New Contract for Seven Days

I just received the contract for a new novel entitled Seven Days.  In every life there are pivotal days that change everything.  This story has seven of them. 

Excerpt:

Evan stepped out of the warm car with its leather seats, vents blasting warm air and clean scent. He thought of looking back at the man driving, but he didn’t really matter. Evan knew that—at least he did now. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, nearly slipping on the slushy snow, he closed the door and jumped back as the dark blue Mercedes sped away in a fountain of water, dirt, and half-melted slush. Looking around to get his bearings in the early morning gloom, he backed further away from the street, running into someone who simply shoved him away with a grunt. With another stumble, he reached the brick building, leaning against it, taking stock of what he had and where he was, hands sliding instinctively in his pockets as they sought some sort of warmth. The hardest thing to get used to and get his mind around was the near constant cold.

His hands slid along the folded bills and Evan breathed a sigh of relief. Those small slips of paper, vital for everything on the streets, were a lifeline to a warm night and maybe even a bath or shower to wash away the scents of others on his body. Pulling out the bills, he slipped off a tattered shoe. Rolling down a sock, he shoved the bills deep under his arch with the others before rolling them the sock up again. The sound of ripping fabric made him groan and he looked down as the top of the sock, a few inches above his ankle, came away in his hand. Sliding his shoe back on, he left the tattered piece of fabric just above his ankle for warmth, letting his pant leg slide back down. His money hidden, Evan relaxed a little, looking around for that signal, the look that would indicate another man who might be willing to pay for what he was selling. Pulling his thin jacket around his body, Evan huddled against the building, his skin prickling, legs beginning to shake, arms aching as the cold seeped in through the jacket and his thin shirt.

Watching passersby, he caught the eye of a man in a business suit and long woolen coat sauntering down the street like he owned the world, and to Evan it looked like it did. The man, who might have been on his way to work, passed and continued walking before stopping, looking through the glass of a shop window. Evan knew he wasn’t really looking into the shop. That was one of the traits he’d already picked up. No one ever approached him right away; the men were usually shy or cautious. Evan watched as he turned and walked back toward him, stopping just a few feet away without looking directly at him. “Sure is cold,” the man said, looking around the street.

“Yup,” Evan replied, trying to stay out of the wind.

“Bet it’s warmer between the buildings,” the man commented, a not so subtle hint at what he wanted.

Warily, Evan pushed himself away from the building taking a few steps looking around before following his line of sight, saying nothing more. He heard the man’s footsteps behind him and braced himself. He hated this, he really did. A few months ago, he was a normal kid with normal parents and a normal life, and thoughts of what he was about to do had never entered his mind. Now it was an almost daily occurrence just to eat and maybe have a warm place to sleep. “Fifty,” Evan said and waited to see what the guy would do.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” the man said, and Evan moved back toward the street. He already had some money, and with it, he knew he’d eat. The man’s hands slipped into his pocket, pulling out crumpled bills. Evan took them, shoving the bills deep into his own pocket. The man pushed down on his shoulders and Evan felt his knees buckle, pain shooting through his legs as his knees hit the slush-covered pavement, even more cold seeping into his skin. The teeth of a zipper sounded and Evan began to retreat, his conscious mind pulling away, sheltering himself from the implications of what was about to happen—it was the only thing that stopped him from gagging, stopped the reflex to bite, to get away, or even to hurt. The only way he could bear the man’s voice as he called him every disgusting name in the book. Evan heard these, though; they penetrated his defenses because he’d said them to himself. He knew they were true because, after all, he was a “dirty fucking whore.”

Tears welled as they always did and he blinked them back as the man’s calls became more urgent. Pulling away, he could take no more. Jumping to his feet, legs wet, prickling with cold, Evan forced himself to move as the man howled his frustration. Peeking back, he saw him pumping himself as Even turned the corner, heart pounding. Realizing he wasn’t being chased, he slowed and stopped in front of a bright department store window, puddles of water glistening with reflected light. Looking down, Evan caught a glimpse of his own reflection and actually looked over his shoulder wondering if someone was behind him. He took a second look and realization dawned: the thin, drawn, old-looking face staring back at him with straggly blonde hair was him.

Stepping away, out of the light, Evan huddled beneath the awning of a dark window. His knees aching, he slid down the marble-tiled wall, arms encircling his knees, body curling into a tight ball, forehead resting on his knees, Evan felt the tears that had threatened multiple times come to the surface. “Mom… dad…, why’d you leave me?” he asked for what seemed like the millionth time as his throat tightened. Shoulders bouncing, Evan couldn’t stop the emotions that he’d held at bay for weeks. As they burst to the surface, he murmured, “I miss you both,” and he felt his face contort into the near-universal display of grief. He could see them saying goodbye that last Saturday morning as they’d left the house to go shopping. He’d asked to stay home, and as the tears ran down his cheeks, Evan wished with all his will that he’d gone with them. That way, the semi-truck that had skidded on the ice, crushing his parents’ lives and his entire world, could have taken him too.

“Son.” A hand touched his shoulder, and Evan jumped up, bouncing on his feet, arms bent, hands already clenched in tight fists. The man simply looked at him, his face calm, hands remaining at his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said levelly, almost serenely.