Chapter 2: Chapter 2
He was free.
He would find a doorway in Belltown, the close-to-downtown neighborhood, and curl up in layers of fleece and denim, and perhaps tomorrow would dawn a brighter day—and a more prosperous one.
He began trudging away from the waterfront and toward the market and Post Alley, looking forward to being away from his makeshift workplace, to eating some pho, and finding a quiet place where he could sleep for a while.
The walk toward food and possible shelter was all uphill and Beau wished he had not left it so late to attempt to find either. Quickly, as it did in winter, the sun beat a hasty retreat behind the mountains, barely noticeable anyway behind its thick shield of dark clouds—and now it had fallen to dull dark, the only illumination the artificial lights of the city.
Beau squared his broad shoulders, looking forward to sitting down for a while in the little Vietnamese restaurant, Pho Bac, near the downtown Greyhound station. He could practically taste the savory, star-anise flavored broth as he trudged uphill toward downtown, imagining the steaming noodles wrapped around chopsticks, the Thai basil, bean sprouts, and mint leaves floating in the soup, the tender pieces of beef tendon.
Simple thoughts like these kept him going, kept his mind off the ache in his shoulders and back from lugging around virtually everything he owned.
He was so focused on food, as hungry people often are, that he didn’t notice the two strangers trailing him. They were young men about Beau’s own age, but lacking his delicate, fragile, yet manly grace and beauty. These two were thugs, apparent in the cockiness of their walks, the fierceness of their frowns framed by dark stubble, and their attire, which leaned toward too-baggy jeans, hoodies, and heavy, steel-toed boots.
When Beau at last did spy the pair out of the corner of his eye, it was too late to do anything about avoiding them. He had already slipped down an alley, planning a shortcut to the pho restaurant, and there, the bricked pavement was barely visible among the claustrophobic shadows.
Beau was not too weary to tense when he first felt, then spied, the men. They were too close, too quiet, to simply be passing the same way as he. He had lived on the street long enough to be able to tell the difference between ill intent and coincidence.
He began talking to himself in his mind, trying to ward off the panic and the fear. Why would they bother you? You have nothing. You’re probably poorer than they are.
But Beau knew he had art supplies and a leather satchel that would be worth something in a pawnshop. And if these two were hungry for their next fix of horse or Tina, they might be willing to take him down, even though it would be easier to rob someone who had some cash on him or at least looked like he did.
Don’t let them know you sense their presence. Don’t hurry. Don’t run. Just walk at a normal pace. Maybe you will get to the mouth of the alley—and brighter light—before they overtake you. Perhaps they will see you for the bad prospect you are.
Perhaps they don’t care. Perhaps they, fueled by whatever chemicals are thrumming in their systems, get off on pain and cruelty. And here you are—alone and isolated—just as beasts prefer their prey.
Beau tried to swallow, but found his mouth had gone dry. His heart was beating at twice its normal rate. In spite of the damp and the chill, he felt a crawly trickle of sweat run down his back on insect legs.
He was almost to the end of the alley when he sensed them coming closer, heard their throaty, whispered laughter.
Had one of them called him a faggot?
Was it that obvious?
At last, Beau started to run and that was when he knew—for sure—he was in trouble.
He heard their pace pick up to match his own.
The mouth of the alley, the streetlights, the buses and other passing traffic, were only a few feet away, but Beau would never get to experience them because it was then he felt the blow, hard, to the back of his head.
His vision blurred. He dropped to his knees and could hear only laughter. He braced himself for another strike before everything went black. 2
When Beau awakened, he wondered if he had arrived in heaven. No, there were no angels strumming harps, clouds underfoot, or St. Peter standing at the Pearly Gates.
But what was before his eyes was something unexpected and something, well, plushbeyond Beau’s wildest imaginings. He sat up slightly in the large bed he was lying in. Rich, thick sheets slithered to his waist; a fluffy white down comforter was folded up at the foot of the bed. He surveyed the room he was in, despite the pain such movement caused to rise up in his head. It felt like a little man with an ice pick was wielding it behind his eyes, rhythmically striking again and again and again.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone