"Regular Text" = dialog spoken aloud.

'Italic Text' = internal thoughts and dialog not spoken aloud and not projected mentally. *Bold Text* = dialog or thoughts projected mentally and therefore 'heard' in the mind of the 'listener'

Chapter 1 - Ryan.

After the incredibly crap-filled day I'd already had, it shouldn't have surprised me when I feel the first cold drops of rain drizzling down on me. It's early February which means it had been dark for a while now even though it was barely six o'clock in the evening. Of course it didn't help much that it had been grey and overcast all day and never really got bright enough outside to constitute actual daylight. But now it's fucking pitch dark out and raining and I, Ryan Kettering, recent teenage runaway and fledgling street person, have absolutely no place to sleep. My life fucking sucks big, hairy, lumpy balls!

'Shit! I don't know why I'm surprised that it's raining again. I mean this IS February in Portland. God damned temperate rainforest crap. If I only had enough money to get a bus ticket to fucking California I'd go back in a heartbeat! Only MY idiot mother would be stupid enough to follow some guy to Portland, Oregon and then get dumped so that we're all trapped here in the land without a sun!'

Keeping up an internal dialog doesn't really help except to the extent it distracts me from noticing how the rain is seeping into the shoulder seams of my old jeans jacket. Or how icy cold my feet feel in my cracked and holey old converse sneakers that are even wetter after I'd stepped in that puddle a few blocks back. I better get moving if I don't want to get completely drenched.

I've been sitting on a bench down in Waterfront Park since just after noon, trying to catch a few minutes of sleep here and there. I had planned to maybe find a place under the big rhododendron bushes there to crash come night time. But, now that it was raining, that prospect didn't seem nearly as welcoming. And since my sleeping bag and my backpack with all my clothes had been stolen this morning while I was trying to beg some spare change off the business suits in Pioneer Courthouse Square, my sleeping arrangements were looking pretty bleak. I figure I'll be at least a little better moving up towards Old Town where there are alleys and doorways that might provide some protection from the rain. Out here in the open in the park all I'll find is more fucking rain.

I know I've only been out here on the streets for like three weeks, but it feels like it's been forever. I feel like I'm a hundred years old. I'm so tired that I can hardly pick up my feet as I walk - which doesn't help much when it comes to keeping my cold feet out of rain puddles. I'm also so hungry at this point that I can barely think straight.

So much for my big plan to escape from my Mom's new boyfriend, right? I knew he was a fucking creep from the first moment I laid eyes on the guy. Mom just seemed happy to have a man around again - any man - even if it appeared that the guy was sometimes more interested in her seventeen year old son than in her.

Yeah, Mom has a BIG self-esteem problem. But I kinda stopped feeling sorry for her after she refused to believe me when I told her about Gary coming onto me and touching me all the time. Telling me that she thought it was NICE that he was trying to get along with me, really pissed me off.

Well, if she wants to shack up with Mr. Ted-Bundy-Wanna-Be, that's her decision. The day Gary cornered me in the laundry room in the basement of our apartment building and then pinned me to the wall and tried to pull off my pants was it for me. Maybe I should have waited around and thought things through a bit more, but at the time it didn't seem wise. I just packed my shit and ran - right after I'd kneed him in the balls and left him sobbing in a big greasy heap on the basement floor. Even now, cold, wet, starving and exhausted, living on the streets with no place to sleep, I still think I made the right call. I know Gary's type and he's only going to get nastier with time.

But all this introspective shit isn't going to help me find something to eat or a place out of the rain where I can sleep. I have to shake myself mentally to get rid of my brooding thoughts. I look around at the nearest street sign and note I'm on Second Avenue now. Down the block to my right is the old Skidmore Fountain. I remember hanging out down here last summer with my friends and walking around in the stalls set up for the Saturday Market. Now though, it's practically deserted. The only life I can see are the two hustlers standing on the far corner waiting for some rich john to happen by.

Considering my own current state of hunger and lack of sleeping accommodations for the night I'm starting to think those guys have the right idea. It's rather ironic, isn't it, that I ran away to escape getting buggered by my Mom's boyfriend only to wind up out on the street giving blowjobs just to get enough money to eat? Talk about 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire', right? But at least out here I get to decide who I service and when. And so far none of the guys I've gone off with have been half as creepy as Gary.

While I'm standing here looking around without much of a plan, a big silver Lexus drives up and one of the kids on the far corner jumps in. The car drives off. The other kid shrugs and starts to walk away, heading over towards Burnside, maybe looking for a better, more lucrative, street corner. He probably has a point. If I'm going to do this, I should probably follow him. This block is pretty dead. I'm not likely to find somebody willing to pay for my dinner here.

Or . . . I could be wrong.

Just as I step off the curb into the side street, a big black SUV with dark tinted windows turns the corner and slowly cruises towards me. The way the driver is just barely creeping along is a pretty good clue exactly why he's in this particular neighborhood on a rainy deserted night. It's not to take in the sights, that's for sure. So I sigh with resignation and move back up onto the curb, waiting to see what this guy will do. As the car nears, it slows even more. I try to look as seductive as a wet, dirty, street kid possibly can.

The SUV pulls up even with me and stops. The window closest to me - the one on the passenger side of the car - slowly rolls down and I can see the shadowy outline of a guy in the passenger seat leering out at me. Behind him, in the driver's seat, I can see another face lit up by the eerie glow of the dashboard instruments. The guy closest to me leans out of the window far enough that the rain starts to dampen his gelled back hair and he smiles at me knowingly.

"Hey, there!" passenger guy says. "What's a pretty boy like you doing out here in the rain?"

So that's got to be the cheesiest line ever, am I right? This guy has got to be the biggest loser ever. Probably some closeted old fag trying to enjoy his one night away from the little wifey. From what I can see, though, he's not a total troll. And I am cold, hungry, and wet. Who am I to judge?

"I'm just looking for some company for the night," I reply using my own cheesy line - one I'd picked up from a television show that I'd thought at the time sounded good. "You interested?"

"Maybe. Just how expensive is your companionship, pretty boy?"

"That depends on just how friendly you wanna get," I respond, trying to sound like I know what the fuck I'm doing, while wondering in the back of my mind how to tell if these guys are cops and trying to remember what television-land lessons I learned said about soliciting sex. "You tell me what you want and I'll let you know . . ."

"I'd like to get VERY friendly with those pretty red lips of yours, I think," the guy says, chucking any and all attempts at pretense, motioning at the same time for me to step closer.

"My lips and your dick getting together would run you fifty bucks," I lean down and rest my forearms on the edge of the window with as much bravado as I can muster as I make my proposal.

"He IS a pretty one. Looks fresh, too," the guy behind the wheel comments.

"That would be fifty, each," I quickly clarify just so there's no confusion later. "Up front."

The passenger guy grins at me and winks. It gives me the creeps for some reason. Driver guy leans over and whispers something to Passenger Guy. They both chuckle while they eye me up and down. Shit, I really hate this. I feel like the 'Pink Plate Special' at the neighborhood diner being carted out for the patrons to look over before they decide on their choice for dinner. The way they're leering at me makes me feel even dirtier than I actually am. Finally, Driver guy nods his approval and I get the impression I've passed inspection.

"You've got a deal, pretty boy," Passenger Guy states, leaning back to pull the handle so the rear door pops open. "Fifty each for my buddy and me. Plus we wanna stop by and pick up another friend, too. Terrance is gonna love you. He's always been one for the tall brunet types. If he likes what he sees you can be sure of another customer. Hop in."

'Shit. Three of 'em? I wasn't exactly planning on making this into a party. But . . . What the hell. I might as well man up and do this. It's not getting any warmer out here and the dinner fairy isn't likely to turn up, wave her magic wand, and make a cheeseburger appear out of the blue. It's not like I really have any better options, right?'

Steeling my resolve, I step up into the back seat of the impeccably clean SUV. My wet and muddy clothing leaves an unattractive smear as I slide into the cream colored leather seat, and I try to surreptitiously wipe it away but my sleeve is almost as dirty. Oh well. It's not my car, so what the fuck do I care? I lean back and try not to think about anything other than the fact that it's warm and dry in here and hopefully, in an hour or so, I'll have enough cash to get myself something to eat.

Driver guy heads north on Second, crossing over Burnside into Portland’s version of Chinatown and then turns a few blocks later in order to head into a large, almost deserted, parking garage. The short trip was made in complete silence; I wasn’t feeling chatty and the two guys in the front seat weren’t really doing much other than scanning me in the mirrors and smiling to themselves. Yeah, it’s a bit disturbing, but I don’t really have enough experience in these matters to pinpoint exactly what it is that’s making my skin crawl.

The large SUV pulls into the multi-story parking garage and then drives up to the third floor. The only other cars in the garage trickle out by the time we pass the second floor. Up on the third level there is only one other vehicle - a sleek looking Mercedes Benz S-Class Coupe. It’s windows are also darkly tinted even to the windshield. From my place in the back of the SUV I can’t see if there is anyone inside, although from the way Driver Guy pulled into the parking spot next to the coupe I assume that this is the car of the ‘friend’ we’re supposed to meet.

As soon as the car I’m in is stopped, Passenger Guy starts to gets out. Without a word, he courteously opens up the rear door for me and indicates I should get out. I have to say I’m getting the weirdest vibes from this guy. I’m not at all reassured by the locale either. Nothing says ‘Psycho Killer’ like a deserted parking garage on a dark night. I start to look around me and survey any possible escape routes just in case. The lights in the parking structure are dim but at least it’s not completely dark. So I get out of the car and stand there between the two vehicles and wait to see what the fuck will happen next.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Passenger Guy says, as he firmly grabs my elbow and urges me closer to the other car. The window on the coupe rolls down but whoever is inside doesn’t move any closer to the opening so I still can’t see who’s looking at me. “What do you think, Terrance? Tall, slim, curly dark-auburn hair and pretty hazel eyes . . . He’s fresh - can’t have been on the streets more than a few weeks. Just how you like ‘em, right?” Creepy Passenger Guy starts extolling my virtues and I get the oddest flash of an image from an old television mini-series depicting slaves on the sale block.

Nobody says anything for several moments. I can feel the unseen man’s eyes pouring over my body, though. Just the thought of whoever is in that car actually touching me is making me feel ill. The waves of lust and avarice emanating out through the opened window disgust me. I do NOT like this situation any more. Fuck the money. I’m listening to my gut now and my gut tells me that I’m out of here! Without thinking about it even a second more, I yank my arm out of Passenger Guy’s grip.

I sprint off towards the closest stairwell, my eyes focused on the bright neon green ‘Exit’ Sign over the big metal door. My abrupt departure seems to have taken everyone else by surprise. I dart right past Driver Guy, barely eluding his outstretched arms. Passenger Guy is delayed in his pursuit of me by having to dodge around Driver Guy. I can hear the three men I’ve left behind yelling but I don’t stop to analyze what they’re saying. I only barely register the fact that Coupe Guy shouts something along the lines of, “Get him! Singapore will pay big bucks for this kid.” As soon as I’m clear of the cars, though, I ignore their shouts and don’t bother looking back to see who is following me or how far away they are. I was on my high school track team the last three years and I know that you never look back - it only slows you down. The only way to outpace the competition is to set your sights on the end of the race and not stop for anything. So that’s what I do.

Crashing through the exit door, I fly down the stairs, using the metal railing to vault over the divider and launch myself down a flight at a time rather than actually trying to make my feet meet each individual cement riser. I’m almost to the ground floor when I hear the door up on the third level clang shut indicating my pursuers are still after me. There’s a big metal gate over the exit on the ground floor and I lose precious time fumbling with the smallish knob trying to get through that impasse. When I finally get the door opened, though, I hit the pavement of the sidewalk outside at a dead sprint.

I can see that Waterfront Park is on my left - a large open space with very few hiding places. Instead, I opt to head to the right which takes me deeper into downtown and the relatively narrow streets and alleys of Chinatown. It’s the only hope I have. I know that I can’t outrun these guys forever. I need to find somewhere safe, hunker down and hide.

I dodge between the mailbox and a newspaper vending box. I clip my shoulder as I sprint past the big green solar-powered parking meter ticket machine. I make it all the way to the corner of the block before I hear the noise of a large vehicle engine gunning behind me. Without thought, I quickly dodge into the closest opening I see, which turns out to be no more than a narrow walkway between the main street and the back alley. In the alley, I double back towards the east and keep running. I come out back on Second and head north towards a crowded block full of stores, chinese food restaurants and unknown little offices. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around who I could ask for help so I just keep running.

Just as I reach the end of the block I see the big black SUV turning right onto Second Avenue two blocks ahead of me. Shit! I dart off into the alley on my left and wend my way through the dumpsters and recycling boxes that have been put out for tomorrow morning’s garbage pickup. Luckily, I seem to have found my way into a warren of small lanes and alleys behind the stores. The roadway here is far too narrow to allow the modern SUV passage. I’m safe as long as I stay in these small alleys. Well, at least until they get out of their cars and follow me on foot.

Unfortunately, that’s when my luck runs out. I bolt through a gate in a chain link fence that’s blocking off one end of the little alley I was traversing and find myself in a sort of dead end close. There’s nothing but brick walls on three sides and that fence across the opening. Behind me there’s noises coming from down the alley - I can’t tell if it’s the guys following me or just some innocent third party, but I’m too freaked out to wait around and find out. I try the only door I see in the small courtyard. It’s locked and pretty solid as far as I can tell. There’s no fucking way out of here.

With no escape, all I can do is try to find a hiding place. At the rear of the close, there’s a huge metal dumpster. I manage to cram my body into the narrow gap between the big metal box and the damp brick wall behind it. With the toe of my shoe I hook the edge of a wooden pallet and pull it towards me and prop it up on its edge to help further obscure the opening to my hidey hole.

Then I just sit and wait. There’s not much else I can do right at the moment. I just wait and try to catch my breath. I try not to inhale the stench of the rotting food waste that’s overflowing the dumpster I’m hiding behind. I’m no longer hungry thanks to the nauseating odors that surround me so it’s easy to ignore my empty stomach. I try not to think about the rain dripping through the hole in the rain gutter right over my head and pattering down the back of my shirt. I ignore the sounds of vermin shuffling through the refuse in the dumpster and pattering on their tiny obscene little feet around the the dark edges of the close. I just sit and wait and hope that the men won’t find me.

And in my mind, I’m silently screaming. I’m begging for someone to save me. I’m railing against my horrible life and my lousy luck and my stupid cow of a mother. I don’t make a single sound out loud. But inside I’m wailing at my fate and begging someone - anyone - to listen. To find me. To save me. Please save me.