The clouds were dispersing above, leaving the woods full of long shadows while the wind rattled the trees and made it nearly impossible for Jackson to hear anything else around him. He inhaled the earthy scent left by the rain while his eyes watered and his lungs began to burn from exhaustion.

Jackson didn’t know how long he’d been running. He was certain that not much time had passed, but he’d run so hard that he could feel the heels of his feet all the way to his knees, and the aches from his fall earlier in the week were beginning to aggravate him. But he was too close to stop, he told himself. He had yet to discover who the assailant was. Small glimpses when Jackson got close only gave away that he was dealing with a male who was very good at keeping the hood of his jacket up at all costs, and he knew the area. So well, in fact, that nothing had managed to slow him down.

Jackson wasn’t sure why it was so important that he catch the guy. It likely had a lot to do with the fact that he felt like his family had somehow been violated. He wanted to protect them. Protect Shayla. They were his. All he had. And he was furious. He had his suspicions over who it was, and if he was right, a certain member of the Tuan family had a lot of explaining to do. He hadn’t minded it when Luke took his picture without him knowing about it, but to think of a picture of Shayla which should have never been taken in the first place, wrecked his nerves.

The fact that Jackson eventually had to stop, accepting defeat, wrecked his nerves, too. He’d come to a fork where two trails crossed paths, and there was no longer any sign of what he’d been chasing. No more glimpses, and as he strained to listen for more clues all he could hear was the wind, blowing like a whisper in his ear, that prickled the nape of his neck. He released the breath he’d been holding when he heard nothing of significance, and then couldn’t seem to catch it as his lungs worked to slow down. His head ached, his throat was dry, and his face felt hot against the cool air as he absorbed it, wishing he would have slowed down sooner. For long moments he rested his hands on his knees until he caught his breath, but as he focused on his surroundings again, he found that he was not relieved at all.

Jackson didn’t know where he was. The shadows crossing over him were nearly suffocating, and he was disoriented as he realized that the brush surrounding him was so thick that nothing was visible, not even the lake. There was too much he couldn’t see, and if he’d been the hunter only moments ago, he now had the uneasy feeling of being watched. He spun around to the sound of nothingness, his pupils dilating as his blue eyes took in too many dark places. When the possibility that he hadn’t lost the stranger at all came to mind, Jackson was no longer pleased by it. He was afraid of it.

He told himself that it was unwarranted, this fear. But it wouldn’t cease. His skin itched and prickled, and the sensation caused him to feel trapped inside of it. Frozen to the point that he was too afraid to look behind him, as if the action itself could cause some unseen force to strike, like a little boy afraid of the shadows on his bedroom wall at night.

When Jackson was a child, he’d gone through a phase of nightmares. It wasn’t long after his first sleepovers, where a friend’s older brother had told horror stories that no six-year-old had any business hearing. For weeks afterwards, he’d wake up with a dry throat, his small body frozen under the covers as the moving shadows in his room threatened disaster until the fear took over entirely. He wet his bed, and he’d cried. Back then, it had been his father who would rescue him from the terror. He remembered gentle hands cleaning him up, big arms holding him, supplying enough comfort to take it all away. Reassuring whispers in his ear until he could fall asleep again. He’d never felt more at ease. But his father wasn’t here to chase these nightmares away. Likely never would be again. Despite Shayla’s hopeful delusions the man was gone, and at the moment, Jackson was alone.

He took in a steadying breath and attempted to appear unbothered by the uncomfortable sensations flooding his senses for any watching eyes, or perhaps his own mental well-being. His hands shaking at his sides were only one sign of his failure as he looked straight ahead to a thick span of trees, his vision narrowing down to a to a tunnel as he directed his attention to a shadow moving within the space. Instinct told him to run, but still he moved closer, his feet feeling like dead weight as he urged them to take small steps.

And then he heard something. Breathing. It came in short, harsh breaths along with hard, fast-paced footsteps nearing him at a dead run. Only, it wasn’t coming from in front of Jackson at all. Jackson spun around and braced himself. His hands flew up in natural defense, and as a body nearly collided with his own from out of nowhere he gripped at its shoulders, holding the heavy force at bay as he prepared himself to strike back if necessary.

“Jackson!”

Jackson stared into familiar hazel eyes and a flushed face. But still, he wasn’t satisfied until he took notice of his own clothes below the other boy’s neck and allowed himself a relieved breath.

“Jesus, Mark,” Jackson whispered in a hoarse voice. He let go of Mark, but stood next to him so that they were shoulder to shoulder as he redirected his attention to the suspicious shadows. He wanted the contact. Any contact. Any comfort. At the moment, Mark provided it.

“I don’t know where he went,” Jackson said quietly. “Did you see him?”

Mark shook his head, seeming uneasy. “We should go back, Jackson. Your mom said to come back.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “Some took pictures of my sister. Mark, you’ve gotta tell me. Was it Luke?”

Mark lowered his head. “Luke gets in trouble, Jackson. I don’t want him to get in trouble anymore.”

Jackson frowned, and his guard faltered as he turned to face the other boy. “Look, if it’s Luke, you have to tell me, okay? What he did isn’t right, Mark. He can’t... what he did was wrong. Very wrong. Do you get that? Mark, please...”

Jackson paused in mid-sentence as shadows moved around him. As he turned, all he could see was a flash of pale skin and a black jacket covering a tall figure that held a threat in his hand that promised an act of violence Jackson could only begin to comprehend. The thick branch was swung with purpose, but not at Jackson. Its target was Mark, he realized as they were rushed from the side.

“Look out!” Jackson shouted.

Mark’s eyes widened as he dodged to his right, gasping in shock when he didn’t move quickly enough and the harsh wood cracked against his upper arm, just below his shoulder. It was the beginning and the end of the attack, but it was enough. Mark fell as his attacker dropped the branch to flee.

This time, Jackson was close enough. He dived and tackled, latching onto dark clothing as he wrestled the perpetrator to the ground. He grabbed a thick shoulder, intent on rolling over the body beneath him, but took a sharp elbow to the face for his troubles.

Blood flooded Jackson’s mouth as his top lip split against his teeth and the pain subdued him long enough for his captive to struggle his way to freedom, and then he was gone. Jackson was left in a state no less than shock as he dabbed at his bloody lip with the back of his wrist, wondering if he should pursue another chase. It was Mark’s presence that decided for him.

“Are you alright?” Jackson demanded as he crawled towards his friend, who was now sitting on the ground, clutching at his injured arm with a red face and gritted teeth. “Mark?” Jackson lifted his hand, but stopped himself from placing it on Mark’s shoulder, for fear of worsening the pain. Instead, he carefully pried Mark’s hand away from the injury and rolled up the sleeve. The welt was visible already, swelling and bruising with every second that passed. Jackson cursed. “Did you see him?”

Mark shook his head, and winced when Jackson touched his tender injury, even with gentle fingers. Jackson stood, and held his hand out for Mark to take.

“Come on,” Jackson insisted. “Let’s get back.”

Mark lifted his eyes to Jackson’s face, where they suddenly widened. “You’re bleeding, Jackson!” Mark said, as if it were his only concern in the world.

“I’m okay,” Jackson insisted. “Come on, Mark. I want to make sure my sister’s alright, and we need to get some ice on your arm. I don’t think it’s broken, but someone should look.”

“It’s not broken,” Mark replied. “Just hurts real badly.”

Jackson helped him to his feet, and while he was concerned over Mark’s injury, he was happy to have him there. Mark knew the way back, and with his guidance, they reached the house rather quickly where Sophia Wang was waiting at the front door with Shayla. She took one look at her son’s bloody face---which Jackson insisted looked worse than it was--and went into a full-on motherly assault unit as she dragged him to the kitchen, forced him down at the table and forced a wet rag and bag of ice upon him.

“I can’t believe you!” she said angrily. “And look at you, Jackson!”

Jackson glanced towards Mark as he sat nervously in a seat next to him, still holding his arm while his mother turned her back and continued her tirade. He tried to offer a reassuring smile to his guest, but it came out as a grimace when Jackson realized that that particular expression hurt. But, Mark seemed relieved when Jackson handed over his ice pack, sliding it beneath the other boy’s sleeve.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” Sophia demanded, rounding on her son.

Jackson only sighed, and looked towards the kitchen entrance, where Shayla looked shaken, standing by the door. “You alright, Shayla?” he asked her. The question seemed to instantly calm his mother, who went to hug his sister.

“Of course we’re not alright,” Sophia said angrily, but when she faced Jackson, she was calm again. “Did you see who it was?”

Jackson frowned as he glanced at Mark for a moment, but then shook his head. “No.”

Sophia looked between the boys at her kitchen table as Jackson used the washcloth to clean the blood from his mouth, but her eyes ultimately settled on Mark as she noticed the ice had switched hands. “What happened?” she asked, going to the boy that was not her son.

“We cornered him and he attacked us,” Jackson said simply.

Sophia lifted a worried looking Mark’s sleeve, and gasped at the knot she found there. “Oh, Mark... you hold that there,” she ordered, moving to the freezer for more ice. “And no one saw him?”

“I couldn’t say who he was,” Jackson replied. “Not for sure.”

Sophia frowned as she took a long moment to look around the kitchen at her children, and one that wasn’t hers. “I want everyone in the car,” she decided.

“What?” Jackson demanded. “What for?”

“We’re going to file a police report,” Sophia stated. “And we’re going to see about getting some better locks... Mark, I’m going to have to take you home first...”

“What? No,” Jackson stated. “Mom...”

“Jackson, he can’t come with us. His parents wouldn’t like it. And we are going.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jackson stated, and when he saw a warning look grow over his mom’s face, he changed his tone. “Look, you take Shayla and go... someone should stay here, anyway.”

“Jackson, I don’t want...”

“Mom, please,” Jackson said, his words becoming muffled as he held the rag closer to his sore lip. “I’ll lock the doors. And the windows... just... I want to stay here.”

“I want to stay with Jackson,” Mark chimed in.

Sophia turned her attention to Mark. She was beginning to look exasperated, and Jackson knew they were pushing it, but still jumped in before she could say anything. “Take Shayla and go report this to someone, alright? I don’t want to leave the house, in case the guy comes back.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sophia stated.

“Mom, I don’t want to go, either,” Shayla suddenly said, and that was what did it for Sophia, and unexpectedly, gave Jackson what he wanted.

“No--Shayla, you are going with me,” Ms. Wang stated. “Get in the car. Now. Let’s go. Jackson, you don’t leave the house, keep the doors locked. Unless the Tuans come over to pick up Mark. You’ll have to tell them what happened.”

“I can’t do that!” Jackson objected. Although, it was unclear which part he didn’t like.

“You have to,” Sophia stated. “And I’m stopping at Mr. Rizzo’s on the way out to ask him to check on you. Open the door for him.”

“But...” Jackson started.

“I shouldn’t be gone any longer than an hour or so... Jackson...”

She was giving him her worried look, and Jackson could understand why. He felt a little shaken himself. It hadn’t been as bad since he’d made it home, and he was still numb with adrenaline, but he was disturbed over the afternoons events. But he didn’t want to leave the house. Someone had been sneaking around their windows. If he left, Jackson wasn’t sure how safe he’d feel when he came back.

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” he finally said. “I’ll let Mr. Rizzo in.”

Sophia stared at him for a long moment, and then let out a breath. “Keep ice on your face,” she ordered, and then looked at Mark. “Mark, does your arm hurt really bad?”

“It’s not broken, Mom,” Jackson answered for him. “We’ll be fine.”

Jackson wished that he felt fine, too. But, even after he’d locked the door behind his mom and his sister, he had trouble sitting still. He’d washed off his face and checked the damage. The split lip wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t that bad, either. At least, not physically. It was unclear if it was his ego doing the thinking for him, but Jackson felt like he’d just lost something more than a fight. He wished that he knew what it was.

He didn’t feel safe. Since he’d moved, he’d always thought of his family’s new home as a little...uncomfortable. But, this was the first time he didn’t feel safe in it. He went through the trouble of making sure every single window was locked, drawing the curtains for good measure. Mark followed silently, holding ice to his arm. In the kitchen, Jackson swallowed down three full glasses of water. Mark sipped one. And in the living room, Jackson paced, repeatedly checking the front window for visitors, and Mark waited patiently on the sofa.

Jackson was happy Mark was there. It would be worse, he thought, if he’d been completely alone. He suddenly stopped, allowed his breathing to slow, and looked over at his friend. Mark’s ice had melted, and he was regarding the bag as if it had betrayed him. Jackson found himself smiling at that, and feeling guilty. He opened his mouth to ask Mark if he was alright, but suddenly Mark’s eyes lifted to meet his.

“You didn’t tell your mom it was Luke,” he said, as if he’d sensed that Jackson was finally calm enough to talk.

Jackson frowned. “Was it him?”

Mark lowered his head, his brow knitted, and after a long moment of consideration, Jackson decided that he simply didn’t know. He sighed, and joined the other boy on the sofa where he rested his head back against the thick cushions and closed his eyes. He could hear the natural creaks in the house, and somewhere in the distance, the purring of a cat and the hum of the dishwasher. They didn’t strike him as comforting sounds. “Some freak has a picture of my sister,” he said quietly. It was wondering over the content of that picture that had him worried, but he was afraid to even think about it, let alone say it out loud. It was all too frustrating. There was too much going on. He’d been worried about Mark. Now, he was worried about his own family. He didn’t get this place. He didn’t know if he wanted to. “I hate it here.”

Jackson felt the cushions beneath him shift, and didn’t react when he felt his companion’s head rest slowly and gently on his shoulder, but when he felt Mark’s hand climb over his own, Jackson opened his eyes and watched the other boy’s fingers play over his palm. “Don’t say that, Jackson,” Mark insisted. “You’re my only friend.”

Jackson looked down at the top of Mark’s head at the messy dark hair and inhaled the scent of fresh lemons. He swallowed tightly, and without thought, found himself snuggling in closer to the warm body at his side as his hand closed over Mark’s. “Right now I think you’re mine, too,” he admitted, suddenly resenting everyone that used to be in his life. He blamed his father for the situation that he found himself in with his mother and his sister. It was his fault that they had to move away from all their friends. It was his fault that they had to live in a run-down dump that smelled like cat urine. And it was his fault that the dump they had to live in didn’t feel safe. Because it certainly wasn’t Jackson’s fault that he felt so out of sorts. He’d been uprooted, and now more than ever, he w