The Big Bad Wolf

CHAPTER 63

HERE WAS THE DEAL as Francis saw it now, as he tried to be calm and logical about it.

Nothing that had happened to him could possibly have happened! He couldn’t have been

abducted a few hours ago from the campus of Holy Cross by three absolutely terrifying men.

It just couldn’t have happened. Nor could he have been transported in the trunk of a car for

four, maybe five hours to God only knew where.

Most important, Vince couldn’t be dead. That cruel and heartless piece of shit couldn’t have

slit Vince’s throat back at the college. It hadn’t happened.

So all of this had to be an impossibly bad dream, a nightmare of the sort that Francis Deegan

hadn’t experienced since he was maybe three or four years old. And this man standing before

him now, this absurd caricature with curly tufts of white-blond hair around the side of his

balding head, dressed in a tight black leather bodysuit well, he couldn’t be real either. No

way.

“I’m very angry at you! I’m good and pissed!” Mr. Potter yelled right in Francis’s face. “Why

did you leave me?” he screeched. “Why? Tell me why. You must never leave me again! I get

very scared without you and you know that. You know how I am. That was thoughtless of

you, Ronald!”



Francis had already tried reasoning with the madman Potter, he called himself, and no, not

Harry. Mr. Potter. But reasoning didn’t work. He’d told the raving lunatic several times that

he had never seen him before. He wasn’t Ronald. Didn’t know any Ronalds! That had

earned him a series of full-handed slaps across the face, one so hard that it bloodied his nose.

The dweeby Billy Idol - looking freak was a lot stronger than he looked.

So out of desperation, Francis finally whispered an apology to the creep. “I’m sorry. I’m so

sorry. I won’t do it again.”



And then Mr. Potter was hugging him fiercely and he was crying all over him. Wasn’t this too

weird? “Oh, God, I’m so glad you’re back. I was so worried about you. You must never leave

me again, Ronald.”



Ronald? Who the hell was Ronald? And who was Mr. Potter? What was going to happen

now? Was Vince really dead? Had he been killed tonight back at the college? All of these

questions were exploding inside Francis’s throbbing skull. So actually it was easy for him to

cry in Potter’s arms, and even to hold on to him for dear life. To press his face into the

fragrant black leather and whisper over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Oh,

my God, I’m sorry.”



And Potter answered, “I love you too, Ronald. I adore



you. You’ll never leave me again, will you?” “No. I promise. I’ll never leave.” Then Potter

laughed and pulled away sharply from the boy. “Francis, dear Francis,” he whispered. “Who

the hell is



Ronald? I’m just playing with you, boy. This is just a game of mine. You’re in college, you must

have figured that much out. So let’s play games, Francis. Let’s go out to the barn and play.”