Bound by Blood and Brimstone Read Online Free PDF Page A

mice in my brain, racing to and fro, frantic to find a way out of their maze.
    There had to be a way out for us. Then, out of the blue, it came to me.
    I was never sure what possessed me to do it. Maybe I was mad at Momma and Daddy for
    foisting Melvin on us when they didn’t have to. Maybe I wanted to get back at Aunt Celeste for
    all the times she’d left our house making Momma feel bad, and me not knowing why. Maybe the
    summer sun had fried my brain.
    I was only certain of a glimpse of freedom as I stood there looking at Melvin’s white
    shirt, with its creased sleeves, and his pinched, ferret’s face.
    I knew Lorrie Beth was in the same agony, but she was far too nice to do what I was
    about to do. Casting her one of our “sister looks,” I said, “Say, Lorrie Beth, I just thought of
    something. Don’t you think maybe we ought to tell Melvin about Harry Wicker? Maybe warn
    him?”
    Lorrie Beth, having no clue where I was headed, said, “Uh, Oh yeah, Harry Wicker,
    that’s right. I almost forgot.”
    Not used to being interrupted during one of his boast fests, Melvin gave us a cold glance
    and said, “Warn me about what? I don’t know any Harry Wicker.” He said it in a way that let us
    know he wasn’t accustomed to not knowing something.
    “Well, that’s just the problem,” I said solemnly, warming up to the lie. “If you did, you
    would’ve already had the worst of it over with. But seeing as how he’s never seen you, I don’t
    know.” I trailed off and glanced away as if struck by a vision too horrific to bear contemplating.
    I had his attention now. “What in blue blazes are you talking about? I’d already have the
    worst of what?”
    I dropped my voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “Well, see, about three months ago, this
    older boy, Harry Wicker, moved in here from some big city up north, Chicago, I think. They say
    he was part of one of those street gangs that do nothing but bootleg and beat people up.”
    I paused, letting that sink in before adding, “They called themselves The Iron Fists, or
    something like that, isn’t that right, Lorrie Beth?”
    By this time, Lorrie Beth’s jaw had dropped open. She promptly snapped it shut and said,
    “Oh, yeah, I think that was it.” Melvin looked like someone had just told him his rear end was
    hanging out. He swallowed.
    “The Iron Fists, huh?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Harry Wicker was their leader. He’s moved down at the mouth of the
    hollow and he’s already been expelled from school from beating some kid to a bloody pulp.”
    Through the screen door, Momma’s nervous laughter could be heard, colliding with Celeste’s
    high-pitched twitter, and Robert cleared his throat for the millionth time. “The thing is he hates
    anybody younger or littler than him, and all strangers. He sees someone young and new, he just
    flat wants to kill him.”
    Melvin thought about that, fiddling with his right ear, which was what he did when he
    was agitated. “Well, if he’s only been here three months, how come he hates strangers? Isn’t he a
    stranger too?”
    Thinking quickly, I said, “No, see, he was born here, but moved away when he was little.
    He’s actually an insider.”
    “Oh,” Melvin said in a small voice. I’d always suspected our cousin wasn’t the shiniest
    penny in the jar. Now was the time to reel him in.
    “Harry’s favorite thing to do is patrol the hollow, looking for new boys. He comes by
    here every afternoon, should be here any minute now. You can’t miss him. He’s in eighth grade,
    built like a bull.”
    I watched Melvin tugging on his ear, his eyes growing rounder by the minute. I waited. I
    could see the wheels turning as he thought about what his spindly body and narrow face would
    look like after “Harry Wicker” got through with him.
    Finally, I went in for the kill. “Of course, there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to keep
    Harry away from anybody.” I let that trail off, adding a dramatic