"Where are we going?" Alex asked me. He was agitated, and I knew very well why. We had passed this arch on the way into town, and now we were going out, back the way we came. "Did you get turned around?"

"No. I know exactly where I'm going."

I didn't dare to look over at him. I'm sure his look of defeat would make me reconsider. But I couldn't do this anymore. I had to take him back home and explain what had happened. If not for my sake, then for his. Kids need a reason to run away from home. They don't just do it on a whim. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, all the while holding a trinket or three I had for good luck. I was going to need it.

Alex drummed his fingers along the door's armrest and kept switching between looking at me and looking out the windshield. He knew what was up. He knew that I knew.

Soon we were on the highway again, and the large electronic billboards suspended over the highway were flashing images and news again. "Hey, whoa, look at that!" he said, pointing out the window on my side. I didn't fall for it, and instead looked up at the signs.

There was Alex's school picture on the boards, along with his name and basic stats, like height, weight, and age. It still said that he was seventeen, but hey, the information isn't always accurate. For most people, a picture, a name, and the fact that "MISSING" was flashing over it was all anyone really needed.

"How could you do this, Alex?" I asked, finally deciding to look over to him. He was slouched in his seat, looking out his side window, avoiding my gaze. "You've made me a kidnapper, and for what? Why are you running away from home?"

"It's nothing for you to worry about," he said. His tone was flatter than the desperate whine I was expecting it to be. "Just...please turn the truck around."

"I'm not even gonna consider it until you give me the facts. What the hell's going on?"

"Turn the fucking truck around!"

There was the desperate whine. He turned and looked at me. His eyes were starting to water. "I can't go back home," he shouted.

"Why not?" I yelled back.

"My dad's a fucking psycho!"

I darted my eyes back to the road and adjusted my speed. In my anger I had started to gun it, and I didn't need to add reckless driving to my criminal record. I broke the silence with a "What does he do?"

"I can't tell you."

"If you can't tell the guy you got to kidnap you why he's kidnapping you, then who can you tell?"

"Fine then, I don't want to tell you."

I had a good idea of his reasons, but it was better for Alex to confess it all himself instead of me doing it for him, so I kept concentrating on the road. We passed a sign telling me that there was an exit a ways ahead: one that would take us straight back to his home, and back to his father.

"If you can't tell me," I said. I annunciate it slowly and deliberately. "If you can't tell me what's going on, then I see no need for me to keep my promise. I don't even see a need to keep our friendship. Who are you to me if we get caught? I don't know you."

I heard his breathing quicken over the engine, and a glance from the corner of my eye revealed that his fidgeting was getting more frantic.

"You were just a teenaged hitchhiker that I picked up at random. I had no idea you were running away—well, I assumed you were, but I didn't know that you were high profile enough to bring on an Amber Alert. So when I saw the message on those signs, I decided to—"

"Fine!"

He fought with the seatbelt as he turned away and lifted the back of his shirt up. When I wasn't watching the road I could see that the daylight illuminated the undershirt even more than last night. It made me feel a little sicker than compared to what I felt in the dark. And when Alex pulled up that shirt and exposed the welts, I wanted to wretch. "You see?" he asked. "Do you get it now? I can't go back there. Turn the truck around!"

"I…I can't."

"Turn it around!"

"I want to but I can't!" I swerved slightly to avoid oncoming traffic. "Do you think I don't care? That I'd like to help you somehow? But I can't just turn the truck around when the police are after us. They won't see this situation the way you see it; the way I see it."

When I turned to look at him again, I was face to face with the barrel of Alex's handgun.

"Turn the fucking truck around," he said. There was no tone of innocence in his voice anymore. It disappeared with his pleading the moment the gun came into our little equation.

I had to do something that I wasn't comfortable with: reasoning with him. And considering Alex was desperate enough to do this, I'd be better off trying to tell a rabid dog why he shouldn't bite anything. "What, are you gonna shoot me, Alex?" I asked. No, that sounded a bit too fearful. I needed to raise my tone a little without making it sound like I was toying with him. "What are you gonna do after you kill me? You've got to get me out of the seat while I'm laying on the gas and clinging to the wheel before you kill yourself – not to mention the other people on the road."

"Shut up!"

"Then you have to figure out just how the hell Bella actually works. She don't sit well with someone else driving her."

His lower lip was trembling. My eyes darted between the road and him. I could see tears welling up in his eyes. "And even if you managed to get into the driver's seat and figure out just how the hell you'll drive, where do you go? Do you even know where we are? Your face is plastered on the roads and on the TV. There's no such thing as inconspicuous anymore."

Alex remained silent. I don't know if it was because of the vibrating cab, his own fear or because he had had his hand up for so long, but the gun was shaking. "Don't make me do something I d-don't have to, okay?" he said. "Just turn the truck around and take me to Manitoba. I'll know what to do from there."

"I told you already that I can't."

"I don't want to kill you."

"Then put down the gun."

"Turn the truck around and I will."

"Then I guess you'll have to kill me."

Click.

My stomach dropped. Alex started to sob. Not in mourning for my death. No, I was still quite alive, much to my relief. He was sobbing because he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He cradled the gun in both hands and managed to eject the magazine, only to find it empty.

I opened my one hand. The bullets I had taken out of the gun the night before cascaded down the steering wheel and fell to the floor, each landing with a dull thud.

"I…I…" Alex couldn't think of anything to say. And frankly, neither could I.

We reached a turnoff that would lead back to the road we came on. If I followed it long enough, we would get to Manitoba by the end of the day. I wrenched at the wheel and made sure we didn't miss it. Alex took a moment to figure out just what I was doing. "Why?"

"Because you pulled the trigger." A small pause. I was hoping for him to reply. He didn't. So I continued. "You were willing to kill me just so you could get away from your dad. If it's bad enough at home that you're willing to commit murder to get away from it, then I really have no choice but to help you."

His tears were flowing freely now. My own vision was getting cloudy, but I choked it back. I pushed down on the gas pedal and shifted gears.

And before we could say anything more, the sirens surrounded us. I checked all of my mirrors. The police had come off of the ramps and were boxing my truck in.

"What do we do?" Alex asked, twisting every which way to try and assess the situation.

I ran through the possibilities in my head, but only one that would get the both of us in the least amount of trouble stood out. "I've gotta pull over to the side."

"What? No!"

"Sorry Alex, but we've got no choice." I laid my foot on the brake, slowly pulling over. When we had come to a complete stop, I looked out my side window. The police were surrounding my door. "Step out of the truck!" one yelled. "Both hands in the air!"

"Don't go," Alex pleaded. I looked back to him, shook my head and opened the door. Two officers grabbed me and pushed me against the side of my truck's cab. "You're under arrest for the kidnap of Alex Feltz," one said.

"Wait! Don't hurt him!"

Alex climbed down the side of my truck before officers swarmed him. "It was all my idea!" he shouted over the concerned talk. "I told him to take me. He didn't know! He didn't—"

Alex burst into a coughing fit that cut off the rest of his sentence. A black Sedan pulled over to the side behind us, and a tall man stepped out of the driver's seat. No doubt from the resemblance. Alex's father. I did nothing to warn anyone. I was still pinned to my truck, and handcuffs were now being clamped around my wrists.

"Alex!" he shouted, running through the swarm of officers and scooping up his child in a tight hug. "God, I was worried fucking sick about you!"

There was a rush of questions from all sides, save my own. I was just being read my rights. A female police officer with a ponytail raised her voice above all the others. "Mister Feltz," she commanded, "we need to take Alex over to the station for questioning."

"Questioning? He's tired out. I should be taking him home."

"I know sir, but just before he arrived he said some things that we need to take into consideration."

"Oh…oh did he now?"

Alex's father smiled and looked to his son, who refused to meet his gaze. Instead, Alex looked back to me and mouthed 'Sorry' to me. "Well in that case, I'll be glad to follow you to the station," Alex's father said. "But at least let him ride in my car. I've been so scared for his safety, officer."

With that last point, Alex's father slapped Alex on the back, causing him to wince in pain.

Screw my 'right to be silent.' "Watch his back!" I shouted out, lurching forward to try and get away from the officers. "You're hurting him!" I was grabbed from behind and forced to the ground. My face felt like it had just made contact with a cheese grater.

But I also heart that startled gasps of the officers who saw the welts and lacerations all over Alex's back as he lifted his undershirt. The officers pulled me upright again just as Alex's father came forward roaring, "What the fuck did you do to my son?" and slugged me in the face.

I could see why Alex was afraid of him. He could sure hit hard, or at least hard enough to knock me out cold.

---

The police peppered me with questions for the rest of the day. They weren't rude or anything, but they weren't the most pleasant people either. More and more pieces of the story came together, and despite my lack of hope, the truth started to come about. Like how Bryce Feltz (whose name I only found out after I threatened to press charges for his assault on me) had been drinking ever since his wife died, and would take out his anger and despair on his son. It seemed like a good, clean sob story at first, until the beating became frequent and severe enough to dub Alex's father as some sort of sadist. That and it was clear that Bryce didn't even care about Alex enough to even remember when his birthday was.

Officer Lee, the woman with the ponytail I had seen before being knocked out, relayed a story to a social worker that added to Bryce's 'credibility,' namely how when she had first met him, she smelled a strange and familiar fragrance on him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. When Alex told her about his father's drinking habits, she realised that the smell was from an alcoholic beverage that reminded her of her own father, who also had an affinity for drinking binges and pretending he was in a boxing match with her mother. The tidbit wasn't worth much, but it was an interesting coincidence that both men shared the same taste in beer.

---

A day later Alex sat next to me on the front steps of the police station, looking at the busy street. It had been a long two days, and nothing in my life had taken more out of me than sleeping in a holding cell. We were both silent. What was there to say? 'Sorry for almost delivering you into the clutches of a madman?' 'Sorry for killing you in an almost literal sense?' We had both done things that we weren't so proud of. Maybe there was nothing that really needed to be said because of it.

"So what are you going to do now?" I asked Alex.

"Well, my dad's not allowed near me anymore, so I can't go back home."

"Oh God, they're not letting him go free, are they?"

"No, I meant after this is all over. What are you gonna do?"

"Finish my delivery. They're still waiting for me to transport the load."

A pause. I started a new topic. "Where are you going to live?"

Alex sighed and rubbed his temples. "I'm eighteen now. I'm not in anyone's custody anymore."

"Don't you have any family that you can stay with until you get back on your feet?"

"Do you count as family?"

Alex twisted, his movement impaired by the bandages that had been applied to his back by a doctor. "I know it's a lot to ask, but hear me out. I've been throwing hints left and right back home about what was going on about what was happening and no one got it. No one. Or if anyone did see, they didn't do anything to stop it. That's why I ran away. I can't just go back and look those people in the eye without hating them."

"How does this relate to—"

"You were the only person who actually protected me," he said. "Of all the people who could've helped, you were the only one to actually take action. You're the only person I've been able to count on."

"Alex, I can't replace your father."

"I'm not asking you to," he snapped. "I just want to live with you until I can live on my own."

I stopped, considered the situation, and took extra effort to choose my words carefully. "Even if I did let you stay with me, I only have enough income to support myself."

"I'll get a new job," he countered.

"And I'm away for extended periods of time when I'm on call. Sometimes it's for a few weeks at a time."

"I can handle being by myself."

"Not when you have to finish school."

"Tom! I'm not asking you to replace my father!"

Alex's sudden ferocity gave me a bit of a shock. The way he leaned over to get right in my face, to let me know how serious he was being, even though I didn't need to be reminded. "I'm not asking you to replace my father," he repeated. "I'm just asking to stay with you for a few months. A year at most. Like a roommate. I'll finish school with a part-time job, and then I'll switch to fulltime. I'll help with rent, bills, groceries, and all that stuff. I'll help keep the place clean when you're gone. I'll sleep on the couch. Then I'll be out of your hair for the rest of my life if you want me to be."

I shook my head at the last point. Even though he was much younger than me, and even though he'd caused more trouble than I could afford, I valued our friendship. "I don't want you to start thinking that you're my maid or something," I said. Alex's smile widened. "If you want to stay with me, then you're more than welcome to."

Alex threw his arms around my sides, hindering my ability to breathe. "I'll probably ask my supervisor to cut down on the extreme long-distance calls," I added. "At least you'll feel like you actually have a roommate and not just the ghost of one."

I wrapped my right arm around his shoulder and rested my chin on the top of his head. It was going to be an interesting year.