Growing Like a Tree

CH-5

Like lots of kids do, we got to the point where we decided to be sworn brothers. It was a lot grander sounding than being best friends. We promised to keep each other’s secrets and to never betray each other – not even if we were tortured and killed! To seal our pact, we each shared one of our deepest secrets. After I told him mine, he told me in a whisper that he had enemies, that he was in danger and had to watch his back all the time. A part of me thought he was being melodramatic so he wouldn’t have to share his real secrets with me. His eyes were darting around as he spoke – seeming to check the corners of his hideout for listening ears. I didn’t challenge his claims because I felt like it added to the mysterious aura around him. There was so much about what he said and did that I couldn’t understand.

He even had a secret hideout! It was a novel place, well hidden in plain sight. He had made a secret base in the abandoned husk of a concrete pipe nestled in the side of a steep ravine. I don’t know how he found the place or what construction project had left the pipe, but it made for a good hiding spot. The pipe was almost overrun with shrubbery, and he had a small parcel wrapped in plastic of “emergency supplies” for when he had to “go on the run” hidden in a pile of refuse that seemed to be a heap of garbage if you didn’t know he had things stashed there. I was sworn to secrecy before he let me see his hideout, and we took a complicated route, doubling back three times to make sure we weren’t being secretly followed before he took me there for the first time. I thought of all we did as a great adventure and loved that he was so dedicated to the mystery he spun out for me bit by bit; the mystery that was his life.

                We made up secret code words, secret hand signals, and even a secret knock that we would use to communicate with each other if we ever got in serious trouble and needed help. I often imagined myself using that secret language to hatch an escape plan with him while we faced down mortal danger, but never thought it was something we would ever need to use in real life.

                One night I woke up the rhythm of our secret knock being hurriedly drummed against my bedroom window. It was pitch black outside and pouring rain. My bedroom had a door that led out to the backyard. Terrified, I got up, crept to the window – like we had agreed I would if things ever came to this – and called out softly.

                “Chase?”

                “Max?” I heard the signal tapped out against my window again, then “Max, are you there?” in a whisper that was as loud as it dared to be.

                “I’m here.” Like we had – again ─ agreed beforehand I silently opened the door to let him in, and he slipped inside as soon as the door was opened then closed it and locked it wordlessly. We both crouched down towards the floor. His night vision was better than mine. He reached towards me as soon as he got inside.

                I was just about to ask indignantly what he was doing out on such a night when he clamped a cold wet hand across my mouth.

                “Shh…” he breathed. I was about to throw his hand off me when I heard the doorknob turning above our heads. We both held our breath and crouched even lower. It seemed like an eternity passed while whoever was out there tried the door silently, testing it gently with their weight when the lock didn’t budge, then shining a shielded flashlight into my bedroom window, searching…

                I thought back to the secret Chase had shared with me in the concrete pipe, looking around nervously for hidden ears, and wondered in terror who would be chasing him in a rainstorm in the middle of the night.

                “I think he’s gone,” Chase whispered after we had crouched in the dark barely breathing, our eyes peeled for signs that whoever held that flashlight was gone. The minutes seemed like hours. He shifted away from me and finally took his hand off my mouth. I was almost too scared to move.

                “Who was that?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.

                “Where’s your bathroom?” He didn’t answer my question, but instead made his way towards my bathroom door as though he had divined its location. He all but crawled into the bathroom – I could see his silhouette better now my eyes having got used to the darkness – and watched as he checked to make sure the bathroom window was covered before he turned on the light. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the light, then gasped.

                He was soaking wet, wearing only a dark-grey t-shirt and his underwear. The was a large stain that looked suspiciously like blood on the front of his shirt. He was still wet enough to have left a reddish trail on the floor from the door into the bathroom.

                “Can I borrow a towel? And some clothes?”

                He was so casual, as though he hadn’t come knocking at my bedroom window in the middle of the night, followed by someone bold enough to try the door to my bedroom to get hold of him. I was in shock.

                “You’re bleeding!” I hissed. “We need to get my mom─”

                “No!” He said sharply cutting me off. Then hurriedly added, “I’m fine – just… Can I…”

                “You’re bleeding!” I reemphasized, pointing to the trail of pale reddish liquid that had followed him into the light.

                “It was a nosebleed!” He snapped back. “I’m not bleeding anymore! Can I borrow a towel at least?”

                I wasn’t sure what to think. I tried to stare him down, but he wouldn’t yield, so I went to get him a towel and a change of clothes while I gathered my thoughts. I handed him the towel first and he turned his back to me and started getting out of the wet clothes. I watched lost in thought at first, then struck with horror as I saw the angry marks livid purple against his dark skin and quickly looked away as he glanced in my direction checking to see whether I had been looking. He slipped quickly into the dry shirt I had handed him, then wrapped the towel around his waist so he could change out of his wet underwear.

                He was quick and efficient about it. After he got changed, he used the wet clothes to mop up the water he had dripped unto the floor then rinsed them quietly under a trickle of water in the tub. To my eyes he rinsed more blood than water out of his wet clothes. I watched him quietly, waiting for an explanation I didn’t know how to ask for anymore. After rinsing his clothes, he hung them over the side of the tub, then kind of crept towards the light switch and plunged us back into darkness. With the light off, both of us listened for a while to the rain pounding and splashing outside. We were both listening to hear whether whoever had followed him was truly gone.

                “Can I crash here for the rest of the night?” He asked softly after a little while. “I’ll be gone by morning,” he hastened to add, “I just…”

                “Yeah, yeah…” I broke in. I went rummaging under my bed and pulled out the sleeping bag I had rolled up there, hoping he would say more.

                “I’ll be gone by morning,” he whispered as though reassuring himself.

                I wasn’t sure what question to ask, or how to ask the ones that were burning in my throat. He crawled into the sleeping bag, and I got back into bed, and we lay there, the silence between heavy and dark. After what seemed like hours a soft sigh broke the silence. I closed my eyes against the sound of muffled sobs that followed and tried to stop thinking, tried to get back to sleep….

                I was startled awake by the sound of my bedroom door crashing open. Before I could process what was happening, I saw Chase leaping from the sleeping bag on the floor in a panicked scramble for the bathroom.

                “s**t!” he exclaimed as his father who had burst through the door bounded after him and caught him by the arm before he could slam the bathroom door shut.

                My sleep-fuddled brain watched as Mr. Vermont hauled him forward a triumphant snarl flashing across his features.

                “He is here!” he called out, throwing the words towards the hallway he had come from. I turned to see my mother, her eyes wide with shock, watching as he pulled Chase across the room.

                Chase dug in his heels and writhed, clawing at the hand that gripped his arm like a vice. Another hand shot out like a spear from his father’s side and latched on to his shoulder. I watched, dumbfounded as Mr. Vermont battled with Chase to pull him out of the room.

                “W-what’s going on?” I called out from bed, trying to throw off the tangled sheets. My mother shrugged at me, obviously flabbergasted.

                “How did ─ What is he doing here? What ─?” she stuttered.

                “No!” I kicked my way out of the covers and jumped over trying to bar the doorway. All I could think of was that weight against my door, the blood Chase had wrung out of his clothes, and the light shining in, searching… “Mom! You can’t let him take him!”

                “Out of the way!” Mr. Vermont pushed past me.

                “It’s his son….! And Max, how did he get in here? When did he get here?” my mother asked, looking at the struggling duo, then me, then them, then me.

                “Let go of me!” Chase choked out, still struggling against the rock-hard grip of his father’s hand on his arm. They were out in the hallway now, Chase still digging in his heels, clawing at his captor and at the air in my mother’s direction alternately. His father expertly kept his flailing hands from finding purchase while he hauled him past us.

                “Chase!” I tried to reach out to Chase, afraid of the unexplained fear I saw marked plainly on his face. My mother held me back. “Mom help─”

                “No! Max, how did he get in here?!” She pulled me away from them and Chase began to struggle even harder.

                “Don’t – don’t let him take me!” he started screaming. “Don’t let him take me!” He flailed and dug in his heels. “Don’t let him take me!”

                “Stop it!” Mr. Vermont snapped, and hauled him forward.

                One of Chase’s hands swung out, and a crystal vase that was positioned on a nearby end table crashed to the floor and shattered. The noise prompted a sudden silence. Chase looked at the vase his eyes widening in surprise. Then he looked apologetically at me and my mother. His father took the opportunity to pull him stumbling in big awkward leaps towards the front door. Seeming to come back to his senses Chase began his struggle again - in vain. I watched with an overwhelming sense of helplessness as his father bodily pressed him into the backseat of his car.

                Chase was screaming as loud as he could, “Don’t let him take me! NO! Don’t let him take meeee!” as his father pressed his hand down on his face pushing him down unto the seat. His body went limp suddenly and his father hastily stuffed his legs inside and slammed the car door shut, then got round to the driver’s seat to leave.

                My mother had been restraining me the whole time.

                “Why did you do that?” I shouted at her when Mr. Vermont drove off. “He was asking for help!”

                She sighed and looked towards the broken vase left in pieces in the hallway then went to fetch the broom. I had run past the mess barefoot, trying to pull away from her to rescue Chase.

                “What was he doing in your room Max? I was convinced he wasn’t here! When did he get here?” she started in exasperation. “Dave told me he felt that this is where he would have come, but I just can’t believe he was actually here!”

                “What are you talking about? Mom, we have to help him!”

                She sighed and looked at me the way she always did when she felt she was about to explain something I couldn’t understand.

                “He’s mentally ill Max. He hurt himself last night and ran away from home ─ in a storm! He likes to scream and cause a scene when he wants to have his own way. He’s not in trouble.”

                I froze for a moment. “That’s not true!” I retorted. “There’s nothing wrong with him!”

                “He’s a very accomplished liar Max.” She began sweeping up the glass shards. “He’s done this kind of thing before. He just needs to get home and take his medication and get some rest. He won’t go willingly with his father, not when he’s in that state.”

                “He’s not in any state!” I replied.

                She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “What did he tell you about why he came here last night?”

                I had no answer for her. “Mom, he’s in danger!” I replied instead.

                “Listen, I know you’re really good friends, but maybe this is something you need to talk about with him when you see him again. He’s not well, Max… that’s the truth…”

                I watched her sweep and when a path was clear, I went back to my room and slammed the door shut. I had just watched my best friend get dragged away and stuffed into a car by his father while my mother stood by and watched, claiming that he was mentally ill. I thought back to the night before, the marks on his back, the blood on the floor, the way we held our breath and listened as whoever was following him tried the lock of the door that led into my bedroom; and I wondered with the feeling of vomit in my throat how his father knew where my room was. He had never been to our house before as far as I knew. I thought back to when he told me his biggest secret was that he had people after him, that he was in danger, and that time Chase told our swimming teacher that he fell down some stairs. I remembered watching him get slapped so hard that he fell to his knees but didn’t make a sound and wondered if I should call the cops.

                My mother persuaded me not to call the police. She said Chase’s mental illness and his “episodes” were a well-known fact in the neighborhood, that he was making things up, that he wasn’t in any actual danger. I couldn’t tell her about his bruises, about what I had seen in the past. He had sworn me to secrecy. We never discussed the way his father treated him outside of the hideout. I was worried sick when he didn’t show up at school the next day, or the day after that, even though she said she had it from his father that he was at home resting.

                After a week, Chase showed up at school, acting like nothing had happened and he hadn’t missed a week of classes. After school I went up to him, staring in askance. He stared at me, his eyes clear and expressionless, like they usually were.

                “She told you about me.” He said matter-of-factly.

                “Is it true?” I asked.

                He looked away with an expression that hovered between a smile and a sneer. “What do you think?” he asked. His voice was evenly toned and hinted at nothing. I didn’t know what to think, and he didn’t see the need to give me any further answers.

                One week after that exchange he showed up at my house with a new vase for my mother and very politely apologized for breaking her old one. He had bought the replacement out of his own savings. We were getting ready to play a game of chess when my mother came into the room and said how late it was, asking Chase whether he wanted to get home before dark. It was still sunny outside, and we hadn’t even started our game yet. I was about to protest when Chase stood up suddenly.

                “Yeah…” he said in a strained voice. Then he continued more naturally, “It’s getting late. I guess I should go before it gets too dark. See you at school Max.” He packed his chess pieces back up as fast as he could then smiled politely and walked towards the door. I followed him, sighing after shooting my mother an angry look.

                “I’m sorry about that Chase,” I said at the door.

                His face lost the smooth appropriate look of politeness he had worn to the door and darkened with disgust. “She doesn’t want me here anymore,” he said glancing inside.

                “That’s not true,” I said.

                He looked at me, searching my face, then said looking at the floor as he turned away, “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”