Love Is Always Write Volume 4

parking lot with a squeal of tires, obviously intent on heading them off.
    "Where should we go?" Bob asked. Despite the urgency and the fact that he was unwilling to end up in Snyder's clutches again, Bob felt like laughing. Jory thought he was adorable . Bob wasn't sure anything could pierce his bubble of glee.
    "We need to get to a public place. They can't grab us with witnesses."
    Bob wasn't so sure. They had kidnapped him downtown in broad daylight. "There is nothing around here! We're too far into this residential area. I think we should go back to the woods and take our chances. They can't follow us in the car there, and we'll be on more even footing if we have to fight."
    Jory looked reluctant, but he nodded. "Let's do it."
    They dove back into the underbrush and found themselves nearly trapped by an enormous bank of brambles. A single small track gave evidence that someone—probably local children—used the area as a shortcut to the park. They followed it and ignored several offshoots that seemed to lead toward walled houses.
    "I hate this," Jory complained. "I hate the outdoors. We are never going camping. Never. Tell me you hate camping."
    Bob glanced over his shoulder and laughed. "I hate camping." It wasn't completely true, but since Bob had never actually been camping he supposed it wasn't that farfetched.
    "I like you more and more every minute, Bobbin," Jory said.
    Bob made a huffing sound and then stopped short. "Hey, look!" He skirted Jory and then ducked under an overhanging shrub. A small track led beneath a canopy of evergreen branches and then up a steep incline. Bob thought he had spotted something from the path below, and he felt a surge of satisfaction when they reached an old wooden fence.
    "Dead end," Jory said and turned to look back the way they had come. There was no sign of Snyder or his minions, but angry shouts and the cracking of branches could be faintly heard. Bob had no doubt they were being pursued. He hoped Snyder's men were all crap at tracking.
    "Why would this path dead end at the fence? Look." Bob tugged at the fence boards until one of them lifted away from the base board, held by the top nails. Bob swung the board aside. A second board was also loose, allowing enough room, barely, for a person to squeeze through.
    "Excellent. Let's hope they don't have dogs." Jory crouched and stepped through, then held the boards for Bob. Once inside, they fixed the boards back in place as best they could. Bob surveyed their surroundings.
    They seemed to be in an overgrown portion of a back yard. A stonewalled patio could be seen some distance away.
    "We might be seen if we try to bypass the house and get into the front yard. It's guaranteed to be fully fenced in this neighborhood, but maybe the gate will be open."
    "No, wait." Bob grabbed Jory's arm to prevent him from walking. "Look there."
    Bob edged along the fence and pushed past several overgrown native bushes. He stopped beneath a large tree and looked up into the branches.
    "A treehouse." Jory sounded awed.
    "Yeah. Should we?"
    Jory glanced at the house and then nodded. Several boards had been nailed to the tree trunk. Bob went first, gripping the boards carefully and pulling himself up. He moved as quickly as possible, not wanting to be spotted by the residents or their pursuers.
    A hole in the floor opened to a small room that only creaked a bit when Bob entered. He crawled onto the dusty floor and moved aside to allow Jory access.
    "This is cozy," Jory said in a hushed tone. A small window looked out on the house and beneath that had been built a small countertop. A plastic child's stove stood next to it. A small table had been overturned and sat neglected in one corner. A built-up section resembled a bed. Bob wondered how many nights a child—or children—had spent huddled in a sleeping bag on the hard wood.
    "I don't think it's been used in a while," Bob commented. It left him feeling nostalgic; the children that had once played here had likely grown up and moved away, or perhaps they lived in the house now, watching television, paying bills, and cooking with real dishes and utensils. Time always moved on.
    Jory stretched out on the makeshift bed. His feet and most of his shins stuck out past the end, nearly touching the wall. "Like to join me?" he asked in a tone that would have been more at place in a candlelit bedroom. Nevertheless, it worked on Bob.
    He moved carefully, not wanting to make too much noise, but also not