He stopped four times on the ten hour trip—twice to piss and twice to steal and change license plates. Every time he passed a police or sheriff’s car, he broke out into a cold sweat, but he never saw flashing lights. No one stopped him. Once he ditched the main highways for the twisting roads through the Appalachian mountains, he let himself relax by degrees.

As relaxed as he could get, considering his destination.

Chosenone wasn’t listed on any maps, not even the one specific to Columbia County. Somehow, though, Gray knew where he was going. He instinctively turned right or left, or kept going on course. Nothing about the final hour of his trip was rational, and yet it was the most natural thing in the world. Chosen was calling him home.

On a hilly road in the middle of nowhere, he turned left onto a cracked and weedy bit of asphalt marked by a Dead End sign. The road came to a stop several hundred yards down at a roadblock. The block had probably begun as two saw horses across the pavement with the words Road Closed painted on each. Now debris, small plants, and several large rocks served as an impediment to his goal.

He turned off his stolen Jeep and cleared the way, moving one of the saw horses and enough of the debris for his vehicle to pass through unimpeded. Putting the block back in place was less urgent that continuing on the final leg of his journey home, so Gray kept driving. The two-lane road was full of pot holes and cracks, and Gray did his best to avoid hitting the worst of them. Thick foliage had crept up to the very edges of the abandoned asphalt and even spilled over in a few spots. Trees bent over the road, their leaves shielding out sunlight, creating a kind of tunnel that wound through the valley.

A massive chill tore down his spine, sharp enough that his hands shook, and he nearly yanked the wheel too hard to the left. The trees thinned enough for the first signs of Chosenone to come into view. An old gas station with two pumps that hadn’t been new since the sixties, and a small building that used to sell bubble gum and hard candy, along with cigarettes and chewing tobacco.

We used to take turns distracting the owner and stealing candy.

Gray blinked hard and slowed to a stop in the middle of the road. He stared at the building with its peeling white paint and half-caved in roof. Who had he used to steal with? A hazy shadow of a boy flickered somewhere deep in his memory, in that place that housed the first fifteen years of his life. The shadow remained a shadow, though. No name, no face, not even the sound of his voice.

I had a friend, though. I did.

Kind of pathetic that he hadn’t had a real friend since then. His entire adult life had been about survival, not creating relationships.

Beyond the gas station lay the rest of the town. Unlike many of the small mining towns built in this part of the state in the nineteenth century, Chosenone’s oldest building had a cornerstone dated 1700. Main Street was short, less than half a mile long, with old brick and stone buildings that had once housed a general store, a pub and restaurant, a butcher shop, and the municipal building. The former sheriff’s office had been converted to a seamstress shop long before Gray was born.

The asphalt ahead was worse than the road leading into town, bent and warped into sharp ridges that would make driving any farther impossible. He’d lose a tire or two, not to mention his suspension. It wasn’t his car, but eventually he’d need to drive back out of here.

Unless the whole point of coming here was to die.

He had no desire to kill himself, but the dark thought slithered into his mind and stayed there. Something bad was going to happen today. Just like something had happened here fifteen years ago. He parked near the gas station, grabbed his bag, and got out.

Stiff from driving, he stretched first. Then the odor hit him. Acrid and stuffy, with the faint hint of burnt things. The air was hazy and yellowish, as if the world had transformed into sepia tones, leeching all of the color out. Worse, though, was the complete and utter silence. No voices, no birds, no hum of electricity; not even the buzz of insects.

He walked down the silent street, observing the place he instinctively knew had been his home. No weeds grew in the cracks of the road or sidewalks. No flowers in any of the boxes under windows. Near the steps to the restaurant, he spotted a lump of something gray. An odd pile of sticks, maybe. He stepped closer.

Not sticks. Bones. A small skull and long tail suggested it had once been a cat. Everything was arranged to suggest the cat had simply curled up there and died.

He glanced at the dirt-smeared windows of the restaurant, his stomach rolling.

Please don’t let me find any dead people anywhere.

He peeked inside, cupping his hands to try and see better through the dirty glass. Tables and chairs were still carefully arranged. A table near him had dishware on it, two place settings, and dark smears that could have once been food. A glass vase stood empty. Everything was dark and dreary and sad.

No cobwebs. Not a single one.

Even spiders had abandoned this hellish place.

He kept wandering, peering into the occasional window, finding every door locked. It seemed as if life had simply stopped one day and everyone left in the middle of whatever they were doing. They abandoned their lives because of the fire.

And now Gray was the only living creature in Chosenone.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. It was hot here, hotter than it should be for September. The coal fires supposedly burned hundreds of yards below the town. That had to be the reason for the heat, kept prisoner by the dense forest surrounding it from all sides. He’d probably die from breathing the air for too long. The place had been cut off to prevent thrill seekers and ghost hunters from accessing it for a reason.

At the end of the street the road came to a T-junction. To the left, the road continued into the residential part of town, where old wood and brick homes stood. Everyone had lived there. Even Gray. He’d lived there with his parents. Parents who’d recently died in a fire.

He wasn’t ready to try and find his house yet. And he couldn’t remember where the other road went. Only that he didn’t want to go that way, either. He turned in a circle, surveying the landscape of his childhood. A narrow building caught his attention. The marquee had fallen off and lay broken on the sidewalk. The glass window of the exterior ticket booth was cracked in half a dozen places.

We used to go together. All the time.

The shadow boy came back, murky and distant, and he pointed at the theater.

Gray stepped carefully around the marquee debris. The wide double doors weren’t locked. He palmed his small flashlight and pushed the door open. Hinges squealed. Hot, stale air wafted out, bringing with it the stink of rotting leather and old wood. The beam of light slashed across the small wooden bar that had been the concessions counter. A popcorn machine lay covered in dust. Boxes of candy were still displayed beneath the counter, their faded paper forever frozen in the past.

The town’s only theater had played cheap, older films, on its single screen. Two movies for a week’s time. The early show was usually G or PG, the second show maybe PG-13, depending on the film. Gray’s parents hated the movies, so they never took him to the second show.

We used to sneak in…

... “We can’t sneak in!”

“Sure we can,” the other boy says. He wipes his hand across his forehead, which only really plasters his curly blond hair in place with sweat.

It’s crazy hot out, even for July, and they’ve already exhausted permissible use of the sprinkler at Gray’s house. The creek in the woods is off-limits to them. The first time they wandered down there together, to the wide part where it’s fun to swim, the other kids bullied them into leaving. Gray had tried not to cry.

No one likes playing with them. No one ever has. But they have each other, and that’s all that matters most days. They’ve been best friends, practically brothers, for all of their shared almost-twelve years. They even have the same birthday. September twenty-first. The fall equinox.

At least September will be cooler than right now, and Gray needs more than sitting in front of a box fan at home, staring at the ceiling. None of the homes on their street have air conditioning. Everyone suffers summer the same way. Except other kids have the creek, and they don’t. Right now all they have is the backyard at Gray’s house, which is soaked from the sprinkler.

They’re sprawled in the grass beneath an old willow tree. His shorts are already mostly dry thanks to the heat.

“I’ve been staking out the building,” the other boy says. “The back door, where they take out the trash, it isn’t locked. I peeked inside one day. It’s a hallway with an office door. I bet if we’re careful we can get past the office and into the theater.”

“And do what?” Gray asks. “There’s no movie for hours yet.”

“I know, but it’s air conditioned. And even if they don’t run it during the day, it’ll still be way cooler there than out here. We can go into the balcony and play cards.” He produces a pack from his shorts pocket. They’re damp but not warped or ruined.

The idea of spending a few hours in cool air, instead of his blistering heat, is a good incentive for Gray. He hates the idea of getting caught. His parents already don’t like him. They never have seemed to care much for their only child. No hugs, no supportive words, even if he does well at school. He’s something they take care of, that’s all.

It’s another reason he loves his best friend. His parents are kind, generous, and they even hug Gray. Gray gets affection from them that his own parents don’t give him. Gray gets affection from his best friend, too. Lots of hugs and back slaps and kind smiles. They see each other in a way no one else does.

“What if we get caught?” Gray asks. He isn’t as impulsive; he likes to think things through.

“Then the Sloane’s will kick us out, maybe call our folks. We aren’t stealing anything. They’re not going to call the cops on us for playing cards in the balcony.”

Gray shudders at the idea of being escorted to the municipal building by one of the town’s three police officers. No thank you.

“Fine,” the other boy said. “If we get caught, I’ll tell everyone I forced you to. I’ll protect you, I promise.”

He’s never forced Gray into anything in their lives, even though he probably could. He’s taller than Gray already, and broader, where Gray is just…small. Skinny. Sure, they haven’t really hit puberty hard yet, and Gray hopes every day he’ll get a few good growth spurts, but he worries. The other boy’s voice has already started changing a little.

They’re the exact same age, and that’s not really fair for Gray’s voice to still be soft and squeaky. He hates it.

“Fine,” Gray says.

“Yes!” The other boy leaps up and races to the fence where they left their t-shirts while they played in the sprinkler. He tugs it on and Gray is kind of sad that he’s covered up his chest.

Gray does the same, because sneaking around town half-naked, even in summer, is frowned upon. People get weird about the stupidest stuff, like bare chests and swearing and super-good manners. It’s always been like this in Chosenone, but it’s not like that in all the movies they show at the theater.

In the movies, people cuss and smoke in front of kids, and they travel to other towns all the time. Gray’s never been out of Chosenone, not once. He wants to see other places, but his parents won’t take him. No one will.

He tried to leave once, to see how far he could get, despite being told they were miles and miles from the next nearest town. He started walking down the only road into town, but after a while he got dizzy and sick and he went home in defeat. It was the only time he tried.

And it’s the only secret he’s ever kept from his friend.

They stroll down the street side by side, elbows brushing. Sometimes when they walk, Gray wants to hold the other boy’s hand. He never does, though. His parents don’t hold hands. Not many people seem to, but when they do it’s always a man and a woman. He’s never seen two boys holding hands, not even in the movies.

Today he really wants to hold his friend’s hand, and he can’t explain why, so he ignores it. He puts his hands in his pockets, even though it’s hot, because it makes his elbow bend out more. He can accidentally brush the other boy more.

Main Street is pretty quiet for mid-afternoon. Everyone’s probably inside, avoiding the heat as best they can. Most of the businesses have air conditioning, but none of the homes. Gray isn’t sure why, and the one time he asked his parents they told him that was simply the way things were.

Seems silly to Gray, but he’s only almost-twelve and doesn’t know everything yet. Maybe when he’s finally an adult, he can make his own rules. Go someplace outside of Chosenone and buy one of those window air conditioners he’s seen in the movies. One for his bedroom, if no place else.

They cross the street and duck around to the rear of the building. A narrow, dirt alley runs between the back of these buildings and the start of the thick forest that surrounds their town. It’s quiet and still, not a single sound coming from nearby.

As promised, the back door to the theater isn’t locked. It’s a simple wood door that opens without squealing. The other boy goes first, ducking into a dark hallway. Gray follows, the cool air instantly making his sweat-soaked skin clammy and gross. There’s a door marked Office that’s closed on his left. A thin beam of light underneath means someone’s probably in there, which makes Gray’s pulse race.

The heady excitement of this adventure collides with his instinct to protect himself and avoid possible danger, and his hands start to shake. He freezes, barely inside the hallway, terrified to go farther.

The other boy glances at him, his smile turning into a frown. He reaches back and clasps his hand around Gray’s. The contact sends a new thrill through him, and he squeezes the boy’s hand tight. The boy winks, then tugs Gray forward. Together, they creep down the hallway and emerge behind the concession counter.

The urge to steal a box of candy is overwhelming, but Gray doesn’t want to get into even worse trouble if they get caught. At the other end of the counter is a curtained doorway. They go through this and emerge in the far corner of the theater, near the stairs to the balcony. The theater is silent and dark, the only light coming from the electric Exit sign above the main doors.

It’s like being in another world, full of red velvet seats and gilt wood railings. The theater isn’t as old as some of the other buildings on Main Street, built in the early twentieth-century when talking pictures were new and interesting. It even has a small stage below the screen, but no one has ever performed here in Gray’s lifetime.

The other boy pulls him toward the winding staircase to the balcony. Going up is its own adventure, because it gets darker the higher they get. The balcony has two rows of seats, ten across, murky and full of shadows. And also fun and mysterious. Anyone could be hiding in the places he can’t see.

“It’s really dark,” Gray whispers. His voice seems to echo forever, even though he knows it’s probably his imagination.

The other boy pulls the deck of cards out. “We have just enough light to see. Come on.” He pulls Gray to the center of the balcony, then lets go of his hand.

Gray wants to keep holding his hand, but doesn’t object. They sit facing each other, cross-legged, smiling. His hand still feels tingly and good from touching his friend’s. They’re so close and in the dark and his heart is pounding. The other boy licks his lips, leaving them wet and pink, easy to see even in the gloom. For some reason, the simple motion does something to his penis. It feels strange, as if it’s getting harder. Bigger.

He presses his left hand into his lap so his friend doesn’t notice. He isn’t sure what it means, and if it’s bad, he’ll be so embarrassed.

The other boy shifts his position, pulling his legs up to his chest. It’s an awkward way to shuffle and deal cards. “Five card draw, aces wild,” he says.

Gray picks up his cards with one hand. It’s hard to arrange them, so he gives up hiding his crotch. But he can’t concentrate on the cards. The numbers blend, the faces don’t make sense. Does he have anything good?

Cool air clashes with heat on his face. Hot air in his lungs. The faint odor of popcorn turns stale and old.

“Gray? Hello? Gray?”…

… The prepubescent voice deepens. Sharpens.

Gray shook his head hard as he opened his eyes. The gloom swam in front of him and he struggled to focus the concession counter back into its proper shape. The past bled away, slamming him back into the hot reality of the rundown movie theater.

“Grayson?”

He screamed, spinning around so fast he lost his balance and fell on his ass with a painful thump that jolted up his spine. “Stay back!” He held both hands up against whoever was there, desperate to protect himself from the unknown threat.

The flashlight rolled away and came to a stop by the far wall. It cast a yellow glow toward the main theater doors, one of which was being held open by a tall, muscular man in a blue police uniform.

Gray shrank back, his gut rolling with acid. He’d been caught trespassing. He was totally fucked now. Stolen car, restricted town. He’d broken into the theater—sort of, since it wasn’t locked. But that didn’t matter.

Maybe he’d get lucky and the cop wouldn’t beat him before stuffing him into the backseat of his car. The cop wasn’t advancing, which was odd. He didn’t have a weapon in his hand, even though a gun and baton hung from his belt. He also had a funny look on his face—a mix of shock, surprise, and…concern?

Maybe he doesn’t want to get in trouble for giving burglary suspects heart attacks.

Except, wait. “You know my name?” Gray asked.

“I wasn’t sure until you turned around.” The cop put his hands up, palms out. Placating. “My God, it is you. You came, too.”

Familiarity toyed at the edges of Gray’s mind, but in the darkness he simply couldn’t be sure. He needed to get out of that stifling theater, away from the good memories of an old friendship that he’d forgotten. He scrambled up and ran, slamming hard through the main door and into the street.

Into the very warped, sharp-edged street. His foot caught, and he hit the asphalt on his hands and knees, scraping both hard. White-hot pain raced through him, and he fell onto his side, panting and trying not to cry. The cop would get him for resisting arrest, too.

“Fuck!”

“Grayson, please.” The cop.

Gray curled into a ball on the hot road, shaking, not even ashamed of his fear. Never once had a cop done anything for him except cause him pain and shame. This one would be no different.

“Grayson, I’ll protect you. I promise.”

The words of an almost-twelve year old boy were spoken in the deeper voice of a man, but something in Gray called out to the stranger. He peeked up through spread fingers to really look at the cop who’d scared him so badly.

Curly blond hair. Sharp beak of a nose. Concerned eyes as shockingly blue as Gray’s. And past the age and additional height and bulk, he saw the face of a boy he’d once known. A boy who’d once been his best friend. Who’d played in sprinklers with him and sneaked into a movie theater to escape the summer heat.

Gray saw him. “Ian?” The name fell easily from Gray’s lips.

Ian smiled. “Hi. Long time no see.”

His heart slammed against his ribs; his breath caught hard. And then everything went black.