Pulling into town, the boy got off the bus and began to look around. Caliente, Nevada, the place where the strong prey upon the weak. Everything started here. Everything fell apart here.
Walking into town, he felt a sudden urge. Looking to see where the sun was, he followed a couple of professional people into the Brandin' Iron and ordered a steak with all the trimmings.
At six foot ten inches tall and two hundred and forty pounds, the boy was noticed. However, everyone seemed fine with him there. The professional guys, the lawyers, even paid for his lunch, making sure they left a nice tip for the waitress. Enough to be greatly appreciated, but, not enough to be remembered later.
Leaving, the boy saw an officer in uniform walking in. Nametag said Lee. Why was that familiar?
They were closer. The boy could feel them now. He'd have to hurry.
Hitching a ride, he made his way deeper into town. Montreux. Here.
Thanking the man for the ride, the boy got out and hopped the fence. The gate wasn't too far off. But, he had never come through the gate as a kid. Slipping like a ghost through the junipers, he saw that nothing had changed much.
Finding his spot, he reached down into himself and fell to his knees as he began to concentrate, breathing deeply. Two for herding and two hunters again. Well, he had learned that trick the first time they used it on him. Unconsciously, a hand rubbed his arm in remembered pain over the scar that was there.
He felt them enter the golf course. Felt them draw nearer.
Felt them stop?
"We are to leave you alone," a voice called through the darkness. "Calm yourself. We will obey and leave you in peace."
He stayed in position even as he felt them leave. Stayed as he felt them leave the city.
Sweating, the boy cursed. What were they up to now?
Rising, he went over the back wall before the ground keepers could notice him.
Walking through the old neighborhood was a bit strange. He felt like a stranger here.
'You've been gone almost six years.'
The boy swore as his mind sent that traitorous thought through his head.
Seeing their name carved from wood in front of the house, the boy sensed to see if anyone was home.
Empty, damn!
Shrugging, he went to the car in the driveway with it's hood up. He had always enjoyed tinkering with things.
Miranda Waterson saw the coat hanging on the fence as she pulled into her drive. Saw that her son's car still had the hood up and was blocking her from the garage.
"You're going to have to get it fixed or move it," Miranda called as she stepped out of her car.
Miranda froze when a white man came from around the car, her hand, as she had been trained, went for her gun.
"Sorry, Mrs. Waterson," the white man said. "I fixed what I could, but, he's going to need a new fuel pump."
"Do I know you?"
"Once," he shrugged. "A long time ago. I'm looking for my sister. Where did Kelli go?"
"Christ!" Miranda gasped. "You're Little Mikey."
"No one's called me that in a long time," Mikey chuckled. "I think Kelli was the last one."
Mikey was surprised when the woman rushed in and gave him a hug.
"I'm real sorry," Miranda said firmly. "I didn't know where they sent you once Victim Services took you.
"Christ, Mikey," Miranda chuckled as she stepped back and punched his chest and stomach in quick succession with light hits. "You feel like you're pretty buff in there. Did you start hitting the gym?"
Looking up, Miranda gasped and jumped back.
Sighing, Mikey brushed the hood on his hoodie back. Freed, his silver white hair floated in the breeze. However, as usual, it was his piercing blue eyes that seemed to push her into stepping back.
Miranda gave herself a shake and looked back at him.
