He stood, eyes blazing, and there he was, my Kid poking through the zombie he’d become. This was the kid I knew, the kid that became outraged at the stupidest things. (“It’s called a Double Down, Bear, and it’s a sandwich that doesn’t use bread. Instead they use two pieces of fried chicken, and then they put cheese and bacon in the middle. Apparently it’s not bad enough that chickens are kept in cramped prisons and fed growth hormones. Oh no. Not for the Americans! No, we also get to have the chance of having a heart attack and the shits, all at the same time! KFC is the worst, Bear! They are the worst. That’s why I’m making these flyers with Colonel Sanders with a Hitler mustache. People need to know the truth!”) This was the Kid I’d known for years. He wasn’t gone. He was just buried.

“I don’t have to sit here and take this,” he growled at us. “I’m not a child. You don’t get to treat me like one.”

“I think you’ll find there’s quite a bit we get to do,” Otter said easily. “Sit down.”

“You know what? I don’t think I will. In fact, I’m—”

Otter slammed his hand on the table. The pill bottles rattled, some falling over.

The Kid’s eyes went wide.

Even I jumped a little.

Otter pointed a finger at Tyson. “Sit. Your. Ass. Down.”

The Kid sat down very quickly.

“When did this start?” Otter asked.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Wrong answer. Who are you buying from?”

“I’m not buying any—”

“Wrong answer. Are there any other drugs we don’t know about? Any other pills hidden somewhere?”

“Seriously? You think I—”

“Wrong answer. I’ve asked you three questions now, and three times you’ve lied to my face.” Otter shook his head. “One more chance, Tyson. You get one more chance. If you lie to me again, you’re not going to like what happens next. I can promise you that.”

The Kid looked at me, eyes pleading. “Papa Bear,” he choked out. “I don’t—why aren’t you helping me? I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“I think you do,” I said, voice a little hoarse. I didn’t look away from the Kid when Otter took my hand in his and squeezed. “I think you know exactly what we want. I think you know exactly what this is.” I nodded toward the pill bottles. “Found those in your room, Kid. Doesn’t look real good for you.”

“You were in my room? I don’t go through your shit, what the hell gives you the right to go through mine?”

“Aside from the fact that most of your shit, as you call it, we bought you?” Otter said. “How about you apparently already went into our bathroom and helped yourself to a few Vicodin. Not your best argument.”

“Why are you doing this?” the Kid asked, glancing between the two of us, eyes hard.