| Spiritual Fiction posted April 15, 2022 | Chapters: |
...4 5 -6- 7... 
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part of chapter 2
A chapter in the book Carter's Run
Chapter 2 - part 3
by DeboraDyess
| Background When a student shows up at Nick Fowler's door late one Friday night, Nick must decide how best to help him. |
"I'd say anytime, but you'd probably take me literally." Jonathon lowered his voice. "Find out what really happened to him for me. His story wouldn't have flown at the hospital. That's probably why he didn't want to go. I'm not too crazy about house calls and I hate being used as a lie detector but here it is; that wrist injury is inconsistent with taking a swing at someone, which means he's covering for somebody. I have a feeling I should call Child Protective on this one. You find out and you take care of it. It's your mess ...buddy."
Nick closed the door and turned back to Carter. The boy stared back, uncertainty making his face gaunt. "Need something for pain?" Nick asked.
Carter shook his head. "I'm fine," he said shortly.
"Well, then, let's get some blankets, a pillow, and bed you down for the night."
Carter frowned and seemed hesitant. He looked behind Fowler, at the closed door and Nick had the strangest feeling that the boy felt trapped. Carter stood up, the uninjured hand moving nervously at his side. "I don't want to be any trouble, Mr. Fowler. I've been too much already. I probably ought to go home, anyway."
Fowler began shaking his head before the boy finished his sentence. "I'm not letting you walk, Carter. We already know the streets aren't the safest place to be tonight. The buses aren't running this late, and I dropped my car off at the shop on the way home."
Carter's frown deepened.
Nick motioned toward the cordless phone on the mahogany coffee table beside him. "Drink your hot chocolate and call your folks. Tell them that you're okay. Jonathon's supposed to take me to the garage tomorrow and I'll take you home then ... if Jonathon's still talking to me tomorrow."
"It, um...it's too late to call. They both have to work tomorrow and I'll really be in trouble if I wake him up. Anyway, they'll just figure I'm sleeping at Martin's house again if I don't show up. It wouldn't be the first time we had a fight and I ended up there. In fact, it'll be the first time I didn't end up there."
Nick had no idea who Martin was -- he didn't know him from school -- but he shrugged. "You know your folks." Fowler was so tired that his mind seemed to be jumping through hoops just to keep him on his feet. He knew he needed to argue the point, to force the boy to call home, but he didn't seem to have the cognitive ability to make sense of it. He started to the hallway closet after the blankets. "Pillows are in my bedroom. Get one and I'll be back with the bedding in a minute."
"Mr. Fowler?" Carter's voice floated down the hall toward Nick, more anxious than Nick had ever heard any kid's voice before. "You're not..." He shifted uncomfortably. "You're not going to ... mess with me or anything, right?"
"Only your brain," Nick answered. He turned, smiling as he spoke and understood the full impact of the question only when he saw Carter's pale face. His lower lip trembled and he took a quick breath, trying, it appeared, to make it stop. The boy looked as if jumping through the picture window behind him was not out of the question if Nick answered the wrong way. When he realized that Carter was afraid of him Nick almost fell backward in shock. His mouth opened but for a minute no words would come out. "No!" he exclaimed, and repeated, "No! Did someone do that to you, Carter? Did someone ... hurt you ... like that?"Every training he'd had on dealing with this jumbled in his mind, refusing to fall into a logical order. He couldn't even think of the right way to ask the question.
"No," the boy whispered.
"Your step-father?"
"No." The boy's answer was low and solid and he looked directly into Nick's eyes. "He's never tried anything like that. He hasn't even hit me in a long time. Years."
Nick met his gaze and decided Carter was telling him the truth. "What made you ask me that?"
Carter shifted again and glanced at the door. "People just aren't nice to each other for nothing. There's always something in it for them...some kind of catch. I just want to know what it is upfront, that's all."
"Carter, if you didn't trust me why did you come here in the first place?"
"There wasn't anywhere else..." The boy's voice, barely audible, sounded tortured and defeated.
Nick stared at Carter for a minute, trying to weigh what he wanted to say. Surprise made it difficult to create an intelligent sentence. "No strings -- nothing in it for me. If you want to stay, you stay. If you think you'd be better off at home, I'll see if I can get a cab, and we'll try to get you there Your choice. It's that simple." It surprised him that he hadn't thought of a cab before and the idea jumped in front of him now, so obvious that he felt a little stupid and more sleep deprived than he'd realized.
Carter studied him like one would study a new species of spider, looking for any hint of what he might be about. Nick looked back steadily. After a minute Carter nodded, almost to himself. "Pillows are where?"
Nick gestured toward his bedroom door. "In there," he said. "Get whichever one you'd like." He grabbed a blanket off the shelf in the closet and stopped. "No, wait. Carter," he said. "You sleep in the bedroom. You can lock the door that way. I usually fall asleep out here on weekends anyway. You might as well sleep where maybe you'll feel safe."
"For real?" Carter sounded like the little boy Fowler figured he hadn't been in too many years.
Nick nodded. "For real."
"Thanks, Mr. Fowler." Carter studied his feet again, braving a glance up only when his teacher didn't respond.
Nick walked back up the short hall, blanket in hand, picked up his chocolate and went to the couch. "Pitch me a pillow, will you?"
Carter disappeared into the bedroom and returned a second later. He threw the pillow to his teacher. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fowler. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, and I don't really think you'd do anything like that."
Nick took a long drink of the now-cool cocoa.
Carter looked away. "It's just how it is."
"Not always, Carter. Not here." Nick retrieved the remote and turned the television back on. The doctors from ER raced about their fictional hospital in organized chaos. "Well, I'll be darned," Nick mused. "Look at that." He switched to Netflix, searched for something that might lull him to sleep and settled back on the couch. "Goodnight, Carter," he said quietly as the boy closed and locked the bedroom door.
Nick closed the door and turned back to Carter. The boy stared back, uncertainty making his face gaunt. "Need something for pain?" Nick asked.
Carter shook his head. "I'm fine," he said shortly.
"Well, then, let's get some blankets, a pillow, and bed you down for the night."
Carter frowned and seemed hesitant. He looked behind Fowler, at the closed door and Nick had the strangest feeling that the boy felt trapped. Carter stood up, the uninjured hand moving nervously at his side. "I don't want to be any trouble, Mr. Fowler. I've been too much already. I probably ought to go home, anyway."
Fowler began shaking his head before the boy finished his sentence. "I'm not letting you walk, Carter. We already know the streets aren't the safest place to be tonight. The buses aren't running this late, and I dropped my car off at the shop on the way home."
Carter's frown deepened.
Nick motioned toward the cordless phone on the mahogany coffee table beside him. "Drink your hot chocolate and call your folks. Tell them that you're okay. Jonathon's supposed to take me to the garage tomorrow and I'll take you home then ... if Jonathon's still talking to me tomorrow."
"It, um...it's too late to call. They both have to work tomorrow and I'll really be in trouble if I wake him up. Anyway, they'll just figure I'm sleeping at Martin's house again if I don't show up. It wouldn't be the first time we had a fight and I ended up there. In fact, it'll be the first time I didn't end up there."
Nick had no idea who Martin was -- he didn't know him from school -- but he shrugged. "You know your folks." Fowler was so tired that his mind seemed to be jumping through hoops just to keep him on his feet. He knew he needed to argue the point, to force the boy to call home, but he didn't seem to have the cognitive ability to make sense of it. He started to the hallway closet after the blankets. "Pillows are in my bedroom. Get one and I'll be back with the bedding in a minute."
"Mr. Fowler?" Carter's voice floated down the hall toward Nick, more anxious than Nick had ever heard any kid's voice before. "You're not..." He shifted uncomfortably. "You're not going to ... mess with me or anything, right?"
"Only your brain," Nick answered. He turned, smiling as he spoke and understood the full impact of the question only when he saw Carter's pale face. His lower lip trembled and he took a quick breath, trying, it appeared, to make it stop. The boy looked as if jumping through the picture window behind him was not out of the question if Nick answered the wrong way. When he realized that Carter was afraid of him Nick almost fell backward in shock. His mouth opened but for a minute no words would come out. "No!" he exclaimed, and repeated, "No! Did someone do that to you, Carter? Did someone ... hurt you ... like that?"Every training he'd had on dealing with this jumbled in his mind, refusing to fall into a logical order. He couldn't even think of the right way to ask the question.
"No," the boy whispered.
"Your step-father?"
"No." The boy's answer was low and solid and he looked directly into Nick's eyes. "He's never tried anything like that. He hasn't even hit me in a long time. Years."
Nick met his gaze and decided Carter was telling him the truth. "What made you ask me that?"
Carter shifted again and glanced at the door. "People just aren't nice to each other for nothing. There's always something in it for them...some kind of catch. I just want to know what it is upfront, that's all."
"Carter, if you didn't trust me why did you come here in the first place?"
"There wasn't anywhere else..." The boy's voice, barely audible, sounded tortured and defeated.
Nick stared at Carter for a minute, trying to weigh what he wanted to say. Surprise made it difficult to create an intelligent sentence. "No strings -- nothing in it for me. If you want to stay, you stay. If you think you'd be better off at home, I'll see if I can get a cab, and we'll try to get you there Your choice. It's that simple." It surprised him that he hadn't thought of a cab before and the idea jumped in front of him now, so obvious that he felt a little stupid and more sleep deprived than he'd realized.
Carter studied him like one would study a new species of spider, looking for any hint of what he might be about. Nick looked back steadily. After a minute Carter nodded, almost to himself. "Pillows are where?"
Nick gestured toward his bedroom door. "In there," he said. "Get whichever one you'd like." He grabbed a blanket off the shelf in the closet and stopped. "No, wait. Carter," he said. "You sleep in the bedroom. You can lock the door that way. I usually fall asleep out here on weekends anyway. You might as well sleep where maybe you'll feel safe."
"For real?" Carter sounded like the little boy Fowler figured he hadn't been in too many years.
Nick nodded. "For real."
"Thanks, Mr. Fowler." Carter studied his feet again, braving a glance up only when his teacher didn't respond.
Nick walked back up the short hall, blanket in hand, picked up his chocolate and went to the couch. "Pitch me a pillow, will you?"
Carter disappeared into the bedroom and returned a second later. He threw the pillow to his teacher. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fowler. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, and I don't really think you'd do anything like that."
Nick took a long drink of the now-cool cocoa.
Carter looked away. "It's just how it is."
"Not always, Carter. Not here." Nick retrieved the remote and turned the television back on. The doctors from ER raced about their fictional hospital in organized chaos. "Well, I'll be darned," Nick mused. "Look at that." He switched to Netflix, searched for something that might lull him to sleep and settled back on the couch. "Goodnight, Carter," he said quietly as the boy closed and locked the bedroom door.
Ah, this poor, neglected novel!
Story to date:
Carter Gibbs, a student of Nick Fowler, shows up at his teacher's condo lte one Friday night. It's clear he's scared, injured and looking for help. Against his better judgement, Nick invites him in. As the boy dozes on the couch, Fowler calls a friend, an ER doctor, to come check out the boy's injuries. Furious, Carter finally relents to the impromptu exam. The doctor finds some scrapes, a spiral fracture in Carter's wrist and what appears to be a broken orbit.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Story to date:
Carter Gibbs, a student of Nick Fowler, shows up at his teacher's condo lte one Friday night. It's clear he's scared, injured and looking for help. Against his better judgement, Nick invites him in. As the boy dozes on the couch, Fowler calls a friend, an ER doctor, to come check out the boy's injuries. Furious, Carter finally relents to the impromptu exam. The doctor finds some scrapes, a spiral fracture in Carter's wrist and what appears to be a broken orbit.
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