Sal awoke the next morning, completely drained of energy and with Jack’s feet in his face. They'd ordered pizza and talked all evening. After Rosie had left, the rest of the party switched on the PlayStation. They experienced intense gun battles, dramatic train robberies, bounty hunting, and duels during a time of violent change as John Marston struggled to bury his blood-stained past, one man at a time.
Carl had been fortunate enough to crash on his bed, while Sal had fallen asleep on the couch with Jack.
Sal pushed Jack’s feet aside and sat up on the couch. He was exhausted, and he blinked a few times to get fully awake. Sal took his cell phone from the table to look at the time—it was seven am.
He thought for a moment about the night before. It had been strange but wonderful. What was it that Carl had said? Something about being a mind-reader. Was it really mind reading? Maybe he was just very intuitive.
How had he obtained this skill? Who was he? His pounded with all of the questions.
Someone grabbed his hand, pulling him out of his state of mind. "Dude, I never thought we'd sleep together like this. Half of the population's going to be so jealous of me.” Jack smiled at him roguishly.
“I knew we had something special when you appeared before me in your birthday suit at the gym.”
“Jack, you'll always be my first,” Sal replied without looking at him.
Carl snickered from under the covers of his bed. “Just keep your hands where I can see them.”
Feet were stomping overhead, calling out the morning like a rooster to the rising sun.
“Man, I am so not ready for morning yet," Jack said, rubbing his eyes. “And I need a shower.”
“I think we all do. It is the damn heat,” Sal said. "Come on, Jack, I’ll get you a towel.”
“Use bathrooms and shower after one or another, please," Carl yelled after them as they went up the stairs.
Thirty minutes later, the three musketeers—Sal, Carl, and Jack—were sitting at the kitchen table, devouring pancakes. “Did you have a nice night?” Sal’s mother asked.
The threesome looked at each other, not sure how to answer. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Williams,” Jack finally replied. “Nothing beats video games and pizza.”
Sal felt conflicted inside. He couldn’t tell his parents anything as they probably had their reasons for not telling him anything, but why did there have to be that gap between them? They'd always been a happy family, always sticking together. His parents had never treated him any differently than their other kids—they'd just expand the surrounding space as necessary.
They'd never felt the need to explain or hide his appearance to anyone. He was a Williams—it was that simple.
Angel nuzzled his hand, breaking his line of thought. Sal smiled at the dog and went out into the yard where he tossed a ball around. Angel always made him feel better.Angel wasn’t impressed when Sal tried to fool her by pretending to throw the ball. She started to bark like crazy and galloped to the far end of the yard. Sal stared in the dog's direction—perhaps a squirrel or hedgehog had taken her attention—but then, out of the corner of his eye, Sal seemed to recognize something.
Sal got up and leaned against the fence door. Angel went over to him and calmed down when she felt Sal’s warm, soothing hand on her head. Sal was almost sure someone in a green sweatshirt had been watching him from afar.
He climbed up onto the fence as his brother’s voice reverberated somewhere from inside the house and down through the yard. “Yo, Sal: we need to go. I don’t want to be late. They’ll make me go see the Mackeys again.”
Sal climbed back down from the fence and gazed one last time out between the bushes and trees where he was sure someone had been watching him. He trotted back through the yard up to the house where Carl was waiting impatiently. Sal made sure Angel had enough to drink, and he followed Carl out to the minibus where Jack was waiting for them.
The heat was turned up pretty high, and it felt as if the minibus was sticking to the melting asphalt as they drove through the neighborhood. Sal didn’t wave or blow kisses that morning as his mind was far too occupied. He could feel Carl studying him.
They drove up to the school and Sal parked the minibus. The parking lot looked like a big desert, with people in it who had been walking for hours on a flat, featureless, dangerous, and hot landscape before seeking refuge in the shadows.
Sal, Jack, and Carl stood for a minute by the bus, observing the scene play out in front of them. It was incredible how things could change so much in just one day.
They walked unusually slow, making their way to the school entrance as if they were frightened they might attract unnecessary attention or stand out in the crowd. Their brains struggled to figure out their next move. Carl kept an eye out for Louise, as well. He was devastated by the fact that neither he nor Alan was the father to her baby, but why would she lie?
What the hell was going on?
Sal wasn’t the same, either. The fact that he was so obviously different burned a hole in his heart. He had to find someone who possessed the answers to his burning questions.
The trio walked mechanically up the stairs to the main entrance, as if under hypnosis. When they got inside the hall, something flickered at the back of Sal’s mind, something pressing desperately to get his attention. He looked around the hall, which was filling up with people who'd rather be elsewhere. A heavy silence settled over him as he concentrated on the light igniting in his mind, and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He felt painfully out of place as he moved nearer to one of the windows and away from the traffic in the hall.
That was when Sal noticed him—his green, hooded, faceless attacker, at the far end of the street, across from the school, and his body stiffened.
Sal collected himself, dropped his backpack, and pushed his way through the crowd of students entering the school. He heard Carl behind him, yelling after him to stop.
Like a runner at the sound of the starting gun, Sal darted out the door and down the stairs as fast as his long legs could carry him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Sal grunted as he followed his target’s grueling pace without complaint. He didn’t know where he was headed. All he did know was he had to keep running forward, without stopping for anything.
Who the hell was that guy?
As he ran, his mind practically burst with questions, trying to make sense of things. He moved past astonished people and the morning traffic and crossed the street where he'd last seen the guy.
Sal continued his chase downtown in the direction of Serenity Park. It wasn't too long before his eyes spotted his stalker further up the road. The green sweater urged him to go on as he raced along, jumping obstacles as they appeared.
He approached a traffic junction and watched as his target crossed the street as the light switched from green to yellow, and he considered, for a fraction of a second, if the guy was worth risking his neck for before he continued, full speed, through the junction.
The chase was on; he couldn’t stop now.
Sweat poured from his face and body, soaking his t-shirt and making his hair stick to his skin. He felt as if he were roasting. As he crossed on the red light, people in the cars stepped hard on their brakes, leaving skid marks behind them. Horns honked loudly, and a bus barely missed him, leaving its passengers startled.
While the world passed by him in a blur of red and yellow lights, Sal continued running without looking back, the sound of his sneakers pounding on the asphalt drowned out by the noise from the frustrated drivers.
Sal kept scanning his surroundings as he kept pace, afraid to lose his target, who ran inside Serenity Park. Sal followed. He felt like a bloodhound with a strong and tenacious tracking instinct, hot on the trail of an escaped prisoner, the gravel crunching beneath his feet.
After another few minutes of frantic running, dashing blindly, and avoiding obstacles, he was close to his target. Three more leaps and Sal would be able to tackle him. Salty drops of sweat dripped into his eyes and tasted salty on his lips.
Sal prepared to attack. He was about to strike when he was sent flying in a Superman pose, slamming hard into the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Sal found it difficult to draw breath for what seemed like ages. When he finally gained the ability to breathe, he gazed at his feet and discovered he'd been betrayed by his long shoelaces, which had untied themselves during the chase. He saw his target stop up ahead and writhe with laughter as if in a state of intoxication, the sound of it like nails on a blackboard to Sal's ears.
Sal clenched his fists in anger, tied his shoelaces, and rose to his feet, but by the time he'd gotten up, his target was gone. He hurried to the corner where his target had been taunting him, but there was no sign of him. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. He'd had been so close.
He rested his head in his hands. Sal was beside himself. He began to walk away from the scene, angry as hell. Sal had to walk all the way back to the high school. The adrenaline and the focus of the hunt had left him fatigued. There was a burning sensation in his throat, growing steadily stronger and harder to ignore as he walked on.
A long, cool draught of water was what he needed; he remembered the drinking fountains in the park. He felt like an idiot as he walked back to the park, searching for water as if it were a wishful dream.
Sal found a drinking fountain near the skate ramp and drank deeply. He felt less tense once his body had been hydrated. Sal wiped his hand across his mouth and gazed at a couple of female joggers passing by him.
He concluded it was time to get back to school. If he was lucky, he could avoid the Mackeys' watchful eyes.
Sal started his way back to the school less angry and more clear-headed. He'd come close this time. It seemed as if he didn’t have to look for these people, that they would always find him, and the next time they did, he'd be ready.
The first thing he did when he found himself back at school was to take off his sneakers and let his toes breathe. Then, he got another drink of water. Oddly enough, his backpack was right where he'd left it by the window, and he picked up his phone.
There were a few unanswered calls and text messages.
Carl: What the fuck, Sal? Where are you? Text me when you read this.
Rosie: Carl is worried. Where are you? Are we still going to see Louise?
Jack: I think you broke the Olympic record today. Call your brother.
Unknown: Strong and without fear. See ya later, Sal.
Sal texted his friends and brother, telling them he'd explain things to them later, and that he was going home. He put his phone back into his backpack, put on his sneakers, and was ready to head to the minibus when a stepped out from his hiding spot behind a big plant.
It was Manfred Stone, the king of steroids, as Carl used to say.
“I thought you might return. That’s why I asked the other students to leave your bag where it was. I told them I'd keep an eye on it.”
“Thanks,” Sal said without looking at Manfred, and he turned to leave, which provoked Manfred.
“Your brother wasn’t fond of leaving it there, but I convinced him. We can’t have students just up and leave as they please.”
“I know. Please excuse me.” Sal said brushing him off heading for the exit.
Manfred’s voice changed. It sounded like a stick of dynamite, sizzling as it prepared to go off. “Don’t they teach you any manners in that freak circus you call home?”
Sal dropped his backpack and turned around, looking at Manfred in disbelief. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Are you deaf as well as ugly? I said your brother's just a poor loser, but you take the cake. You think you have them all fooled but not me. You're nothing but a freak." Manfred snarled more than he spoke.
“In a few years, you and your brother will be working for me in the school cafeteria." Manfred chuckled.
Sal hooked his thumbs into his pants and fixed on the former marine with a glare that could've frozen the Atlantic Ocean. “What do you make an hour, Manfred? Fifteen dollars?” Sal said roughly.
Manfred stood there with hard, staring eyes as they circled one another like trained boxers. “You're way out of line, Williams. I'll take this to Principal Johnson, that you can be sure off. You've broken several school rules.” Manfred seemed to feel as if he had the upper-hand again.
Sal’s mind produced information, subliminal messages, floating back and forth like items on an assembly line. The gateway fully opened, and Sal started to search for weak spots inside of Manfred. His mind found a leak. He went inside and treaded water in a sea of deadly information.
“And what, exactly, are you going to tell him?" Sal asked. "Maybe why you were kicked out of the army? Are under-aged strippers still your thing?” Sal spoke carefully and without drama.
Manfred looked as if the rug had been pulled away under him.
Sal’s mind packed words in a powerful punch. “Or how about telling Principal Johnson about your top ten search on Google, number one being: 'Why is my penis so small? How can I make it longer? Thicker?'"
For a minute it looked as Manfred had tears in his eyes.
“Your voice makes you insecure. It's a little higher than you'd like for it to be,” Sal continued.
“How do you…?” Manfred made a sounded like he was choking.
“And before I forget, you’re gay and still in the closet! I wonder if that male prostitute would still be able to recognize you.”
Manfred surrendered. He sat down on a wooden bench, tucked his knees to his chest, put his elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands.
With a barely concealed smirk, Sal turned on his heels and walked away.
Check and mate.