Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Richie wakes up
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.7K | Visits: 644 | Status: Completed
Richie wakes up
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.26.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.7K | Visits: 644 | Status: Completed
Right Here
Chapter Six
The room was quiet when Richie finally awoke–he blinked one eye awake, fuzzily registering that he couldn’t do the same with the other eye. The room in which he was in was bright with early morning light, the windows opened nearby. There was the sound of oxygen hissing through the plastic tubing that were placed against his nostrils, and he reached up to touch the cannula with a confused expression, his head aching with pain. His sight was blurred–he couldn’t see very well. But he felt nauseated, and his temples seemed to throb with a pained heaviness that made him wince.
For a moment, staring at the impersonal effects of the hospital room, he felt disoriented–he was wondering how in the world he’d come to be at the hospital when everything hit him at once; Ebon, the new effects of his abilities, the rape...
He jerked violently as he felt the ghosts of those hands on his arms, on his body, of the feel of the living shadow laying over him–his breathing hitched, and confusion had him swinging violently at the woman that was instantly at his side, having dropped her clipboard upon his violent revival.
“It’s okay! It’s okay! You’re safe now, you’re safe. You’re in a hospital,” she said in a placating tone, using simple maneuvers to guide his fist away from her.
He managed to calm considerably upon seeing her unfamiliar face, her unfamiliar voice. She was a doctor of reasonable season, her patient face etched with strain at the hour and the constant pressures of her duty. The Hispanic features confused him, though–was he in County General, or at some clinic on the west end of Dakota?
Then, seemingly all at once, every one of his injuries alerted him to their status with violent remembrance. It hurt, the pain renewed as images flashed across his eyes; sound, smell and feel assaulted him with all the violence of those horrible moments. He could smell Ebon’s sweat and feel his weight–could feel the various hands, and could hear that ugly laugh. All of it was so terrible, so thick that he struggled to breathe, clawing at his face, to somehow change the picture.
Gentle hands pulled his fingers from his face, forcibly pulling them away.
“You are safe,” she repeated, her coffee flavored breath ghosting across his heated features. He gulped in a quick breath, the nasal cannula shifted across his lip. She straightened it, her fingertips touching him lightly. It was almost, for an instant, revolting. To be touched. His shoulders stiffened, and he held his breath as confusion slowly melted away.
He quietly took in the settings of the room as he exhaled lightly, seeing that the woman, whose name tag declared her a Montoya, stood next to the bed. He could see x-ray sheets on the wheeled cart nearby–they were taken of his face. He reached up, now realizing why he was looking out of one eye.
Ebon’s face flashed to mind in that instant, those white eyes narrowed, a fist slamming into him as he tried calling for help. Help that never came.
His body reflexively tightened–and he became aware of the uncomfortable feeling down below; stiff, unyielding. His humiliation increased as he glanced at the woman, who was watching him studiously. He felt his cheeks heat, and considerable shame made his insides cold and heavy. Ebon had taken what he’d threatened–and for all his talk, he hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. He touched his wrists, catching sight of the bruises there. He was dressed in a paper gown–he wanted to leave.
How many people knew what happened? How did he get here? Where was his clothes?
At this, he audibly choked–did they know who he was? What could he do, now that everyone knew he was vulnerable to rape? No one would take him seriously. They’d know how weak he actually was, that a super brain was just a brain and–
“Your friend will be back,” Montoya was saying, trying to draw his racing attention to herself. He forced himself to look at her.
Ebon? Ebon got him help, just to humiliate him? To trick him? To be so cruel as to–?
“He’s changing in the bathroom.” She gestured at the closed door nearby, where he could hear the sounds of running sink water and shuffled steps. His gut immediately felt heavy with lead. His fingers clenched as he curled them into fists.
He didn’t want to see Ebon. He didn’t want to see Shiv, or Kangorr. Wait a minute–could it be Virgil? No...Virgil was on a trip with his father and his sister out of state–they’d be back Sunday. Adam?
“I need you to calm down,” Montoya asked, looking as if she were going to touch him, then retracting her hand. “I need you to focus...you’re in a safe place, with plenty of security. Whoever did this to you cannot get in–”
Richie gave a sharp bark of disbelief. “Nothing can stop that guy from doing what he wants!”
His voice was hoarse–sore from having screamed so much. It made him uncomfortable to talk. He pinned her with a solid stare, feeling violent and furious–helplessly so. Because he hadn’t been able to fight Ebon off. He couldn’t prevent the violent domination of his own body to some guy that enjoyed the power and control. He couldn’t do anything. And he was furious at himself. At himself and at Ebon, and those fools–no, they were just in the same pool as Ebon–those monsters that allowed this to happen. They merely stood nearby and let it happen. No one bothered to help!
He was furious, all of it boiling within him–he wanted to scream and thrash, to break things, to destroy as many things as he possibly could, because he had no other idea on how to relieve the agony of his shame and humiliation.
He dropped his face into his hands, giving a choked sound of rising hysteria, hearing the woman speak a few words, but hearing nothing as he fought for control over himself.
It took a few minutes–but he lifted his head once he was sure he was okay, blinking the room into focus once more. He forced himself to think of numeric formulas pertaining to the formation of pulsars and quasars–somehow, thinking of outer space gave him the distance he needed to regain his ground. As he did so, he finally noticed that his bottom lip was uncomfortably puffy–his shaking fingertips explored the split that held a single stitch from the inside of his lip. It hurt and it felt sore as he tasted the thread, wincing at the pain.
He looked at Montoya, schooling his features into something composed and cold. He’d suffered enough humiliation–he wasn’t about to do so anymore.
“I want to go home,” he said evenly.
Montoya studied him for a few moments, then turned away. When she returned, she was pulling on a pair of gloves.
“Let me check your vitals, first,” she said quietly, withdrawing the penlight. She flashed it over both pupils, having difficulty lifting his right eye open. She took his pulse, touching his wrist gently, feeling the steady beat beneath her fingertips, eyes on the second hand of the clock. Satisfied, she pulled back, and pulled her glove off–one finger at a time. “I performed standard procedures to document your rape injuries...I used the rape kit that this hospital uses to take samples from your mouth, your fingernails, your anus and your hair. I have found many of the perpetrator’s hair, skin and possible semen samples on your–”
“I don’t care. I want to go home.”
“I also took blood samples to examine, for STD’s and AIDS. The results should be back within an hour. If you want, I can mail them to you, and I recommend counseling–”
“I. Want. To. Leave. Can I go, now?”
Montoya fell silent as his voice fell lower with threatened insistence. His eyes were cold as they regarded her with a mixture of shame and fury. She bit her lower lip.
“I have prescribed painkillers and anti-bacterial creams that you may pick up from a local pharmacy,” she continued quietly. “You’ll need ID and someone over twenty-one to purchase these things. I need to go over a few things with you, first.”
“I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here, anymore. I want to go home. LET ME GO HOME.”
As his voice rose, Montoya stepped back from the bed. She understood the need and the want to return to a place of safety and comfort. She knew what it was like to be faced with what happened after a violent rape. She had been there, before.
She gave him a focused look. “Before I can release you, I need to go over several things with you. Please...give me this chance to run things through with you.”
Richie shook his head, numbly grasping the blanket. He was dismayed to see that he was wearing only a paper gown, and he could feel the sweat and gravel on his body. He wanted to shower. He wanted to scrub every inch of his skin with a pumice stone, to remove all traces of that man’s touch and fluids from his person. His hands were shaking violently as he pulled the blanket back over. His legs looked dirty, and there was blood on his knees. He didn’t know how that got there–Ebon had knocked him cold with his punches. There was some grace in that he had no real memory of being penetrated and taken.
But it made his stomach churn at the knowledge, for the evidence of Ebon’s entry was as plain as the pain and stitches that he knew were down there.
“Please...at least...at least let me talk with your friend. He can help you.”
“Who–? Who is it?” he asked cautiously, feeling every one of his limbs grow heavy as he thought of Shiv, Theresa, or Kangorr. It would be like Ebon to send one of them to accompany him here. Just to marvel at his work.
The world grew gray all of a sudden, and Montoya was forcing him back against the bed as everything grew to a blurred image, and a ominous buzzing rang through his ears. His skin flushed for a moment, and he stared up at the ceiling, slowly coming back to the present.
“You’ve probably obtained a fever...your friend doesn’t know how long you were out there...It’s another reason why I would want you to stay overnight. Because–”
“I don’t want to stay here! I want to go home! Please let me go home!”
Montoya nodded, and fiddled with her retractable pen. Richie was growing agitated the more he was denied his wish, and she didn’t like to deny her sexual assault survivors any of their wishes. They already had so many things taken from them...why continue victimizing them?
She lowered her head, turning away from him to finish the last pieces of information that she had from the tight lipped meta and the survivor himself. She heard the bathroom door open, and heard the rustle of plastic.
She looked over her shoulder at Hotstreak, noted that he’d changed from the blood stained shirt and pants to her husband’s oversized tee and khaki’s. The meta looked uncomfortable and sullen wearing things that weren’t his style, his face a grumpy expression reserved for pouting children. She let loose with a smile as he set the bag down, and noticed that Richie was awake.
She looked over at Richie, seeing that the blond had paled upon seeing Hotstreak enter the room. The meta hesitated upon seeing that expression, stilling.
The tension was quite thick–she started to have second guesses in Hotstreak’s role when Richie’s face suddenly crumbled, his eyes focused intensely on the meta. The meta’s familiar scowl and sullenness was gone–replaced by something entirely unfamiliar as he closed the distance between them. Richie reached for him, his hands curling around Hotstreak’s neck, the meta bending stiffly to hold him with that same awkwardness.
Nothing was said between them, Montoya’s eyes wide with her stunned reaction to the sight. She was too afraid to breathe, to draw attention her way as Richie gave rising sounds in his throat, things he was trying so very hard to repress as he found comfort in the older male’s embrace. It was a losing battle, as the blond started to give anguished chokes against his neck, his fingers digging tightly into the meta’s shoulders.
If he felt comfortable enough to let loose with the pent up agony of his feelings within that man’s touch–then she felt rightly relieved in that he had someone to support him.
Any lingering doubt that she had about the meta was washed away from witnessing that embrace. Awkwardly, she turned, and tried to think invisible thoughts.
OooooooooooO
Theresa Menounos chewed nervously at her index fingernail, eyeing the contents within the dull blue bag with Wal-Mart’s logo emblazoned on the front. It held all that she’d been able to find of Gear’s things, and she didn’t want to touch it. Her eyes felt heavy and swollen, and her gut was continually twisting with anxiety. She’d done some hard-core things before, but last night’s incident was the worst. She knew that Ebon played rough with those he wanted break, but this...this wasn’t right.
Seeing Hotstreak’s reaction to the one he’d been messing around with was also icing on the guilt cake. When Maria had told her that there was an actual relationship between the two males, Theresa had been horrified, amazed and disbelieving. She had to see this for her own eyes.
And in a way...she had.
She swallowed as she reached out with one scuffed shoe to kick the bag from the edge of the bed. Since her family had rejected her due to her actions as Talon, she had taken up residence within a monthly motel room nestled along a street popular for prostitutes. Next door, she could hear the raised voices of a man and a woman, and outside, there was some sort of party going on with some youths. Her doors were locked firmly, chairs settled underneath the knobs as she sat at the head of her bed. She was armed, and she was confident–she didn’t fear anyone that felt like messing with her. She just took precautions against those that were stupid enough to try and find this out.
Her eyes were heavily lined with lack of sleep, and her face was drawn and pale. Her fingers were twitching as she reached up to nervously comb them through her red length. Blinking heavily, she sat up from the bed and numbly walked over to the tiny bathroom nearby. Flicking on the lights, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, and rapidly turned on the sink. Cupping her hands underneath the water, she proceeded to wash her face. Water splashed all about as she performed this, her knees shaking as she did so. Wiping her face dry and turning off the sink, she looked at herself in the mirror once more, and shook her head.
“You need to straighten up,” she whispered to herself. “You do this, and he’s gonna get suspicious. Get your ass back out there, Theresa. Don’t let him think you can’t do this.”
Of course, she was talking about Ebon. She hurriedly brushed her teeth, and attempted to fix herself up. She didn’t take a shower–merely applied some cosmetics and forcefully brushed her hair back into a ponytail. She then left the bathroom, and changed into a pair of tight flares and an oversized tee. Throwing on a hooded sweater and jacket, she grabbed her keys and removed the chair before unlocking the chains and lock. Just as she was about to step out, she heard her name called, and she looked down the hall to see a couple of men walking over to her.
She shut her door tight, blinking curiously as they neared her.
“We got your man’s money,” one of them said, holding out a small paper bag. She took it with a frown, glancing around herself suspiciously at the exchange. “Ebon’s crazy, trick. We heard what he did to Carlos and Gene.”
“Who?”
“Carlos and Gene. Man, Darrell and his guys were there, and his runner lost the money that was owed to Ebon. Ebon’s boy fucked over Carlos and Gene. We ain’t wanting any part of that. That’s for the month of December, ‘case ya’ll didn’t know.”
Theresa licked her lips nervously, then nodded. Fiercely, she jabbed a finger in their direction. “Don’t do this again, homie,” she threatened. “You do this shit where people can’t see! I don’t want no motherfuckers seein’ what I’m doing!”
He held his hands up in supplication. “Shit, sorry...sorry...I jus’ don’t want no trouble. That’s all. You can count it, y’know, to make sure that it’s the right amount.”
“Ain’t my job,” she muttered, glaring at them both. “That’s Ebon’s. If he has a problem with it, he’ll come talk to you.”
“Hey, there’s no need–!”
“Stuff it, jerk. Don’t come by here unless Ebon tells you, to. I just wanna have no trouble when I come home. Got it?”
The two nodded, giving her looks of apology as she turned and stomped off. Theresa was a small woman–five foot two and less than a hundred pounds, but she projected an aura of power with her status with Ebon’s crew and her own form of intimidation. Her glares were enough to make a man pause and think, and she was definitely confident with a weapon in hand. She’d grown up safe and comforted in her home–but as Talon, she learned some habits that kept her up top with the boys that played rough.
When she was disowned, that hardness she’d acquired as a Bang Baby had strengthened. She had learned to turn herself off to cope during some moments, but there were times, like these, when something affected her greatly. She couldn’t afford to show it–or continue to be a weakness with Ebon. If Ebon knew what she’d done, he’d most likely kill her for it.
She hadn’t mentioned to them her friendship with Hotstreak, but she had drawn the line that kept him from getting what information she had about Ebon. Her life depended on that secrecy.
Her stomach curdled violently, making her pause in place as she curled her arms around her stomach. Panting, she forced herself to concentrate on other things as the sharp stab of pain slowly faded away. Her stomach had been giving her problems, lately, and while she had an idea that it was just an accumulation of stress in her life, she didn’t have the insurance or means of getting to a clinic to have it checked out. Blinking away the tears that had gathered as a result of her pain, she stiffly straightened, adjusting the paper bag under one arm. She then began walking again, noting the tenderness within her tummy as she descended the staircase.
Her thoughts raced, wondering if Hotstreak had taken Richie to the hospital. And if so...would the meta retaliate against Ebon for his crime? Knowing him and his temper, he most likely would locate Ebon and eradicate everything he came across in his path to get to the living shadow. Which would be a very dangerous possibility, considering that even if the meta was superior to his fellow humans, he was definitely outnumbered and possibly outmatched with Ebon.
Since the Second Big Bang, Ebon had better control over his teleportation–he could use that easily against Hotstreak, disable him in seconds. And knowing the redhead, he’d most likely rage completely out of control, not thinking about other measures he could have taken to take Ebon out.
She winced as her shoulders hunched, and she picked up the pace.
She may have made another mistake, last night, by taking Hotstreak to Richie. She could be killing off a friend, knowing what he’d do. Her chest twisted at the thought–she’d been friends with Francis Stone for a long time, and had been so before the Big Bang. She knew that their lives were rough, that any of them could die on the streets based on their activity, but the thought of the city being devoid of one explosive tempered meta that was well known and liked by his friends made her extremely sad. She didn’t want that to happen.
She cradled the brown bag to her chest, and veered off course to the nearest payphone. It was covered in graffiti and gang affiliated words, but she dug out a couple of quarters from her pockets and slid them in, ignoring the catcalls from a group of boys nearby.
She listened to the ringing on the other end, and heard Maria’s smooth voice order her to leave a message. She rolled her eyes as she heard the indicating beep, and shifted restlessly.
“Hey...it’s me...I just–I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice thick with her apologies. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I still have his things–you know where you can find me. I–I’m sorry.”
She hung up, then winced, shaking her head. She had meant to say other things, but as soon as she’d opened her mouth, none of it came out. She looked at the brown bag, and then hurried away from the phone. Catching the bus, she felt exhausted and worn as she took a seat near the middle, brushing her hair from her face.
Nearly thirty minutes later, she was strolling into the half-completed center, game face on.
She didn’t hear anybody moving around, and resolved to search until she came across someone. She found Shiv in the gym, throwing darts at a wall of sheet rock. He’d obviously showered and changed, his hair ungelled and ragged, his clothing consisting of more worn jeans and a tee that advised others of his missed medication. Instead of his usual sneakers, he’d fitted his feet into a pair of traditional slippers that whispered along the concrete floor.
“Hey you!” he greeted cheerfully, turning away from his work. “Hungry? I went out for some cheesesticks and shit from Arby’s.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Roast beef and cheese?”
“Got those, too! Here! I promise, I didn’t lick, spit, or even breathe on them,” he said, hurrying over to the greasy bags, and withdrawing a packaged sandwich. He tossed it in her direction, and she caught it, fumbling with both the bag and the sandwich. “What’s that?”
“Ebon’s money. Hey...you talk with...with some Carlos and Gene?”
“Who’s that?”
“Some guys. They said that you fucked around with some guys earlier.”
“Oh...OH! Yeah. Ebon said something about money.”
Theresa winced, shaking her head. “Fuck, I don’t even know the guy’s name. That gave this to me. They knew me. Well, ain’t my problem.”
“Theresa?”
She looked up as she unwrapped the sandwich, watching Shiv walk over to her, giving her an uncertain expression. She blinked questionably as she dropped the paper bag, and took a hurried bite of the still warm food.
“Do you...? I mean, I kinda...do you think...” Shiv looked embarrassed as he tried a few times to talk, trailing off with an uncertain frown as he stopped at her side, reaching up to fiddle with his hair. Theresa stared at him for a few moments, then immediately understood what he was trying to say.
“Yeah,” she said simply. Her words suddenly seemed heavy as she continued to speak. “I don’t, either.”
Shiv looked relieved for a few moments, then nodded. “I thought it was just me.”
“Kangorr...?”
“No.”
She nodded, finishing off the sandwich in moments. Her stomach tightened at the sudden intrusion, but she forced herself to lick her fingers and crumble the wrapper. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and she’d been starving. She tossed it at him. “Where’s Ebon?”
“Sleeping. Kinda worn out. I should, too–y’know, get some sleep.”
“He’s asleep?” she repeated, looking at him closely.
He nodded as he bent, taking the paper bag. “Ooh, money!”
“You on anything?”
“I haven’t done shit since high school, Theresa!” he whined, flicking through the rolled bills. “Why do you keep asking?”
“Cuz one never knows with you,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him. She reached out and yanked on one of his earrings, making him yelp as he bent to follow with the movement. “Come with me, then. I got something I need to do.”
“But I’m tired–!”
“If you were so tired, you would’ve been asleep by now.” She yanked harder on his earring, making him cry out once more as he struggled to keep with her. “Now, c’mon. We’re going out for a walk.”
“What’re we gonna do?”
“I need to find someone. Check something out.”
He straightened as she let go of his ear, rubbing at it painfully. She turned and jogged out the door as he hurried after her, bag under one arm. She whirled, pointing at him. “Give that shit to Ebon, man! Don’t take it with us!”
“Oh! Right!” Shiv turned and ran up the hall, heading up the short stairway to the second level. This level was filled with smaller rooms–it had been intended for offices, but the group had changed them into bedrooms. Most of which consisted of mattresses and scratchy blankets on the floor. Ebon was lying across his, snoring away as he walked in. The living shadow had changed out of his previous clothing and into others–but Shiv wasn’t sure what. Ebon could’ve been naked and no one would have noticed.
“Hey, boss! Money!”
Ebon snorted, and tossed his head to glare at Shiv, sleepily blinking his eyes open. He grumbled as he pulled his pillow close. “Motherfuckin’ dick...”
“I’mina put it right here, okay? Hey, then I’m leavin’.”
“Where ya goin’?”
“Theresa an’ I are gonna go do stuff. Maybe make some babies.”
Ebon’s head shot up as Shiv grinned jokingly. “Theresa’s here?”
“Yeah. She just popped in–”
“Tell her to get over here.”
“...Okay. But...I thought you were sleeping?”
“You didn’t think so when you ran in here, right? Go get her.”
Shiv blinked with an uncertain frown on his face as Ebon sat up, groggily running a hand over his face as he forced himself up. Taking a few steps backward, Shiv then turned and hurried off to retrieve the redhead as Ebon rose from his bed, stretching. Glancing at his Rolex, he saw that he hadn’t had more than two hours worth of sleep, and he was really feeling it. The multiple use of his powers had severely worn him out–including the fact that he most often got tired after sex.
He suddenly grinned as he thought of the hot, tight ass he’d taken over on, feeling an abrupt heat within his lower belly. It had been worth all the planning and fantasizing–it had been perfect. Too bad it hadn’t lasted very long–that was a little embarrassing. He’d just been so excited throughout the entire fight, watching and hearing Gear’s–no, that geek Richie Foley’s–panicked cries and struggles that when he was actually doing him, he’d gotten less than ten thrusts in before spilling his load.
He shook his head in amazement as he lifted his left hand, pressing the heel of his palm against his nose and inhaling deeply. He could still smell the sweaty, unique scent of his prey there, and it made his stomach curl with a sense of giddy satisfaction. The teen still smelled of cinnamon and mint, and combined with the scent of fear and panic, it was even more so. He lowered his hand, and then chuckled as he shuffled his way toward his shoes, slipping them on as Theresa walked into the room, Shiv right behind her.
He narrowed his eyes as he glanced down at the tiny woman, seeing her solemn stare. He noted the swelling of her eyes–the contemptuous glare behind the silence.
“Where’d you go?” he asked casually, not bothering to tuck his laces into his shoes.
“Out. You make me sick,” Theresa blurted out without reserve.
He laughed. He could always trust Theresa’s bluntness–the woman usually didn’t hide things and opinions from him. He liked her.
“You do!” she insisted, hitting the wall. “How could you do that? How could you?”
“Bitch, you knew what I was gonna do before you did it!” he declared. “You knew what I wanted to do, and you helped. What, ya feelin’ left out cuz you didn’t have a chance to do ‘im, too?”
“Fuck you, you sick fuck!” she spit. “Don’t mess around like that! This is bullshit! Ya think he ain’t gonna tell Static what you did to him? Once Static finds out he–”
“Static ain’t nothin’ but a bitch!” Ebon declared, shaking his head. “He ain’t gonna do shit! And he ain’t gonna know what I did...”
Theresa blinked as Shiv pushed past her, heading over to the window nearby. “What you mean by that? You gonna kill him? If you hadn’t all ready?”
“Nah...” But the thought had merit. Ebon had to think about that. He shook his head. “Nah. If he’s a man, he won’t tell.”
“And if he ain’t?”
“He won’t,” Ebon said with confidence, nodding his head. But he had to think–last night was pretty cold. And he’d left the teen there...injured and naked...there was a possibility in that he could have died from the cold. He frowned at this. “Shit. Shiv.”
“Yeah?”
“Go back there. See if someone picked him up.”
Shiv blinked continuously as he glanced over at Theresa, who frowned intensely at Ebon. “Now ya gotta heart?” she asked as the Asian left the window to stand in the doorway.
“I never even gave thought to it,” Ebon admitted. “My bad. Got too caught up in the moment.”
“Then what happens?”
“Then the secret goes with him. But, damn! It was worth it! Worth it all!” he laughed as Theresa screwed her face up with disgust.
“You sick fuck, only YOU would get off on something so disgusting,” she spat as Shiv left the room. “Only you would get off on fuckin’ around with some kid that way.”
“Ah, Theresa...how much I enjoy your feminine logic an’ shit...” Ebon chuckled, turning to face her once more. “So, who’s the money from?”
“Fuck if I know. You all psychic an’ shit. You figure it out. I’m gone, Ebon. I’m going to...I’m gonna go somewhere and think–”
Ebon smirked as he watched her leave. Hearing her footsteps fade down the hall, he shook his head. “You do that, girl. You go and do that,” he murmured, withdrawing a cellphone from the depths of his being, and dialing a number.
Chapter Six
The room was quiet when Richie finally awoke–he blinked one eye awake, fuzzily registering that he couldn’t do the same with the other eye. The room in which he was in was bright with early morning light, the windows opened nearby. There was the sound of oxygen hissing through the plastic tubing that were placed against his nostrils, and he reached up to touch the cannula with a confused expression, his head aching with pain. His sight was blurred–he couldn’t see very well. But he felt nauseated, and his temples seemed to throb with a pained heaviness that made him wince.
For a moment, staring at the impersonal effects of the hospital room, he felt disoriented–he was wondering how in the world he’d come to be at the hospital when everything hit him at once; Ebon, the new effects of his abilities, the rape...
He jerked violently as he felt the ghosts of those hands on his arms, on his body, of the feel of the living shadow laying over him–his breathing hitched, and confusion had him swinging violently at the woman that was instantly at his side, having dropped her clipboard upon his violent revival.
“It’s okay! It’s okay! You’re safe now, you’re safe. You’re in a hospital,” she said in a placating tone, using simple maneuvers to guide his fist away from her.
He managed to calm considerably upon seeing her unfamiliar face, her unfamiliar voice. She was a doctor of reasonable season, her patient face etched with strain at the hour and the constant pressures of her duty. The Hispanic features confused him, though–was he in County General, or at some clinic on the west end of Dakota?
Then, seemingly all at once, every one of his injuries alerted him to their status with violent remembrance. It hurt, the pain renewed as images flashed across his eyes; sound, smell and feel assaulted him with all the violence of those horrible moments. He could smell Ebon’s sweat and feel his weight–could feel the various hands, and could hear that ugly laugh. All of it was so terrible, so thick that he struggled to breathe, clawing at his face, to somehow change the picture.
Gentle hands pulled his fingers from his face, forcibly pulling them away.
“You are safe,” she repeated, her coffee flavored breath ghosting across his heated features. He gulped in a quick breath, the nasal cannula shifted across his lip. She straightened it, her fingertips touching him lightly. It was almost, for an instant, revolting. To be touched. His shoulders stiffened, and he held his breath as confusion slowly melted away.
He quietly took in the settings of the room as he exhaled lightly, seeing that the woman, whose name tag declared her a Montoya, stood next to the bed. He could see x-ray sheets on the wheeled cart nearby–they were taken of his face. He reached up, now realizing why he was looking out of one eye.
Ebon’s face flashed to mind in that instant, those white eyes narrowed, a fist slamming into him as he tried calling for help. Help that never came.
His body reflexively tightened–and he became aware of the uncomfortable feeling down below; stiff, unyielding. His humiliation increased as he glanced at the woman, who was watching him studiously. He felt his cheeks heat, and considerable shame made his insides cold and heavy. Ebon had taken what he’d threatened–and for all his talk, he hadn’t been able to do a thing about it. He touched his wrists, catching sight of the bruises there. He was dressed in a paper gown–he wanted to leave.
How many people knew what happened? How did he get here? Where was his clothes?
At this, he audibly choked–did they know who he was? What could he do, now that everyone knew he was vulnerable to rape? No one would take him seriously. They’d know how weak he actually was, that a super brain was just a brain and–
“Your friend will be back,” Montoya was saying, trying to draw his racing attention to herself. He forced himself to look at her.
Ebon? Ebon got him help, just to humiliate him? To trick him? To be so cruel as to–?
“He’s changing in the bathroom.” She gestured at the closed door nearby, where he could hear the sounds of running sink water and shuffled steps. His gut immediately felt heavy with lead. His fingers clenched as he curled them into fists.
He didn’t want to see Ebon. He didn’t want to see Shiv, or Kangorr. Wait a minute–could it be Virgil? No...Virgil was on a trip with his father and his sister out of state–they’d be back Sunday. Adam?
“I need you to calm down,” Montoya asked, looking as if she were going to touch him, then retracting her hand. “I need you to focus...you’re in a safe place, with plenty of security. Whoever did this to you cannot get in–”
Richie gave a sharp bark of disbelief. “Nothing can stop that guy from doing what he wants!”
His voice was hoarse–sore from having screamed so much. It made him uncomfortable to talk. He pinned her with a solid stare, feeling violent and furious–helplessly so. Because he hadn’t been able to fight Ebon off. He couldn’t prevent the violent domination of his own body to some guy that enjoyed the power and control. He couldn’t do anything. And he was furious at himself. At himself and at Ebon, and those fools–no, they were just in the same pool as Ebon–those monsters that allowed this to happen. They merely stood nearby and let it happen. No one bothered to help!
He was furious, all of it boiling within him–he wanted to scream and thrash, to break things, to destroy as many things as he possibly could, because he had no other idea on how to relieve the agony of his shame and humiliation.
He dropped his face into his hands, giving a choked sound of rising hysteria, hearing the woman speak a few words, but hearing nothing as he fought for control over himself.
It took a few minutes–but he lifted his head once he was sure he was okay, blinking the room into focus once more. He forced himself to think of numeric formulas pertaining to the formation of pulsars and quasars–somehow, thinking of outer space gave him the distance he needed to regain his ground. As he did so, he finally noticed that his bottom lip was uncomfortably puffy–his shaking fingertips explored the split that held a single stitch from the inside of his lip. It hurt and it felt sore as he tasted the thread, wincing at the pain.
He looked at Montoya, schooling his features into something composed and cold. He’d suffered enough humiliation–he wasn’t about to do so anymore.
“I want to go home,” he said evenly.
Montoya studied him for a few moments, then turned away. When she returned, she was pulling on a pair of gloves.
“Let me check your vitals, first,” she said quietly, withdrawing the penlight. She flashed it over both pupils, having difficulty lifting his right eye open. She took his pulse, touching his wrist gently, feeling the steady beat beneath her fingertips, eyes on the second hand of the clock. Satisfied, she pulled back, and pulled her glove off–one finger at a time. “I performed standard procedures to document your rape injuries...I used the rape kit that this hospital uses to take samples from your mouth, your fingernails, your anus and your hair. I have found many of the perpetrator’s hair, skin and possible semen samples on your–”
“I don’t care. I want to go home.”
“I also took blood samples to examine, for STD’s and AIDS. The results should be back within an hour. If you want, I can mail them to you, and I recommend counseling–”
“I. Want. To. Leave. Can I go, now?”
Montoya fell silent as his voice fell lower with threatened insistence. His eyes were cold as they regarded her with a mixture of shame and fury. She bit her lower lip.
“I have prescribed painkillers and anti-bacterial creams that you may pick up from a local pharmacy,” she continued quietly. “You’ll need ID and someone over twenty-one to purchase these things. I need to go over a few things with you, first.”
“I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here, anymore. I want to go home. LET ME GO HOME.”
As his voice rose, Montoya stepped back from the bed. She understood the need and the want to return to a place of safety and comfort. She knew what it was like to be faced with what happened after a violent rape. She had been there, before.
She gave him a focused look. “Before I can release you, I need to go over several things with you. Please...give me this chance to run things through with you.”
Richie shook his head, numbly grasping the blanket. He was dismayed to see that he was wearing only a paper gown, and he could feel the sweat and gravel on his body. He wanted to shower. He wanted to scrub every inch of his skin with a pumice stone, to remove all traces of that man’s touch and fluids from his person. His hands were shaking violently as he pulled the blanket back over. His legs looked dirty, and there was blood on his knees. He didn’t know how that got there–Ebon had knocked him cold with his punches. There was some grace in that he had no real memory of being penetrated and taken.
But it made his stomach churn at the knowledge, for the evidence of Ebon’s entry was as plain as the pain and stitches that he knew were down there.
“Please...at least...at least let me talk with your friend. He can help you.”
“Who–? Who is it?” he asked cautiously, feeling every one of his limbs grow heavy as he thought of Shiv, Theresa, or Kangorr. It would be like Ebon to send one of them to accompany him here. Just to marvel at his work.
The world grew gray all of a sudden, and Montoya was forcing him back against the bed as everything grew to a blurred image, and a ominous buzzing rang through his ears. His skin flushed for a moment, and he stared up at the ceiling, slowly coming back to the present.
“You’ve probably obtained a fever...your friend doesn’t know how long you were out there...It’s another reason why I would want you to stay overnight. Because–”
“I don’t want to stay here! I want to go home! Please let me go home!”
Montoya nodded, and fiddled with her retractable pen. Richie was growing agitated the more he was denied his wish, and she didn’t like to deny her sexual assault survivors any of their wishes. They already had so many things taken from them...why continue victimizing them?
She lowered her head, turning away from him to finish the last pieces of information that she had from the tight lipped meta and the survivor himself. She heard the bathroom door open, and heard the rustle of plastic.
She looked over her shoulder at Hotstreak, noted that he’d changed from the blood stained shirt and pants to her husband’s oversized tee and khaki’s. The meta looked uncomfortable and sullen wearing things that weren’t his style, his face a grumpy expression reserved for pouting children. She let loose with a smile as he set the bag down, and noticed that Richie was awake.
She looked over at Richie, seeing that the blond had paled upon seeing Hotstreak enter the room. The meta hesitated upon seeing that expression, stilling.
The tension was quite thick–she started to have second guesses in Hotstreak’s role when Richie’s face suddenly crumbled, his eyes focused intensely on the meta. The meta’s familiar scowl and sullenness was gone–replaced by something entirely unfamiliar as he closed the distance between them. Richie reached for him, his hands curling around Hotstreak’s neck, the meta bending stiffly to hold him with that same awkwardness.
Nothing was said between them, Montoya’s eyes wide with her stunned reaction to the sight. She was too afraid to breathe, to draw attention her way as Richie gave rising sounds in his throat, things he was trying so very hard to repress as he found comfort in the older male’s embrace. It was a losing battle, as the blond started to give anguished chokes against his neck, his fingers digging tightly into the meta’s shoulders.
If he felt comfortable enough to let loose with the pent up agony of his feelings within that man’s touch–then she felt rightly relieved in that he had someone to support him.
Any lingering doubt that she had about the meta was washed away from witnessing that embrace. Awkwardly, she turned, and tried to think invisible thoughts.
OooooooooooO
Theresa Menounos chewed nervously at her index fingernail, eyeing the contents within the dull blue bag with Wal-Mart’s logo emblazoned on the front. It held all that she’d been able to find of Gear’s things, and she didn’t want to touch it. Her eyes felt heavy and swollen, and her gut was continually twisting with anxiety. She’d done some hard-core things before, but last night’s incident was the worst. She knew that Ebon played rough with those he wanted break, but this...this wasn’t right.
Seeing Hotstreak’s reaction to the one he’d been messing around with was also icing on the guilt cake. When Maria had told her that there was an actual relationship between the two males, Theresa had been horrified, amazed and disbelieving. She had to see this for her own eyes.
And in a way...she had.
She swallowed as she reached out with one scuffed shoe to kick the bag from the edge of the bed. Since her family had rejected her due to her actions as Talon, she had taken up residence within a monthly motel room nestled along a street popular for prostitutes. Next door, she could hear the raised voices of a man and a woman, and outside, there was some sort of party going on with some youths. Her doors were locked firmly, chairs settled underneath the knobs as she sat at the head of her bed. She was armed, and she was confident–she didn’t fear anyone that felt like messing with her. She just took precautions against those that were stupid enough to try and find this out.
Her eyes were heavily lined with lack of sleep, and her face was drawn and pale. Her fingers were twitching as she reached up to nervously comb them through her red length. Blinking heavily, she sat up from the bed and numbly walked over to the tiny bathroom nearby. Flicking on the lights, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, and rapidly turned on the sink. Cupping her hands underneath the water, she proceeded to wash her face. Water splashed all about as she performed this, her knees shaking as she did so. Wiping her face dry and turning off the sink, she looked at herself in the mirror once more, and shook her head.
“You need to straighten up,” she whispered to herself. “You do this, and he’s gonna get suspicious. Get your ass back out there, Theresa. Don’t let him think you can’t do this.”
Of course, she was talking about Ebon. She hurriedly brushed her teeth, and attempted to fix herself up. She didn’t take a shower–merely applied some cosmetics and forcefully brushed her hair back into a ponytail. She then left the bathroom, and changed into a pair of tight flares and an oversized tee. Throwing on a hooded sweater and jacket, she grabbed her keys and removed the chair before unlocking the chains and lock. Just as she was about to step out, she heard her name called, and she looked down the hall to see a couple of men walking over to her.
She shut her door tight, blinking curiously as they neared her.
“We got your man’s money,” one of them said, holding out a small paper bag. She took it with a frown, glancing around herself suspiciously at the exchange. “Ebon’s crazy, trick. We heard what he did to Carlos and Gene.”
“Who?”
“Carlos and Gene. Man, Darrell and his guys were there, and his runner lost the money that was owed to Ebon. Ebon’s boy fucked over Carlos and Gene. We ain’t wanting any part of that. That’s for the month of December, ‘case ya’ll didn’t know.”
Theresa licked her lips nervously, then nodded. Fiercely, she jabbed a finger in their direction. “Don’t do this again, homie,” she threatened. “You do this shit where people can’t see! I don’t want no motherfuckers seein’ what I’m doing!”
He held his hands up in supplication. “Shit, sorry...sorry...I jus’ don’t want no trouble. That’s all. You can count it, y’know, to make sure that it’s the right amount.”
“Ain’t my job,” she muttered, glaring at them both. “That’s Ebon’s. If he has a problem with it, he’ll come talk to you.”
“Hey, there’s no need–!”
“Stuff it, jerk. Don’t come by here unless Ebon tells you, to. I just wanna have no trouble when I come home. Got it?”
The two nodded, giving her looks of apology as she turned and stomped off. Theresa was a small woman–five foot two and less than a hundred pounds, but she projected an aura of power with her status with Ebon’s crew and her own form of intimidation. Her glares were enough to make a man pause and think, and she was definitely confident with a weapon in hand. She’d grown up safe and comforted in her home–but as Talon, she learned some habits that kept her up top with the boys that played rough.
When she was disowned, that hardness she’d acquired as a Bang Baby had strengthened. She had learned to turn herself off to cope during some moments, but there were times, like these, when something affected her greatly. She couldn’t afford to show it–or continue to be a weakness with Ebon. If Ebon knew what she’d done, he’d most likely kill her for it.
She hadn’t mentioned to them her friendship with Hotstreak, but she had drawn the line that kept him from getting what information she had about Ebon. Her life depended on that secrecy.
Her stomach curdled violently, making her pause in place as she curled her arms around her stomach. Panting, she forced herself to concentrate on other things as the sharp stab of pain slowly faded away. Her stomach had been giving her problems, lately, and while she had an idea that it was just an accumulation of stress in her life, she didn’t have the insurance or means of getting to a clinic to have it checked out. Blinking away the tears that had gathered as a result of her pain, she stiffly straightened, adjusting the paper bag under one arm. She then began walking again, noting the tenderness within her tummy as she descended the staircase.
Her thoughts raced, wondering if Hotstreak had taken Richie to the hospital. And if so...would the meta retaliate against Ebon for his crime? Knowing him and his temper, he most likely would locate Ebon and eradicate everything he came across in his path to get to the living shadow. Which would be a very dangerous possibility, considering that even if the meta was superior to his fellow humans, he was definitely outnumbered and possibly outmatched with Ebon.
Since the Second Big Bang, Ebon had better control over his teleportation–he could use that easily against Hotstreak, disable him in seconds. And knowing the redhead, he’d most likely rage completely out of control, not thinking about other measures he could have taken to take Ebon out.
She winced as her shoulders hunched, and she picked up the pace.
She may have made another mistake, last night, by taking Hotstreak to Richie. She could be killing off a friend, knowing what he’d do. Her chest twisted at the thought–she’d been friends with Francis Stone for a long time, and had been so before the Big Bang. She knew that their lives were rough, that any of them could die on the streets based on their activity, but the thought of the city being devoid of one explosive tempered meta that was well known and liked by his friends made her extremely sad. She didn’t want that to happen.
She cradled the brown bag to her chest, and veered off course to the nearest payphone. It was covered in graffiti and gang affiliated words, but she dug out a couple of quarters from her pockets and slid them in, ignoring the catcalls from a group of boys nearby.
She listened to the ringing on the other end, and heard Maria’s smooth voice order her to leave a message. She rolled her eyes as she heard the indicating beep, and shifted restlessly.
“Hey...it’s me...I just–I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice thick with her apologies. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I still have his things–you know where you can find me. I–I’m sorry.”
She hung up, then winced, shaking her head. She had meant to say other things, but as soon as she’d opened her mouth, none of it came out. She looked at the brown bag, and then hurried away from the phone. Catching the bus, she felt exhausted and worn as she took a seat near the middle, brushing her hair from her face.
Nearly thirty minutes later, she was strolling into the half-completed center, game face on.
She didn’t hear anybody moving around, and resolved to search until she came across someone. She found Shiv in the gym, throwing darts at a wall of sheet rock. He’d obviously showered and changed, his hair ungelled and ragged, his clothing consisting of more worn jeans and a tee that advised others of his missed medication. Instead of his usual sneakers, he’d fitted his feet into a pair of traditional slippers that whispered along the concrete floor.
“Hey you!” he greeted cheerfully, turning away from his work. “Hungry? I went out for some cheesesticks and shit from Arby’s.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Roast beef and cheese?”
“Got those, too! Here! I promise, I didn’t lick, spit, or even breathe on them,” he said, hurrying over to the greasy bags, and withdrawing a packaged sandwich. He tossed it in her direction, and she caught it, fumbling with both the bag and the sandwich. “What’s that?”
“Ebon’s money. Hey...you talk with...with some Carlos and Gene?”
“Who’s that?”
“Some guys. They said that you fucked around with some guys earlier.”
“Oh...OH! Yeah. Ebon said something about money.”
Theresa winced, shaking her head. “Fuck, I don’t even know the guy’s name. That gave this to me. They knew me. Well, ain’t my problem.”
“Theresa?”
She looked up as she unwrapped the sandwich, watching Shiv walk over to her, giving her an uncertain expression. She blinked questionably as she dropped the paper bag, and took a hurried bite of the still warm food.
“Do you...? I mean, I kinda...do you think...” Shiv looked embarrassed as he tried a few times to talk, trailing off with an uncertain frown as he stopped at her side, reaching up to fiddle with his hair. Theresa stared at him for a few moments, then immediately understood what he was trying to say.
“Yeah,” she said simply. Her words suddenly seemed heavy as she continued to speak. “I don’t, either.”
Shiv looked relieved for a few moments, then nodded. “I thought it was just me.”
“Kangorr...?”
“No.”
She nodded, finishing off the sandwich in moments. Her stomach tightened at the sudden intrusion, but she forced herself to lick her fingers and crumble the wrapper. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, and she’d been starving. She tossed it at him. “Where’s Ebon?”
“Sleeping. Kinda worn out. I should, too–y’know, get some sleep.”
“He’s asleep?” she repeated, looking at him closely.
He nodded as he bent, taking the paper bag. “Ooh, money!”
“You on anything?”
“I haven’t done shit since high school, Theresa!” he whined, flicking through the rolled bills. “Why do you keep asking?”
“Cuz one never knows with you,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him. She reached out and yanked on one of his earrings, making him yelp as he bent to follow with the movement. “Come with me, then. I got something I need to do.”
“But I’m tired–!”
“If you were so tired, you would’ve been asleep by now.” She yanked harder on his earring, making him cry out once more as he struggled to keep with her. “Now, c’mon. We’re going out for a walk.”
“What’re we gonna do?”
“I need to find someone. Check something out.”
He straightened as she let go of his ear, rubbing at it painfully. She turned and jogged out the door as he hurried after her, bag under one arm. She whirled, pointing at him. “Give that shit to Ebon, man! Don’t take it with us!”
“Oh! Right!” Shiv turned and ran up the hall, heading up the short stairway to the second level. This level was filled with smaller rooms–it had been intended for offices, but the group had changed them into bedrooms. Most of which consisted of mattresses and scratchy blankets on the floor. Ebon was lying across his, snoring away as he walked in. The living shadow had changed out of his previous clothing and into others–but Shiv wasn’t sure what. Ebon could’ve been naked and no one would have noticed.
“Hey, boss! Money!”
Ebon snorted, and tossed his head to glare at Shiv, sleepily blinking his eyes open. He grumbled as he pulled his pillow close. “Motherfuckin’ dick...”
“I’mina put it right here, okay? Hey, then I’m leavin’.”
“Where ya goin’?”
“Theresa an’ I are gonna go do stuff. Maybe make some babies.”
Ebon’s head shot up as Shiv grinned jokingly. “Theresa’s here?”
“Yeah. She just popped in–”
“Tell her to get over here.”
“...Okay. But...I thought you were sleeping?”
“You didn’t think so when you ran in here, right? Go get her.”
Shiv blinked with an uncertain frown on his face as Ebon sat up, groggily running a hand over his face as he forced himself up. Taking a few steps backward, Shiv then turned and hurried off to retrieve the redhead as Ebon rose from his bed, stretching. Glancing at his Rolex, he saw that he hadn’t had more than two hours worth of sleep, and he was really feeling it. The multiple use of his powers had severely worn him out–including the fact that he most often got tired after sex.
He suddenly grinned as he thought of the hot, tight ass he’d taken over on, feeling an abrupt heat within his lower belly. It had been worth all the planning and fantasizing–it had been perfect. Too bad it hadn’t lasted very long–that was a little embarrassing. He’d just been so excited throughout the entire fight, watching and hearing Gear’s–no, that geek Richie Foley’s–panicked cries and struggles that when he was actually doing him, he’d gotten less than ten thrusts in before spilling his load.
He shook his head in amazement as he lifted his left hand, pressing the heel of his palm against his nose and inhaling deeply. He could still smell the sweaty, unique scent of his prey there, and it made his stomach curl with a sense of giddy satisfaction. The teen still smelled of cinnamon and mint, and combined with the scent of fear and panic, it was even more so. He lowered his hand, and then chuckled as he shuffled his way toward his shoes, slipping them on as Theresa walked into the room, Shiv right behind her.
He narrowed his eyes as he glanced down at the tiny woman, seeing her solemn stare. He noted the swelling of her eyes–the contemptuous glare behind the silence.
“Where’d you go?” he asked casually, not bothering to tuck his laces into his shoes.
“Out. You make me sick,” Theresa blurted out without reserve.
He laughed. He could always trust Theresa’s bluntness–the woman usually didn’t hide things and opinions from him. He liked her.
“You do!” she insisted, hitting the wall. “How could you do that? How could you?”
“Bitch, you knew what I was gonna do before you did it!” he declared. “You knew what I wanted to do, and you helped. What, ya feelin’ left out cuz you didn’t have a chance to do ‘im, too?”
“Fuck you, you sick fuck!” she spit. “Don’t mess around like that! This is bullshit! Ya think he ain’t gonna tell Static what you did to him? Once Static finds out he–”
“Static ain’t nothin’ but a bitch!” Ebon declared, shaking his head. “He ain’t gonna do shit! And he ain’t gonna know what I did...”
Theresa blinked as Shiv pushed past her, heading over to the window nearby. “What you mean by that? You gonna kill him? If you hadn’t all ready?”
“Nah...” But the thought had merit. Ebon had to think about that. He shook his head. “Nah. If he’s a man, he won’t tell.”
“And if he ain’t?”
“He won’t,” Ebon said with confidence, nodding his head. But he had to think–last night was pretty cold. And he’d left the teen there...injured and naked...there was a possibility in that he could have died from the cold. He frowned at this. “Shit. Shiv.”
“Yeah?”
“Go back there. See if someone picked him up.”
Shiv blinked continuously as he glanced over at Theresa, who frowned intensely at Ebon. “Now ya gotta heart?” she asked as the Asian left the window to stand in the doorway.
“I never even gave thought to it,” Ebon admitted. “My bad. Got too caught up in the moment.”
“Then what happens?”
“Then the secret goes with him. But, damn! It was worth it! Worth it all!” he laughed as Theresa screwed her face up with disgust.
“You sick fuck, only YOU would get off on something so disgusting,” she spat as Shiv left the room. “Only you would get off on fuckin’ around with some kid that way.”
“Ah, Theresa...how much I enjoy your feminine logic an’ shit...” Ebon chuckled, turning to face her once more. “So, who’s the money from?”
“Fuck if I know. You all psychic an’ shit. You figure it out. I’m gone, Ebon. I’m going to...I’m gonna go somewhere and think–”
Ebon smirked as he watched her leave. Hearing her footsteps fade down the hall, he shook his head. “You do that, girl. You go and do that,” he murmured, withdrawing a cellphone from the depths of his being, and dialing a number.