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asked Jack. Ben’s father always insisted that adults be called mister or Ms. He had dated Ms. Broyhill for six years, but the boys still called her Ms.
    “He never said, but my brother thinks she was sleeping around.”
    “Wow!” said Jack.
    “Yeah, she was okay, but she was always making all that crazy food that nobody could eat,” said Ben. “She would make us eat snails, and dandelion greens, and then meat for desert.”
    “Get outta here,” said Jack.
    “Seriously, she got really weird with food. I’m sorta glad she’s gone even though I only had to see her once a week,” admitted Ben. Jack held his tongue—he despised Ms. Broyhill, but had never said as much to Ben.
    “I think you’ve got the only together parents I know around here,” said Ben.
    “Yeah, that’s true,” said Jack. “But they fight sometimes.”
    “Not like other parents,” said Ben. “Trust me, your parents are like totally perfect for each other.”
    “I bet.”
    “Really,” said Ben.
    Eventually their conversation trailed off and Jack felt very settled. He was starting to have a real sense that he was lucky to have the summer and his best friend. Each time he saw Ben he could tell they had less and less in common, but they could still share a summer.
     
    **********
     
    A week and a half passed and Jack and Ben established a solid routine. They would go on pre-approved walks each day, go for food every two days, make their own meals, and submit to the mandatory dinners and hygiene enforced by Jack’s parents. The weather was mostly good and on the one really rainy day they caught a ride to the mall with the big movie theaters. As Jack showed more responsibility, his parents became more apt to bend the rules and allow the boys to go on longer hikes. Working through Jack’s book on survival techniques and they practiced foraging for edible plants and making rudimentary tools.
    One day they managed to kill a small squirrel with a deadfall made of sticks and big rock. They imagined that they would eat their kill to prove their ability to live off the land, but the dead squirrel was pitiful and unappealing. Ben ended up digging a small, respectful grave for the rodent and they interred it while apologizing.
    Aside from their rainy day, each day was warmer than the last. At the apex of this heat wave they would go early to the quarry and spend the morning in and out of the water. A hand-lettered message on a rock read “Swim at your own risk.” but Ben was able to wipe away the “y.” They talked about everything from what high school would be like to what kind of car they would drive when they were adults. Ben wanted to get a new German convertible, and Jack preferred the idea of a restored muscle-car.
    On any subject, after about twenty minutes of debate they would both relent and take the other’s position. Soon they would each be defending the position they had previously considered “retarded.” This mechanism allowed them to express strong opinions and know they could reconcile quickly and completely.
    Their perfect summer routine ended early one afternoon on a Tuesday.
     



The Boy
     
    He awoke alone in the dark again. At least he assumed he was alone. Divorced from time, he had no sense of how long he had been tied to the chair. Frantic to establish what was happening, he tried to piece together recent events. All he could remember was waking in the dark, hearing the man come in, seeing the lights come on, and then what? He had flashes of imagery in his head, but at the same time he was certain that he had always been hooded. 
    The boy didn’t even think about life before this place. Some distant, idealized house played at the edge of memory, but seemed unimportant. The voice, the man—that was important.
    “Awake again?” a voice startled the boy from directly behind his left ear. “You probably don’t remember much, do you? It’s a side-effect of the drug.”
    The boy realized he could feel the