Heart medication. The kind they give you when the doctor stopped talking about treatment and start talking about time. He looked out at the hills, took a sip of bourbon, and somewhere in that silence a plan began to take shape. Over the next two weeks, small things started happening around Henry.
Things that didn't make sense on their own, but if you line them up, you'd see the shape of something coming. The first one happened on a Tuesday night. A man Henry had never seen before walked into the Fuel & Go during his shift. Leather jacket, motorcycle boots, heavy build.
He grabbed a coffee from the machine, browsed the chip aisle for an unusually long time, then came to the register. He paid for the coffee, then casually, like it was nothing, "You go to school around here?" "Yes, sir. Redville High." "You into cars? Bikes?" Henry hesitated.
"Yeah, mostly cars. I'm teaching myself." The man nodded slowly. "Teaching yourself. That's the real way to learn." He left a $5 tip on a $2 coffee and walked out.
Henry watched through the window as the man climbed onto a motorcycle in the parking lot. On the back of his vest, barely visible under the fluorescent light, was a patch. Red. Some kind of skull design.
Henry didn't think about it. He pocketed the tip and went back to restocking the cooler. The second thing happened 4 days later. A phone call came into the gas station during Henry's shift.
A woman asked to speak with Henry Adams specifically. She said she was from a community vocational opportunity program and wanted to ask a few questions about his interests and background. Henry, confused but polite, answered her questions. Yes, he was interested in auto mechanics.
No, he'd never done any formal training. Yes, he lived with his grandmother. Yes, he planned to finish high school. She thanked him warmly and hung up.
Henry mentioned it to his manager. His manager shrugged. "Probably some nonprofit cold calling. I wouldn't worry about it." Henry let it go.
The third thing was harder to ignore. Twice in 1 week, Henry noticed a dark blue pickup truck parked on his street when he left for school in the morning. Tinted windows, engine off. He never seen it before.
The first time, he figured it was visiting a neighbor. The second time, he slowed down as he walked past and caught a glimpse of something on the rear bumper. A small sticker. Crimson red.
Some kind of emblem he couldn't quite make out. He mentioned it to Nana Ruth that evening. She looked out the window, squinted with her good eye, and said, "Probably visiting the Hendersons down the street. Stop being paranoid, baby." He let that go, too.
But here's what Henry didn't know. He wasn't being watched by anyone who wanted to hurt him. He was being evaluated. Quietly.
Carefully. By people who needed to know if the kid from Route 12 was the real thing. Or just having a good day. And then, on a Tuesday afternoon, the truth walked right through the front door of the Fuel & Go.