CHAPTER THIRTY Luke

Sweat dripped from my brow even though I was standing in the shade under the eaves of one of our outbuildings that stored tools and equipment. Late June in Central Oregon was when the temperatures truly began rising. Summers in Madras are hot and dry, and the sun beats down mercilessly for months. But high temperatures were good for our community's crops. The ranch had already harvested a second crop of hay for the year, and a third and fourth would also be possible with irrigation.

Setting up the needed irrigation pipes and the massive sprinklers that dotted the ranch was one of my jobs. If you've ever flown over farmland, you've probably seen the unique designs where irrigated land grows crops. The huge circles and other geometric shapes dot Central and Eastern Oregon because of the ability to irrigate normally barren and parched land.

I was part of an eight-man crew who assembled, then dismantled, and then once again, moved and reassembled the pipes as needed throughout late spring and all of summer. Moving from field to field was back-breaking work for a crew of eight men, but I didn't mind the job.

The equipment changeovers took most of the week, which meant I would be absent from working at the furniture store, and nowhere near Bend, the neighboring town where Tate lived. Any chance of seeing him if he stopped by the store would be impossible, and the reality gnawed at my insides. I was desperate to be near him.

After he'd been in with food, and we enjoyed a great evening of hanging out, I was heartsick. He was on my mind constantly, and no matter what I did, or how much I tried to take my mind off him, nothing worked. I had this overwhelming feeling of despair. The more days that went by, the more I experienced an irrational fear that he'd forget about me.

The thought that he might think of me as some poor kid stuck in the country haunted me. Why would he be interested in a man like me? I couldn't just call him up and ask him to hang out with me. There was no way I could take him on a date either. Where would we go? But more importantly, how would I pay for my share, let alone for his share, too?

The truth of the matter was that I had no money. We weren't paid a salary for our work in the community's businesses. Our efforts were for the greater good of all our members, and that meant all proceeds went into one pot. We received the basics of what each family needed for clothing, housing, and medical care. All food was served in a shared cafeteria-style setting and in-between snacks were scarce.

Our clothing was provided to us as a required uniform. The women had their simple dresses; the two designs were identical and worn from toddler age until death. The men were given identical styles of denim jeans and two types of shirts. For winter months, a long-sleeved white button-down, and for the warmer months, the same white button-down, but short-sleeved. The boys and men were also required to wear simple white boxers, referred to as holy undergarments.

Being around Tate made my feelings of inadequacy worse. Even though I liked him so much, I felt less than. There was nothing he did or said to make me feel that way, but I found I compared myself to him, with me obviously coming up short in my mind.

Tate always looked sharp. In fact, I don't think I'd ever seen him in the same clothes twice. He possessed a style that I'd seen in men's magazines, and on businessmen who occasionally came into the bakery. But not even one of those men had his flair for looking like a banker, yet being so approachable and kind.

The more I let my mind focus on what I didn't have, the harder it became for me to imagine him wanting to court a man like me. He offered a world I could only dream about, but his world wasn't what I desired. What I craved was to be loved by him, while at the same time, having not a single clue how any of that worked.

I stepped into the harsh sun and traipsed to the barn to get some grease for the giant axles of the irrigation machines, my spirit about as low as it could be. Nearly there, I spotted Franklin pulling through the gate in his Mercedes about three hundred yards down the road. I hurried to the barn and prayed he hadn't seen me.

I ran to the back in case the huge front doors of the barn were open. The backdoor was a normal house size and easy to slip through. Plus, my hiding was easier if I could duck behind the barn in time instead of trying to sprint around to the front where I'd be in clear view.

I noticed the front door of the barn was closed once I was inside. My eyesight slowly adjusted to the dimness inside the giant building. My attempt at avoiding Franklin had managed one thing for sure: take my mind off Tate for once. The only sound in the barn was my heavy breathing after quickly disappearing into it. The faintness of light, the quiet… everything brought out the evil memories associated with this structure.

Listening carefully, I thought I heard his car rumble by as it headed up to his office. My shoulders relaxed and I let out a sigh of relief. With no one inside, and me having to pee, I stepped to a darkened corner and unzipped. Finally, my nerves gave way to a calmer feeling after releasing the long-held pee.

As soon as I zipped up my jeans and turned toward the supply shelves, the front door slid open about three feet and Franklin stepped inside, reaching behind him to shut the door he'd just come through. I was in a dark corner and knew his eyes hadn't adjusted yet, so I stepped backward slowly as I sought further obscurity.

He stood silently, waiting for his vision to adjust to the faintness of light, his head turning as he scanned the spacious interior. He knew I could be anywhere inside, but I also thought he wasn't sure I had actually entered the barn. One more step back and I would be completely hidden by darkness.

Every muscle in my body tensed as I bent slightly at the knees, keeping myself agile while I crept backward. I didn't think he saw me, so the further I was able to move toward the wall, the more the darkness swallowed me. With a bright-white shirt on, it was important not to catch a sliver of sunlight that shot through small holes in the roof overhead.

"One more step," I breathed, barely a whisper escaping my mouth.

I lifted my left foot and moved it backward above the dirt floor, maybe an inch off the ground, being very careful with where I stepped next. Franklin remained still, listening for signs. He had no idea I was hidden in plain view, mere feet away. He disgusted me with his heavy breathing and sloppy size. His body was outlined in the dim light like a fat side of beef.

I hope you die.Ever so slowly, I tapped the toe of my boot on the dirt before setting it down behind me. I needed to be sure the space was clear before I committed to taking the final step to the wall, where I could crouch down, melting into the shadows, and maintain my silence. My foot moved gently and then I felt resistance. I was there. One more step. Just one more tiny step. Set your foot down and…

The noise was deafening when I stepped on a rake; hitting me square on the back of the head before falling against a galvanized garbage bin to my right. I froze.

"So," Franklin hissed. "You are in here, boy."

I grabbed the back of my head, reeling from the severe whack I'd taken. My hiding spot had given me up and now my goose was cooked big time.

"Show yourself, Luke."

I stepped from the shadows, fear flooding my veins with adrenaline and dread. Franklin moved across the dirt floor, the spurs on his cowboy boots clinking with each step. I'd heard this sound many a time. Visions of horror, like tiny movie reels, played through my mind. He is here to hurt me again.

"Head up to the loft, boy," he growled. "You had some nerve showing up in my office the other day and pulling that stunt. I'm going to remind you who's in charge."

"I'd like you to leave me alone, sir," I stated, standing my ground instead of heeding his order.

Franklin kept moving closer, step by step. "Oh, you would, would you? Isn't that a novel idea coming from a sinner like you, Luke?"

"I mean it, sir. You will never touch me again," I asserted, fighting to keep my voice level. My arms lengthened down my sides, my fists curled into balls. My entire body was sprung tighter than a jack-in-the-box before surprising a three-year-old.

"‘You mean it, do you?'" he ridiculed. "And then what, punk? You're going to force me to suck your cock again? I'll admit it; I liked your chutzpah, but it's your turn this time. I'm going to enjoy tying your hands behind your back and fucking your filthy mouth, boy."

His words were shocking. He was a horrible person who did awful things, but he had never used words like that before. "I'm serious, sir. You will regret it if you lay one hand on me today, or any day going forward."

"Who you going to tell, boy? It sure won't be your daddy, being he had that awful accident," he said. "A damn shame about that, truly."

Franklin was three feet away from me now and his eyes were as icy as a winter creek. The man was dead inside, his posture unnerving. "Do not take another step," I warned. "I really mean it too. Your time hurting me has ended."

"We'll see about that boy," he hissed, reaching a hand toward the side of my neck.

I swatted his hand away and shoved him hard on his chest. He lurched backward but managed to stay standing, his eyes saucer-sized at my infraction.

"I warned you, Franklin."

He inhaled quickly, the use of his first name stunning him. "You dare to call me by my first name, boy? A big mistake on your part," he growled, lunging toward me.

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward me before side-stepping and slamming him into the wall behind me. He hit it hard, but he didn't fall. He turned to face me, anger apparent on his face as his mouth tightened. He removed his cowboy hat and tossed it on the ground.

"You really want to do this, Luke?"

"No, sir, I do not."

"Then on your knees, faggot." He brought his hand to his zipper and grinned like a madman. "This time it's your turn, so get on your knees and open wide, boy."

"Not a chance, Franklin," I spat, saying his name with disdain. "You're gonna have to make me this time, and I don't think you're going to like the result."

He took one step forward, his head shaking slowly back and forth, his hands positioned in front of him like he intended to strike me. "You little fucker," he hissed, lunging at me once again. But he missed.

I ducked out of his way and waited until he went by me, my leg kicking him square in the backside and sending him head over heel. I made my way to where he sat crumpled in a heap and stood over him.

"What else you got?" I asked. He was sitting up, but clearly surprised by how quick I was. "Get up and give me another excuse to beat you to a pulp."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he snarled, trying to get to his feet. "I will make your fucking life miserable, boy."

"Too late," I replied. "You've made my life miserable since I was thirteen, but guess what? Not anymore."

I watched as he got to his feet, swiping at his forehead and then his clothes. He looked angrier than a bucket of wasps, but once again he came toward me, his fist raised.

"I warned you," I muttered. He took his best shot, but I caught his fist mid-air, twisting it until I was able to grip his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. Once secure, I wrenched his arm behind his back and lifted it toward his mid-shoulders. I heard a cracking sound, and he cried out like a stuck pig. Moving closer to the back of his head, I hissed my next question. "What are you gonna do now?"

Franklin struggled, and he was a huge man, a man with substantial power, but I was running on adrenaline and a lifetime of pain. He'd underestimated my six-foot-four frame for the very last time. I think he was stunned that I had him under complete control with my own strength.

He turned his head to the side and revealed half of a nasty smile, sweat dripping from the end of his nose. "I suggest you release me, boy. Accidents tend to happen on farms, and I figured you, of all people, would remember that."

"I'm not afraid of you, Franklin," I stated. "I'm not the skinny little kid you molested all these years. And all those other boys you're hurting… well, let's just say they'll also grow up one day. So don't think I don't know about Josiah, and who knows who else you've hurt."

I could smell his foul breath. This wasn't the first time I'd had this man grunting and breathing in my face. "David is the same age you were when I first enjoyed your young flesh, Luke," he growled, still attempting to remove himself from my grip. "Young, smooth, little David. Your sweet, tight little brother. That tender boy has been on my mind a lot lately."

I brought my free hand around to the front of his throat and clenched tightly. His face did not change as he challenged me. I will never be able to explain why I smiled, but I did. His eyes widened. I think crazy understands crazy, and I was bordering on psychotic after hearing my brother's name come out of his mouth.

I raised my eyebrows, still smiling at him. "Want more?" I whispered. "Because I will end your life right here and right now if you say David's name again. Just nod your head if you'd like me to."

His face was bright red as he struggled for air, his hand ineffectively tugging at the hand around his neck. Fear entered his brain, and the result was beginning to show on his face. He wondered if I'd actually kill him.

"Yes, Franklin. I will kill you." He began to struggle violently as he realized I had the strength to do just that. I moved to within an inch of his frothing face. "Blink your eyes if you'd like to live," I whispered. "Or don't. Your choice."

He held my wrist as he struggled for a last breath, life disappearing from the eye I could see, but it blinked. Rapidly. I shoved him to the ground. He gasped wildly, fighting for breath, his chest heaving as he lay flat on his back.

"You will fucking regret this," he croaked, holding his neck. "You will pay, boy. Your entire mother-fucking family will pay."

I kicked his side three times before I squatted next to him, my knee digging into his fat stomach, and hovered over his face. "Listen to your disgusting mouth," I hissed, leaning into his gut harder. "You lay a hand on David or my mother, and I will kill you, Franklin."

I stood and stared at the pathetic man who had terrorized me for years. He didn't look so terrifying at the moment, but I knew the can of worms I'd just opened. My family's days were numbered. And that number was zero.

I turned to leave and found Josiah standing just inside the barn door. How long had he been there?