The Last Child Read Online Free PDF Page B

window came down. The face behind it was unusually pale and bloated.
    “Get in,” the man said.
    Johnny stepped off the stoop and crossed the small patch of grass and weed. He stopped before he got to the edge of the drive. “What are you doing here, Steve?”
    “Uncle Steve.”
    “You’re not my uncle.”
    The door squealed open, and the man stepped out. He wore a blue jumpsuit with a gold patch on the right shoulder. The belt was heavy and black. “I’m your father’s first cousin, and that’s close enough. Besides, you’ve called me Uncle Steve since you were three.”
    “Uncle means family, and that means we help each other. We haven’t seen you in six weeks, and it was a month before that. Where have you been?”
    Steve hooked his thumbs in the belt, making the stiff vinyl creak. “Your mom is hanging with the rich folks now, Johnny. Riding the gravy train.” He waved a hand. “Free house. No need to work. Hell, son, there’s nothing I can do for her that her boyfriend can’t do a thousand times better. He owns the mall, the theaters. He owns half the town, for God’s sake. He doesn’t need people like me getting in his way.”
    “Getting in his way?” The disbelief came off Johnny in waves.
    “That’s not—”
    “You’re scared of him,” Johnny said in disgust.
    “He signs my paycheck, me and about four hundred other guys. Now if he was hurting your mom, or something like that. That’d be one thing. But he’s helping her. Right? So why would I get in his way. Your dad would understand that.”
    Johnny looked away. “Aren’t you late for your shift at the mall?”
    “Yes, I am. So get in.”
    Johnny did not move. “What are you doing here, Uncle Steve?”
    “Your mom called and asked if I could take you to school. She said you missed the bus.”
    “I’m not going to school.”
    “Yes, you are.”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Jesus, Johnny. Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult? Just get in the van.”
    “Why don’t you just tell her that you took me and leave it there?”
    “I told her I’d take you, so I have to take you. I’m not going anywhere until you get in the van. I’ll make you if I have to.”
    Johnny’s voice dripped. “You’re not a cop, Steve. You’re just a security guard. You can’t make me do anything.”
    “Screw this,” Steve said. “Wait right there.” He pushed past Johnny and small metal jingled on his belt. The uniform looked very crisp and made a rasping noise between his legs.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Talking to your mother.”
    “She’s asleep,” Johnny said.
    “I’ll wake her then. Don’t you go anywhere. I mean it.” Then he was through, into the small house that smelled of spilled booze and generic cleaner. Johnny watched the door click shut, then looked at his bike. He could be on it and gone before Uncle Steve made it back outside, but that’s not what a strong person would do. So Johnny pulled the map from his pocket and smoothed it against his chest. He took a deep breath, then went inside to deal with the problem.
    It was quiet in the house, the light still dim. Johnny turned into the short hall and stopped. His mother’s door angled wide, and Uncle Steve stood in front of it, unmoving. Johnny watched for a second, but Steve neither moved nor spoke. As Johnny drew closer, he could see a narrow slice of his mother’s room. She still slept, flat on her back, one arm thrown across her eyes. The covers had fallen to her waist, and Johnny saw that she was undressed, so still, and Uncle Steve just stood there, staring. Then Johnny understood. “What the hell?” Then louder: “What the hell, Steve?”
    Uncle Steve twitched in guilt. His hands came up, fingers spread. “It’s not what you think.”
    But Johnny wasn’t listening. He took five quick steps and pulled his mother’s door closed. She still had not moved. Johnny put his back to the door, and felt the fire come up in his eyes. “You’re sick, Steve.