Jane looks ridiculous in Earl's gigantic shirt. It drags the ground around her feet as she plods back down the hall in front of you—doing her utmost not to trip on it. Of course, you must look equally funny since the one you're wearing is nearly trailing the floor on you and the cuffs dangle nearly a foot below your hands.

"I bet you two are starving," Martha says in a chipper tone, "Come on in the kitchen and you can eat some breakfast with us. It's almost ready. All I gotta do is set out two more places."

When you step through the door, you can't believe your eyes. You've never seen so much food on a table at one time. There are biscuits, eggs, both bacon and sausage, fried potatoes and gravy, and most of a left over ham in which a few slices have already been cut. There's a big block of butter and a loaf of light bread. Arranged next to each plate, is a bowl of oatmeal, a short glass of orange juice and a heavy round glass with a foot and stem full to the top with fresh milk.

You can't imagine how any more could even fit on the table without things tumbling off on the floor, but Martha does just that when she sets a place for you and Jane. And the table doesn't look any more heaped than it did already.

The four of you sit down and before you dig in, the elderly couple takes hold of each of your hands and bows their heads.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty," says Earl with his eyes closed, and squeezing your hand he adds, "And thank you for bringing us these dear little ones that they may share in our feast. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," parrots Martha as she reaches out and starts heaping food on your and Jane's plates before she even does her own.

Everything is so, so delicious and you cram in more than you ever have in your entire life. Jane is stuffing food in and matching you bite for bite. Earl and Martha pick at theirs and appear to be enjoying watching the two of you eat.

When you finally push back from your plate it looks as if it has barely even been touched, but your belly feels like an overripe melon. There's no way you could possibly poke in another spoonful.

Your eyes have a mind of their own and you watch as the dinner table quickly disappears. You start to slump forward and are prevented doing a face-plant into your plate by Earl's massive hand. As everything goes black, you hear him chuckle and say "I guess this little guy's had plenty."

"So has this one," laughs Martha.



You are startled awake by a loud rapping on a door. You find yourself half-sunken into a big fluffy bed and Jane has an arm and a leg draped over you. Her warmth is so comforting and you don't want to move out of this very spot. The shades are drawn and let in only a pinstripe of blinding light making everything else in the room too dark to make out.

"They're sleepin' in the back room," you hear Martha say, "Poor little dears were starving and plumb tuckered out."

"Do you know who they belong to?" asks a strange man's voice.

"They wouldn't say. I s'pose they've run off and I can't blame 'em. They're jus' skin 'n bones."

"Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of it."

The door cracks open and spills light into your eyes.

"Oh, you're awake," Martha says quietly, flicking on the light. "There's someone here that wants to talk to you. Let me get you your clothes so you can get dressed. They're all clean and dry now."

After Martha has closed the door, you shake Jane awake. "Someone's here to talk to us," you tell her.

"Who is it? What do you think they want?"

"I dunno."

Martha comes back in and lays your clothes out on the foot of the bed. "Hurry and get dressed and you all come on out."

"Who is it?" Jane repeats to Martha, but she closes the door without answering.

You both heave yourselves over and roll off opposite sides of the bed and drag your clothes on, leaving Earl's crumpled shirts behind.



You follow Jane down the hall and she freezes as she steps into the front room. You lean forward, peering around her and see a policeman framed in the outside doorway. He's wearing a brown and khaki uniform and has a star pinned above his breast pocket.

"Step in here so I can get a better look at you," says the deputy.

You both take tentative steps into the room—being careful to keep your distance.

"I don't think I've seen either of you before. Where are you kids from?"

You look at Jane and her face is like stone. The policeman would probably take Jane back to her house so her mom could hit on her some more. It might be for the best if you stay silent and not tell him anything.

After a couple of minutes, the deputy takes you each by the arm and says "Well, I guess we'll have to do this the hard way then. Come on and let's go."

You and Jane are ushered along and both of you walk stiff-legged out to his car.

"You kids take care of yourselves," calls Martha from the porch as the car door is being closed behind you. You look over and see her and Earl waving to you, but you don't feel at all like waving back.



You've been sitting on hard wooden chairs in the station for quite some time. Beyond the little glass window to the next room, you see several people moving around and you hear the occasional crackle of static mixed with garbled speech every now and then.

"We should run away," whispers Jane without turning to you, "before they can take us back."

"They'll just catch us," you whisper back, "We don't even know where we are."

"I can't go back home now. I have to find Gramma."

"You should tell them where she lives so they'll take us there."

"They won't. They'll only take us home."

"Not if you tell 'em how mean your mom is to you."

"They don't care none about that. They always take me back home."

You stay put

The door suddenly opens and the deputy who brought you in steps through. "Looks like you two have come a long way. How in the world did the two of you manage to get more than eighty miles from your home?"

Jane doesn't respond and you only shrug your shoulders slightly.

"I guess it doesn't matter. There'll be someone here shortly to drive you back. And I'm sure there will be a lot of questions for you two."



A couple of hours later, you are back to your town. It was a long, quiet ride and neither you nor Jane gave more than a yes or no answer to the man that drove you. You only looked at each other attempting to communicate with only your eyes. All that she—and you, no doubt—could convey was sadness and a sense of hopelessness of the situation.

You sit slumped—craning your neck to peek through the patrol car's rear window—and watch as the officer who ran you and Jane out of the abandoned house a couple nights ago turns away from Jane and her mother, and walks back to the car. No sooner than his back is turned does she turn and shove Jane inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

The officer throws a glance over his shoulder, but doesn't break stride as he continues on his way.

After he closes his car door, you say "Is she gonna hit Jane?"

He turns sideways in his seat and looks back at you. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's not able to sit down for a week after pulling a stunt like this. Do you understand how dangerous it was for the two of you out there all alone? We're lucky that we found you before something bad happened to you. You don't know what some people are capable of doing to children."

"She hates Jane. I don't want her to hit her anymore."

"No mother hates her own child. She's just having a rough time raising her on her own—being a single mother and all."

"You don't know."

"Listen. I'll swing back by after I drop you off and look in on her, okay?" He starts the engine and pulls it into gear. "Everything will be back to normal as soon as this mess blows over."



As you pull into the drive, the door opens and your mom steps out on the porch. She rushes over to the patrol car and snatches you by the arm—dragging you out and pulling you close—as soon as the policeman opens the rear door.

"Here he is, safe and sound. No one knows how those two managed to make it so far away on their own."

"He's always been a handful. I can barely keep up with him most of the time. An' with this new job, I'll have to work extra hard at it, I guess," she says, flashing her eyes at you over a wan smile. "I'm just glad he's home."

"That's why we're here, ma'am. Glad to be of service."

He walks with you to the door of the garage and watches as the two of you step inside.

"Thanks again, Officer," your mom says, ushering you in and closing the door.

"You're quite welcome," he says, turning around and walking back the way he came.

She lifts the corner of the vinyl curtain to watch him get into his patrol car and pull out of the driveway. When she turns around to you, her face is a deep shade of red and skewed beyond all recognition.

"If things are so bad here that you felt the need to run away, then why didn't you just stay gone!?"

You don't have an answer. You take a step to the rear as she lifts the solid metal rod from the window and yanks it free of the curtain.

She is on you before you even know it—whipping you side to side like a terrier does a rat by a handful of hair in one hand while she whacks at your butt and the back of your legs with the curtain rod in the other. Every so often, an errant strike lands in the small of your back and your vision momentarily goes black. You can feel it cut deep and glance off bone with each blow.

"Why can't you do anything right? Why do you always have to go out of your way to make me mad?"

You try to lessen the blows by deflecting them with your palms, but it only forces her to swing harder. The flesh on the underside of your hands soon feels tight and swollen, and you no longer have control enough to maneuver them into a position of any benefit at all.

All you can do is grit your teeth and bear the pain. If you make even the slightest sound of whimpering, she'll "give you something to really cry about".

The stinging pain finally lessens as your vision fades and grows more and more distant as the world goes dark around you.



You don't know how long you've been lying here in the darkness. Your whole body throbs from one end to the other and you want nothing more than to return to sleep.

What about Jane? She was right. You and she need to just run away together and find her Gramma or else somebody nice to take care of the two of you. You don't have a choice anymore. You know that now. Your mom will end up killing you if you don't get away.

You slowly open your eyes. You drag your arms under you and shove yourself to your knees.

You see no sign of your mom and can only guess that she has gone back to the party in Honey's house.

You pick yourself up off the floor. You can't straighten your legs and your back is in an uncontrollable hunch, but you manage to maintain your balance and not topple over despite the impossible angle you are leaning.

One determined step after another, you make your way to the door.

The curtain is now back in its place over the window. You look at it for what seems like a long time debating whether or not to do something about that impromptu weapon. It would do absolutely no good, though, because she'd just grab something else to use on you the next time.

You reach out and grip the knob with all the strength you can muster. It doesn't give easily, but you manage to turn it enough that the latch lets go. You hobble on one foot through the open doorway into the bright afternoon sun and pull the door closed behind you.

You can hear music coming from Honey's house, but don't see any movement through the windows. You limp around the garage and through the back yard to the alley.



It's about mid-afternoon by the time you reach Jane's house. The place looks closed up tight. After calling into the "secret place" and getting no response, you amble up to the front door and rap on it several times with the same result.

Where could she be?