ever run from the police.”

“I have,” volunteered Cameron.

“Yeah, but you did it in a car,” I pointed out.

“I think he’s running from the authorities,” said Toby. “I think that Jason guy is bad news.”

I glared at him. “Yeah, you wanted to leave him on the side of the road.”

“He wanted to be left on the side of the road,” said Toby.

“Because the police are after him,” said Nick. “That’s the only reason he wouldn’t want to come back here. If he was running from some guy who bought drugs from him, he wouldn’t want us to turn him in.”

“I don’t think he’s a drug dealer,” I said.

“Why not?” asked Nick.

“If he dealt drugs around here, why wouldn’t we know him? Why wouldn’t he go to our school?” I said.

“He doesn’t need to go to school, because he makes bank selling drugs,” said Cameron.

“No way,” I said. “Something bad was after him. He was terrified.”

“It was the police,” said Toby. “I should just call my dad and ask if there’s an APB out on this guy.” Toby’s dad was the local sheriff.

“Don’t you dare,” I said to Toby. “I promised him he’d be safe here.”

“And for all you know, you’re protecting a criminal,” said Toby.

“Oh,” said Chance pointedly, “hi, Jason.”

Jason was standing in the doorway to the living room, wearing a pair of Chance’s pants—they were too short—and a t-shirt. His hair was still wet from the shower. He’d shaved. He looked better now that he wasn’t dirty, but he still looked flighty, like he might run at any second. His eyes darted around the room, like he was checking for the exit if he needed it.

Toby looked embarrassed. “Hey,” he said. “I didn’t mean . . .”

I bounded up from the couch. “My mom’s making pizza,” I said. “You hungry?” I took Jason’s arm and led him into the dining room.

I gestured to a seat at the table. It had been set with paper plates and napkins. There was a steaming pot of hot chocolate in the center of the table and a cluster of mugs.

Jason stared at the table. “Look, I should go,” he said. “I really shouldn’t—”

“Sit down,” I interrupted him.

He hesitated for another second, but then he sat down.

I smiled at him. “Everything’s gonna be fine. You’ll see. You want some hot chocolate?”

“Okay,” said Jason.

I poured two mugs full of hot chocolate and handed one to Jason. I took the other one and sat down across the table from him.

“So, um, Toby is your boyfriend?” asked Jason.

“Yeah,” I said.

“And he thinks I’m a criminal?”

I rolled my eyes. “He’ll come around. Don’t worry about it.”

“I-I’m not,” said Jason. “You know. A criminal.” His eyes nervously searched the room again. Did he think something was going to jump out and get him at any second?

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s safe here.”

Jason put down his hot chocolate. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

At that moment, my mother swept into the room, carrying a pizza. Using her amazing mothering skills, she slid the pot holder off her hand and set the pizza on top of it in one fluid movement, all without burning herself. “Jason,” she said. “You’re out of the shower.”

He nodded.

My mother surveyed him. “Chance’s clothes are a little too small for you, but he’s the biggest of the boys we’ve got in the house. We’ll have to see if Noah left anything in the closet. I think Noah’s about your size.” Noah was one of my adopted brothers.

“This is really fine,” said Jason. “Thank you.”

“Oh, please,” said my mother. “Anyone who found you would have done the same thing.” She turned to me. “Zaza, there’s another pizza on the counter. Can you bring it into the dining room for me?”

I nodded and ducked into the kitchen, listening as my mother called, “Boys! Pizza!”

By the time I got back into the dining room with the second pizza, the first one had already been divvied up between the boys at the table. I set the second pizza down amid scrabbling amongst the guys for hot chocolate. Mom and I each took a piece of pizza from the second pie in a civilized fashion.

I sat down and looked across the table at Jason. There were two pieces of pizza on his plate, but he was just staring at them.

“Don’t you like pizza?” I asked him.

He gazed around the table, watching the other guys shove pizza into their mouths and tease each other. “I’ve just never . . .” he trailed off. “I love pizza.” And he smiled. Like the time he laughed, it looked kind of like he wasn’t used to smiling. It was a tentative smile. It flashed across his face for a second, lighting him up. Then it was gone. And he dug into the pizza.

My dad came home around then, and my mom took him into the living room to explain the situation. Toby decided to leave. He had his own curfew to make, and he said eating the pizza had made him tired. So finally, all the pizza was gone, and we sat around the table: my parents, Chance, the guys, Jason, and me.

“So, Jason,” said my dad, “are you in some kind of trouble?”

Everyone at the table gazed at Jason expectantly.

Jason looked at my dad. “I tried to tell Azazel that I don’t think it’s safe for your family if I’m here. She insisted I come back here anyway.”

“Why don’t you think it’s safe?” asked my dad.

“The people who are after me are . . . They can be dangerous. I don’t want to lead them here.”

“Who’s after you?” asked my dad.

“It’s someone you sold bad drugs to, isn’t it?” asked Cameron.

“Cameron,” warned my dad.

“Sorry,” said Cameron. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, “Do you sell drugs, though? I mean, Nick and I have a bet.”

“That isn’t very polite, Cameron,” said my mother. “What kind of consequences do you think a comment like that is going to have?”

“Probably unproductive,” Cameron sighed.

“Probably,” said my mother.

“It’s okay,” said Jason. “I don’t sell drugs.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to give you too many details. That could put you in further danger. But the people who are chasing me, they’re fanatics. They believe what they believe entirely. They’re ready to die for it. They’re ready to kill for it. And they think I’m in the way.”

 

chapter two

michaela666 (12:02:43 AM): got your message. what’s the alert?

morningstar68 (12:02:46 AM): He’s arrived. as predicted.

michaela666 (12:03:02 AM): is he contained?

morningstar68 (12:03:30 AM): for the moment.

michaela666 (12:04:14 AM): good. your job is to keep him there, then. what about the vessel? is she ready to perform her part of the ritual?

morningstar68 (12:05:04): I had hoped to give her a bit more time. but she can be ready. soon. what’s our next move?

michaela666 (12:05:54): for now? We wait. don’t let him out of your sight. and prepare the vessel.

 

My mother furrowed her brow in concern. “Like terrorists?” she asked Jason.

Jason shook his head. “Like Freemasons,” he said. “But with guns.”

“Freemasons?” I asked. I’d read up on this stuff. I thought it was very interesting. I’d read my copy of The Da Vinci Code so many times it was falling apart. “Why do they want you?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“They’re crazy,” he said. He looked at my father again. “Like I said, I don’t want to put your family in danger.”

“We should go to the authorities,” said my dad.

“No,” said Jason. “Trust me. The police can’t do anything about this. They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You can’t expect us just to let you go back out there,” said my mother.

“Where are your parents?” asked my dad.

“Dead,” said Jason. “I guess. I never knew them. The people who are chasing me killed the man who raised me. That’s when I started running. It was, I don’t know, maybe four months ago.”

“And you’ve been on the run ever since?” asked my mother. “That’s horrible. Jason, you have to stay with us.”

She turned to my dad. “Daniel, we can’t let him leave.”

My dad considered. “Listen, son, if you are in trouble with the law, you can tell us. We can help.”

“They are actually pretty good about that stuff,” said Nick.

“I’m not in trouble with the law,” said Jason. “I swear.”

I believed him.

“Why are these people after you?” asked my father.

“They think I’m something I’m not,” said Jason. “It’s complicated. It’s not important.”

“I just don’t know,” said my dad. “I can’t really believe that there are—”

“Dad,” I interrupted, “do I have to go and get a dollar bill and point out all the Masonic imagery on it again?”

“No, Zaza, that’s okay,” said my dad. He considered. “Well, Jason, you’re not going anywhere tonight. You’ll sleep here. Tomorrow, we’ll talk more. We can get this sorted out.”

* * *

When I woke up on Saturday, my father and Jason were on a drive together, discussing Jason’s situation. I asked my mother if she’d talked to Dad. Would Jason be staying? I wanted him to stay. I didn’t know much about him, but I felt protective of him, probably because I was the one who’d found him. My mother said that after Dad and Jason talked, it was just a matter of getting everything legally settled. There would be papers to sign and things like that.

I helped my mother clean the dishes after the boys’ breakfast. They had demolished a box of frozen waffles. I skipped breakfast. I usually did. Besides, it was already eleven o’clock. I’d slept so late that it was going to be time for lunch soon anyway.

Chance and the guys were out somewhere, probably eating up all the food at one of their friend’s houses. I basked in the idea of having the television to myself, and settled down to watch something girly. Twenty minutes into something on E! about fashion, Jason and my dad came back.

My dad and my mom talked in the kitchen. Jason came into the living room and glanced around like he usually did, checking every corner for near danger.

“You want to sit down?” I asked.

He shrugged. Then he sat down on the other couch. He glanced at the television, then back at me.

“We can watch something else,” I said.

“This is fine,” he said. He looked back at the television. But he didn’t relax. He sat up straight on the couch. It looked like he might jump up and make a run for it any minute. He was like a scared rabbit or something. I wondered what had happened to him.

We watched TV without speaking for a while. The E! show ended. I walked over to Jason and gave him the remote control. “You can pick something to watch if you want,” I said.

He looked at the remote like it was an artifact from ancient Egypt or something. “It’s okay,” he said. He set the remote down on the couch next to him.

I felt awkward. I sat down next to him. “Are you going to stay?” I asked.

“I’d like to,” said Jason. “Your dad is nice. So’s your mom.”

“I told you,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Your dad wants to check on some things. If it’s legal. If it can be done, he wants me to stay.”

“But what about the people after you?” I asked.

Jason laughed his short laugh again. “Uh, I think your dad thinks I’m crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“I think he thinks I imagined it.” Jason picked up the remote control. Stared at it. “Maybe . . . Maybe I did.”

“What?”

“Maybe nobody was chasing me last night,” said Jason.

“But you were running like Freddy Krueger was after you,” I said.

Jason nodded. “I know.” He aimed the remote control at the TV and started flipping through the channels. “I’ve been running for a long time. Last night, it was dark. Maybe there wasn’t anybody there. Or maybe it was an animal or something. I’d really like to stay here.”

Huh. Jason had seemed so sure of himself last night. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe he had made the whole thing up. Lots of the guys who stayed here told impossible stories. Apparently, it was a defense mechanism. My mom had a degree in psychology, but she didn’t practice anymore. Instead she stayed home to take care of us kids. And she worked as a self-employed medical transcriptionist to help out with bills. Her psychology background helped her deal with the foster kids. It was also why I knew about defense mechanisms.

I didn’t know what I believed about Jason. Whatever had happened to him, last night he’d believed that something was chasing him. I did know that I wanted him to stay. Finding Jason was pretty much the most exciting thing that had happened to me, well, ever. Plus, I was interested in these people who were chasing him. People that he described like Freemasons with guns. What did that mean?

“What do you want to watch?” Jason asked me.

I hadn’t even been paying attention to the channels he was flipping through. “Um, you pick,” I said.

“There’s so many,” he said. He looked a little overwhelmed. “It’s been a long time since I watched TV.” Jason flicked the channel up, paused, stared at the screen and then repeated the process. His dark hair was a little long in the front. It kept falling in his eyes, so he kept reaching up to push it out of the way. He had a look on his face of deep concentration, as if he wanted to make sure he got this right. He was the most interesting boy I’d ever seen. He was quiet, which was so different than the guys I knew, both the ones who came to us for foster care and the guys I went to school with. There was something very serious about him. Something mature. I couldn’t get enough of it. He was like someone from a foreign country. I wanted to lock him in a room and study him.

“Am I doing this wrong?” Jason asked.

I realized I’d been staring at him. I was embarrassed. I blushed. “No, you’re fine,” I said. I forced myself to look at the television screen.

Jason was flipping through the ESPN channels, barely stopping on any of them.

“You don’t like sports?” I asked.

“I, uh, don’t know,” he said. “I guess I’ve never really watched them.”

How strange. Had he been living in a bubble or something? Maybe he had amnesia.

We were back around to E! Jason stopping flipping through the channels. He looked at me, sheer terror on his face. “I don’t . . . I mean, I . . .”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“Can you pick something to watch?” he asked.

I nodded. “Sure.” I reached for the remote from Jason, when Toby walked into the living room.

“Toby,” I said. “What are you doing here?” I bounced over to him and threw my arms around his neck. He encircled my waist with one arm, and we kissed quickly.

“I’m here with my dad,” he said.

I backed away, angry. “Toby!” I said. “You said you wouldn’t say anything to him.”

“Your dad called him,” said Toby. “I just came along for the ride.”

“Oh,” I said. I looked at Jason. “Did my dad tell you he was going to do that?”

“He said he wanted to see if my background checks out,” said Jason. “He wanted to know where I was born and stuff like that.”

I hoped that wasn’t dangerous for Jason. “And that’s okay?” I asked Jason.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.” He was staring intently at the show on E!

It was good that Jason seemed a little more laid back this morning. Last night, he’d been so intense. But I hoped everything was okay. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to Jason. I didn’t want the people who were chasing him to find him.

“Well,” I said. “Cool, then, I guess. Um, I’m going to get some iced tea. Either of you guys want?”

“Totally,” said Toby.

I looked at Jason.

“Um, if it’s not too much trouble,” he said.

“No big,” I told him.

I scampered out of the living room, through the dining room towards the kitchen. My parents and Toby’s dad, Sheriff Damon, were in the kitchen talking. Instead of entering, I flattened myself against the wall, so that I could hear them talk, but they couldn’t see me.

“. . . didn’t find anything,” Sheriff Damon was saying.

“So, he’s lying?” asked my mom.

Were they talking about Jason? They had to be talking about Jason.

“Actually, it doesn’t prove anything,” said my dad. “The story he told me is impossible to verify. He was born in a home in Shiloh, Georgia. He said the Shiloh in Harris County, but I think there are three Shilohs in Georgia.”

“I checked ‘em all. No birth records for a Jason Wodden,” said Sheriff Damon.

He didn’t have birth records? What did that mean? Who was Jason?

“Yeah, but if he’s telling the truth, he doesn’t have a birth certificate,” said my dad.

“Well, what else did you find, Jim?” asked my mother.

“I didn’t find anything,” Sheriff Damon repeated. “It’s like this kid doesn’t exist. No social security number. No medical records. No fingerprints. No priors. He doesn’t have a driver’s license or own a car.”

Like he didn’t exist. Weird. Like he’d popped into existence in the woods outside of Toby’s truck. Jason was definitely strange. He was interesting, but he was strange.

“And the mother?”

“Marianne Wodden?” asked Sheriff Damon. “Yeah, I found a death certificate. She died in ‘91, right after the kid says he was born.”

“So that checks out,” said my dad.

“Yeah, kind of,” said the sheriff.

“Kind of?” asked my mother.

“Well, the kid said she died in childbirth, right?” asked the sheriff.

“Yeah,” said my dad.

“Marianne Wodden was shot to death by her husband. Then he committed suicide. There’s no record of a baby.”

“But had she given birth?” asked my mother.

“I don’t know,” said Sheriff Damon.

So, Jason’s mother had been murdered? I couldn’t believe this. Jason was getting more and more interesting with every passing moment.

“What about the people that Jason claims raised him? The man who he says they killed?” my father asked.

“Yeah, there’s no record of an Anton Welsh, either,” said Sheriff Damon.

“Are these people like a cult or something?” my mother asked.

My dad sighed. “He won’t talk about them. So we don’t have a lot to go on. But I think we all know what they are.”

“You think this is him, then?” asked Sheriff Damon.

What were they talking about? How did they all know what the people who raised Jason were? And why had Sheriff Damon placed such an emphasis on the word “him?” I was so engrossed in the conversation, I didn’t see Toby approaching.

“Azazel,” he called.

“Shh!” I said.

But it was too late.

My mother called from the kitchen, “Zaza, you out there?”

I glared at Toby, but entered the kitchen. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “I was just getting some iced tea for Toby and Jason.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, honey,” said my mom. “But why don’t you go back to the living room? I’ll get it.”

I left the kitchen, fuming. When I caught up to Toby, I said to him in a pointed whisper, “Why did you do that? I was listening to them.”

“You were eavesdropping on them, you mean,” he whispered back.

“Well, how else am I supposed to find anything out?”

“Maybe you don’t need to know.”

But we were back at the living room at that point. Toby had changed the channel to ESPN, and there was a cheerleading competition on. Jason was gaping at the TV, his mouth slightly open. Great. Toby was already corrupting him.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Do we have to watch this?”

“You’re jealous of cheerleaders on TV?” Toby asked, settling down on the couch.

I plopped down next to him. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re clearly attracted to them, and it’s doubtful you’re even attracted to your own girlfriend.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that,” said Toby. But he picked up the remote and started changing the channels. “There’s a party at the Nelson farm tonight,” he said to me. “You wanna go?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Those things never get good until after my curfew.”

“So sneak out,” said Toby. “It’ll be fun.”

* * *

My house was dark and quiet as I tiptoed through the kitchen towards the front door. I didn’t sneak out of my house much. My parents were pretty cool and let me stay out late on weekends—until one o’clock. Still, I was seventeen years old, and a lot of the parties my friends threw went on much later than that. I didn’t always want to party until dawn, but sometimes I did. The parties at the Nelson farm were infamous.

Nelson was an old family in Bramford. Their farm covered acres and acres of land, and they owned fields that weren’t being used for anything. Fields far from any houses. The Nelson kids, who always threw the parties, were twin guys. Derek was on the football team with Toby. He was a nice guy. Eric was on the wrestling team. He was an absolute jerk. They always managed to get several kegs, and they would set up on one of the abandoned fields. Half of Bramford High would show up, pulling their cars onto the field, creating a circle of shining headlights. People would blast music on their car stereos. People would dance.

Once, at a Nelson farm party in the summer, my best friend Lilith and I got roped into a wet t-shirt contest. We were both kind of drunk. Generally, I found that sort of thing pretty sexist and stupid, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. Lilith won. She was much better endowed than I was. Plus, Lilith was no virgin. Not like me. Lilith hadn’t been a virgin since the tenth grade. In fact, Lilith lost her virginity at a Nelson farm party. To some guy named Jack, who had moved away last year. Lilith was a lot crazier than I was. I would have liked to be a little crazy, but it was like everybody had somehow decided for me that I was supposed to be this goody two-shoes. Even if I wanted to do something crazy, someone was always there to stop me. Like Toby not having sex with me or cutting me off after five beers. “I don’t want you to get sick,” he would say. Maybe I was insane not to be grateful for such a considerate boyfriend, but just once, I wanted to do something completely outrageous without anyone “looking out for my best interests.”

Other people did all kinds of crazy things at Nelson farm parties. Like drugs. And chicken contests in their cars. And beer pong. And, for God’s sake, pre-marital damned sex. Which I might never, never have.

Tonight, I was going to the Nelson farm party. I took careful steps towards the front door. Several times already, the floor had creaked so loud I was sure my parents were going to wake up and ask what exactly I thought I was doing. But so far, I was safe.

I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned—slowly, slowly. The doorknob’s turning didn’t make any noise. But as I eased the front door open, the door moaned on its hinges. To me, the sound was deafening. I paused, holding my breath, waiting for the sound of my parents wandering downstairs to investigate the noise. But no one came.

I slid out the front door, carefully closing it behind me, and started across the lawn. Toby was going to pick me up in his truck at the end of my driveway, which twisted up around a hill so that it was out of sight of the house. Once I crossed the lawn and got on the driveway, I only had a few feet to go before I was out of sight and home free. I tried not to make noise as I hurried. It didn’t take long until I was on the driveway.

The gravel crunched under my feet, but I was pretty sure that I was too far away from the house for anyone to hear. Still, I tried to tread as quietly as possible. Then I noticed something.

I could still hear the sound of gravel under feet.

But it wasn’t coming from my feet.

It was a different rhythm than my footsteps. There was someone else walking on the driveway!

Damn it! I knew someone had heard me. I whirled, looking behind me. I could still see my house, still and dark in the night. There was no one there.

But I could still hear the footsteps.

Were they ahead of me?

I stepped forward, then thought about what Jason had said. He’d said that his staying with us would make it dangerous for our family. Were the people after Jason walking down my driveway? Were they coming for Jason? For us?

For a brief moment, I was ready to run back to my house and crawl into my bed. Tendrils of fear had knotted themselves around my spine, and I wanted to hide under my pillows.

Then I shook myself. I was going to a party, damn it. I was not going to let anything get in the way of that. I stepped forward again, squaring my shoulders. If I had to meet these crazy people that were after Jason, then so be it. If they were as dangerous as Jason said, I wouldn’t be safe in my bed anyway.

As I walked, I could still hear the footsteps. They sounded close. My heart started to speed up. I rounded the bend in my driveway, and my hands were shaking.

Ahead of me, I could see a shadowy figure walking away from me.

 

chapter three

To: Alfred Norwich <anorwic@risingsun.org>

From: Hallam Wakefield <hwakefi@risingsun.org>

Subject: South is no go

Alfred,

Sorry, no can do. I just got a lead that someone matching Jason’s description has been sighted in upstate New York. I’ve got to go check it out. I don’t think Jason is going south, no matter what Intel says. He knows better than that. He was born in the south. He was raised in the south. He knows we’ll look for him there.

I’ll let you know how this lead pans out. Oh, and tell Richard that West Virginia is a dead end. There’s nothing there but woods and rednecks. Jason wouldn’t have anywhere to hide.

Yours in pursuit of the Purpose,

Hallam

 

The figure was a guy. He wore pants that were a little bit too short for him—

It was Jason.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one sneaking out of my house tonight.

I ran to catch up with Jason. He heard me approaching and stopped.

“Azazel,” he said.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He looked away from me. I could hardly make out his features in the scant light, but he seemed even more desperate than before. “I wanted to believe that I could stay here,” he said. “All I’ve ever wanted . . .”

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I have to,” he said. “I can’t put you and your family in danger.”

I didn’t know what to say. Moments before, I’d been frightened out of my wits of the people chasing Jason. Was he right? Was he a danger to us? To me?

Well, it didn’t matter, did it? Because, if there were danger, I couldn’t let Jason go running back into it, could I? No, I’d found him. I’d rescued him once. I couldn’t let anything bad happen to him.

“I’m not letting you go,” I said.

“I didn’t think anyone heard me leave,” he said. “I can’t believe you followed me.”

“I didn’t,” I said. “I’m sneaking out to go to a party.”

“Oh,” he said, stunned.

I guess parties weren’t something Jason thought about very much. Well. Maybe we should change that.

“You should come with me,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

“To a . . . party?” he said. It was like he had trouble saying the word.

“Yeah,” I said. “You know, parties? They’re all the rage these days. Kids sneak out, drink beer, get away from their parents. Have fun. It’s what all normal teenagers are just dying to do.”

“Normal,” Jason repeated. Then he grinned at me. It was a brief grin again. It barely touched his eyes. “Okay,” he said.

“Great,” I said, excited now. “Come on, Toby’s picking me up at the top of the driveway.”

“Wait,” said Jason. “Toby? I don’t know if—”

But he was interrupted because Toby’s truck pulled up at the top of the driveway. I grabbed Jason and dragged him up to the truck. Toby had leaned across to open the door for me. When he saw Jason, he looked less than happy.

“Oh,” he said. “You brought Jason.”

I didn’t know what was wrong with Toby. He was being totally rude. Jason needed people to take him under their wings. He had nowhere to go, and he seemed to have lived a sheltered, dangerous life. We owed him some fun.

I stood aside from the door. “Get in,” I told Jason.

“Uh,” said Jason, “maybe you want to sit next to your boyfriend?”

Oh. I guess that did make sense. “Don’t run off while I’m getting into the truck,” I warned Jason.

He smiled again.

I liked it when he smiled.

I climbed into the truck, and Jason got in after me, pulling the door shut after him. Toby took off.

It was quiet.

We drove for miles and miles without speaking. I kept trying to think of something to say, but I couldn’t. I wanted to ask Jason about his dead mother and the possibility of his being raised by a cult, but that seemed rude, so I kept my mouth shut.

Toby was silent. It had been his idea to go to this party in the first place. I couldn’t figure out why he was in such a bad mood.

Finally, I said, “I’m excited about the party. Lilith said it’s going to be absolutely nuts.”

“Oh, well, that’s great,” said Toby sarcastically.

Wrong thing to say. Toby and Lilith didn’t get along. Back in middle school, eons ago, they got along fine. Lilith even had a crush on Toby during our seventh grade year. But after I started dating Toby, they got in some huge fight about something, and now they hated each other’s guts. It was awkward, considering Lilith was my best friend, but at least I didn’t have to worry about them hooking up behind my back. They couldn’t stand each other.

“Who’s Lilith?” said Jason.

“My best friend,” I said. Lilith was dying to meet Jason. I’d told her all about him on the phone. She’d be excited he was at the party.

“I don’t want you to drink too much,” said Toby.

“I won’t,” I said. “I never do. You never give me a chance.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” said Toby. “You know that. I care about you.”

“I know,” I said.

“And if anyone finds out Jason’s here, I’m going to deny bringing him,” said Toby.

“Okay,” I said.

“Sure,” said Jason. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Which was pretty decent of Jason, I thought. After all, I had talked him into coming to this party in the first place.

But Toby just rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Just watch yourself, Jason.”

I looked sidelong at Toby. Did he hate Jason for some reason? I was going to have to have a talk with him. Toby needed to learn some manners. Poor Jason didn’t know anyone except us, and Toby was being a total dick.

We arrived at the Nelson farm not too long after that. Toby pulled his car up onto the field and into the circle of cars. Lots of people were already there. It was after one in the morning. The party was just starting to rage.

I hopped out of the truck behind Jason, my excitement buzzing inside my head like a swarm of bumblebees. I couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait. Lilith saw me across the car circle. She waved and sprinted over to meet me. We hugged.

Lilith was tall, with long red hair. She had, as I already mentioned, huge boobs and a tiny waist. I so envied her figure.

“Oh my God, I thought you’d never get here,” she said. She turned to Toby. “Hi Toby,” she said, grinning at him.

Toby glared at her. “Don’t get her drunk,” he said.

Lilith flipped him off.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Toby said to me, leaning down to give me a kiss.

“Bye,” I told him.

“I don’t understand why you guys can’t just get along,” I said to Lilith.

“Because your boyfriend is a dumbfuck,” she said.

“Lilith,” I sighed. “Never mind. Look who I brought.”

Lilith’s eyes fell on Jason. They widened. “Well, hello,” she said, clearly liking what she saw. “And who might you be?”

“Uh . . .” Jason was intimidated by Lilith. Or maybe he was intimidated by the circle of brilliant headlights in the middle of a cornfield. Or the blaring, bass-heavy music. Or maybe he was just shy. I didn’t know him very well. “I’m Jason.”

Lilith’s jaw dropped. “This is Jason? Geez, Zaza, you didn’t tell me he was hot.”

Jason looked at me, the same terror on his face as I’d seen when he couldn’t find a channel on the TV.

“It’s okay,” I said. “She’s less scary than she seems.”

Jason tried to smile, but he still looked pretty freaked out.

“How is it scary for me to think you’re utterly gorgeous?” Lilith asked Jason. She was a little drunk already.

“I’m not scared,” said Jason. He was totally scared. “Um. Thanks. I guess.”

Lilith brushed Jason’s nose with her forefinger. “You are precious!” she said.

“Lilith, don’t,” I said. Was it me, or was everyone just being completely weird to Jason?

“Oh my God!” Lilith exclaimed. “You guys are beerless! Let’s hit the keg.” She linked arms with me and started leading me away.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure Jason was coming. He trailed behind us, looking lost. I felt bad. Maybe I shouldn’t have made him come to this party.

“Fuck me, Zaza,” Lilith whispered to me, “he is beautiful. I want to do him. Can I do him?”

“No!” I said. For some reason, Lilith’s overstated attraction to Jason was bugging me. Sometimes, I thought Lilith was a nympho. And with a nympho for a best friend, was it any wonder I wanted to have sex with Toby? All she talked about was sex. I just wanted to be able to relate for God’s sake.

Lilith rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “You’re too protective of your foster kids, you know that?”

“You just want to have sex with every boy in sight,” I said.

“Not every boy,” she said. She dropped my arm and reached back to yank Jason up between us. “It’s okay,” she told him. “Azazel has proclaimed you off limits. I promise to be good.”

Jason laughed disbelievingly.

“Did I mention this was my best friend Lilith?” I asked him. I was a little embarrassed.

“I gathered,” he said.

We’d reached the keg. Lilith pumped, and I poured us two very foamy plastic cups of beer. I handed one to Jason and took the other.

He held up his cup, studying it. “So . . .” he said. “Beer, huh?”

“Beer,” I said.

“I’ve never actually . . .” he said. Jason trailed off a lot.

“No way,” said Lilith. “You’re a beer virgin?”

“Leave him alone!” I scolded her. The way things were going, Jason really was going to run away. But it wasn’t going to be because he was worried about anybody’s safety. It was going to be because he wanted to get far, far away from all my crazy, rude friends.

I clinked plastic cups with Jason. “Cheers,” I said. And we both drank. I made a face. I didn’t like the taste of beer. To my amusement and delight, Jason made one too.

“It doesn’t taste very good, does it?” I asked.

“Alcohol rarely does,” he said.

So, he’d drunk alcohol? Just not beer? I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure how to phrase it without sounding like I was accusing him of lying or something.

“I’ve mostly drunk wine,” he told me, as if he could see the questions on my face.

“Oh,” I said. “Do you like wine?”

“Not really,” he said, laughing. He took another drink of his beer and surveyed the party.

Several girls were dancing in the middle of the circle, the headlights reflecting off their hair and curves. They twisted and writhed to the beat of the music, thrusting their hips in gyrating circles. Kids stood in groups, clutching their cups of beer—laughing and talking. Someone had brought his dog and was attempting to get him drunk by offering him beer. The dog was lapping it up. The guys surrounding the dog were jeering.

“So,” said Jason, “this is a keg party?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” It seemed so stupid. So tame. I didn’t know why I’d brought him here. Someone like Jason probably had more sophisticated tastes. He seemed so old. Like he’d seen the entire world.

“I like it,” he said, surprising me. He took a long swig of beer.

“Well, that’s good,” said Lilith. “Cause we’re all gonna get fucked up.”

“Not me,” I muttered. “Toby doesn’t want me to get plastered.”

“Fuck Toby,” said Lilith. She turned to Jason. “Don’t you think her boyfriend is an utter jackass?”

Jason laughed another surprised laugh. “Um. I . . .”

“Lilith!” I said.

“It’s okay,” said Jason. He looked at Lilith, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t know him real well. But I don’t think Azazel needs someone to treat her like a kid. I think she can take care of herself.”

“Thanks,” I said. I thought Jason was pretty cool. I had to get him to stay. I just had to.

I looked back out over the party and was stunned to see another familiar face. Cameron!

I didn’t say anything to Lilith or Jason. I just marched over to Cameron and took him by the arm. Then I jerked him over to where I was standing with Lilith and Jason. How was this possible? Had everyone in my entire house snuck out tonight?

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Partying,” said Cameron.

“If my parents found out you were here—” I started.

“If they found out you were here,” he interrupted, “you’d be in deep crap too.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Cameron, you can’t be here.”

“I’m here,” he said. “Deal with it.” He recognized Jason. “Hey, Jason, man! Good to see you.”

“Hi Cameron,” said Jason.

“Come meet some people,” said Cameron to Jason.

“You can’t just—”

Cameron silenced me with a look. Damn it. He had me. I’d have to keep his secret if he wanted me to keep his. I wondered how often Cameron snuck out. Cameron used to have a big problem with drinking before he came to live with us. He was my age, and he’d already been through AA. I did not think a keg party was a good place for a reformed alcoholic. But I guess he didn’t have a beer in his hand, so that was saying something. I was the one who was drinking. Not Cameron.

Cameron led Jason off to meet some of his friends. I was left with Lilith.

Lilith came out to parties like this more than I did. “Do you see Cameron out a lot?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “I can’t keep track of all your parents’ foster urchins,” she said.

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