Lost Boy Read Online Free

darkened hallway came the sounds of shouting and the screams of a baby.
    â€œBe careful of the railing.” Ryder put a hand on the old thing, carved from wood decades ago, and wiggled it as proof that it wasn’t to be trusted in the least to do its job.
    They climbed the darkened stairway, up all five flights. They heard more shouting and crying and loud music thumping behind doors. Each floor had its own smell, none of them good, even the third where a family from Pakistan cooked exotic meat with spices you’d think might be nice, but they were so rich they nearly made Ryder’s empty stomach heave. Finally, they reached the top landing where they turned right and went to the very end of the hall before Ryder fished the key from his jacket pocket. He kept it tied to his belt on a New York Giants lanyard. He jiggled the key into the lock, letting them into the tiny apartment that was as pleasant a refuge in such a place as to make it almost magical.
    Ryder’s mom kept everything neat and clean, and several glowing floor lamps filled the apartment with a yellow-orange warmth that could almost be felt. The scent of homey spices like cloves, dried basil, and cinnamon from the galley kitchen greeted them at the door. The smells made him think of her. The sight of her pale blue bunny slippers waiting hopelessly on the mat just inside the door made him choke on a fist-sized lump in his throat.
    â€œNice little place.” Doyle peered into the living room with its single curtained window, an old leather love seat, a carved golden oak table with matching high-backed chairs, and shelves crammed with musty books from floor to ceiling. At the closer edge of the room was an overstuffed chair with a blue-and-white decorative porcelain reading lamp on a narrow table beside it. “She reads a lot, huh?”
    Ryder nodded wordlessly.
    Doyle pointed to a shelf in the corner, the only one that wasn’t packed with books. Nearly a dozen trophies stood glinting with pride. “Yours?”
    Ryder nodded again. “Yeah,” he mumbled.
    â€œOkay. Nice. You gonna change?”
    Ryder shrugged and went into the only bedroom. He and his mom each had their own twin bed against opposite walls. He tried to ignore all the normal things around the room as he tossed his glove in the closet, stripped down, and pulled on jeans and a hoodie. He didn’t want any reminders of their normal life. He was already desperately hungry for it. He couldn’t believe this was happening—how stupid he felt for being so angry at his mom. Even the saddest or most irritating moments in his life before now seemed sweet in comparison to what was going on. His “now” was no place to be, and he gave himself a little curse for taking everything for granted.
    So, he ignored the split personality of the room. Her side was painted pale pink with tiny purple flowers on the wall and lace pillows on her bed. On the nightstand was a decorative antique lamp. On his side, the walls were off-white and sported his own team pictures amid posters of Derek Jeter, A-Rod, and Mickey Mantle as a sign of respect for the team’s great tradition.The cover on his bed and the pillow were both speckled with the Yankees logo. Baseball trophies of many sizes and shapes crowded the top of his dresser.
    He shook his head and kept his eyes on the floor, returning to the living room the instant he was dressed.
    Doyle replaced the book he’d been studying to its empty spot on the shelf. “So, where’s this Starr guy?”
    â€œOkay. He’s across the hall.” Ryder led Doyle back out into the hall and threw the bolt so the door to his apartment wouldn’t close behind them. He knocked on the next door over and waited.
    â€œMaybe he’s not home?” Doyle stroked his mustache.
    Ryder shook his head and found his voice. “No. He’s always home.”
    â€œAlways?”
    â€œYou’ll see.” Ryder