Wanted

#2 | Coyote Run

A rather young lad sat curled up on the side of the road. His back was against the front wall of a large theater and he held his knees to his chest. He stared into the clear night sky full of stars and with every breath, frost floated from his lungs and his whole body shivered. Passersby walked on as if they didn't notice the boy. He was nineteen at the time, but his frail condition could have fooled anyone into thinking he was a child.

The young man had no one and no place to go. His clothes were simple rags that barely fit and his shoes were made of woven sacks he stole from a bread stand; the bread kept in them was long ago consumed. The boy wanted to ration it out for himself, but his greed got the better of him—he couldn't help but scarf it all down at once. As the boy sat, teeth chattering and fingernails blue, people began trickling out of the theater. Single persons became couples which turned to crowds and masses pouring from the theater's doors.

The boy enjoyed the theater, or at least the outside of it. It was one of the only buildings in the city that kept its lights on past curfew. Who knew that the rapid expansion of new technologies would cause a regional power shortage? The lights made the boy feel warm and reminded him of the morning sun which he felt so lucky to see each dawn. The theater was also his best bet for finding sympathetic saps willing to throw a few pennies his way out of guilt. But as usual, the moviegoers went on their ways without paying much mind to the young man.

Most people tried to pretend that the boy wasn't there, but their swift glances were more than enough confirmation that they knew and that they chose to ignore a practical corpse. That night, however, the young man's life would change forever. All he could see was a vague figure—a man, he could tell—wearing a heavy coat and a wide-brimmed hat, all black. Something stuck out from his mouth: a toothpick the boy thought—or maybe a cigarette?—but either way, thin clouds blew from his grinning mouth when he exhaled.

"What's your name, son?" the man asked in a casual tone. His voice was almost a whisper, but still sounded as though it was the man's natural speech. The boy's gaze slowly moved from the stars to the shaded figure. He opened his mouth and his dry lips cracked after being still for so long.

"Arthur," the boy squeezed out.

"Do you have a last name?" the man asked.

"Ray," the boy complied. The man knelt down next to Arthur and commented on the beauty of the night sky without the crowding of artificial lights. The man draped his heavy coat around the young man and they sat on the side of the road for a few minutes. Eventually, an officer found the pair and informed them that it was passed curfew.

"My apologies," the man said standing. "I was enjoying the theater and got distracted by the beauty of the sky on my way out. Here's my ticket." The officer approved of the excuse and urged the man to hurry home.

"Right away, officer," the man said. He then turned to Arthur. "We best be getting home, son." Arthur stared at the man but didn't move or speak. "You do want to go home, don't you?" the man proposed. Arthur stood and followed the man back to a hotel where he agreed to be the man's adopted son. The man explained that he did not live in the city, so the next morning they journeyed south to a little town called Dry Creek. For several years, Arthur stayed with the kind theatergoer who took him in helping around the man's ranch and learning valuable skills that any man should know.

Eventually, however, the fantasy had to end. One day, the mysterious man vanished without a trace leaving Arthur once again all alone—though by that time, the man had given Arthur Ray a new name: Curtis Conrad. While investigating the ranch, Curtis found only a single note by the stable which stated that the lone horse left inside was a gift to Curtis. Opening the stable doors revealed a glistening silver stallion made entirely of metal. Even then, Curtis never learned the man's name.