Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter Twenty-One ( Chapter 21 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Richie's worst fears come to life
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.02.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 495 | Status: Completed
Richie's worst fears come to life
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.02.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 495 | Status: Completed
Right Here
Chapter Twenty-One
“Do you think I did the right thing, Virg?” Richie asked quietly from his end of the couch, where he’d been staring out toward the window. He and Virgil had been sitting in the dark; Virgil had made himself a sandwich, and was eating it with a sullen expression. Both of their thoughts had kept them occupied for that length of time, until Richie began to speak. “Leaving him like that? I think he got the wrong impression...”
“Rich, man, if you saw what I saw–you two weren’t comin’ to any conclusions. You were both makin’ it a lot worse,” Virgil muttered, fiddling with his sandwich. “An’ I thought you said ta me the other day that he didn’t hit or hurt you in any way...”
“He doesn’t,” Richie said with a defensive frown. “We fight, but–this was over other things. An’ we both lost our temper, anyway.”
“Might I remind you who you’re tempering with?”
“I KNOW. But I don’t think he would have hurt me, anyway. I mean, if you saw–he had plenty of chances to do so. But he didn’t.”
“Oh, so bein’ slammed against a tree wasn’t painful at all?”
Richie shrugged. “He was just trying to get me to stop.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands as he rose from the couch. He had his police scanner running, but so far, neither had heard of anything that would suggest Hotstreak’s actions.
“Rich, one day...I hope you realize just how pathetic you sound. Remember that one day? When Sharon made us watch some shit on Lifetime? Remember that?”
“Oh, God, Virg...”
“You sound like one of them ladies! ‘Oh, it’s okay, officer! He was just trying to carve his initials into me cuz he loooooves me’.”
“It’s not that way!”
“‘Not that way’...shit. He’s gonna hurt you, Goddamn it, Rich! He’s gonna fuck you over! An’ then what? Then what you gonna say?”
“...I wouldn’t say anything. Not to you. So I wouldn’t have to hear this garbage over and over again.” Richie chewed at his nail, not looking at him. “I made some wrong decisions, Virg. Everybody makes them. Especially when they don’t know what else to do or go. I made mine based on what I felt, and while I regret that things aren’t better, I won’t regret being with who I’m with. I don’t want to keep on going day through day, listening to ‘I told you so’ over and over. Just leave it alone.”
“You’re my best friend, Richard,” Virgil said vehemently. “You are EVERYTHING to me. I will always be here for you. I will always be there when you need me. I just want to keep you from being hurt–!”
“Then stop trying! Let me learn on my own!”
“How can I when you make a mistake? When you learn on your own, an’ end up fuckin’ dead?”
“I’m not going to die!”
Richie stiffened at remembering Hotstreak’s words the other night. It just wouldn’t do to bring it up. Especially at a time like this. He looked at Virgil, a part of him wanting so desperately to share what had been told–but too despondent to do so. Not wanting to hear him lecture or look down at him, he looked away.
“Rich...just–stay here, tonight. Take a break. You don’t have to run back to him–ya’ll ain’t makin’ things better the way you were.” Virgil sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly. “Sometimes, when me an’ Daisy fight, we gotta break, too. A couple of hours...somethin’...but I admit we ain’t nothin’ like you two. ‘Least we got homes of our own. I dunno. Just...don’t stay in somethin’ that ya know’s gonna hurt you. If he hits you, it ain’t outta ‘love’–a real man don’t hit his partner, regardless of gender–”
“Now YOU’RE denying me my male apparency...”
“I didn’t say–!”
“I hit him! That’s okay, then. Everyone else thinks I’m effeminate, but I know I’m not,” Richie then grumbled, pulling a pillow to his chest, then flinging it away from him with a growl.
“Anyway...it ain’t right if the one you love’s bruisin’ you. Physically, and all the rest.”
“...You’ve been talking to Sharon again, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been snooping through her books, yes. Why? Do I sound intelligent?”
The two chuckled.
“I’m headin’ back out there. Pops is out with Trina, and Sharon’s all up with Adam down at his place. Ya’ll got the place to yourself. Just–don’t act rash, all right? Think about things...the way you used to. It don’t seem like you’re doing too much of it, lately...”
“Thanks, Virg. Seriously. For everything.”
“It’s all good, bro. We’re tight. We gotta look out for each other, y’know? I ain’t lettin’ ya go down, an’ if you do, I’m there to pick ya back up.”
“Now you’re the one watching too much Lifetime.”
“Hey, when ya got an older sister an’ a girlfriend, what can you do? You helpless against females. You ain’t got nothin’ on them when they all settled on something.”
“Lucky me, I don’t know anything about that,” Richie murmured, thinking of Sharon and Daisy conspiring against Adam and Virgil. He had to wince at the image. Hotstreak himself had been helpless against Maria–not counting in her powers. He’d seen that for himself last year. Females had a certain power over men that made them invincible.
“I’ll be back later, okay? I’m going to finish patrol, an’ check out that center ya told me about the other day.”
“All right. I’ll be here.”
“Promise?”
Richie looked away, giving a shrug. Static gave him a pointed look, but nodded and turned, walking through the kitchen to leave the house. Richie heard the lock move into place from outside access, and he sighed heavily, reaching over to turn on the lamp. The familiar smells, sounds and sights of the Hawkins’ house was minutely comforting; being here made him feel at ease. He stared off into the shadows, his mind running through the argument with Hotstreak.
He felt that annoying urgence to leave the place to go find Hotstreak, to clear things up between them. They had their share of fights–most were ridiculous (once involving the way the way the older meta tucked his shirt into his boxers), but they always made up.
They had endured too much–they may have been together for such a sort amount of time, but they had endured some of the worst.
He was aware that he was being irrational and logic always seemed to be swept aside when it came to his feelings. While he recognized that he didn’t want to make the wrong decision and that he was viewing things on a pathetically painful judgement, he didn’t want to drive Hotstreak away from him.
He switched on the television set, but kept eyeing the phone near the kitchen.
“God...and I keep telling everyone that I don’t act like a girl,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he forced himself to stay seated. But the longer he stared sightlessly at the television set, the more the phone seemed to beckon him–commanding him to dial up Hotstreak’s cell. To let him know that things were going to be okay–they just needed to come to some agreements regarding the law...among other things.
“ONLY GIRLS OBSESS OVER THESE THINGS!” he roared to himself, tightening his arms as he scowled at the set. “I will BE a MAN, and make HIM call ME! Or...at least wait a week...or two...”
He let his head fall back against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The more he sat on the couch, the more he was tempted to pick up the phone to call.
He got up, intending to head up to Virgil’s room to snoop around for some comics when there was a small knock on the back kitchen door. He knew instantly that it had to be Hotstreak, tracking him down.
He whirled, racing for the door, stumbling in his haste to answer it. He swung it open, a sheepish expression coming to his face as he stepped out onto the stairs.
“Francis? I hope you’re here to tell me you’re sorry–”
He stilled at the ominous feel of metal against his head, his hand leaving the doorknob with a numb sort of detachment.
“Anyone else in this place?” a male’s rough voice demanded, the gun pressing insistently against his head. “You alone?”
“I’m alone,” Richie assured him, raising his hands as he tried to sneak a glance at the man that stayed within the shadows.
“Shut the door...let’s roll. Yer goin’ some place with us.”
Richie didn’t move for a few moments, trying to think of something he could do to get out of the potentially dangerous situation. He sure as hell didn’t want to go with someone that had tracked him down specifically–as many possibilities ran through his mind, thinking up reasons why someone would want him, confidence in that he could escape made him relax. He indicated the door, and watched as the man gave him some room to work with. He turned the inside lock, and moved to close the door when the door moved on its own, slamming shut, surprising him.
He looked up with a startled frown, and felt his insides freeze over at the sight of Ivan Evans. His breath left him in a shaky exhalation of air that he didn’t even realize he’d lost. He felt fear and horror that turned his stomach into painful knots.
Ivan was moving before Richie could process it, using his taller height to loom over him. Richie could smell the cologne that wafted from his lean form...the sharp spice of the male’s natural scent, the weed...it made his throat burn with bile as he was brought back to the rooftop. His limbs locked, every muscle in his body pulling tightly, preventing him from moving. His blood ran cold, with all the freezing stiffness of ice.
But even as his brain began working, Richie’s vocal cords were refusing to allow him to cry out. Ivan reached out, grabbing one of his wrists with his long, abnormally strong fingers. With a simple jerk, he had Richie stumbling toward him.
“I got this, man,” Ivan then dismissed the quiet hench, who nodded as he tucked his gun away and walked off toward the sidewalk. Ivan looked down at his prey, who was still staring up at him with almost sightless shock.
He liked the way Richie stared up at him, his pale features turning gray, the way his arm fell slack in his grasp. He tightened his fingers, seeing the blond’s wince upon the action. He felt bones grind against each other, the movement satisfying him as it earned him another expression of pain. Forcefully, he jerked Richie forward, pulling the blond’s stiff, rigid frame against his. Ivan’s other hand rose to rest upon Richie’s hip, nimble fingers lifting material so that he could touch the flesh hidden underneath. The pads of his fingers kneaded gently upon what he’d found, a contradicting touch compared to what he was doing to the blond’s wrist.
“I missed you, baby,” Ivan purred, the caressing word coming out with a wretched sense of vulgarity in the treasured endearment. He pulled Richie’s loosely curled fist against his chest, his thumb rubbing softly against the skin along his wrist. “You’re lookin’ good...haven’t seen you in a very long while...What’chu say we get reacquainted? You an’ me, we gotta lotta things to catch up on...”
An incoherent word escaped Richie’s pale lips, his eyes filling with mindless panic. Ivan’s fingers tightened on his hip, his fingers digging painfully into his flesh. Tracing along the waistband of his boxers, Ivan copped a feel of that smooth skin, the tips of his fingers pulling the material down to expose his pale flesh.
Richie finally reacted, jerking his hand back, Ivan snatching out to grab him once more. Richie began jerking his body back, his feet stumbling as he sought to get away. Ivan laughed, bringing the blond once more to that cold roof with that ugly sound, his muscles locking with indeterminable strength as the flashback’s intensity refused to let him go.
He was shoved hard against the wall of the Hawkins’ residence, his breath whooshing out of him as Ivan pinned him there with his taller body, one of his legs shoving between his. His thigh pressed painfully against his groin, the action bringing Richie to a standstill as the pain raced up his entire body.
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere. ‘Least, you ain’t goin’ anywhere without my permission. Bitch, don’t you remember? I marked you. You’re mine. You ain’t gonna forget that now, are ya?”
Richie shook his head, struggling to talk, but his throat had locked up. He couldn’t breathe. He was feeling suffocated with Ivan’s reappearance and proximity. Even as his mind wanted him to move, knowing the defensive actions he could take to get away, his body was refusing to respond to them.
“Yeah, ya ain’t. I fucked you up too badly for ya to forget. Let’s go. I got plans for you. You gonna do what I say, an’, for once, that mouth of yours is gonna fuckin’ stay shut. Least ways, I find somethin’ to occupy it with.”
Shaking his head furiously, Richie felt that leg move out from between his, and the bodily relief in that precious cargo was safe for the moment allowed him to snap out of his fear induced daze. He pulled on his arm, and screamed for help. Ivan reacted immediately, slapping his hand over his mouth with a livid curse. Richie immediately pushed his head forward, his teeth snapping over sweaty flesh. Ivan reacted with a pained shout, withdrawing his hand as Richie screamed for help once more. Lights were coming on in the house next door, Ivan giving another curse as he raised his hand, intending to hit him.
Someone plowed between them, separating them. Ivan was shoved aside, Richie stumbling backwards as one of the back doors in the neighboring house opened. Ivan cursed, turning to hide his face as Shiv wrapped both his arms around Richie’s head, pulling him into a forceful and awkward hug.
“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully as Richie struggled against him. “Sorry! We’re just playing! He won’t take out the trash like I asked! So I gotta make ‘im!”
The woman glanced at them skeptically, noting the way Richie struggled against him. As hands slapped Shiv’s face, and fingers clawed at his hair, she gave them both a frown. But she slowly retreated into her house.
Shiv then reacted with a pained yowl as Richie yanked at his hair. Ivan, after seeing the woman retreat, turned and hurried back to them. Ivan grabbed one of Richie’s flailing arms, and threw a gut punch into the teen, the fight leaving him upon reaction to the pain.
“Let’s go before someone sees us!” Ivan then cursed, Richie gagging as he started to slide to the pavement. Shiv grabbed one of his arms, tossing it over his neck, and plowed forward toward one of the waiting vehicles in the driveway. The black Lincoln Navigator and the maroon Escort with chrome rims were out of place within the neighborhood. “Get in the other car, Shiv...”
“Wha–? But–!”
“Just get in the other car!” Ivan snarled at him, opening the back side door of the Navigator. Ivan shoved Richie into the back seat as the driver prepared to move.
Slamming the door shut, Ivan then turned to Richie, punching his unprotected chest in an effort to make him move. Richie winced at the hit, but began kicking out angrily as the vehicle began moving. With a low growl, Ivan snatched one of his kicking feet, and shoved it aside, crawling between them as Richie struggled to get him off.
By the time Ivan was able to capture his wrists and slap on cold, unforgiving handcuffs, they were leaving Virgil’s neighborhood. Breathing heavily from the activity in trying to get the blond to cooperate with him, cursing every third second as a well placed foot caught his body, Ivan hated being human. His powers would have ended this game a long time ago–he was so eager to have them back, to regain that control he’d had before.
Both of them were weary by the time he managed to pin both of Richie’s arms behind him, making sure the cuffs were extra tight for all the fuss he’d given.
“Pull over, man,” Ivan said between pants, lifting off the blond. “Let’s get those guys in here.”
“Got it,” the driver said, looking for a place to park. He lowered his window and gave an arm signal to the vehicle behind them.
Cursing angrily, Ivan curled his fingers through golden blond hair and yanked Richie’s head up from the cushion. “You gonna sit here, be fuckin’ quiet for fuckin’ once, an’ cooperate. I gots ways to make ya cooperate–an’ you gonna see just what I can do.”
“You can’t make me do anything! I’d rather be dead than do anything for you!” Richie spit, moving to kick at him again.
As crowded as they were on the single back bench, he was able to bring a leg up and catch Ivan in the chest. With a low growl, Ivan was wrestling him to the floor, where he kicked Richie in the ribs, making the teen cry out. As awkward as it was, standing within the confined space of the Navigator, Ivan remained standing as the vehicle slowed to a stop.
The driver got out to carry out his orders, and Ivan pulled out several strips of cloth from his jeans pocket. With forceful action, he ripped the blond’s glasses from his eyes, tossing them up front towards the dash. He pulled one of the strips over Richie’s eyes, tying it tightly, wanting to make it hurt.
He forced Richie off the floor and settled him onto the seat, shoving him against the window as the back door opened. Ivan pulled out his automatic, making sure Richie heard the safety being disengaged as two people were led into the Navigator by gunpoint.
The blond paused in striking out upon hearing the metallic release, his mind racing as he wondered why they’d stopped, and who was getting in.
“Richie?”
He felt his blood run cold for the second time tonight, upon hearing his mother’s hysterical exclamation. His eyes widened behind the blindfold, and as he strained to hear what was going on, Ivan gave a low chuckle.
“Mom?” Richie croaked, wanting to believe that it was all a trick.
“Richie, you okay, baby?” Maggie asked, her voice thick with tears and fright as she and Sean settled into the two individual seats before his.
The blond’s mouth moved wordlessly as he realized that his mother was indeed there, being directed by gun point to take her seat. Ivan had him where he wanted him. He closed his eyes, trying to stop his world from spinning, for his stomach to unclench. It didn’t work.
He wanted this to be some dream, some nightmare–he wanted to wake up next to Hotstreak and know that things were okay. But they weren’t. No, this horrible nightmare continued, and as he inhaled shakily, he breathed in deep of his mother’s familiar smell.
His insides clenched–it had been so long since he’d seen her, heard from her–that to know she was just right there, just out of reach, made him want to break down. But he couldn’t. Not like this, and not in front of Ivan.
“M-mom? Ju–Just you?”
“I’m here, too, Richard,” Sean said gruffly, glaring at the men that slammed the door shut. Shiv had disobeyed Ivan’s orders, placing himself in the front passenger seat with a gun trained weakly on the two parents. The driver settled into his seat, and was pulling away from the curb as Richie tried to wave away the wash of horror and panic that flooded his system.
He swallowed a few times, trying to prompt his brain to work clearly as he listened to the clinks of metal, to the obvious sounds of his parents shifting uncomfortably with their own bonds. He felt Ivan shift beside him, lining his side with his. His stomach fluttered in disgust at the man’s closeness, the way he breathed into his ear as he said, “You wanna backtalk me, s’more? Do it. We’ll see what happens when ya wanna mouth off like you usually do.”
“Let them go,” Richie growled, but his words were almost incoherent–his jaw was clenched tight.
“We got business, you an’ I. An’ I gotta make sure I make m’self clear to ya. Since you ain’t wanna take me seriously, like you hadn’t before, I gotta put everythin’ down on the line. Get things straight. You say somethin’ wrong, somethin’ in a tone that disagrees with me, an’ me an’ Shivvie here figure out how many ways we can make your folks scream. Won’t that be neat?”
“Fuck you, you–!”
“I told you to keep your fuckin’ mouth shut!” Ivan snapped. “Shiv! See how loud the momma can scream!”
“NO! NO! Please–! I–I won’t say anything–just, please don’t touch them!” Richie immediately cried, straining forward, as if he could somehow protect his mother.
Shiv hesitated as he looked at him, then at Ivan, who focused on his blond prey with a leer. The gun felt heavy in his hand, his finger awkwardly curled over the trigger–it was obvious to a viewer that he didn’t know how to handle it. He continued to aim at a point beyond Maggie’s head, but he didn’t bother to target the hysterical woman.
Both parents wore expressions of fear and strain, Maggie leaking running tears as her shoulders shook. Sean was quieter, hunched forward, his lips tight and nearly white with the way he pressed them together. Both of them were pale–their skin edged with gray due to their stress. Their eyes were mixed with conflicting emotions, wide with the terror they felt upon being forced into this situation. They were scared, and they had every right to be. They were reacting the same way Shiv had seen others act, and felt his stomach curl with pity as he continued to watch them.
He knew this wasn’t going to end well. Ivan wanted no witnesses. But he didn’t understand why Ivan had ordered a drive out into the outskirts of Dakota, rather than head back to the hideout. Wouldn’t he use them against Richie? To hold them hostage while he made up the formula to create the mutation Ivan needed? It didn’t make any sense to him.
The drive was tense, and filled with Ivan constantly threatening Richie with killing his parents if he didn’t cooperate with him. While Richie pleaded and begged for his parents’ life, Maggie joining in with her own hysterical way, Sean said nothing. He stared off to a point on the floor and kept his lips tight.
Shiv continued to feel sick as he watched all this, his eyes silently taking in the way Ivan groped and hit Richie in the very back seat; the way the blond’s parents grew tense and agitated at the situation they could hear behind them–it was something he didn’t want to witness, or listen to. Its’ vulgarity was obscene. He wanted to make Ivan stop, to shout that he had the blond supergenius under control with just the presence of his parents, but he couldn’t do that. Ivan would turn against him, have him shot.
It was conflicting, and it tore at Shiv as minutes passed into a two hour drive out of Dakota.
By the time they reached a dirt road that led into privately own property within the woodsy area, Shiv was about ready to scream with his own pent-up tension.
Already knowing where they were going, he turned in his seat to pensively watch the road, hearing Ivan laugh as Richie made an odd, garbled noise from the back seat.
The gun was shaking in Shiv’s hands as they finally parked near a thicket consisting of thorn bushes and thickly growing marsh. Numbly, he recalled a show on Discovery about how bogs preserved people, turning them into mummified states.
They climbed out of the Navigator, and he helped Sean and Maggie out, noting that both were reluctant to leave their son. When Ivan climbed out, he made sure Richie stayed in, much to the agitation of the blond.
The others left their vehicle with a clatter of laughter, continued talking, and the telltale bass of Mike Jones. They all eyed Sean and Maggie with the glint of hyenas, ready to move in for the kill as the pair were forced to stand side by side within the strong smelling marsh water that slurped at their feet.
Shiv glanced at the two adults, noting the way Maggie’s nose ran; the way Sean’s shoulders continued to stay stiffened, his dark eyes glaring at everyone. If looks could kill...Shiv had no doubt that they would have all been dead. Especially Richie.
Shiv looked at the others, and noted that they were all ready to follow through with orders. Shovels were being pulled out from the trunk. There was laughter as someone realized that the wrong trash bags were brought.
He felt the urge to shoot–randomly, at someone, at anything.
Ivan let out a belch that seemed thoughtful as he sidled up to Sean, eyeing him with an even stare. Sean looked at him with as much distaste one would have for rotten, un-refrigerated meat. The expression made the others laugh, and Ivan chuckled, thick lips spreading as teeth were displayed. Mike Jones was finally shut off, the driver of the second vehicle giving a grumble.
Shiv licked his lips nervously, glancing at Richie, seeing that the blond was groping the floor for something. Ivan noticed that there was too much movement coming from the Navigator, and left Sean’s side. He pulled Richie out, finally, forcing him to face his parents, but keeping the blindfold in place.
As if he weren’t torturing the teen enough with threatening his parents; with treating him the way that he was; the teen couldn’t even see his loved ones, kept out of reach and keeping them out of his sight. Shiv wondered how Richie managed to handle being in that position; hearing, feeling, knowing what was happening; being helpless, vulnerable, blind–he couldn’t imagine what the teen must be feeling.
Shiv narrowed his eyes, finally lowering his gun. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glanced from one to the other, having no idea what Ivan was doing.
“We all got parents, huh?” Ivan started, looking around at his crew. His commanding voice was loud within the empty area. They weren’t that far from Dakota, but from the silence of the enclosing grip of the property’s wilderness, they may have well been stuck in the boonies.
Most of them murmured and acknowledged his words as Ivan gripped Richie’s arm in one hand, a gun being used to gesture with his words in the other. “We all went through that fuckin’ shit of answerin’ their questions, of fuckin’ doin’ what they say. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ that, I guess. Depending on the situation, it sometimes be nice to know that they all concerned for us. But thugs, we ain’t got that kinda environment, do we?”
At the chorus of words, Ivan shook his head. “We ain’t got that sorta household. It all fend for ourselves out there in the streets. So...when it comes to you white folk, to people that all cozy up in their homes an’ shit? An’ takin’ care of their kids? Don’t ya think ya deserve a little truth when it comes to your kids?”
Ignoring the following chorus, Ivan eyed both Sean and Maggie with a placid stare. He then jerked Richie’s arm up in an accusing manner. “Ya’ll think ya son is a good boy, an’ shit? He does his homework, does his chores...hell, prolly does it for neighbors, huh? He always in school, always turns in shit–never gets in trouble there! But the thing is, does he ever lie to you? You ever catch him in a lie?”
Shiv finally understood what Ivan was getting at, watching the faces of Sean and Maggie as they stared at Ivan in strained silence. Glances were then cast toward their son, who had also figured out what the black man was doing. It was all evident in the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his lips tightened.
“I don’t know what he gone an’ done ta have him livin’ out on th’ streets the past so months...I always thought he was the type o’ boy that never did shit wrong. Someone like him, he ain’t last long by himself out there. Anyway, nuff of that. Boy, you got somethin’ you wanna say to them?” he then asked Richie, jerking him around. Richie moved to pull his arm away, but Ivan tightened his fingers, making the blond wince. “Somethin’ personal...you ain’t get the chance again, buh-leave me...”
“Please let them go...they aren’t involved!”
“What are you going to do to us?” Maggie finally cried, her voice breaking. “Let him go! Let us go! We don’t even know you! Why are you doing this to us?”
“You ain’t know me? Then you don’t know him as well as you thought, now, huh? Explain to them, Foley, how we all acquainted. How little, geeky, faggot boy Richard Foley knows big bad Ivan Evans. Tell them, Richie. They deserve to know, huh?”
Richie didn’t say anything, his struggles ceased. Ivan frowned at him, pushing him to get him to talk. Through it all, Sean stared silently at his son, not moving a muscle.
“Tell them!” Ivan barked, pushing Richie again.
“I...I d-don’t know if you’ll ever...please...mom, dad...I’m sorry,” Richie began softly, his head hanging slightly, his voice low with remorse. “I...I am a bang baby, too. I–I wasn’t there that night, but–I did come into contact with the gas–”
“Quit your fuckin’ stallin’!” Ivan then demanded. “We ain’t got all damn day!”
“I–I’m Gear. I mean, I was, but----I....that’s why I couldn’t get a job, dad. I did work–as Gear. I–I stopped, though, because---”
“Bullshit.”
Everyone looked up, surprised, as Sean finally spoke, his eyes livid as they focused on Richie. “You?” he barked, with a harsh laugh. “You as that–that–no, not you! You’re incapable of doing something to that measure! You can’t even stand up to the bullies in your school!”
Ivan gave a surprised expression at the vehemence in Sean’s tone, looking at his crew members with the same expression. Everyone began to laugh or chuckle, mocking Sean and Richie.
Richie stiffened, his head raising to look in Sean’s direction. Maggie was staring at her blindfolded son as if she hadn’t seen him before, hiccuping loudly.
“I...I can’t prove it, right now. I don’t have any of my equipment on me,” Richie said softly, shaking his head. “But I was. I was Gear.”
“You’re lying!” Sean shouted. “You can’t hide something like that from me! Why do you lie at a time like this!”
“My daddy ever spoke that way to me, he ain’t live long to regret it, ”Ivan muttered, shaking his head.
“I’m not lying, dad,” Richie insisted. “I’m not. That’s how he knows me.”
“An’ how did I find out, Richie?” Ivan asked, rather proudly. He let go of Richie’s arm, curling his arm around Richie’s shoulders in a companionable hold.“You didn’t tell them about us? That one special night?”
Sean looked away in disgust, shaking his head. “I told you, Richard. I had told you–! Being with these–these–people would lead you to this! Fucking niggers and their superiority complexes over us–!”
Chorus of enraged shouts bombarded him as Richie shook his head, feeling his chest clench, his eyes squeezing shut as he recalled both Virgil and Hotstreak telling him that Sean had been looking for him. He wanted to know why–he wanted to know why he had been suddenly worth the effort with all the hate and ignorance that Sean believed in. But something deep inside of him realized that he’d never know–his father would never display his weakness before those wanting to see his death. He would not break down before these faces. His pride and dignity demanded that.
Maggie looked from one face to the other, finally focusing on her son with a soft inhalation.
“Richie?” Maggie asked, her voice soft as she stepped forward. At the obvious sounds of guns being raised, she hesitated to move any further. “Baby, is this true? Were you----were you really him?”
“Rubbish,” Sean muttered, shaking his head. “Of course you’d believe that horseshit, Maggie! You were always so fuckin’ soft toward him! Made him what he is!”
“Yeah...yeah, mom. I–I was. I’m sorry...” Richie felt heartbroken as he listened to the obvious disgust in his father’s tone. Even knowing that he’d never see him again, his father was willing to hate him for being nothing that he’d wanted. It hurt–it hurt no matter how much he told himself he didn’t need Sean.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, honey,” Maggie said, still in that soft voice. “You have done nothing wrong....I’m proud of you, Richie. For doing something so brave and wonderful–I wish I had known sooner.”
“Aw,” Ivan muttered in disgust, pulling away from Richie. “Ain’t that sweet?”
“Let them go, please,” Richie pleaded, looking in his direction. “I’ll do anything you want–!”
Ivan snickered, looking down at him as he raised his gun. “No matter what, you be doin’ what I want.”
At the signal he gave, lifting his chin in a simple movement, two of his men lifted their own weaponry. The three fired in quick succession, the popping explosions ringing throughout the area, causing hearing to buzz with uncomfortable echoes.
At the heavy thuds of body meeting ground, Richie did nothing; he was paralyzed with disbelieving shock as Ivan laughed. His skin, already pale with natural lightness, turned a visible gray pallor; nothing moved as he stood there, barely breathing.
Ivan leaned over, his lips brushing against his ear as he murmured, “All for you, baby. At least you said your goodbyes, huh? Cleared the air with ya dirty secrets...? Don’t ever tell me I ain’t done nothin’ for ya. Clean this shit up, boys. Take whatever ya think’s valuable–they got some peoples already workin’ on clearin’ the house an’ that shit-ride they got for a car. We all covered.”
Shiv watched silently as Ivan jerked on Richie’s arm, the blond stumbling with a dazed sort of air as they entered the Navigator once more. Hearing Ivan chuckle and murmur something that he couldn’t hear, Shiv turned to see what the others were doing with the bodies, and froze upon the expectant looks on the mens’ faces. They were pulling out trash bags, readying them–he knew what was expected as pockets were rifled through, jewelry taken.
“C’mon, man,” one of them complained, eyeing Sean’s watch with a sullen frown. “We ain’t got all day! Let’s get this shit over with!”
Shiv stared down at the two parents, their clothes blossoming with red. So much red. It had been overkill for three people to shoot multiple rounds at them. He kept recalling how Maggie’s face had turned so soft and serene as she’d spoken to her son; the way Sean seemed so hateful and angry as he spewed lines of disbelief.
He suddenly thought of his own mother and father–wondered if they’d ever take him back, or if they’d turn him away like Theresa’s.
He shook his head, crossing his arms sullenly over his chest. “Nah. I ain’t...I’m not up to it.”
Complaints followed him as he turned and walked away, swiftly moving away from the vehicles. Once he was certain no one could see him, he bent at the waist and vomited what little he’d eaten earlier. He stood there for several minutes, staring blankly at what he’d rejected. He heard Ivan shouting his name with an annoyed tone, and heard the obvious disgust and shouts of those that were performing the grisly job of dismembering the two victims.
He looked back over at the clearing, seeing that Ivan was wandering around with a couple of guys that were pointing out at something beyond the marsh.
Something snapped in Shiv at that moment–staring at the evil, malevolent man that wrought despicable crimes among other humans, he realized that he couldn’t do this anymore.
Not really comprehending the understanding he’d come to, only knowing that he’d had enough, he ventured out from the thicket, slowly heading toward the Navigator. He opened the driver’s side door of the Navigator, peering inside to see that Richie was slumped over the back seat, silent. The keys were hanging halfway out of the ignition. He knew how to drive a vehicle–hours of practice with the old members of the Breed had given him that opportunity. The Navigator was an automatic, which was a plus for him. He really wasn’t thinking clearly.
The side door was still open. Shiv climbed into the vehicle, maneuvering around the seats to shut it. Ivan looked over with some bewilderment, starting to walk over to investigate. With a quiet sense of calm, Shiv took the driver’s seat, and started the vehicle. Many of the men looked up in surprise and stunned puzzlement as they realized who was behind the driver’s wheel.
He engaged the gear shift into Reverse, and didn’t bother to look behind him as he stepped on the gas, Ivan shouting furiously as the Navigator slammed into the Escort. Cursing, Shiv turned the wheel a wide left, bumping the vehicle into a violent movement that sent both him and Richie bouncing in their seats. Gunshots were fired, and something cracked upon impact.
Shiv merely ducked and managed to turn the vehicle around.
“Oh, God, I’m going to die,” he muttered, shifting into Drive and pressing hard on the gas pedal. Glancing in the rearview mirror, seeing that everyone was trying to cram themselves into the Escort with what work they’d done, Shiv cursed again.
He’d made his choice–now he had to deal with it.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Do you think I did the right thing, Virg?” Richie asked quietly from his end of the couch, where he’d been staring out toward the window. He and Virgil had been sitting in the dark; Virgil had made himself a sandwich, and was eating it with a sullen expression. Both of their thoughts had kept them occupied for that length of time, until Richie began to speak. “Leaving him like that? I think he got the wrong impression...”
“Rich, man, if you saw what I saw–you two weren’t comin’ to any conclusions. You were both makin’ it a lot worse,” Virgil muttered, fiddling with his sandwich. “An’ I thought you said ta me the other day that he didn’t hit or hurt you in any way...”
“He doesn’t,” Richie said with a defensive frown. “We fight, but–this was over other things. An’ we both lost our temper, anyway.”
“Might I remind you who you’re tempering with?”
“I KNOW. But I don’t think he would have hurt me, anyway. I mean, if you saw–he had plenty of chances to do so. But he didn’t.”
“Oh, so bein’ slammed against a tree wasn’t painful at all?”
Richie shrugged. “He was just trying to get me to stop.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands as he rose from the couch. He had his police scanner running, but so far, neither had heard of anything that would suggest Hotstreak’s actions.
“Rich, one day...I hope you realize just how pathetic you sound. Remember that one day? When Sharon made us watch some shit on Lifetime? Remember that?”
“Oh, God, Virg...”
“You sound like one of them ladies! ‘Oh, it’s okay, officer! He was just trying to carve his initials into me cuz he loooooves me’.”
“It’s not that way!”
“‘Not that way’...shit. He’s gonna hurt you, Goddamn it, Rich! He’s gonna fuck you over! An’ then what? Then what you gonna say?”
“...I wouldn’t say anything. Not to you. So I wouldn’t have to hear this garbage over and over again.” Richie chewed at his nail, not looking at him. “I made some wrong decisions, Virg. Everybody makes them. Especially when they don’t know what else to do or go. I made mine based on what I felt, and while I regret that things aren’t better, I won’t regret being with who I’m with. I don’t want to keep on going day through day, listening to ‘I told you so’ over and over. Just leave it alone.”
“You’re my best friend, Richard,” Virgil said vehemently. “You are EVERYTHING to me. I will always be here for you. I will always be there when you need me. I just want to keep you from being hurt–!”
“Then stop trying! Let me learn on my own!”
“How can I when you make a mistake? When you learn on your own, an’ end up fuckin’ dead?”
“I’m not going to die!”
Richie stiffened at remembering Hotstreak’s words the other night. It just wouldn’t do to bring it up. Especially at a time like this. He looked at Virgil, a part of him wanting so desperately to share what had been told–but too despondent to do so. Not wanting to hear him lecture or look down at him, he looked away.
“Rich...just–stay here, tonight. Take a break. You don’t have to run back to him–ya’ll ain’t makin’ things better the way you were.” Virgil sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly. “Sometimes, when me an’ Daisy fight, we gotta break, too. A couple of hours...somethin’...but I admit we ain’t nothin’ like you two. ‘Least we got homes of our own. I dunno. Just...don’t stay in somethin’ that ya know’s gonna hurt you. If he hits you, it ain’t outta ‘love’–a real man don’t hit his partner, regardless of gender–”
“Now YOU’RE denying me my male apparency...”
“I didn’t say–!”
“I hit him! That’s okay, then. Everyone else thinks I’m effeminate, but I know I’m not,” Richie then grumbled, pulling a pillow to his chest, then flinging it away from him with a growl.
“Anyway...it ain’t right if the one you love’s bruisin’ you. Physically, and all the rest.”
“...You’ve been talking to Sharon again, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been snooping through her books, yes. Why? Do I sound intelligent?”
The two chuckled.
“I’m headin’ back out there. Pops is out with Trina, and Sharon’s all up with Adam down at his place. Ya’ll got the place to yourself. Just–don’t act rash, all right? Think about things...the way you used to. It don’t seem like you’re doing too much of it, lately...”
“Thanks, Virg. Seriously. For everything.”
“It’s all good, bro. We’re tight. We gotta look out for each other, y’know? I ain’t lettin’ ya go down, an’ if you do, I’m there to pick ya back up.”
“Now you’re the one watching too much Lifetime.”
“Hey, when ya got an older sister an’ a girlfriend, what can you do? You helpless against females. You ain’t got nothin’ on them when they all settled on something.”
“Lucky me, I don’t know anything about that,” Richie murmured, thinking of Sharon and Daisy conspiring against Adam and Virgil. He had to wince at the image. Hotstreak himself had been helpless against Maria–not counting in her powers. He’d seen that for himself last year. Females had a certain power over men that made them invincible.
“I’ll be back later, okay? I’m going to finish patrol, an’ check out that center ya told me about the other day.”
“All right. I’ll be here.”
“Promise?”
Richie looked away, giving a shrug. Static gave him a pointed look, but nodded and turned, walking through the kitchen to leave the house. Richie heard the lock move into place from outside access, and he sighed heavily, reaching over to turn on the lamp. The familiar smells, sounds and sights of the Hawkins’ house was minutely comforting; being here made him feel at ease. He stared off into the shadows, his mind running through the argument with Hotstreak.
He felt that annoying urgence to leave the place to go find Hotstreak, to clear things up between them. They had their share of fights–most were ridiculous (once involving the way the way the older meta tucked his shirt into his boxers), but they always made up.
They had endured too much–they may have been together for such a sort amount of time, but they had endured some of the worst.
He was aware that he was being irrational and logic always seemed to be swept aside when it came to his feelings. While he recognized that he didn’t want to make the wrong decision and that he was viewing things on a pathetically painful judgement, he didn’t want to drive Hotstreak away from him.
He switched on the television set, but kept eyeing the phone near the kitchen.
“God...and I keep telling everyone that I don’t act like a girl,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he forced himself to stay seated. But the longer he stared sightlessly at the television set, the more the phone seemed to beckon him–commanding him to dial up Hotstreak’s cell. To let him know that things were going to be okay–they just needed to come to some agreements regarding the law...among other things.
“ONLY GIRLS OBSESS OVER THESE THINGS!” he roared to himself, tightening his arms as he scowled at the set. “I will BE a MAN, and make HIM call ME! Or...at least wait a week...or two...”
He let his head fall back against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The more he sat on the couch, the more he was tempted to pick up the phone to call.
He got up, intending to head up to Virgil’s room to snoop around for some comics when there was a small knock on the back kitchen door. He knew instantly that it had to be Hotstreak, tracking him down.
He whirled, racing for the door, stumbling in his haste to answer it. He swung it open, a sheepish expression coming to his face as he stepped out onto the stairs.
“Francis? I hope you’re here to tell me you’re sorry–”
He stilled at the ominous feel of metal against his head, his hand leaving the doorknob with a numb sort of detachment.
“Anyone else in this place?” a male’s rough voice demanded, the gun pressing insistently against his head. “You alone?”
“I’m alone,” Richie assured him, raising his hands as he tried to sneak a glance at the man that stayed within the shadows.
“Shut the door...let’s roll. Yer goin’ some place with us.”
Richie didn’t move for a few moments, trying to think of something he could do to get out of the potentially dangerous situation. He sure as hell didn’t want to go with someone that had tracked him down specifically–as many possibilities ran through his mind, thinking up reasons why someone would want him, confidence in that he could escape made him relax. He indicated the door, and watched as the man gave him some room to work with. He turned the inside lock, and moved to close the door when the door moved on its own, slamming shut, surprising him.
He looked up with a startled frown, and felt his insides freeze over at the sight of Ivan Evans. His breath left him in a shaky exhalation of air that he didn’t even realize he’d lost. He felt fear and horror that turned his stomach into painful knots.
Ivan was moving before Richie could process it, using his taller height to loom over him. Richie could smell the cologne that wafted from his lean form...the sharp spice of the male’s natural scent, the weed...it made his throat burn with bile as he was brought back to the rooftop. His limbs locked, every muscle in his body pulling tightly, preventing him from moving. His blood ran cold, with all the freezing stiffness of ice.
But even as his brain began working, Richie’s vocal cords were refusing to allow him to cry out. Ivan reached out, grabbing one of his wrists with his long, abnormally strong fingers. With a simple jerk, he had Richie stumbling toward him.
“I got this, man,” Ivan then dismissed the quiet hench, who nodded as he tucked his gun away and walked off toward the sidewalk. Ivan looked down at his prey, who was still staring up at him with almost sightless shock.
He liked the way Richie stared up at him, his pale features turning gray, the way his arm fell slack in his grasp. He tightened his fingers, seeing the blond’s wince upon the action. He felt bones grind against each other, the movement satisfying him as it earned him another expression of pain. Forcefully, he jerked Richie forward, pulling the blond’s stiff, rigid frame against his. Ivan’s other hand rose to rest upon Richie’s hip, nimble fingers lifting material so that he could touch the flesh hidden underneath. The pads of his fingers kneaded gently upon what he’d found, a contradicting touch compared to what he was doing to the blond’s wrist.
“I missed you, baby,” Ivan purred, the caressing word coming out with a wretched sense of vulgarity in the treasured endearment. He pulled Richie’s loosely curled fist against his chest, his thumb rubbing softly against the skin along his wrist. “You’re lookin’ good...haven’t seen you in a very long while...What’chu say we get reacquainted? You an’ me, we gotta lotta things to catch up on...”
An incoherent word escaped Richie’s pale lips, his eyes filling with mindless panic. Ivan’s fingers tightened on his hip, his fingers digging painfully into his flesh. Tracing along the waistband of his boxers, Ivan copped a feel of that smooth skin, the tips of his fingers pulling the material down to expose his pale flesh.
Richie finally reacted, jerking his hand back, Ivan snatching out to grab him once more. Richie began jerking his body back, his feet stumbling as he sought to get away. Ivan laughed, bringing the blond once more to that cold roof with that ugly sound, his muscles locking with indeterminable strength as the flashback’s intensity refused to let him go.
He was shoved hard against the wall of the Hawkins’ residence, his breath whooshing out of him as Ivan pinned him there with his taller body, one of his legs shoving between his. His thigh pressed painfully against his groin, the action bringing Richie to a standstill as the pain raced up his entire body.
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere. ‘Least, you ain’t goin’ anywhere without my permission. Bitch, don’t you remember? I marked you. You’re mine. You ain’t gonna forget that now, are ya?”
Richie shook his head, struggling to talk, but his throat had locked up. He couldn’t breathe. He was feeling suffocated with Ivan’s reappearance and proximity. Even as his mind wanted him to move, knowing the defensive actions he could take to get away, his body was refusing to respond to them.
“Yeah, ya ain’t. I fucked you up too badly for ya to forget. Let’s go. I got plans for you. You gonna do what I say, an’, for once, that mouth of yours is gonna fuckin’ stay shut. Least ways, I find somethin’ to occupy it with.”
Shaking his head furiously, Richie felt that leg move out from between his, and the bodily relief in that precious cargo was safe for the moment allowed him to snap out of his fear induced daze. He pulled on his arm, and screamed for help. Ivan reacted immediately, slapping his hand over his mouth with a livid curse. Richie immediately pushed his head forward, his teeth snapping over sweaty flesh. Ivan reacted with a pained shout, withdrawing his hand as Richie screamed for help once more. Lights were coming on in the house next door, Ivan giving another curse as he raised his hand, intending to hit him.
Someone plowed between them, separating them. Ivan was shoved aside, Richie stumbling backwards as one of the back doors in the neighboring house opened. Ivan cursed, turning to hide his face as Shiv wrapped both his arms around Richie’s head, pulling him into a forceful and awkward hug.
“Hi!” he greeted cheerfully as Richie struggled against him. “Sorry! We’re just playing! He won’t take out the trash like I asked! So I gotta make ‘im!”
The woman glanced at them skeptically, noting the way Richie struggled against him. As hands slapped Shiv’s face, and fingers clawed at his hair, she gave them both a frown. But she slowly retreated into her house.
Shiv then reacted with a pained yowl as Richie yanked at his hair. Ivan, after seeing the woman retreat, turned and hurried back to them. Ivan grabbed one of Richie’s flailing arms, and threw a gut punch into the teen, the fight leaving him upon reaction to the pain.
“Let’s go before someone sees us!” Ivan then cursed, Richie gagging as he started to slide to the pavement. Shiv grabbed one of his arms, tossing it over his neck, and plowed forward toward one of the waiting vehicles in the driveway. The black Lincoln Navigator and the maroon Escort with chrome rims were out of place within the neighborhood. “Get in the other car, Shiv...”
“Wha–? But–!”
“Just get in the other car!” Ivan snarled at him, opening the back side door of the Navigator. Ivan shoved Richie into the back seat as the driver prepared to move.
Slamming the door shut, Ivan then turned to Richie, punching his unprotected chest in an effort to make him move. Richie winced at the hit, but began kicking out angrily as the vehicle began moving. With a low growl, Ivan snatched one of his kicking feet, and shoved it aside, crawling between them as Richie struggled to get him off.
By the time Ivan was able to capture his wrists and slap on cold, unforgiving handcuffs, they were leaving Virgil’s neighborhood. Breathing heavily from the activity in trying to get the blond to cooperate with him, cursing every third second as a well placed foot caught his body, Ivan hated being human. His powers would have ended this game a long time ago–he was so eager to have them back, to regain that control he’d had before.
Both of them were weary by the time he managed to pin both of Richie’s arms behind him, making sure the cuffs were extra tight for all the fuss he’d given.
“Pull over, man,” Ivan said between pants, lifting off the blond. “Let’s get those guys in here.”
“Got it,” the driver said, looking for a place to park. He lowered his window and gave an arm signal to the vehicle behind them.
Cursing angrily, Ivan curled his fingers through golden blond hair and yanked Richie’s head up from the cushion. “You gonna sit here, be fuckin’ quiet for fuckin’ once, an’ cooperate. I gots ways to make ya cooperate–an’ you gonna see just what I can do.”
“You can’t make me do anything! I’d rather be dead than do anything for you!” Richie spit, moving to kick at him again.
As crowded as they were on the single back bench, he was able to bring a leg up and catch Ivan in the chest. With a low growl, Ivan was wrestling him to the floor, where he kicked Richie in the ribs, making the teen cry out. As awkward as it was, standing within the confined space of the Navigator, Ivan remained standing as the vehicle slowed to a stop.
The driver got out to carry out his orders, and Ivan pulled out several strips of cloth from his jeans pocket. With forceful action, he ripped the blond’s glasses from his eyes, tossing them up front towards the dash. He pulled one of the strips over Richie’s eyes, tying it tightly, wanting to make it hurt.
He forced Richie off the floor and settled him onto the seat, shoving him against the window as the back door opened. Ivan pulled out his automatic, making sure Richie heard the safety being disengaged as two people were led into the Navigator by gunpoint.
The blond paused in striking out upon hearing the metallic release, his mind racing as he wondered why they’d stopped, and who was getting in.
“Richie?”
He felt his blood run cold for the second time tonight, upon hearing his mother’s hysterical exclamation. His eyes widened behind the blindfold, and as he strained to hear what was going on, Ivan gave a low chuckle.
“Mom?” Richie croaked, wanting to believe that it was all a trick.
“Richie, you okay, baby?” Maggie asked, her voice thick with tears and fright as she and Sean settled into the two individual seats before his.
The blond’s mouth moved wordlessly as he realized that his mother was indeed there, being directed by gun point to take her seat. Ivan had him where he wanted him. He closed his eyes, trying to stop his world from spinning, for his stomach to unclench. It didn’t work.
He wanted this to be some dream, some nightmare–he wanted to wake up next to Hotstreak and know that things were okay. But they weren’t. No, this horrible nightmare continued, and as he inhaled shakily, he breathed in deep of his mother’s familiar smell.
His insides clenched–it had been so long since he’d seen her, heard from her–that to know she was just right there, just out of reach, made him want to break down. But he couldn’t. Not like this, and not in front of Ivan.
“M-mom? Ju–Just you?”
“I’m here, too, Richard,” Sean said gruffly, glaring at the men that slammed the door shut. Shiv had disobeyed Ivan’s orders, placing himself in the front passenger seat with a gun trained weakly on the two parents. The driver settled into his seat, and was pulling away from the curb as Richie tried to wave away the wash of horror and panic that flooded his system.
He swallowed a few times, trying to prompt his brain to work clearly as he listened to the clinks of metal, to the obvious sounds of his parents shifting uncomfortably with their own bonds. He felt Ivan shift beside him, lining his side with his. His stomach fluttered in disgust at the man’s closeness, the way he breathed into his ear as he said, “You wanna backtalk me, s’more? Do it. We’ll see what happens when ya wanna mouth off like you usually do.”
“Let them go,” Richie growled, but his words were almost incoherent–his jaw was clenched tight.
“We got business, you an’ I. An’ I gotta make sure I make m’self clear to ya. Since you ain’t wanna take me seriously, like you hadn’t before, I gotta put everythin’ down on the line. Get things straight. You say somethin’ wrong, somethin’ in a tone that disagrees with me, an’ me an’ Shivvie here figure out how many ways we can make your folks scream. Won’t that be neat?”
“Fuck you, you–!”
“I told you to keep your fuckin’ mouth shut!” Ivan snapped. “Shiv! See how loud the momma can scream!”
“NO! NO! Please–! I–I won’t say anything–just, please don’t touch them!” Richie immediately cried, straining forward, as if he could somehow protect his mother.
Shiv hesitated as he looked at him, then at Ivan, who focused on his blond prey with a leer. The gun felt heavy in his hand, his finger awkwardly curled over the trigger–it was obvious to a viewer that he didn’t know how to handle it. He continued to aim at a point beyond Maggie’s head, but he didn’t bother to target the hysterical woman.
Both parents wore expressions of fear and strain, Maggie leaking running tears as her shoulders shook. Sean was quieter, hunched forward, his lips tight and nearly white with the way he pressed them together. Both of them were pale–their skin edged with gray due to their stress. Their eyes were mixed with conflicting emotions, wide with the terror they felt upon being forced into this situation. They were scared, and they had every right to be. They were reacting the same way Shiv had seen others act, and felt his stomach curl with pity as he continued to watch them.
He knew this wasn’t going to end well. Ivan wanted no witnesses. But he didn’t understand why Ivan had ordered a drive out into the outskirts of Dakota, rather than head back to the hideout. Wouldn’t he use them against Richie? To hold them hostage while he made up the formula to create the mutation Ivan needed? It didn’t make any sense to him.
The drive was tense, and filled with Ivan constantly threatening Richie with killing his parents if he didn’t cooperate with him. While Richie pleaded and begged for his parents’ life, Maggie joining in with her own hysterical way, Sean said nothing. He stared off to a point on the floor and kept his lips tight.
Shiv continued to feel sick as he watched all this, his eyes silently taking in the way Ivan groped and hit Richie in the very back seat; the way the blond’s parents grew tense and agitated at the situation they could hear behind them–it was something he didn’t want to witness, or listen to. Its’ vulgarity was obscene. He wanted to make Ivan stop, to shout that he had the blond supergenius under control with just the presence of his parents, but he couldn’t do that. Ivan would turn against him, have him shot.
It was conflicting, and it tore at Shiv as minutes passed into a two hour drive out of Dakota.
By the time they reached a dirt road that led into privately own property within the woodsy area, Shiv was about ready to scream with his own pent-up tension.
Already knowing where they were going, he turned in his seat to pensively watch the road, hearing Ivan laugh as Richie made an odd, garbled noise from the back seat.
The gun was shaking in Shiv’s hands as they finally parked near a thicket consisting of thorn bushes and thickly growing marsh. Numbly, he recalled a show on Discovery about how bogs preserved people, turning them into mummified states.
They climbed out of the Navigator, and he helped Sean and Maggie out, noting that both were reluctant to leave their son. When Ivan climbed out, he made sure Richie stayed in, much to the agitation of the blond.
The others left their vehicle with a clatter of laughter, continued talking, and the telltale bass of Mike Jones. They all eyed Sean and Maggie with the glint of hyenas, ready to move in for the kill as the pair were forced to stand side by side within the strong smelling marsh water that slurped at their feet.
Shiv glanced at the two adults, noting the way Maggie’s nose ran; the way Sean’s shoulders continued to stay stiffened, his dark eyes glaring at everyone. If looks could kill...Shiv had no doubt that they would have all been dead. Especially Richie.
Shiv looked at the others, and noted that they were all ready to follow through with orders. Shovels were being pulled out from the trunk. There was laughter as someone realized that the wrong trash bags were brought.
He felt the urge to shoot–randomly, at someone, at anything.
Ivan let out a belch that seemed thoughtful as he sidled up to Sean, eyeing him with an even stare. Sean looked at him with as much distaste one would have for rotten, un-refrigerated meat. The expression made the others laugh, and Ivan chuckled, thick lips spreading as teeth were displayed. Mike Jones was finally shut off, the driver of the second vehicle giving a grumble.
Shiv licked his lips nervously, glancing at Richie, seeing that the blond was groping the floor for something. Ivan noticed that there was too much movement coming from the Navigator, and left Sean’s side. He pulled Richie out, finally, forcing him to face his parents, but keeping the blindfold in place.
As if he weren’t torturing the teen enough with threatening his parents; with treating him the way that he was; the teen couldn’t even see his loved ones, kept out of reach and keeping them out of his sight. Shiv wondered how Richie managed to handle being in that position; hearing, feeling, knowing what was happening; being helpless, vulnerable, blind–he couldn’t imagine what the teen must be feeling.
Shiv narrowed his eyes, finally lowering his gun. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glanced from one to the other, having no idea what Ivan was doing.
“We all got parents, huh?” Ivan started, looking around at his crew. His commanding voice was loud within the empty area. They weren’t that far from Dakota, but from the silence of the enclosing grip of the property’s wilderness, they may have well been stuck in the boonies.
Most of them murmured and acknowledged his words as Ivan gripped Richie’s arm in one hand, a gun being used to gesture with his words in the other. “We all went through that fuckin’ shit of answerin’ their questions, of fuckin’ doin’ what they say. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ that, I guess. Depending on the situation, it sometimes be nice to know that they all concerned for us. But thugs, we ain’t got that kinda environment, do we?”
At the chorus of words, Ivan shook his head. “We ain’t got that sorta household. It all fend for ourselves out there in the streets. So...when it comes to you white folk, to people that all cozy up in their homes an’ shit? An’ takin’ care of their kids? Don’t ya think ya deserve a little truth when it comes to your kids?”
Ignoring the following chorus, Ivan eyed both Sean and Maggie with a placid stare. He then jerked Richie’s arm up in an accusing manner. “Ya’ll think ya son is a good boy, an’ shit? He does his homework, does his chores...hell, prolly does it for neighbors, huh? He always in school, always turns in shit–never gets in trouble there! But the thing is, does he ever lie to you? You ever catch him in a lie?”
Shiv finally understood what Ivan was getting at, watching the faces of Sean and Maggie as they stared at Ivan in strained silence. Glances were then cast toward their son, who had also figured out what the black man was doing. It was all evident in the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his lips tightened.
“I don’t know what he gone an’ done ta have him livin’ out on th’ streets the past so months...I always thought he was the type o’ boy that never did shit wrong. Someone like him, he ain’t last long by himself out there. Anyway, nuff of that. Boy, you got somethin’ you wanna say to them?” he then asked Richie, jerking him around. Richie moved to pull his arm away, but Ivan tightened his fingers, making the blond wince. “Somethin’ personal...you ain’t get the chance again, buh-leave me...”
“Please let them go...they aren’t involved!”
“What are you going to do to us?” Maggie finally cried, her voice breaking. “Let him go! Let us go! We don’t even know you! Why are you doing this to us?”
“You ain’t know me? Then you don’t know him as well as you thought, now, huh? Explain to them, Foley, how we all acquainted. How little, geeky, faggot boy Richard Foley knows big bad Ivan Evans. Tell them, Richie. They deserve to know, huh?”
Richie didn’t say anything, his struggles ceased. Ivan frowned at him, pushing him to get him to talk. Through it all, Sean stared silently at his son, not moving a muscle.
“Tell them!” Ivan barked, pushing Richie again.
“I...I d-don’t know if you’ll ever...please...mom, dad...I’m sorry,” Richie began softly, his head hanging slightly, his voice low with remorse. “I...I am a bang baby, too. I–I wasn’t there that night, but–I did come into contact with the gas–”
“Quit your fuckin’ stallin’!” Ivan then demanded. “We ain’t got all damn day!”
“I–I’m Gear. I mean, I was, but----I....that’s why I couldn’t get a job, dad. I did work–as Gear. I–I stopped, though, because---”
“Bullshit.”
Everyone looked up, surprised, as Sean finally spoke, his eyes livid as they focused on Richie. “You?” he barked, with a harsh laugh. “You as that–that–no, not you! You’re incapable of doing something to that measure! You can’t even stand up to the bullies in your school!”
Ivan gave a surprised expression at the vehemence in Sean’s tone, looking at his crew members with the same expression. Everyone began to laugh or chuckle, mocking Sean and Richie.
Richie stiffened, his head raising to look in Sean’s direction. Maggie was staring at her blindfolded son as if she hadn’t seen him before, hiccuping loudly.
“I...I can’t prove it, right now. I don’t have any of my equipment on me,” Richie said softly, shaking his head. “But I was. I was Gear.”
“You’re lying!” Sean shouted. “You can’t hide something like that from me! Why do you lie at a time like this!”
“My daddy ever spoke that way to me, he ain’t live long to regret it, ”Ivan muttered, shaking his head.
“I’m not lying, dad,” Richie insisted. “I’m not. That’s how he knows me.”
“An’ how did I find out, Richie?” Ivan asked, rather proudly. He let go of Richie’s arm, curling his arm around Richie’s shoulders in a companionable hold.“You didn’t tell them about us? That one special night?”
Sean looked away in disgust, shaking his head. “I told you, Richard. I had told you–! Being with these–these–people would lead you to this! Fucking niggers and their superiority complexes over us–!”
Chorus of enraged shouts bombarded him as Richie shook his head, feeling his chest clench, his eyes squeezing shut as he recalled both Virgil and Hotstreak telling him that Sean had been looking for him. He wanted to know why–he wanted to know why he had been suddenly worth the effort with all the hate and ignorance that Sean believed in. But something deep inside of him realized that he’d never know–his father would never display his weakness before those wanting to see his death. He would not break down before these faces. His pride and dignity demanded that.
Maggie looked from one face to the other, finally focusing on her son with a soft inhalation.
“Richie?” Maggie asked, her voice soft as she stepped forward. At the obvious sounds of guns being raised, she hesitated to move any further. “Baby, is this true? Were you----were you really him?”
“Rubbish,” Sean muttered, shaking his head. “Of course you’d believe that horseshit, Maggie! You were always so fuckin’ soft toward him! Made him what he is!”
“Yeah...yeah, mom. I–I was. I’m sorry...” Richie felt heartbroken as he listened to the obvious disgust in his father’s tone. Even knowing that he’d never see him again, his father was willing to hate him for being nothing that he’d wanted. It hurt–it hurt no matter how much he told himself he didn’t need Sean.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, honey,” Maggie said, still in that soft voice. “You have done nothing wrong....I’m proud of you, Richie. For doing something so brave and wonderful–I wish I had known sooner.”
“Aw,” Ivan muttered in disgust, pulling away from Richie. “Ain’t that sweet?”
“Let them go, please,” Richie pleaded, looking in his direction. “I’ll do anything you want–!”
Ivan snickered, looking down at him as he raised his gun. “No matter what, you be doin’ what I want.”
At the signal he gave, lifting his chin in a simple movement, two of his men lifted their own weaponry. The three fired in quick succession, the popping explosions ringing throughout the area, causing hearing to buzz with uncomfortable echoes.
At the heavy thuds of body meeting ground, Richie did nothing; he was paralyzed with disbelieving shock as Ivan laughed. His skin, already pale with natural lightness, turned a visible gray pallor; nothing moved as he stood there, barely breathing.
Ivan leaned over, his lips brushing against his ear as he murmured, “All for you, baby. At least you said your goodbyes, huh? Cleared the air with ya dirty secrets...? Don’t ever tell me I ain’t done nothin’ for ya. Clean this shit up, boys. Take whatever ya think’s valuable–they got some peoples already workin’ on clearin’ the house an’ that shit-ride they got for a car. We all covered.”
Shiv watched silently as Ivan jerked on Richie’s arm, the blond stumbling with a dazed sort of air as they entered the Navigator once more. Hearing Ivan chuckle and murmur something that he couldn’t hear, Shiv turned to see what the others were doing with the bodies, and froze upon the expectant looks on the mens’ faces. They were pulling out trash bags, readying them–he knew what was expected as pockets were rifled through, jewelry taken.
“C’mon, man,” one of them complained, eyeing Sean’s watch with a sullen frown. “We ain’t got all day! Let’s get this shit over with!”
Shiv stared down at the two parents, their clothes blossoming with red. So much red. It had been overkill for three people to shoot multiple rounds at them. He kept recalling how Maggie’s face had turned so soft and serene as she’d spoken to her son; the way Sean seemed so hateful and angry as he spewed lines of disbelief.
He suddenly thought of his own mother and father–wondered if they’d ever take him back, or if they’d turn him away like Theresa’s.
He shook his head, crossing his arms sullenly over his chest. “Nah. I ain’t...I’m not up to it.”
Complaints followed him as he turned and walked away, swiftly moving away from the vehicles. Once he was certain no one could see him, he bent at the waist and vomited what little he’d eaten earlier. He stood there for several minutes, staring blankly at what he’d rejected. He heard Ivan shouting his name with an annoyed tone, and heard the obvious disgust and shouts of those that were performing the grisly job of dismembering the two victims.
He looked back over at the clearing, seeing that Ivan was wandering around with a couple of guys that were pointing out at something beyond the marsh.
Something snapped in Shiv at that moment–staring at the evil, malevolent man that wrought despicable crimes among other humans, he realized that he couldn’t do this anymore.
Not really comprehending the understanding he’d come to, only knowing that he’d had enough, he ventured out from the thicket, slowly heading toward the Navigator. He opened the driver’s side door of the Navigator, peering inside to see that Richie was slumped over the back seat, silent. The keys were hanging halfway out of the ignition. He knew how to drive a vehicle–hours of practice with the old members of the Breed had given him that opportunity. The Navigator was an automatic, which was a plus for him. He really wasn’t thinking clearly.
The side door was still open. Shiv climbed into the vehicle, maneuvering around the seats to shut it. Ivan looked over with some bewilderment, starting to walk over to investigate. With a quiet sense of calm, Shiv took the driver’s seat, and started the vehicle. Many of the men looked up in surprise and stunned puzzlement as they realized who was behind the driver’s wheel.
He engaged the gear shift into Reverse, and didn’t bother to look behind him as he stepped on the gas, Ivan shouting furiously as the Navigator slammed into the Escort. Cursing, Shiv turned the wheel a wide left, bumping the vehicle into a violent movement that sent both him and Richie bouncing in their seats. Gunshots were fired, and something cracked upon impact.
Shiv merely ducked and managed to turn the vehicle around.
“Oh, God, I’m going to die,” he muttered, shifting into Drive and pressing hard on the gas pedal. Glancing in the rearview mirror, seeing that everyone was trying to cram themselves into the Escort with what work they’d done, Shiv cursed again.
He’d made his choice–now he had to deal with it.