Brian Freeman - Thief River Falls

“I’m coming in,” she called. “Don’t be scared.”

She walked carefully through the barn door into the darkness. The wind whistled through open cracks in the walls. She shined her flashlight on the floor and saw dead leaves, cut straw, and rusted tools. Amid the dust, she also saw a few fresh drips that were bright red.

Blood.

“Are you hurt? Let me help you.”

The flashlight cast shadows behind the tall wooden posts that supported the roof. A row of stalls with metal gates divided the long wall next to her. There had been horses kept here once upon a time. She moved down the corridor, checking each stall, and her flashlight lit up dead things decaying inside. Birds. Rats. Snakes. Huge spiderwebs drooped from the rafters. The roof leaked, and puddles glistened on the floor. Green moss spread up the walls.

“Where are you? I know you’re here.”

In the stall ahead of her, she heard a noise. She came quickly around the half door and lit up the interior, and the light made a devilish red reflection in two animal eyes. A black cat, its back arched, its fur pricked up, unleashed an angry hiss from the corner of the stall. Lisa screamed as the cat leaped at her, scrambling over her shoulder and tearing panicked scratches with its claws. She stumbled backward and spun around as the cat jumped down and stampeded into the shadows.

Her heart raced. Her shoulder stung. She closed her eyes to settle her nerves.

When she opened her eyes again, she had to stifle another scream by squashing her hand over her mouth. “Oh!”

In the white beam of the flashlight, a young boy stood like a soldier at attention with his back against one of the barn’s support posts. He wore only a T-shirt and jeans, both of which were soaking wet against his skin. He shivered, freezing. His mouth hung open, and his blue eyes were wide with terror. He had fair blond hair, but it was hard to tell, because his head and face were matted with dirt and blood. He eyed the open barn behind her and looked ready to run, just like the cat.

Lisa recovered from her own fright and took a step away to give the boy space. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help.”

The boy didn’t say a word.

“I’m a nurse. When people are hurt, I help them get better. Can I take a look at your head and see if you’re hurt?”

She reached out a hand, but the boy recoiled. He shut his eyes and twisted his face, as if the slightest touch would be torture.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do that right now. The thing is, I’m really cold, and you look really cold, too. My house isn’t far away. It’s nice and warm there. I can even make a big fire in the fireplace for us. Wouldn’t you rather go inside instead of staying out here?”

The boy opened his eyes. There was a tiny softening in his face as he looked at her, the first small glimmer of trust. As scared as he was, he was also tempted by the promise of a warm house and a crackling fire. Lisa squatted down until they were eye to eye and gave him the biggest smile she could.

“Listen, you’re probably thinking, this woman’s a stranger. And we all know you’re not supposed to go anywhere with strangers, right? That means the first thing we should do is get to know each other. I’m Lisa. Can you give me a ‘Hey, Lisa’? Can you do that for me?”

She won a shy smile from him. His lips moved, and he murmured, “Hey, Lisa.”

“Look at that — you can talk! There we go! Now what about you? What’s your name?”

He was silent again.

“Please?” she said. “Just tell me your name.”

The boy shook his head over and over. Then he spoke again, and his voice was even softer than before. Like a whisper.

“I don’t know,” he said.

The fire cast a warm glow throughout the rustic den at the back of Lisa’s house. The wall surrounding the fireplace was made entirely of rough flagstones, and varnished log beams filled the other walls and stretched overhead across the ceiling. A faux fur rug was spread in front of the hearth, and the boy sat there, wrapped up in a quilt that Lisa’s mother had made several years earlier.

His blond hair shone almost white. His skin was scrubbed, pink and clean after his shower. His clothes were in the washing machine. She’d found a cut behind his ear but concluded that the injury itself wasn’t deep or serious, just a flesh wound that had bled profusely. However, the boy couldn’t tell her what had actually happened to him. He had no identification on him, nothing that would tell her who he really was.

Lisa watched from the doorway without letting him know that she was there. He seemed entranced by the flames, and he hummed, which was a comforting noise like the purr of a cat. His blond hair was wavy and unkempt and needed a cut. He had beautiful blue eyes, the kind of eyes that would make him a heartbreaker when he grew up. He was still scrawny like a little boy, all knees and elbows, his wrists as thin as matchsticks. His teeth were a little crooked and would need braces eventually.

What she noticed most about him was his serious face. He looked as if he was always thinking about things and trying to figure out their meaning. When he went into a room, his gaze moved around to every piece of furniture, every picture on the wall, every book on the shelves. He didn’t say much, but he seemed endlessly curious. Lisa could relate to that, because she’d been the same way as a girl, an introvert who noticed everything around her, like a silent spy.

She walked into the den. The boy heard her footsteps, and his head flew around, as frightened and alert as a startled rabbit on the lawn. She worried that he scared so easily, because it seemed out of character with everything else about him.

Lisa gave him a reassuring little wave. “It’s just me.”

She joined him on the deep rug and crossed her legs. She put out her hands, warming them near the fire. The boy studied her with that deep, intense stare that was full of questions.

“So can we talk a little bit?” she asked.

The boy shrugged. “Sure.”

“How’s your head? Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“I’m washing your clothes. They’ll be clean soon.”

“Okay.”

“Do you remember anything about what happened to you?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head with his mouth squeezed into a frown, as if he didn’t like disappointing her. “I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Let’s not worry about that yet. What about your name? Do you remember what your name is?”

“No. I don’t know that, either.”

“Hmm. So you’re a mystery boy, huh? Well, we need to do something about that, because everybody needs a name. You don’t want me to be saying ‘hey you’ all the time, right? Let’s give you sort of a secret agent name, at least until we find out who you really are. Okay? How about I call you Purdue?”

“Purdue,” the boy murmured. “Why would you call me that?”

“It’s from a French word that means ‘lost.’ And right now, you’re sort of a lost boy, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Well, the name Purdue is very special to me. I wrote a book about a little boy who was lost, sort of like you. And his name was Purdue.”

“What happened to him?”

Lisa thought, He was buried alive .

“He was rescued by a very brave woman and lived happily ever after,” she replied. “Of course, he had a lot of adventures along the way. That’s the way my books go. But the main thing is, he ended up figuring out who he was and where he was supposed to be. I’m going to make sure that happens for you, too. Okay?”

“Okay.” The boy’s face had that same serious expression again. “Do I look like this other Purdue? The one you wrote about?”