Time to Steal (11 page)

Keeping his back turned to the deputy, he said, “Where is my towel?”

“That comes in another two minutes. Turn around and look at me, please.”

Covering himself again, Ethan turned. Taylor had donned a pair of blue rubber gloves.

Ethan's heart rate doubled. “No,” he said.

“It's procedure,” Taylor said. “Nobody enjoys the cavity search, but—”

It
did
hurt. Oh, my God, it hurt so bad. And the monster laughed as Ethan yelled
.

“No!” Ethan shouted it this time.

Taylor seemed startled. “Come on, Ethan, don't—”

The color in the room changed in Ethan's head. Reality transformed into something unreal—unrooted. He knew it was impossible, but he was eleven years old again. But now he was big. Now he could defend himself.

He launched himself at the cop. Not the shithead predator deputy, but the nice one. The one named Taylor. Like Andy Taylor from Mayberry, the show that played without end on TVLand. The deputy was taller by a head, but Ethan knew a trick to make up the difference. As he lunged forward, he tucked his chin just a little and then on contact, thrust his head up under the deputy's jaw. He heard a snap, and he heard someone yell. It might have been Ethan's own howling, but he couldn't be sure.

They were on the wet floor now, bare skin against leather and hardware. Ethan threw punches and he received them, but he didn't feel anything. This was
not
going to happen to him again.

The space around him reverberated with noise and he saw more shoes and he felt more hands. He swung at as many of them as he could. His guts exploded as someone landed a kick, and then he saw the stick coming.

Darkness.