Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ Your Halo’s Slipping Down ( Chapter 24 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Extreme AU, OOC, non-historic West, violence...supernatural themes, violence.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark. Oh, but I DO own original characters and creatures.




Chapter Twenty-Four:
Your Halo’s Slipping Down





Junior and Virgil arrived at the settlement–but immediately upon cresting the hill, Junior knew something was wrong. It was a certain feeling that made his hairs stand straight up, and for his instincts to ring. Virgil had the same reaction, frowning as he examined the area with a hesitant action. The horses snorted and pulled at the reins, reacting with fear upon something that the humans couldn’t exactly place themselves.

“Huh,” Virgil muttered. “This is...nice. Way nice. But it’d be better wit’ animals...”

“There were animals. Mebbe...mebbe they took ‘em for a walk?” Junior suggested weakly, not really thinking about the animals’ absence.

Virgil snorted, but reined in his urge to laugh at the thought of Hotstreak taking the animals for a ‘walk’. Junior glared at him, then lead the way toward the house. The place was still, silent–for a panicked moment, Junior thought for sure that the pair had left. There was absolutely no movement or whisper of sound. It was just...dead.

There were no indications that activities had been performed, and the walkways were undisturbed. There was some dust layering the wooden porch, and the barn was shut tight. The sheep pen and correl looked as if they’d never held animals before.

Both of them glanced around to notice these things. Junior dismounted his mare, letting the reins fall to the dirt as the horse shuffled nervously about. Both animals were fidgety, but Junior was too focused on the absence of both males to really notice their behavior. Uneasiness swept through him as he ascended the porch.

His skepticism over Junior’s promise that Hotstreak was here was steadily rising. To him, it looked as if the place hadn’t been disturbed in years.

“Hallo!” Junior called, then winced at the volume of his voice as it shattered the silence. Virgil joined him on the porch, and the pair glanced at the windows. Taking a deep breath, Junior reached out to open the door–he was growing more and more despaired that Hotstreak had taken off with Richie the moment he’d left. He anxiously grit his teeth as he and Virgil walked into the house.

It was silent. The furniture within looked empty and bleak–the kitchen looked untouched. Everything was in its place and neat, save for the dust that indicated the lack of use.

Virgil’s eyebrows rose with skepticism. “You sure you ain’t makin’ shit up?” he asked Junior impatiently, crossing his arms–but he was ready to draw, just in case.

“No!” Junior cried, looking around with despair. Hotstreak must have left as soon as he crested the damn hill! He shook his head in disbelief, wondering why he’d taken so long to find Virgil. He should have just killed Hotstreak right then and there! “I ain’t–! I didn’t–! They was here!”

“I think yer just lyin’,” Virgil said slowly, starting to go for his guns.

Both of them stilled at the sound of movement from the second floor. It sounded as if someone was rising from a bed. There came the telltale clomp of boots being slipped on, a couple of curses, then the heavy creak of a door opening. They both reacted with startled actions, unconsciously crowding together as they looked up at the stairway.

Hotstreak spotted them, and he gave an expression of surprise. Even so, he looked dazed, wary. As if he were still in the process of waking up. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a few days, and his red hair was messy.

“Virgil?” he questioned.

“Yer alive!” Virgil crowed. “Holy shit! Yer alive!”

As Junior looked around anxiously for Richie, Hotstreak hesitated. He worked his jaw, then slowly descended the stairway, taking each step cautiously. His eyes were sweeping around them, noting the somewhat clean floors–taking in the furniture. His expression grew steadily confused–he then looked at the two men as he reached them, searching for horror or shock. There wasn’t any.

Virgil reached out to sock his shoulder companionably, then embraced him with a joyous laugh. Hotstreak was taken by surprise by the action, awkwardly thrown off balance. Junior tried not to be impatient, but he was looking around for Richie.

“How you been, ol’ man?” Virgil asked, visibly cheered by his friend’s appearance.

Hotstreak ignored him, pulling away to glance out at the windows. He exhaled with slow action as the two watched him with puzzled expressions. Seeing that everything was normal, he hurried outside. He was utterly amazed that the carnage he’d seen just the other day was gone. Walking onto the porch, he stared down at the dirt–there wasn’t any presence of blood, nor any sort of tracks.

Virgil and Junior followed, baffled by his behavior.

Hotstreak hurried toward the barn, sweeping the doors open to see nothing. He stared in silent disbelief at the emptiness within. The entire place had been covered in blood. It had been rank of gore. The rafters bore a few chafe marks, but...he was utterly bewildered as to how Richie had managed to make it seem as if nothing had occurred.

...Was it all just some horrible nightmare? Had he missed something completely? Distracted while those Things took off with him?

Horror filled him, then, sucking in a deep breath as he realized that he hadn’t yet seen the kid anywhere.

“Hotstreak?” Virgil questioned with dumbfounded hesitation. “What’s goin’ on, man?”

Hotstreak blinked, then whirled around. He looked as if he were just seeing them for the first time. “Virgil?! What...? What you doin’ here?!”

Virgil and Junior looked confused, shuffling nervously and with obvious lack of understanding.

Then Junior peered at him suspiciously. “You trippin’?”

“No!” Hotstreak barked, glaring at him. He grew enraged upon seeing the man, shoulders and chest puffing, lips curling. “What you doin’ here? Didn’t I warn ya–?”

“Hotstreak, what the hell’s goin’ on?!” Virgil interrupted, confused.

The redhead straightened and looked at him with renewed remembrance. “I–!”

He cut himself off, looking at the house with horror. He then pushed past them, hurrying over as he was slammed with the memory of coming back to the house to find Richie had slit his wrists. Panic and guilt hit him as he called his name.

Junior and Virgil exchanged entirely bewildered expressions, then hurried after him.

“Hotstreak, what is goin’ on?!” Virgil demanded impatiently.

“Where’s the boy?” Junior demanded at the same time. “Did you do somethin’ to him?”

“‘Boy’?” Virgil repeated, pausing in mid-stride. Then he resumed rushing again. “What boy?!”

Hotstreak ignored them both, then rushed into the house, hitting the staircase at a frantic pace.

“You have a kid?” Virgil howled, rushing into the house. “Another one?! Again?!”

Hotstreak disappeared into Richie’s room–but the kid wasn’t there. That hideous nightgown had been discarded, tossed over the edge of the bed; which also looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping in it the last few nights. In total confusion, he ran his hand over his face, trying to think. He slowly made his way out of the room, and headed downstairs. Then he gave a start.

“Where the fuck’s my horse?!” he cried in panic. He tried to remember if he’d seen Charger that day, if the stallion had been part of that carnage. But he honestly couldn’t remember. He was once again racing outside, the other two following cluelessly.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” Junior demanded impatiently, growing tired of the bewildering scene.

“My horse is gone!” Hotstreak exclaimed, whistling for the stallion and scanning the surrounding horizon. He then began looking for him, and his frantic search came up in the discovery that the buckboard was also missing. He stilled, panting with effort–trying to pierce together answers with his confusing array of memory. He just couldn’t remember or think of any way he’d seen Richie leave, or–

“Francis, what the hell is goin’ on?!” Virgil demanded, Hotstreak whirling on him.

“Don’t CALL me that, Virgil!”

“Sorry, but–!”

“Where is the boy?” Junior growled again, looking frustrated. “Where is he?”

Hotstreak whirled on him, off balance by his sudden movement. “You ain’t takin’ him!”

“I’ve got better use for him than you!” Junior shouted, once again stepping up to the big man. But he was still shorter and slighter than the six foot four redhead. Virgil had to shake his head at his persistence, but he was just confused at the entire situation.

“You–!”

Virgil inserted two fingers into his mouth and gave a shrill whistle that made both of them wince. Both shut up and glared at him. He waved his arms about frantically. “Before ya’ll start beatin’ the shit outta each other, can ya explain what the fuck ya’ll talkin’ about! I’m in the dark, here! Who the hell is this boy?!”

Hotstreak and Junior glared at each other, then looked away, giving each other space. Hotstreak started to explain before Junior cut in with: “He’s got the boy all slaved up! Keeps him for sex and–!”

“What?!” Virgil shrieked.

“NO I AIN’T! NO!” Hotstreak cried over Virgil’s exclamation. But guilt was written all over every feature. “Jeez! Virgil, he’s tellin’ lies–!”

“No I ain’t! Kid tole me hisself, that he’s the ‘worst one’!” Junior interrupted. “Came to rescue him, I did! That’s why I brought you along! Talk some sense into this crazy cracker!”

“Who’s this boy?” Virgil screeched, then whapped Hotstreak across the head, startling the redhead. “You didn’t tell me you were into men! All this time–!”

“Virgil, I don’t–!”

“BOY!” Junior bellowed over their shouts, storming past them. “Where are you? Answer me if you ain’t dead!”

“He ain’t dead!” Hotstreak cried in exasperation, about to swing a fist at him. Virgil grabbed him by the arm, swinging him around so that they could face each other.

“What are you two talkin’ about?” he growled. “What’s goin’ on?”

As Junior went bellowing from one room to the next, Hotstreak looked at Virgil with a guilty, defensive expression. He fiddled with everything from his shirt, to his belt, pockets and picked at the hair at his arms as he tried to come up with a pleasing explanation for it all.

“It ain’t what he said, Virgil,” he finally said with a hurried tone. “It ain’t! You gotta believe me!”

“I–! I would, but...if’n I knew what was goin’ on...!” Virgil exclaimed, his eyes searching Hotstreak’s for any sort of explanation. But all he saw was guilt and defensiveness. It gave him a curdling feeling to know that something odd was going on, and his friend was in the middle of it all. “Why don’t you tell me first–where’s the boy?”

“I–! I don’ know! Honestly, I–! Virgil, he went crazy!” Hotstreak cried, remembering that day. He paled significantly, all of it coming back with startling and sickening clarity. The sounds, the smells, the colors–! That legless lamb struggling to crawl along, and Richie trying to kill it.

Virgil stepped back, because the colors that were spreading along Hotstreak’s usually tanned features were changing from pale gray to green. His friend looked simply–horrified. Utterly terrorized–these were things he hadn’t seen since that day they’d come back to the ranch to find it destroyed by zombies.

“When he was here–we were livin’ together! When he was here, he–we had over three hundred head of cattle! An’ sheep!”

“Sheep?! Since when ya’ll into sheep?”

“They was all his! Alla it! I–I let him have them, thinkin’ that–that he’d want–! But lissen–! He went an’ kilt them–a lot of them! He just went crazy! Just real crazy! An’ he’s a lil’ kid, he’s not even–!”

“What ya mean, ‘crazy’?” Virgil asked, wincing at the utter disbelief as his friend’s voice rose with hysteria, and this large, seemingly invincible manly-man was nearing knocking his knees with what he’d seen. It was starting to scare him, and left him feeling as if there was no safety in the world.

“Virgil! Lissen to me!”

“I am! You tellin’ me of a crazy kid–!”

“Ninety pounds, Virgil, mebbe even not that! A lil’ taller’n Sharon–! An’ he’s haulin’ a one thousand pound heifer up the rafter like it ain’t nothin’–! An’ men! Indians–! All bigger’n him, an’ he’s got ‘em tied up an’ he’s killin’ an’ he’s laughin’ an’ talkin’ all CRAZY–!”

Virgil was astounded by Hotstreak’s hysteria. The man had obviously seen tremendously horrifying things, and he began waving his arms about to get his attention.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey! It’s all right, now! It’s all right! It ain’t happenin’–it’s back then, man! It ain’t here now!”

“That’s what ‘m sayin’, Virgil! It was all so much! Blood, guts–he had the kitchen all piled up with all this shit!” Hotstreak screamed, gesturing wildly at the kitchen.

He made a double-take at how clean it was, now. How all the furniture was back in place–how the floorboards revealed nothing of the gore that had been lining the counters and residing in pots.

Junior joined them at that point, panting slightly with his efforts in running from room to room. Hearing the end of Hotstreak’s cries, he scowled at the man–then lunged at him. “You killed him, you sonnava–! You murdered that kid, an’ you just makin’ up lies ‘bout it!”

“I didn’t touch him!” Hotstreak cried. Easily, he shoved Junior off his back, expression turning venomous. Both of them lunged at each other again, swatting and punching. It was easy to tell who would win the fight, but Junior’s persistence and fury had more strength than Hotstreak’s. Virgil intervened, lunging between them in an effort to separate them.

“Cut it out, you two!” Virgil growled. “Knock it off! Now...let’s just...calm down. Let’s get some info–Hotstreak? You kill him?”

“NO!”

Virgil looked at Junior, adjusting his hat. “He didn’t kill him, man.”

Junior gave him an aghast expression. “You can’t believe that–!”

“I didn’t kill ‘im!”

Virgil waved his arms about. “OKAY! Junior, he didn’t kill ‘im. Now, Hotstreak is tellin’ me a fascinatin’ story ‘bout a ninety-pound kid liftin’ cows onto rafters. Let ‘im finish...”

Junior scoffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms. “He’s obviously crazed, nigger. That kid is so weak an’ useless, he can’t even take a SHIT wit’out bein’ told to! ‘Sides, he all scared of animals.”

Virgil scowled at him. “Stop usin’ that word!”

“You callin’ me a liar?” Hotstreak snarled at the younger Alva, jabbing a thumb against his chest.

“Yeah I’m callin’ you a liar!” Junior exclaimed, looking at him in disbelief.

Virgil sighed as they lunged at each other once more. Wiping his face tiredly, he ignored Hotstreak picking Junior up easily and tossing him across the room.

He had to get this story straight. It was just...it seemed as if life’s stresses had finally caught up to his friend. Frankly–he heard Junior’s yowl of pain at this point, and fleshy smacks that made Virgil wince–Virgil wondered how Hotstreak had lasted this long. The man had so many horrors and traumas that it seemed impossible in how sane Hotstreak seemed at times. Maybe the man was just...confused. Tired.

Maybe he was just dreaming things up.

Later that night, he sat at the table with the two men–Junior was sporting injuries and grumbling while Hotstreak spilt the rest of the story to them with overexcited exclamations and further expressions of horror and disbelief.

Hotstreak was telling them of how he’d found Richie with the Indians and ended at the slaughter in the barn. Of course, he omitted several details, and that was of their relationship and Richie’s suicide attempt.

Junior blinked, thumbing a swelling knob near his hairline. He knew Richie–he couldn’t accept that Richie was thinking for himself in the way Hotstreak described, doing all the things Hotstreak had said he’d done. It was just...impossible.

Virgil tried to picture the sickly teen he’d last seen trailing after Junior. He couldn’t picture Richie doing those things, either. He stared at Hotstreak with skepticism as the redhead finally took a deep breath, exhausted by his rendering of flashbacks.

He swept his hands through his matted red hair, all his movements filled with agitation and exhaustion. He looked at Virgil, as if he’d have the answers right in front of him. “Mebbe he was possessed, huh? I mean–really, he–he couldn’t’ve done those things–!”

“I think yer just plum crazy, an’ you just tryin’ to justify yer behavior with killin’ him!” Junior snapped. “I’m thinkin’ since all the animals ain’t here, you slaughtered him an’ ate him!”

Virgil waved at him impatiently while Hotstreak stared at Junior with heated exasperation. “I dunno, man. I don’t. I mean...you under a lot of stress. Maybe...maybe it’s just...”

“See?! I knew you wouldn’t believe me! It’s all–just–it’s–you had to have seen it!” Hotstreak then cried helplessly. His broad shoulders slumped, and he buried his face into his hands. “You had to have seen it...it...it was fuckin’ freaky...”

Junior shook his head in disgust, staring at him with undisguised scorn. Virgil picked at the table for a few moments, then shot both men helpless looks. The room fell into thick silence as each contemplated his thoughts.

Junior rolled his eyes, shifting forward in his seat. “Well...that’s that, then. You ain’t have any idea where he might go?”

“...No. He don’t know the area. He just stuck around the house.”

“Mebbe...he tried headin’ back East? That’s where came from, huh?” Virgil asked, frowning at Junior and his exasperated scoff.

Hotstreak looked lost for a moment, then he shrugged. “Dunno, man...mebbe. I mean...he might’ve. He...he weren’t doing too well, here.”

Junior pushed away from the table with a highly exaggerated sigh. “‘M tellin’ you people. He’s the most worthless, helpless kid you ever done met. He wouldn’t go off on his own. He’s too scared.”

“Jesus, Virgil! Who listens to this guy?” Hotstreak complained. “You hangin’ wit’ him, too?”

“Hey, he led me to you, huh?” Virgil shrugged.

“Man, all I’m sayin’, is that this kid wouldn’t do any of that stuff unless ya’ll had a hand in it,” Junior continued, stuffing his hat atop of his head. “If he did take your damn horse an’ shitty carriage-thing, there would be tracks. I’m gonna find them...in the mornin’. Ya’ll don’t mind, do ya?”

“Sheesh, I ain’t yer daddy,” Virgil muttered.

“Why you want him?” Hotstreak demanded. “C’mon, man, he don’t need that sorta life!”

“What’s in mind ain’t for your knowledge. ‘Sides, really, you usin’ him for the wrong reasons.”

“I ain’t–!”

“No one’s usin’ anybody!” Virgil interjected. He gave them both a puzzled look. “Ya’ll hear that?”

All of them stilled, straining their ears. Hearing nothing, Hotstreak sighed heavily, resting his aching head into his hands. “Must be them Things, Virgil. They around every night.”

“‘Things’?”

“ Y’know, creatures. Like...nasty lookin’ ones. They come out at night, but they can’t come in.”

“...Creatures?”

Hotstreak sighed impatiently as Junior frowned at the windows. “I told you ‘bout them, V!”

“That ain’t creatures,” Junior then said, moving toward the back door. “That’s a horse. An’ one of them trailer-thingies.”

Hotstreak shot out of his chair with haste, and Virgil confirmed the sounds with his own hearing. He followed, hands on his guns as he wondered what these creatures looked like. He had a million questions swirling around in his thoughts, but he set them aside as Hotstreak shoved Junior aside and hurried outside.

Virgil could have sworn he heard a set of hisses that bordered on demonic, and the obvious sounds of things scurrying around outside as Hotstreak tromped out onto the porch. He and Junior followed cautiously, the sounds of the arriving horse and buckboard obvious.

Sparky and Junior’s mare gave out cautious nickers, Charger’s surprised whinny screeching through the heavy stillness of the night.

The three men watched Charger pull into the light, the stallion’s eyes wide and wild, ears pressed flat against his skull–he was pulling the buckboard with agitated movements, and his coat was shiny with sweat. It looked as if he’d protested and struggled the entire time of being used.

Richie frowned at the sight of the new visitors, visibly tensing. He was dressed in a couple of shirts and a pair of worn jeans that were rolled at the ankles. The gloves, hat and jacket were items that Hotstreak didn’t recognize.

“What are they doing here?” he demanded sullenly as he yanked Charger’s reins to a stop. The stallion immediately protested treatment, kicking out with his front hooves and pulling hard on the reins. Another yank, and the stallion was twisting in his capture, eyes wild as he sought escape.

Hotstreak, concerned for his horse, reached out to grab his bit. His cautious eyes were locked on the teen’s as Richie continued to frown at the two men.

“Where you been?” he asked, defensively.

“It doesn’t matter.” But the blond didn’t move from his seat, eyeing both Junior and Virgil warily.

Virgil tried to put on a friendly face, but he was just caught in a mixture of puzzled reaction and a sort of concerned expression as he wondered how long the boy had been sick. It was obvious that life was straining on the diminutive male.

Junior frowned, wondering if he would accomplish his task if Richie was so sickly in appearance. He was going to be pissed if the boy died before Junior could reach his dream.

Hotstreak immediately worked on releasing Charger from the ropes that held him. The stallion was so jittery and anxious that he fought the entire time–when he was free, the stallion didn’t hesitate to run off into the darkness.

The redhead then peered into the emptiness of the buckboard, puzzled by the darkness within. He then looked at Richie again, indicating for him to come down.

“Where’s the animals?” he asked. “What–”

“I will not be kept from accomplishing my Purpose,” Richie instead growled, eyeing the two men. Once Hotstreak realized he was reaching for a weapon at his side, he froze. “Nobody will use me again! Nobody’s going to–!”

“Don’t you be goin’ for your gun, man,” Virgil said cautiously, a little shocked that he was seeing the teen react so purposefully. “We don’t want to be shootin’ at you.”

“You shoot me, boy, an’ I’ll knock you around so hard, you won’t even remember what it was you was tryin’ to shoot us for!” Junior threatened viciously as his hands rested on his gun.

Richie froze, a little lost at his next move. Virgil scowled at Junior, but his hands didn’t waver from his own weapons.

Anxiously, Hotstreak gestured at Richie to climb down. “C’mon, man, it’s creepy out here. ‘Sides, you got some explainin’ to do.”

“I’m not going in there. Not with them. Not with you. All of you–! You have that look. You’re going to try to–!”

“Don’t make me go out there an’ drag you offa that myself!” Junior snapped, gesturing at the porch. “Get off that thing! I ain’t sayin’ it again!”

Once again, Richie froze. It was as if Junior’s threats were trying to break through whatever defensive wall he’d raised to protect himself with, and was struggling internally to obey himself, or the younger Alva upon automatic reaction. He seemed a far cry different from the insane being he’d presented to Hotstreak days earlier.

Something skittered across the dirt, startling him as he glanced out into the darkness. He thought of his Purpose, hearing three different people trying to coax him–with their own individual manners–into leaving the buckboard and coming into the house. Finally, he slumped in defeat and climbed down, avoiding Hotstreak completely. He skittered around both Virgil and Junior, and hurried into the house without looking at them.

Hotstreak was more confused than he. He kept wondering if it had all been some odd nightmare. He turned away from the buckboard and gave Virgil a lost expression.

Virgil shrugged in response, unsure of the situation himself.

010101010110

The next morning, Junior awoke with a start. He wasn’t sure what it was that woke him, but he knew it had to have been something out of the ordinary. He was sleeping in one of the spare rooms, and had fallen asleep out of exhaustion. He didn’t remember saying anything to either man, nor making plans with them in the morning.

As his stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything yet, he rose from his bed. He’d forgotten why he’d awakened as he muttered to himself and wiped the grit out of his eyes. He wanted a drink–but he hadn’t had any liquor since...well...he couldn’t quite remember. Just that it had been awhile.

He was starting to stretch, to venture out and look for something to eat when he heard Richie shriek in a high-pitched volume.

“I DID IT! I DID IT, and I DON’T REGRET IT! EITHER OF IT! ANY OF IT! I’d do it again if I had to, and if I had the chance, I’d just do it again and again and again–! I can’t wait to get to you! I’d rather rip you apart and find out what makes you tick! I want to see if your body organs are just the same as mine! Or are you half animal? Will you even have any resemblance of order like humans?”

Junior blinked. That...what....he was confused. What was the kid talking about? And to whom? It gave him a shiver, hairs standing at the base of his neck because the thin, reedy voice Richie was speaking in just...it suggested insanity.

“You would say all that!” Richie then continued, a one-sided conversation from his locked room–they’d heard furniture moved about last night, after he’d disappeared in there. “You are all cowards, hiding outside and not trying to come back in. You’re afraid of HIM–that’s to my advantage, for the now. But...you had your chance! I was out there for days, and you didn’t even know. HAH! Fool on you, you incompetent–what? You have no idea what you say! You have no idea the extent of my suffering–! I do NOT want to stay here–I am not meant to be here for the rest of my life! I HAVE A PURPOSE! I WILL SEEK AND ACCOMPLISH MY PURPOSE, and if I have to kill to do it, then that’s what I have to do.”

Junior blinked again. He was starting to feel uncomfortably nervous. And very scared. For some reason, fear was a big factor in his current range of feelings. He tried to shake that off as he rose from the bed, ruffling his hair. He was NOT going to be afraid of some child that was...very obviously off the deep end. He heard that some people were like that–their intelligence grew so great that they lost sight of other factors of their perceptions of life.

Perhaps Richie had just temporarily blinded himself with insanity because...well...who wouldn’t go insane in a no-where place like this, with a dimwit such as Hotstreak for company?

Frankly, Junior felt he was justified in that factor. Anybody would go insane.

“I WILL NOT!” Richie suddenly shrieked again. “I will not do that again–! EVER! I would bite my tongue off instead!”

Junior grumbled to himself, forgoing his boots as he stomped out of his room. Heading to Richie’s closed door, he saw Virgil peeking out of his borrowed room as well, looking wholly confused and slightly frightened. Hotstreak must have still been asleep, or just used to the behavior, for he was no where in sight.

“That was just bad circumstance! I will succeed next time, and no one will stop me! No one!”

Junior kicked his door viciously. “Shut up, you little twat! Jesus H. Christ, what’s the meanin’ of all this fuckin’ screamin’ so early in the damn mornin’?! No wonder yer insane, you weird son of a bitch!”

The silence was thick as Junior listened for a reaction. Hearing none, he sighed with accomplishment, and turned away. He glared at Virgil as he walked past the man, heading downstairs. He was hungry, still tired, and had no idea how he was going to convince Richie to leave with him. He had no idea how he was even going to get close enough to talk to him about his plans.

After Junior descended the stairway, Virgil crept into Hotstreak’s room. The man was still asleep and dead to the world, it seemed.

He was bewildered how Hotstreak could ignore that mad rambling. How was it he was able to sleep through that insanity?

“Hey,” he hissed, kicking the bed. The man didn’t stir, and Virgil glanced around himself with apprehension as he felt...suddenly not alone. As if he and Hotstreak weren’t the only men in the room. Cold, he kicked the bed again. Hotstreak didn’t move, nor did his sleeping features acknowledge any sort of reaction to the rude gestures. “FRANCIS!”

With no response, Virgil frowned at his longtime friend. He glanced around the room once more, noting the messiness of the bedroom. It was as if Hotstreak just let things drop where they were and didn’t bother with picking them back up again. Everything was in such a disarray that Virgil winced. He looked out the windows–the sun was still missing. The clouds had grown darker–it appeared rain was coming upon them, and he heard thunder in the distance.

What he wouldn’t give for the sun’s warmth again...

He looked down at Hotstreak with worry. The man was holding a gun under his pillow, and slept with all his clothes on–as if prepared to move in a hurry. But...he wasn’t waking.

Virgil reached out and shook him hard, frowning as Hotstreak continued to sleep.

“That’s weird,” he muttered, giving up. He left the room quietly, staring at Richie’s closed door with apprehension.

He wouldn’t admit aloud that he was afraid the kid would pop out and skin him, or something. All his talk about killing and not regretting it made Virgil nervous. He practically sprinted past his room and took the stairs two at a time. Junior was in the kitchen, rummaging for something to eat.

“You know, I’m goin’ out on a limb here, but somethin’ tells me you ain’t ever been happy in yer life,” Virgil commented as he joined the search.

Junior scowled at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“...Dunno.” Virgil dropped it as he handled a small container of canned fruit. He held it up for Junior to recognize. The man found some jerky wrapped in paper and twine, and the pair settled for that.

“There’s not very much in the house,” Junior said, pouring peaches into a wooden bowl and using a knife to fork it into his mouth. “An’ the flour’s almost all gone. Even if they were gonna stay here, they gonna starve.”

“There’s such a thing called ‘hunting’...I don’t believe you’ve heard of it?”

“I ain’t no damn dumb ass, negro,” Junior grumbled. “Still, both times when I came in, there ain’t no animals ‘round, save the cattle and sheep they’d had. They had a lot, too.”

“He couldn’t’ve kilt them all,” Virgil said quietly, trying to picture Richie killing the cattle.

“‘M thinkin’ that some got away...maybe they still in the hills?”

“Well...I’d really prefer that Hotstreak came back to Luna. I mean, it’d be good for both of them. Betcha livin’ out here has them all stressed, all the time.”

“Yeah, the kid’s prolly all angry that he’s bein’ raped every night.”

Virgil threw his jerky at Junior. “Why you sayin’ that shit, huh? I can’t see my friend ever doin’ that sorta thing to anybody! That’s just fuckin’ sick, an’ you talk that way one more time–!”

“Shit, nigger! He’s been fightin’ me for that boy since that first night he got his service!” Junior complained, picking the jerky up from the floor. He studied it for a moment before shrugging and eating it. “Everyone falls for a whore, an’ gets it in their head that they can be the one to ‘save’ them. But’cha can’t–absolutely CAN’T–make a housewife outta a whore. It just ain’t done. They just too...wild.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Jesus...it ain’t cuz they’re wild...it’s cuz they been traumatized, you piece o’shit. They’re terrified of everyone, an’ they think everyone’s gonna use ‘em. They ain’t got no control over their bodies, so they try an’ have control in other places. Some people get all into it for the wrong reasons–it ain’t cuz they’re ‘wild’...”

Junior gave him an exasperated expression. “Whatever. The point is, you can’t tame ‘em.”

“They don’t wanna be tamed! They wanna be their own person!”

“What would you know, shit-nigger? You don’t know shit about whores the way that I do. I worked wit’ them all my life. ‘M practically an expert on them! Could write a book on dealin’ with whores...”

Virgil let out a sound of disbelief. “Jesus, man! Your ego chokes me! Let me leave the room before your dumbness manages ta brainwash me.”

“Anyway, the kid wanted to be a teacher before daddy decided otherwise on ‘im. Figured I’d offer him that position. They need teachers in Luna, eh?”

“Uh...Alva ain’t really focusin’ on that. He’d prolly have him workin’ other things.”

Junior frowned, briefly picturing Teresa. “Daddy would prolly make him work with the other whore, huh?”

“Dunno. Jus’...what you really here for, man?” Virgil then asked, frowning at him. “You ain’t leadin’ me here for some act of good just because...”

“‘M here to get the boy. That’s all. Whatever you wanna do wit’ your friend ain’t nothin’ of my concern.”

“...Figures you had an ulterior motive. But whichever, thanks for bringin’ me out here. My friend means a lot ta me.”

“Whatever, you homo. Anyway, seein’ as big red up there ain’t lettin’ me get close to the kid, why don’t you go an’ distract him while–”

“Hold up there, speedy. First off, why you want him? You ain’t workin’ wit’ yer daddy on this, are ya?”

“Fuck that old codger!” Junior spit. “I ain’t workin’ for him, no mo’. Hope he has a heart attack an’ dies! But, no, I ain’t workin’ for him. ‘M on my own. I knew the kid was still alive, an’...well...he’s very, uh, smart. I was gonna ask if he’d work with me on things...”

“Like what?” Virgil asked in an interested tone.

Junior frowned, wondering just how much to reveal. He didn’t want Alva knowing what he was planning on doing. He gave Virgil a studious look. “Jus’...stuff. That’s all. Leave it alone.”

Virgil was understandably unconvinced. But he sat back in his seat and wondered what Junior’s real motive was.

Both of them froze at the creak of wood, looking over to see Richie staring at them suspiciously. Each one was wondering how much he’d heard as the blond fidgeted nervously with the sleeves of his shirt.

Junior finally shifted in his seat. “Git over here, boy! Have some...stuff that kinda looks like peaches.”

“I’m not doing that for Alva again,” Richie said quietly. “Never.”

“Doin’ what?” Junior asked with exasperation, pouring some fruit into the bowl he’d used to eat his fruit. He pushed it to the seat furthest from him and Virgil and tossed the knife after it.

“I’m not working for you, either,” Richie added, darting a nervous look at Virgil.

“I ain’t–”

“Boy, no one’s askin’ you for shit,” Junior complained over Virgil’s protest. “But lemme ask ya somethin’...”

Richie was staring at the bowl of peaches hungrily. He started twisting the sleeves of his shirt anxiously, the audible sound of his stomach growling loudly. It almost seemed as if he hadn’t heard Junior speak.

Virgil used his foot to kick the chair out from under the table, indicating for him to sit.

“You like layin’ on yer back?” Junior asked casually. “You like sucking dick?”

“Jesus–!” Virgil cried, shooting him an embarrassed expression.

Richie looked horrified, pale face turning red. “N-no–!”

“You like having dicks up yer ass?”

“JUNIOR!” Virgil hissed.

“You like havin’ cum on ya? Huh? Do ya? All that stuff?”

“Never–! Never, I’ll never do it again! Ever! I’ll–!”

“Good. How ‘bout you usin’ that brain of yers instead?” Junior suggested with a hopeful expression. “Seems like it’s bein’ ignored, eh? How ‘bout that?”

Virgil was flustered as he pulled his hat into his lap, fiddling with everything with obvious mortification of the images that he’d been presented with. Richie looked confused at the suggestion.

“Seein’ as it looks like ya’ll know what’cha doin’ when you look at things, maybe ya’ll wanna be focused on the creatures than...than whorin’. Huh? Sound good?”

Richie thought about it, visibly going over the question. It looked as if he wanted to believe it, but he was extremely wary of Junior’s real intentions.

“I...yes...I’d rather...use my head rather than...than other things,” he ventured slowly. But his expression turned suspicious. He knew Junior well. “What’s in it for you?”

“‘M just sayin’! Shit, tryin’ to turn my life around an’ apologize for all the bad things I done did my entire life, an’ lookit what happens? I get shit for bein’ apologetic!”

“Please,” Richie muttered. “You’re just as honest as a preacher.”

Junior frowned. “You doubt me?”

“I’d be stupid if I didn’t.”

“Well, you are anyway! You wanna stay here with Red, you go an’ do it. Havin’ him up yer ass every night prolly sounds better than figurin’ out how those creatures work, huh? Knew you liked dick, you damn faggot.”

Virgil gave an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands up into the air. “Junior, you have as much manners as a freakin’ wolverine! Man, that ain’t right! Look, kid–Rich? Richard? Junior’s got his own ideas in his head, an’–!”

“What’s in it for you?” Richie asked over Virgil’s words. “What do you get out of using me?”

“...Who said I’m usin’–!”

“Because I know your intentions, creep! You are far from being honest and apologizing for any action you’ve taken–”

“Didja just call me a ‘creep’?!”

“You have ulterior motives for everything! More than likely, you are plotting some revenge against your father for abandoning you that night! I know you, Junior!”

Junior gave a sullen look. He waved Richie’s words away. “I came ta offer you an opportunity to git outta here. Away from him. But since you all loved up by his dick...”

Richie’s face turned an alarming shade of purple, and he was all but shaking as he snarled, “I don’t like anybody’s dick!”

“...Coulda fooled me. The way you lyin’ between yer teeth...”

“You–!”

“Sweet Jesus!” Virgil exclaimed, hands flying to his head. “You two sound like a married couple! Junior, you obvious, man. And Richard...I dunno. Neither choice sounds very good. Workin’ wit’ Junior, you know he has other ideas an’ plans. An’ my friend isn’t like that...he–!”

“You are so deluded,” Richie hissed at him. “Obviously, you don’t know him very well. He lies to you, too. He hides many things from you, and you believe what you want to!”

Virgil blinked, then held his chest. “Jeez, kid. I’m just tryin’ to help...I know what Junior’s like, too, but I’m thinkin’ yer better off with Hotstreak. At least he ain’t gonna use you an’ gain from you.”

“HE’S THE WORST ONE!” Richie screamed, making both of them wince. “He TRICKED ME!”

“Knock off the shriekin’,” Junior ordered, rubbing his ear. “Last I looked, you ain’t no damn girl.”

“I’m sure whatever he did, he just weren’t thinkin’,” Virgil reasoned. “He’s kinda slow. I mean, not in the mental way, but ...just...dumb. He don’t think things through.”

“Both of you are idiots,” Richie hissed, turning and stomping off.

Junior flicked a booger at Virgil. “Lookit what you did, now, asshole. Now I gotta work harder.”

Virgil winced. Junior rose from his chair, stretching. Then, grumbling to himself over the situation, he left the kitchen to head outside.

Frowning, Virgil was left by himself. He sat at the table for a while, thinking over the exchange. He knew Junior was here to get Richie for something...but what? And he knew Hotstreak made mistakes...but they couldn’t have been that bad. He was wondering how he could get the real information out of him when something at the corner caught his eye. He turned to greet Hotstreak, but grew confused. The redhead hadn’t been standing there...but he could have sworn it had been an older man.

He wrinkled his brow, and felt instantly chilled. The room felt strange at that instant, and he rose from the chair. He headed back upstairs to try and wake Hotstreak once more.