Evening up the score
The story so far: Ben is haunted by matches that the evil Joe Pastore keeps leaving for him to find. He knows he’s not a firebug like his dad, but he isn’t fitting in at Wind Rider Farms, either.
n CHAPTER ELEVEN
Evening up the score
Ben ate a solitary dinner in the kitchen, gulping a cheese sandwich at the sink. He didn’t know where Rachel was. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. It was Saturday night, after all, and she had friends in Saratoga. She was probably having a great time, never giving one thought to him. When he closed his eyes he could picture them sitting at the table, talking together while condensation trickled down the outsides of their lemonade glasses and crickets played their violins …
It would never happen. She thought he was dangerous, but all he was was miserable. Besides, the Brennans were probably going to send him away. They weren’t going to take any more chances; he wouldn’t see her again after he left. Maybe it was better, going back to the city. He didn’t belong here. Family Services might stick him in some group home, but at least he’d be with kids more like himself. With the last bite of his sandwich, he tipped his head under the faucet and drank icy water from the tap. The cold spread through his body.
He left the kitchen, the screen door slapping behind him. Some of the dogs were loafing in the grass, and they raised their heads to watch him pass. They thumped their tails, but didn’t follow.
Animals didn’t care who your parents were. They judged you by your actions. Ben remembered the quiet comfort of the barn, but didn’t know if he could bring himself to go in there to the scene of his fall from grace. He wandered among the outbuildings, wanting to go into the barn, but not quite being able to do it. For a moment, he wondered what the old barn had looked like – the one that Joe had burned down. What had it been like to start the fire, to watch it crackle through the hay, the flames coiling up through the rafters? Why would anyone do that? Had it given Joe a feeling of power? Was that what his father liked, the power?
Deep in thought, Ben rounded the corner and stepped into a zone of coldness that stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t move. He knew Joe was near, but he could do nothing to avoid him. He fought the certainty that Joe was Joe Pastore. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.
“Whatcha doin’?” Joe asked, stepping into view.
Ben was unable to speak. Ripples of dread snaked through him, and a sour taste formed in his mouth. Looking at Joe now, he knew this was not life; this was a dead thing, and it was filled with evil.
Joe picked up a pebble and threw it against the tractor, where it ricocheted with a ping. “Sorry to see you’re not out with the beautiful Rachel tonight,” he said, and gave Ben a dirty wink.
“Shut up!” Ben choked out.
“Did you really think she’d go for you?” Joe needled. “Face it. There’s no justice. Everybody always talks about fairness, but haven’t you ever noticed that some people get more than others, for no good reason? More money, more friends, more good luck?”
“Look, I’m not five years old, I know life isn’t always fair,” Ben said. He managed to free himself from the paralysis that had gripped him, and he staggered to the fence. Out in the pasture, Go By Wind was eating grass.
Without seeming to move, Joe was now straddling the fence and leering down at Ben. His eyes glittered like coals, and the smoke smell grew strong. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Take those rescue horses. The Brennans are at some party tonight to raise money for them, right? I bet it’s a hundred dollars a plate just to take care of a bunch of slowpoke nags. Anyone ever have a charity party for you?”
“No.”
“See what I mean? And you’re a human being, not a stupid horse. Anyone ever offer to help your family out?”
Ben thought of his mother, dead, and his father, stuck in prison. Nobody had ever taken the trouble to lend them a hand, it was true.
“Look at that horse,” Joe continued, piling new layers onto Ben’s misery. “This is the race of his life coming up – he wins, and he’ll be worth a fortune in stud fees. You know any guys like us worth a fortune?”
Ben tried to tune the voice out, but he couldn’t. Joe went on relentlessly, his words sliding around inside Ben’s skull like poison even though he had his hands over his ears.
“And you know why he’ll be worth so much? Breeding. You get a winner, you breed more winners. Everybody in this business is looking for bloodlines. You keep breeding the winners and putting the losers down. Those people that ditch their slow horses, that’s what they’re doing. Nobody wants to breed a glue factory – all you get is another dud.”
“Yeah, I take your point,” Ben said, his jaw clenched. It was clear what Joe was getting at. They were the losers. The slow horses. The Brennans would never think of him any other way. “So, I’m a loser. There isn’t anything I can do to change it.”
Joe shrugged. “Maybe you can’t change it, but don’t you ever want to get back at them? Just – you know – ” He fished a book of matches out of his pocket and fiddled with it absently. “Even up the score?”
n NEXT WEEK: A Meeting at the Track