Page 8 of The Sound of Him

The thing he gave me was fuzzy soft and blue. It smelled clean, like when the sheets on the bed are new, and it was so warm when wrapped around me. It wasn’t from the room outside of my closet - it couldn’t have been. Nice things weren’t ever kept in that room. That's why I was there.

He handed me water next - clean and cool - then offered me something he called candy. It was sticky sweet and felt bright on my tongue. It made my head rush and my skin buzz. He said he was sorry that was all he had, promising he could get me something better soon. I couldn’t even imagine what could have been better. It wasn’t possible. Candy was the best thing ever.

Some of the conversation from that night is lost to me now, all these years later. I remember it felt like it took a long time before we stopped talking. He wanted to know if the lady was my mom. He wanted to know how long I’d been there. He wanted to know my name.

I didn’t know.

I saw the gun on his belt and asked if he was a police officer. I asked if he worked with Officer Trumbly and if he was there to give me another punishment. I remember the look on his face, the way his eyes did the shifting thing that usually meant I’d have bruises or blood on my skin soon, but he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t even yell. He just said, “No, I’m a soldier,” and “My name is Keaton,” and “No one is going to punish you. Not ever again.”

I think I cried when he said that. I don't remember who moved first, but we ended up in a hug, me in his big arms as he used one of his hands to gently rub my back through the blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

He had sounded so nice, so warm, when he said, “I've got ya now, Ace. You're alright. I'll keep you safe from here on.”

I trusted him.

Despite everything I'd been through, despite all the lessons I'd learned over the years to not believe anyone's kind words and promises, I had trusted him.

He never made me regret it. He never broke that promise.

Even after he brought me home to his brother, when I thought for sure Keaton had either lied or made a mistake because there was no way the man blowing up with anger wouldn't hurt me. I had tried preparing myself for all the different kinds of hurts I was used to from big and angry men, shoving down the acidic taste of disappointment that Keaton had been a liar. But nothing bad happened.

Keaton just let his brother yell and pace and growl, all the while keeping me in his arms, still wrapped in that blanket,safe. His brother's anger felt like a living thing that might reach out and take me, but Keaton was a shield. It was like he was magic. In his arms, I barely even felt afraid. I barely even thought about the kinds of bruises the brother's hands might leave, or the kinds of things he might like to do.

When Keaton finally interrupted the man's ranting by simply saying, “Kellan, this is one of thosethings,” like that meant something important, that was magic too. His brother stopped pacing, stopped yelling, and even stopped frowning.

Instead, he faced us and said in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Goddammit, Keaton. You and your bleeding heart, I fucking swear.”

Keaton had just smiled. It was more magic, Kellan softening beneath the expression, his lips almost forming a smile too.

“What's your name, kid?” Kellan had asked me then.

I had never had a nice name, only the mean ones. The ones that felt sticky on my skin and prickly in my chest. But Keaton had called me something no one else ever had and I found myself taking it for myself, the first of so many beautiful things. “I'm Ace.”

Keaton's arms had tightened around me, but not in a bad way. He looked at Kellan and said, “I told him I'd keep him safe.”

Kellan nodded slowly, then sighed. “I suppose we’ll be keeping him safe, then, won’t we?”

They did.

They did a whole lot more than that, too.

They used me for inspiration as they built something life-changing with their bare hands. Brick by brick, with a foundation of morality and vigilance, a framework of connections and wealth, built high with bravery and sacrifice, fortified with brutality and kindness, and sealed shut with not an ounce of wiggle room for corruption or incompetency. They forged it all in fire - a fire that came right from Keaton's heart.

They built the kind of something that forces heroes to be a little monstrous.

The kind of something that pulls little boys out of closets.

The kind of something that saves lives despite the bloodstains on their hands.

My story started with two brothers. It seems only fitting that when I finally got to play a part in the thing that they built, my first operation was all about a pair of brothers too.

There’s a lot on my plate in the first 24 hours post-operation.

I’m doing my job, then doing a little extra on the side as a favor to Travis. There was hardly a week of our operation when he didn’t collect a new name of a target or victim. We did our best to handle each one as quickly as possible, usually within days or weeks, but there were plenty that were impossible to do anything about until the collapse of the entire network we were working to take down.

He kept meticulous records, determined not to let any of those names slip through the cracks as time went on. He must have reviewed and updated them often, most of the folders worn down or bent in the corners, pictures and papers lightly smudged. I have a feeling these files were his touchstones, linking him to the light at the end of the tunnel.

I get that. Even before I was finally saved from that closet, I was clinging to touchstones. Music was my go-to, but there were others. The soft clothes that hung above my head that I wouldcarefully touch on the nights when my fingers were freshly cleaned. The glittering sunlight that would spill out from behind the billowing curtains when the air conditioning was on. The small teddy bear someone brought me with the bright red ribbon around his neck and his fuzzy little ears.