Never Tell Them, N.L. Hinkens [unputdownable books txt] 📗

clothing store. It was either the thrift store or try and wash what Henry was wearing. He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel. He couldn’t take Henry into the thrift store in the state he was in, and he couldn’t leave him in the truck either. Someone might catch a glimpse of him and alert the police. One look would be enough to tell an alert citizen that something was terribly wrong.

Ray drove to the far end of town where he’d spotted a small motel on his way in the day before. Judging by the dingy exterior, the staff weren’t likely to be too judgmental about the cleanliness of their clientele. Still, he would leave Henry in the truck while he checked in—better safe than sorry. He pulled up outside the office and switched off the engine. As an afterthought, he removed the keys from the ignition. ”Henry, I need to run inside for a couple of minutes. I want you to wait here. Don’t open the truck door, and don’t look out the window at anybody. In fact, you can hide on the floor if you want.” He felt bad for suggesting it, but he suspected Henry was used to squirreling out of sight on Tom’s command. He unplugged Henry’s seatbelt and squeezed his shoulder. “Be a good boy, I’ll be right back.”

It wasn’t as if he really trusted Henry not to press his face to the glass and stare out at any passersby, but he could keep an eye on him easily enough from the office through the oversized glass window. To his surprise, the minute he stepped inside the motel, Henry slid to the truck floor. Ray twisted his lips. Evidently, the child wasn’t willing to risk the consequences of disobeying an order. Ray dreaded to think what those consequences might have been.

After procuring the room key, he drove to the other end of the motel where he’d requested a room next to the laundry facilities. He grabbed his backpack and, after a quick glance around to make sure no one was ogling them, ushered Henry inside their room. It was standard cheap motel fare, a dark forgiving carpet to disguise every bodily fluid on the spectrum, a heavily patterned bedspread to serve the same function, a pair of mismatched rickety nightstands, an archaic-looking television, an ugly, and extremely loud, wall heater, and a chipped and scarred desk with a lamp that looked like it had been knocked over one too many times.

Ray turned on the television and found a cartoon channel. Henry immediately sank down on the floor and leaned against the end of the bed staring up at the screen with his mouth hanging open. It was obvious he’d never seen a television before. Ray took the opportunity to gently undress him, horrified to see the remnants of bruises on his back. He was tempted to ask Henry about them, but hesitant to upset him—it could wait until morning. By then, he would have made his decision on what to do.

“Stay here,” Ray said to him. ”I’ll be right back.”

He hurried next door to the laundry room and tossed Henry’s clothes, sneakers and all, into the washing machine, trying not to gag at the offensive odor, like the breath of death itself, that emanated from them. As he set the machine to run, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything, other than a granola bar, since breakfast. As soon as he got Henry looking halfway presentable, he would head back out and pick up something to eat. They couldn’t sit inside a restaurant until he got Henry some decent clothes that fit properly. Maybe they should make a run to the thrift store.

His mind was going in circles, wondering if he’d done the right thing. After all, he had no legal claim on Henry. He’d abducted a child—broken the law. Granted, it was his own nephew, but this was the first time he’d set eyes on him. No judge would look favorably on what he’d done, no matter how good his intentions had been. Not to mention the fact that he’d assaulted the child’s father. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he’d inserted himself into a bad situation and made it worse.

By the time he finally coaxed Henry away from the television and into the bath, the water had turned cold. But that was the least of Ray’s concerns. He felt sick to his stomach as he took a closer look at the tell-tale bruises on Henry’s tiny torso, confirming what he’d feared most. Tom had been physically abusing his son. His own childhood had turned him into a monster. Bile oozed its way up Ray’s throat. It would have been easier to learn that his brother had overdosed in a gutter somewhere. Tears tracked down his cheeks as he rubbed a washcloth gently over Henry’s back. To his relief, the child seemed to enjoy the sensation, and quickly took to the water, splashing, and playing with the bubbles the cheap bath gel made.

In the end, it took even more persuasion to get Henry out of the bath than it had to get him in. After entertaining himself happily for half an hour, he’d completely soaked the floor, evoking a strong aroma of mold. Judging by the telltale spots in the corners of the ceiling, a half-hearted attempt had been made to paint it over. It didn’t make the prospect of overnighting here any more appealing, and Ray was tempted to abandon his plan and drive back to his own home in Richmond. But until he had come to a firm decision on what to do about Henry, he needed to stay in Booneville.

After dressing him, Ray took Henry by the hand and led him back out to the truck. The clothes he had pulled from the dryer still looked somewhat stained, but they smelled significantly better. They would have to do for now. He drove back