"If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you be?" He nodded. "I would." "Tell me the rest." The light was leaving. Soon it would be dark. "There was an abandoned car here before," he started, gestured at the same place he'd been staring at. "Right there. In that exact same spot. I see it in my head. It had been years, but it's still so clear in my head. It's so f ucking clear." There was only an open field there now and sparse grass that had dried in the cold. That car only existed in his memory now. I ached for him. I could see the pain in his eyes, but I had a feeling if I reached out to him he would deny me again. Or worse, he would completely clam up and not speak another word about it. He needed to talk about it—this pain he'd been keeping for a long time. It was time to let go of it, or at least start letting it go. I knew what it was like to keep pain and anger inside—knew it so well. It would fester until all you felt was anger every damned day. It ruined everything, and it wouldn't give anything good a chance. "Tell me about that day," I said. "Did you manage to get out? Did your friend go back to see you at your house?" "No," he said. Suddenly he looked tired. He crossed his arms in front of him, lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Sit down, Cam," I said. He needed to get off his feet. He'd been working non-stop. I could tell. He was still big and muscular, but I could tell he had lost weight. His cheekbones were sharper, his jaw more prominent. He said he ate a lot, and from what I'd seen in his cooler he was right. But he was probably working a lot too, burning all his energy, not getting enough sleep. Worrying. I sat on the dry grass, waited for him to do the same. After a couple of minutes, he did, but didn't sit close to me. He sat just a little off to the side, as if he needed space to think, to gather his thoughts. "He was supposed to come to my house," he began after a moment. "We were going to eat first, maybe watch some tv, play some video games. Then go to the maze to finish the rest of the map. It was almost complete." "A map?" Then it clicked. "You guys were making a map of the maze?" The wind blew, whipping his dark curls on his forehead. I shivered. "Yes," he answered. "Raven was supposed to be gone that day. Another trip to an exotic resort. Whatever. She's usually gone for days. That's why I asked Pete to meet me at my house." Usually gone for days. That meant he was usually by himself. Just a little boy. Alone by himself. Was it a wonder he closed himself up to the world? He said he knew I was attracted to him, but he never thought I cared for him. It made sense he would think that. My heart hurt. "But she didn't go. Her boyfriend broke up with her and she blew up. Just another one of her normal tantrums, I thought, but I realized that it was beginning to be a bad one. She got drunk, broke things in the house. She locked me up in a room down in the basement. She didn't want me to leave. She hated being alone. She thought I wouldn't be able to escape and no one would hear my screams if she locked me down there." I let the anger roll through me. At the injustice of it, at his sadness. There was no goddamn excuse for anyone, especially a mother, to do that to her child. "She didn't hurt me. Just locked me up," he added. I knew that was for my benefit. As if that would change what I thought, what I felt about the whole thing. As if that made it okay. It was still abuse in my book. A child shouldn't have to be exposed to that kind of treatment or behavior from an adult who was supposed to protect him. I had my dad to protect me and Dylan. Cameron didn't have anyone. "Pete came to my house. They never met before. I could hear them. She was screaming at him, asking him things, cursing him. She said I wasn't home, so I assumed he went straight to the maze. I heard Raven leave a few minutes later. And then I escaped." Dread filled my limbs. I knew something bad was going to happen. I could hear it in his voice, the way it lowered and hardened. I saw it in the tension in his arms, his neck. The way his blue eyes regarded his surroundings. And the pain that flitted in them that he could no longer hide. "He was about to leave when I got to the maze. And I asked him to stay. I remember he was holding this notebook. This green one. It was just something I had lying around my room. I didn't care for it. I gave that damned notebook to him and he took care of it. He said it was the very first present he'd gotten. He f ucking took care of it like it was priceless. Like it was..." His voice broke. He lowered his head. "It was a gift," I said hoarsely, my heart aching for him. "From a friend." A muscle in his jaw ticked. "A friend," he said in a mocking tone. Full of self-hatred. Of blame. He raked his hair in his hands impatiently, looked up to the sky. It was dark now and the stars had started to come out. "We stayed a few hours inside the maze, exploring, mapping. He was getting tired and he wanted to go home, but there was only one section of the maze left. If we kept going it would all be done. I told him I was staying until I finished it. And I knew he'd stay too. I knew he wanted me to be his friend enough that he'd stay." "And then what happened?" I asked when he stopped. "We never got to finish it." "Why?" "He found another exit. Another hidden door. The exact same where you and I came out of." His voice had gone quieter now and each word that came out of his mouth felt heavy.