The Hollow Boys

Chapter 5

CASE WANDERED PAST the food stalls inside the St. Lawrence market carrying an empty plastic bag. Fader, her younger brother, trailed behind her. They weren’t shopping. Shopping required money, and panhandling had not gone well today. Case was saving what little cash they had for when they were desperate.

No reason to pay for dinner when they could get it for free.

The merchants behind the booths eyed her as she passed. Not surprising. She knew how she looked. Black teenager with a torn t-shirt two sizes too big. Dirty, baggy jeans with more holes than denim. Running shoes that didn’t match. And a mass of tight curls that badly needed a cut. She might as well wear a “Street kid / No money” sign.

Fader was the shorter, younger, boy version of herself. He wore a sleeveless hoodie and dirtier jeans. At least his sneakers matched. But merchants didn’t look at Fader. Nobody noticed Fader. That was why this worked.

Because Fader was Fader. And because Case heard voices. Well, one voice.

Her Voice.

The sights and smells of fresh produce made her hunger almost unbearable. Their only meal that day had been half of a bran muffin scooped from a garbage can outside a Starbucks.

“What do you feel like?” she asked Fader.

“Cheeseburger.”

“Nice try. Fruit and veggie-wise, I meant.”

“Cheeseburger with lettuce.”

She stopped, glaring down at him. Fader was twelve to her sixteen and a head shorter. He grinned back, then shrugged and scanned the stalls. “Apples. Pears. Tomatoes. And burgers.”

“Funny. Pick two. I don’t want to push our luck. And one better not be burgers.”

He sighed. “Fine. Forget the tomatoes.”

“I’ll forget the pears. Tomatoes are better for you. We’ll get some bread, too.”

He made a face but fell in beside her as she approached a fruit stall. Stopping at one end, she pretended to inspect the merchandise. Fader stood at the opposite end beside a crate of apples. The man behind the booth kept his eyes on Case, paying no attention to Fader. Crossing her arms, she flashed a finger signal for Fader to get ready.

She waited. And watched.

Guy in the stall opposite glancing at her. Shoppers passing by looking this way. Lady with a flowered bag walking up to the stall.

She continued to wait. For her Voice. For her Voice to say when the right moment—

Now, it whispered.

NowShe dropped her arms—the signal to Fader.

The next second, the guy in the opposite stall turned to a customer. The people passing by glanced away. And the woman with the flowered bag asked the fruit merchant a question.

In that same second, Fader’s hands flashed out. Grabbing two apples, he stuffed them into the pockets of his hoodie, unnoticed by anyone.

Case sauntered away from the booth. Fader caught up and dropped the apples into her bag. “Cheeseburgers next?”

“Tomatoes, smart ass.”

CASE AND HER brother strolled from the market into the heat and humidity of the street. They’d repeated their act at a vegetable booth then a bakery stand. She glanced back as they walked west along Wellington toward the downtown core.

No angry merchants in hot pursuit. They’d pulled it off again. Relaxing, she started to turn away when two men in the crowd exiting the market caught her attention.

One man was over six feet tall, the other shorter than her. Both had long white hair and wore identical all-black outfits. Black suits with black shirts. Black bowler hats and leather gloves.

Pretty freaking hot for the Goth look, she thought.

Pretty freaking hot for the Goth lookBoth were rail-thin with sharp features and faces so pale they almost glowed in the sunlight. Each wore black goggles that hid their eyes.

The men stopped on the sidewalk. Tall Boy stared east, Shorty west. Shorty’s gaze fell on her and Fader, hesitated for a heartbeat, then kept scanning the street. His lips moved, and Tall Boy spun around, looking in their direction. His gaze also seemed to pause when it passed over her and Fader. Then Tall Boy turned to Shorty. They stood talking, not looking Case’s way again.

She shivered despite the heat and humidity. Something…

Fader looked back. “S’up? Somebody see us?”

I’m getting paranoid. “Nah. Nothing. Let’s rock.”

I’m getting paranoidThey continued weaving along congested sidewalks as the office towers spewed out end-of-day commuters. Crossing Yonge Street, she glanced behind again. Half a block back, Tall Boy’s black-hatted head bobbed above the crowd. Shorty might have been there, too, but she couldn’t tell. She shivered again.

Left, her Voice said.

LeftThe lights changed. “This way,” she said, turning left, crossing Wellington and heading south down Yonge.

Fader shrugged, used to the erratic routes she often followed. They walked past the stores of the retail plaza beneath the office towers of BCE Place. At a bookstore window, Fader grabbed her arm. “Look! It’s the new issue!”

Case glanced behind them. No sign of creepy guys in black. She was getting paranoid. She turned back to Fader, knowing without looking what had seized his attention. He had his nose pressed against the window. Behind the glass, copies of a Dream Rider comic she hadn’t seen before lay beneath a poster with the Rider’s famous tagline: He only comes out at night.

wasHe only comes out at night.“Bugs?” she said. “He’s still battling bugs?”

“This is where he finally faces the Cockroach King!” Fader turned pleading eyes up to her. “Can we?”

“No.”

“Please, Casey!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Please, Case!”

“No. We’re not blowing nearly five bucks on a comic. You can wait till the library gets it.”

He started to protest but stopped. His shoulders slumped. He gave the display a last look. “Yeah. Okay.”

She swallowed. Good kid. The best. And she couldn’t even get him a freaking comic. She put her arm around him. “Sorry, bro.”

He shrugged. “Can we go home now?”

Home. Perhaps the saddest thing in their lives was her brother thinking of their current crash spot as home. A church on King Street closed to the public. Part of the ceiling had fallen, injuring three of the congregation. Not the message from on high they’d been expecting, she bet.

Hearing about it, she’d checked out the building. Locked up, but she’d found a basement window just big enough to fit through after breaking the glass. An advantage to being underfed.

A construction crew worked there during the day but never came downstairs. At night, the entire church was empty. The basement was dry—and cool, too, a rare treat on these hot summer nights. But best of all, they were alone. On the streets, alone was safer.

Especially this summer. Too many of their kind going missing. Rumors of kids being snatched. Thinking of those disappearances, she checked behind them again.

Tall Boy and Shorty stood at the intersection she and Fader had just left, turning their goggled heads in all directions. She sucked in a breath. Paranoid? Maybe not.

“Yeah, sure. Home. But let’s hit the can first.” Grabbing Fader by the arm, she pulled him through the sliding doors and into the retail mall of the office complex.

“Okay, okay, jeez, you can let go now,” he said, pulling his arm free when they were inside.

“Sorry.”

He glanced back to the street through the glass doors. “Something wrong?”

“Nah. Just being careful. Go to the can. And wash your face, too. I’ll meet you back here.”

Fader headed for the men’s room. She watched as his tiny figure disappeared into the throng of adult workers and shoppers. Disappeared. Shivering at the thought, she checked the entrance from the street again. No sign of Tall Boy and Shorty. If the creeps had been following, she’d lost them.

DisappearedA fountain sat encircled by the stores at this end of the mall. She walked over to it. Probably only small change as usual, but sometimes a dumbass would toss—

There. A toonie. And another. And there. A loonie. Five bucks. Worth the trip.

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, she slipped off her shoes and rolled up her jeans. She scanned the area. No mall security. Lots of people, but she doubted anyone would kick up a fuss. They had enough money to shop and still throw away more in a fountain. When the fewest people were looking, she swung her legs into the water. Wading over, she grabbed the coins, scooping up three quarters as well.

She waded back, ignoring the stares of passersby. Sitting again, she struggled her wet feet into her mismatched runners. Her score bumped their kitty up to twenty-two dollars and fifty cents, if she’d done the math right. Not much of an emergency fund, but better than zilch.

She reached for the makeshift cash pouch she wore under her t-shirt. Then stopped. Jiggling the wet coins in her hand, she considered the bookstore. Fader still wasn’t back. Good kid, she thought again. The best.

Good kidThe bestHard Case. That’s what they called her on the street.

Getting up, she walked to the bookstore.

She shook her head. Hard Case. Yeah, right.

Hard CaseYeah, right.SHE WAS SITTING by the fountain when Fader returned. “Sorry,” he said. “Had to take a dump.”

“TMI, bro.” She reached into a plastic bag and handed him the Dream Rider comic, still in its slipcover.

His eyes went wide. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“So you want it, or do I take it back?”

Grabbing it from her, he gaped at the cover. Then he pressed it to his chest and looked around. “You steal it?” he whispered.

“Bought it.” She jerked a thumb at the fountain. “Somebody made a wish for you.”

A huge smile lit his face, and his eyes devoured the cover again. Case had to swallow away a lump in her throat.

“You’re the best, Case.”

“So true.”

He jumped up. “Can we go home now? I want to read it.”

Outside, she held Fader back before they stepped onto the sidewalk again. Peering around the corner, she checked up and down the street. No sign of their two creepy followers.

“C’mon, what’s wrong?” Fader asked. “You’re acting weird. Even for you. Your Voice?”

She let herself relax. “Told you. Just being careful. Let’s roll.”

They followed a winding route back, finally turning west again on King. As they headed for the church, they passed the brilliant white tower with the image of the Dream Rider on top.

Fader waved his comic at the building. “He lives there.”

“He? Who he?”

“The Dream Rider guy.”

“He’s made up, dude. You know that, right?”

“Duh. I mean the guy who writes the comics. They say he lives there.”

“In an office building?”

“That whole place. It’s, like, his house.”

Case stared at the white tower, trying to imagine such a life. How could anybody be that rich? “Sounds like an asshole.”

Fader glared at her. “He’s not an asshole.”

She shrugged. “Well, I doubt he’ll invite us to visit, so we will never know, little bro.”