Beyond Help

“Well, you certainly look happier.”

Clay blinked. “Pardon?”

A girl smiled at him. “I saw you a little while ago. You looked...sad.” It was her turn to blink at him. “And your hair was longer. I guess a haircut cheered you up.”

Success. “You saw me? With longer hair? Which way was I headed?”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you remember?”

Clay winced. “The person you met - not me. My brother. I’ve been looking for him. Which way?”

“Your brother? I could have sworn it was --”

“Identical,” Clay said. He knew he was being rude and impatient, but he had to find Bob. “Please. It’s important.”

The girl’s smile faded. “Oh. Sorry. I - the harbor. Inner Harbor.”

“Thanks.”

Clay didn’t know what he’d find when he finally got his hands on Bob, but it would involve a good shaking, maybe a punch, and possibly a few choice swear words. For three weeks Bob had drifted through the house, a silent ghost, barely leaving his room, and now - now he was out prowling the town. Whatever had driven him from the safety of his mourning room had to be big.

Clay skittered down the boardwalk, ignoring the lure of the bright wares in the curious stalls. He drew to a halt at the bridge. On the other side, Bob stood overlooking the water. Half a dozen rugby players from the local high school had him circled, and - he had his head bowed, shoulders hunched. Perfect prey posture.

Clay groaned. He really couldn’t afford to get into a fight - and neither could Bob. He approached slowly, quietly, trying to gauge the situation.

“You some kinda junkie, kid?” one of the rugby players asked. “Or are you one of those wannabe vampire kids who never sees the light of day?”

Bob just stared at the water, hands in his pockets.

“You deaf, freak?” Another rugby player shoved at Bob’s shoulder.

He swayed dangerously on his feet, but he wasn’t so far gone that he’d let his own balance fail. Then he lifted his head. “Are you going to hit me?”

The first rugby player laughed. “I dunno. Are you any fun to hit?”

“Maybe.” Bob shrugged carelessly. “Although, since I’m dying, I think that would take some of the fun out of it.”

The rugby player froze, fist cocked to punch. “What?”

Bob tilted his head to one side, expression quizzical. “Whatever you do to me probably won’t hurt nearly as much as what my body’s doing to itself, so...if you want to hit me, go ahead. It’s not like I matter anymore.”

The group of boys exchanged uneasy looks. “Hey, man, we were just kidding around.”

Again with that careless shrug. “I know. But I don’t mind - I’m good at taking pain. What’s a little more, after all this? You might as well have your fun.”

The boys began to back away. “Dude, you need help,” one of them said.

Bob’s smile was almost angelic. “I’m beyond help.”