Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Right Here ❯ Chapter Twenty-Three ( Chapter 23 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Virgil and Hotstreak exchanged words at two-thirty in the morning. Richie's and Shiv's wild ride comes to an end.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.02.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 450 | Status: Completed
Virgil and Hotstreak exchanged words at two-thirty in the morning. Richie's and Shiv's wild ride comes to an end.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.02.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 450 | Status: Completed
Right Here
Chapter Twenty-Three
Virgil arrived home, having stripped out of his Static gear and switched into his home clothes. He saw Sharon’s car in the driveway, and figured that she and Adam were either spending the night, or gathering things to spend the night elsewhere. He hoped to God that they were going elsewhere. Because if he had to wake up at the sounds that carried out from his big sister’s room–
He hurried in, immediately spying the empty couch. Tossing his backpack aside, he ran his hands through his dreads, and headed into the kitchen upon hearing voices from there. Adam was busy pouring himself some soda while Sharon picked at a grapefruit.
“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?” he quipped, giving the fruit a pointed expression.
“It’s an all hour, everyday fruit, Virgil. There’s no set time to enjoy it,” Sharon said, frowning at him as she cheated and sprinkled sugar on top.
“No, I wasn’t talking about the hour...I was talking about this.” He pinched the skin just above her bra strap, indicating her weight. He ducked the spoon that she flung at him.
“Virgil! For one second, can you PLEASE just stand to compliment me, and not bring me down all the time?”
“V, you a little mean to your sister,” Adam said, giving his best scowl, reminding Virgil of Ivan. “Besides, it’s just ten pounds. No one noticed.”
He ducked the piece of fruit that was sent his way, Sharon rising from the table with a huff. Storming out from the kitchen, Virgil laughed at him. “Now you in big trouble, man.”
“And now you bring out the FAT words,” Adam said on a chuckle. “What’chu been up to?”
“Nothin’. Just...patrolling. Not much goin’ on out there. Where’s Richie?”
“...Was he here?”
Virgil frowned, and shook his head. “Yeah, he was supposed to be spendin’ the night. He ain’t here?”
“Prolly in your room. We were makin’ a lot of noise earlier–I mean, when we came in,” Adam corrected upon seeing Virgil’s wince.
Virgil waved at him, then hurried out from the kitchen. He made his way upstairs, and barged into his room, intending to dive bomb the blond if he found him in his bed. But the room was empty.
“Jesus, Rich!” he muttered, running a hand down his face in frustration. “Don’t you know what it’s like to be an individual anymore?”
Sighing, he walked back downstairs, eyeing the couch. The blanket he’d given Richie to use to sleep with was still folded up, left where he’d set it hours earlier–he glanced up at the clock and wondered how long it had taken Richie to leave, or if the blond had left as soon as he had.
It was nearly one a.m. He gave his sister an annoyed look as she flipped through the channels.
“Pops ain’t home yet?” he asked, plopping down onto the couch.
“Nah. I think he’s spending the night,” Sharon said with an expression of distaste. “Thinking about daddy that way kinda makes me a little ill. Parents aren’t supposed to have sex lives...”
“Neither are big sisters.”
“Little BROTHERS aren’t supposed to be, either, but yet you runnin’ around with that girl. You ain’t gonna get her pregnant, are you?”
“NO!” Virgil scoffed, shifting the pillows around to get comfortable. “I ain’t plannin’ on that. I’m too young. Got things goin’ on. If a baby comes along, then I’m going to do the right thing, y’know? But I can’t do that, right now. ‘Sides, she’s on birth control.”
“Good,” Sharon muttered. “Kinda was wondering what was makin’ her so chubby.”
“Yeah, she gained a few. Blames it on the hormones from those shots.”
“She takin’ Depo?”
“I dunno. Somethin’ that last three months?”
“Tell her that ain’t good. Girls be gettin’ pregnant anyway, Virgil. Matter of fact, tell her to come by, tomorrow. I know so many girls that been gettin’ pregnant while on those shots, it ain’t even funny. They should be takin’ that shit off the market!”
“Yeah...whatever...”
“Wh at’chu guys talkin’ about?” Adam asked as he walked in.
“Birth control,” Sharon answered, making room for him.
“You on it, right?”
“Duh!” she exclaimed, giving him a look. “Shut up about it.”
Virgil chuckled at the look Adam gave her, then shifted again. “Say...kinda...you guys...I gotta problem...”
“What?” Adam asked immediately, thinking of Static related issues.
“Let’s say I have this friend...whom you guys don’t know...and he has this, like...girlfriend. That’s really azzy and controllin’ and really–let’s just say that I dislike–the girl.”
“Ookay,” Sharon murmured, giving him a frown. “Go on...”
“An’ they just had a fight...an’ he–no, she was beating him up. I mean...kinda like...I know she’s outta control. She ain’t ever HAD control before. An’ my friend, like, denies it constantly, an’ it’s like–”
“Has Hotstreak hit Richie?” Sharon asked immediately, sitting up in her seat.
Virgil threw up his arms in disgust at the lack of him ever knowing that they’d known.
“Don’t get that way, Virgil! We’ve seen them together! They think they’re bein’ all clever and hiding things, but we’ve seen them around town together! An’ believe me, they ain’t just friends,” Sharon said the last few words mockingly, rolling her eyes. But she turned serious as she pushed Adam aside–of whom was making a face at the raise in subject. “Has he been hittin’ him?”
“I think so, but Rich don’t say nothin’! Kept sayin’ that he never, kept–but I stopped them from fighting today! I saw Hotstreak take him down! And Rich keeps denyin’ it! I wanna make him see that he’s in bad company, but he don’t wanna!”
“Actually, Virgil...it’s really funny you say that,” Sharon said on a small chuckle, giving Adam a nudge with her elbow. “When we see them, it ain’t what you think. That fool be in love...Richie’s got him around his finger.”
Virgil stared at them for several seconds, then demanded, “When did ya’ll know he was–?”
“Gay? It was only obvious.”
“...When did ya’ll know Hotstreak was–?”
“We didn’t. We saw them together, they did a few things that weren’t exactly just friends material–”
“I have been forever traumatized by the sight,” Adam muttered, shaking his head, as if trying to lose the memory.
“–and found out, then. I dunno why you guys try keepin’ that shit from us,” Sharon said with another roll of her eyes. “But from what we saw–Hotstreak don’t hit Richie. I’m tellin’ you, Virgil, that fool is smitten.”
“It’s kinda gross,” Adam murmured. “I mean, not for Richie, but...that guy? Can you picture him kissing on Richie? Bein’ all...toward him like...I am toward Sharon? Nightmares, man. Nightmares for days...”
“I think it’s cute, actually,” Sharon said with a grin. “Good boy bringing the bad boy down? No offense, Virgil, but I think you’re just freaked cuz we all know how ya’ll are with Hotstreak. You just be jealous.”
“I AIN’T JEALOUS!” Virgil shrieked. “I mean, yeah, I’m pissed that Richie ain’t the same toward me, but I AIN’T JEALOUS!”
“I ain’t sayin’ that you want him in that way, Virgil! You just jealous cuz he’s spendin’ more time with Hotstreak than he is with you! I ain’t sayin’ you’re gay...cuz you ain’t. I’m just sayin’...”
“Well...fuck you both.”
Adam reached over, pushed on his head. “Don’t talk shit to your sister that way.”
“Don’t treat me like that!”
“Don’t make me treat you like that, then!”
“I ain’t makin’ you do shit!”
“Then don’t say shit!”
“Both of ya’ll shut the fuck up!” Sharon shouted. “Anyway, Virgil, people fight. An’ I imagine guys fight each other just the same way...only, think about it. They be two guys...I know Richie’s stubborn, and I know Hotstreak has to be, too. An’ they probably don’t back down from each other, no matter what...but they do probably come to blows, I admit it. You two fought the same way–!”
“I don’t hit my friend, and he don’t hit me!”
“–It ain’t right, no one should be hitting each other...but we’ve seen them together. I’ve listened to them talk. Virgil, no one be hurtin’ anybody in that relationship.”
“Yeah, but...”
“But no ‘buts’. They in love. It don’t matter if they’re two guys–”
“Nightmares all my life...” Adam murmured.
“They two guys in love. So, just calm down...think about what you’re doin’ to Richie when you keep riding his ass–no pun intended!–about his boyfriend. The more you push Richie to do your thing, to think the way you want–the more you push him away. He be thinkin’ that you ain’t gonna support him, that if he has problems, he can’t come to you because you’ll just talk more shit to him about Hotstreak. That’s prolly why he ain’t been comin’ around lately! You pushin’ him, Virgil, insteada just being there for him. Stop it!”
“I can’t help if I don’t like the guy!”
“Virgil, Richie is happy with him. If you saw what we saw, you’d see that he’s happy with him–that they both happy with each other. ‘Sides, you ever seen bruises on that boy?”
“Nah...but then again, I never knew his daddy was all hittin’ on him all these years, either!”
Sharon and Adam looked at him, obvious expressions of surprise on their faces. Sharon reached up to touch her throat, feeling sickly at this revelation.
“You serious?” she croaked. “Sean? Been hittin’–”
“Yeah, man...Richie finally told me about it, but he made it out to be no big deal. Hotstreak knew before I did!” Virgil exclaimed in frustration. “But...he’s all okay...I just hate knowin’ that all that time, he was tellin’ me all this fuckin’ stupid stuff he did to get this an’ that. Stuff like that pisses me off, Sharon! I ain’t feeling too well on my ability to bein’ his friend, and–fuck it. He’s okay, obviously. He’s all happy an’ shit...it–I shouldn’t even take it that hard. But just knowin’ he keeps secrets from me when he–well, I can’t say anythin’ like that anymore...”
“V, you too overprotective over him,” Adam commented. “Let him live, man.”
“First he was all lookin’ down at him cuz he was over all the time, callin’ him a ‘fungus’ an’ shit, now he all mad cuz Richie does have a life of his own!” Sharon gave him a disgusted look. “God, Virgil. Get a life of your own.”
Virgil tossed a throw pillow in her direction, grinning. “You should talk, fish lips.”
“You little–!”
“CHILDREN. Daddy’s in the house,” Adam scolded, a hand on either of their heads, pushing them apart. “Sit down and be still...”
“That...was disturbing. Keep your sex shit to yerselves, man,” Virgil muttered, rising from the couch, ignoring the throw pillow that was tossed at his head. “I’m heading to bed...if the phone rings, and it’s him–wake me up, ‘k?”
“He’s gonna be okay, V! Dang. Leave the boy alone!”
Virgil merely grinned, heading up to his room. Once inside, he shut the door, and sighed loudly. He kicked off his shoes and undressed to his boxers, frowning at the weight of the world on his shoulders. Really, Sharon and Adam had to be right–if they’d seen the two together, and had obviously looked past the fact that it was Hotstreak they were actually seeing with Richie, then there was obviously something there that he couldn’t see for himself. It was odd, through–he wanted to smack the two around for being so ignorant.
Hotstreak was a known criminal; he was wanted throughout Dakota; he was behind various arson, assaults, drug dealing, grand theft auto charges–everything up the book besides actual murders, rapes and death charges–yet–and the moment one saw him with Virgil’s best friend, being all ‘loved up’, made people stupid.
“Ooh, love will buy all the Richies in the world!” he cooed to himself, then flopped onto his bed with a loud gust of air. “Fuckin’ ignorant doofuses...don’t know shit from shit...”
But there was something that niggled at him–something that defied his current thinking. That, perhaps, they were right–that the mismatched pair were actually happy being with each other. Richie wasn’t so moody; he was obviously glowing whenever Virgil saw him; and Richie had dropped and left so much in order to be with him–and how could Virgil deny his best friend’s happiness?
“I am too fuckin’ cool for school,” he muttered into his pillow. “Fine! You wanna be that way! Be that way! Just...don’t get hurt too bad, man. You wanna be all happy, then...fine. Can’t stop ya.”
He sighed heavily once more, turning to glare at the unused Shock Vox. Even if Richie had accepted what had been done to him as Gear, he was still avoiding the entire situation. Which was just so odd, considering that Richie had been so into the superhero business–even before he became Gear, he was pushing and prodding at Virgil to do his duties as Static, never letting up. For him to drop the entire thing completely–even going so far as to ignore his brilliant inventions–was something truly telltale about the horror he’d experienced.
At least he was better about things, Virgil had to admit. He wasn’t so moody...
He shifted in bed, and exhaled, bringing his arms around his pillow. Well...may as well as let it go. He all happy with him...perhaps I am reading into too much, and puttin’ in too much of what ain’t there. I should just let it go...
He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly–he wished Richie would at least give him a clue on how to reach him, in case of an emergency. Just to make sure he was okay...it wasn’t as if he were going to call him a thousand times a day. Just...whenever he couldn’t see him. That was all.
OooooooooooO
Hotstreak watched the ember in his cigarette die as he sat sullenly within his car. The cell phone had to be on a fritz–it had rang only once, and it had been some type of wrong number. He’d heard nothing on the other end, and feared police entrapment, hanging up the moment he couldn’t hear anything more. Other than that...nothing.
Talking with Montoya had been a little refreshing. She’d listened to his ranting and raving over Richie’s decision to leave with Static–making her raise an eyebrow at their close involvement to Dakota’s superhero–and had prodded among other things with different questions. It was two a.m., and Hotstreak wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. He wouldn’t be able, anyway. He’d gotten used to sleeping with Richie, and for the blond to be away when he was trying to sleep made it impossible. It was really pathetic the way he’d grown so dependent on the younger meta.
By the time Montoya had left for her shift at County General, he was feeling more sober, and was able to get up and walk. He’d been sitting in the Camry ever since.
Crossing his arms, he looked over at Richie’s school bag, noting the bulk. He’d had more homework than ever–something about college exams and ACTs and SATs–mumbo-jumbo that he’d heard but not really cared about.
He had to frown, through; he knew that Richie’s things would be identified by the cops that had raided their room (thanks to a tip from some snitch) and Richie was going to be pissed at knowing the cops were going to eye him as well.
Hotstreak didn’t want Richie in trouble–he was a good kid, he worked and went to school and threw a fit whenever Hotstreak tried sharing his alcoholic beverages and smokes. Richie shouldn’t be in any trouble at all–but it was realistic to think that Richie was definitely going to be questioned in his involvement with the meta, and how was Hotstreak supposed to help him, then? They could get him for aiding and abetting...they could NOT believe him when he spoke of never doing drugs, or aiding in the crimes Hotstreak participated in. Then what? He’d most likely be sent to Juvenile Hall, or some related program...he didn’t want Richie in that type of environment.
It had been foolish to think that the blond would never find himself in that situation. In the end, despite his efforts, the cops always had the last say.
He chucked out his cigarette, giving the sidewalk a sullen expression.
Well...that aspect was going to change if and ever the cops decided to take him down. He looked at his watch, sighed, and started the car. He was now sober enough to argue coherently...he was going to take a drive down to the Hawkins’. Being early Sunday morning, there was no doubt that the entire family was there...they’d be getting up later on, going to Church or something...he repressed a shudder, thinking of Maria’s devotion to someone that no one had ever seen. But Richie would be there, and they would talk, and things would be all right once more.
The drive was slow, and he spent most of the time trying to anticipate what Richie would say. Sure, he’d bitch about the hour (it was nearly two thirty in the morning), then maybe go off about the way Hotstreak had called him a girl, THEN go off about the situation with their living conditions...but in the end, they always made up.
Always.
He parked his car a couple of blocks down from the Hawkins’, and walked over to the house. He had no idea whose window belonged to whose room, but judging from the amount of cars in the driveway, everyone was home. He frowned, eyeing the porch, wondering if he could just get away with knocking on the door and asking for Richie. But if Virgil knocked on the door, he’d throw a fit, throw things out of proportion–he picked out his cellphone, trying to remember the family’s number. He didn’t want to have to go look for it–maybe they were unlisted. Or private, or–he just made up his mind, sliding his cellphone back into his pocket and walked up the porch. Peering into through the side windows told him nothing–he couldn’t see within the darkness of the house.
He didn’t want to leave, but he had a feeling Richie would also bitch about him being rude and waking everybody up at such an ungodly hour...finally, he decided to just knock on the door. That wasn’t as loud as the doorbell, and if anybody heard it, then it wouldn’t be the entire household.
He waited for a few moments, then knocked again, a little louder.
He heard someone coming down the stairs in a flurry of movement, and grew happy. Now they could sort things out; he’d lay down the law, they’d figure out the cop situation, they’d make up; they’d do all the nasty, gratifying things that made all the fights very much worthwhile–
When Virgil swung the door open with a groggy growl, Hotstreak felt entirely disappointed and wholly annoyed. Virgil looked the same exact way, and the two glared at each other.
“What the hell you want?” Virgil snapped, straightening the t-shirt he’d thrown on in his haste to answer the door.
“I came here to get Rich,” Hotstreak muttered, not looking away from him. The guy could pull a trick on him when he wasn’t looking.
“What are you talkin’ about? Rich ain’t here!” Virgil exclaimed, then realization dawned on him. “He ain’t...he ain’t with you?”
“Whaddaya mean he ain’t here?” Hotstreak growled. “You took off with him!”
“He ain’t here! Seriously! I thought he was with you!”
“He isn’t! Where the fuck could he be?”
“Obviously not with you! He didn’t call you, or nothin’?”
“No...not all night. He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t just run away...we kinda don’t have a place to go to, right now.”
“Ya’ll are fuckin’ HOMELESS?” Virgil shrieked, destroying the silence of the neighborhood.
“Just temporarily outta place to stay!” Hotstreak snapped back, inwardly feeling awful at the way Virgil made their situation sound. “It’s going to be fixed!”
“You’re makin’ my best friend live like a fuckin’ loser like you an’–”
“It’s not what you think! ‘Sides, it just happened, an’–!”
“Don’tchu be makin’ excuses, you fuckin’–!”
“Virgil, what the hell is goin’ on?” Sharon demanded sleepily, marching over in her robe. She looked at Hotstreak, then at her brother. “It’s two thirty in the morning–what are you two doin’ at two thirty in the morning?”
“He’s looking for Richie,” Virgil muttered. “An’ he ain’t here.”
“He wasn’t here all night,” Sharon said, giving Hotstreak a suspicious glance. “Weren’t he with you?”
“He was, but he came with fuckin’–”
“Don’t you be cussin’ ‘round me! Specially when it’s over my brother! You know better than that! I don’t care who the hell you are, or what you can do, you don’t come up in this here household and start cussing out my family members cuz ya’ll so irresponsible!”
Hotstreak wasn’t sure whether to cuss her out for snapping at him in such a way, or just ignore her, so he held his hands up in surrender, wanting to figure out where Richie was.
“Oh, Rich was here,” Virgil amended, gesturing at the couch. “That was around nine, nine-thirty...yeah, cuz I went over to Taco Muchacho around ten thirty, before they closed. I don’t know what time he left, though. I got back here ‘round one...? An’ you and Adam were already here.”
“We came in about an hour before you. An’ he wasn’t here. No note, no nothing...everything was locked up,” Sharon said, then looking at him. “He ain’t contacted you?”
“No, he–”
“What’cha all fightin’ about, anyway?”
“None of your damn business–!”
“You hittin’ him?”
“I DON’T HIT HIM!”
“Sheesh, calm down, man. Just askin’ ya a simple question,” Sharon snapped, hearing Adam coming downstairs. “Virgil’s been freakin’ out about it–!”
“I don’t hit him,” Hotstreak growled at Virgil, wanting to hit him for ever thinking like that.
“What’s goin’ on, here?” Adam demanded, pushing himself in front of Sharon protectively, giving Hotstreak a glare. “What’chu doin’ out here so fuckin’ early?”
“He’s lookin’ for Richie.”
“...He ain’t been here all night.”
“He was here,” Virgil repeated.
Hotstreak wasn’t going to get anywhere with this constant repeating, and threw up his hands in exasperation. So Richie wasn’t here...where would he go? The answer came to him suddenly, and he looked at Virgil. “His parents.”
“Think so?”
“I’ll call over there and check,” Sharon said, moving away from the door. “Any of ya’ll do it, they’ll be pissed for days.”
“I thought he wasn’t stayin’ there, no more,” Adam said, giving Virgil a frown. “Why would he go back there?”
“I dunno...he been talkin’ about home, lately?” Virgil asked Hotstreak, who shook his head.
“Nah, he never wanted to go back home–”
“He’d rather live out on the streets with your loser ass...”
“Ya’ll livin’ on the streets?” Adam exclaimed, giving Hotstreak a disgusted frown. “What’chu been doin’ to him?”
“We ain’t livin’ on the fuckin’ STREETS!”
“You just said ya’ll were homeless!”
“It just happened yesterday!”
“He ain’t makin’ enough money to support you and your habits, so ya’ll got kicked outta whatever roach hole ya’ll been livin’ in?” Virgil snapped, stepping forward.
“He don’t support me! You know what? Fuck you! You little shit!”
“Don’t you be calling me–!”
“There’s no answer,” Sharon said with a frown. “No one’s pickin’ up.”
Virgil frowned, shrugging. “I don’t know where he’d be, then...”
“Was he really distraught? You guys fightin’ over somethin’ serious? Somethin’ that would make him...I dunno...scared?” she asked Hotstreak, who crossed his arms defensively.
But before he could answer, Virgil cut in with, “He wasn’t talkin’ like that at all. He kept wanting to go back there to find this stupid-ass...there was no way he was distraught, or anythin’. I had to make him stay here.”
“You made him stay when he didn’t wanna stay?” Hotstreak snarled. “You call me controlling?”
“Hey, it’s better to think over things, than to just–shut up! Shut up, you gnarly, flaming–!”
“Virgil, stop. Act your age,” Adam muttered. “Both of you, act your damn age. Ya’ll sound like a bunch of kids...now: if he ain’t with you, and he ain’t here...where would Richie go?”
Virgil nearly exploded, snapping his fingers. “The Gas Station!”
“The...what?”
“Oh, uh...never mind. Let me toss on some clothes, and I’ll head on over there to see if he’s there.”
“What’s a–”
“Secret club hideout–no. GIRLS. ALLOWED,” Virgil snapped, emphasizing the words as he looked at Hotstreak pointedly.
“Hey, fuck you, you lil’–!”
“NO CURSING AROUND THIS HOUSE!” Sharon snarled, Virgil racing off to his bedroom. “While he goes an’ checks...why don’t you come in and sit awhile?”
“Sharon!” Both Virgil and Adam shouted.
“What?”
“What is going on down here?” Robert demanded, booming actually as he walked over to the top of the staircase. Seeing that the front door was crowded with his daughter, her boyfriend, and Hotstreak–with Virgil rummaging throughout his room–he put his hands on his hips and gave everyone a glare. “What’s all this noise bein’ made for?”
“Daddy, we’re just lookin’ for Richie,” Sharon said, turning to face him. “You ain’t heard from him, have you?”
“No...I haven’t talked to him since he came over for dinner that one Sunday. What’s goin’ on? Why is he missing?...And who the hell are you? What the hell are you doin’ here?” he asked, gesturing at Hotstreak.
Who sighed heavily, turning away from the door to lean against the side windows.
“He’s lookin’ for Richie, too.”
“What you be wantin’ with him–!”
“Daddy, they boyfriends–!”
“JESUS CHRIST!” Hotstreak shouted, whipping away from the window, every visible inch of his skin turning bright red. “It ain’t that way! It ain’t that WAY!”
“You shut the fuck up, boy!” Sharon bellowed. “Deny it all you want, you cretin, it all obvious! ‘Sides, me an’ Adam saw you two down at Parker’s, gettin’ all cozy in the back booth. You can’t be denyin’ it, either! Ain’t no way just FRIENDS be playing footsie under the table and touching each other the way you two were doin’!”
“Nightmares...nightmares...”
< br> “You–! I–! He–! Not–! Uh–! It’s–!”
“SHUT UP!”
Robert was a little stunned–he’d certainly never known about Richie and Hotstreak. He was standing still, in a state of disbelief, when he heard Virgil leave out through his window as Static. As he blinked away the paralyzation he’d felt upon hearing that, Sharon was once again inviting Hotstreak into the house to sit.
Adam threw his hands up in disbelief.
OooooooooooO
At first, he thought the car speeding up to the Rover was a highway patrol. He hoped to God that it was a highway patrol. That way, when he pulled Richie over, Richie could tell him everything that had happened. That Shiv could get medical attention, and confess to his part in the action. That things would turn out all right...
But when he saw that the headlights were shaped wrong, that the car was a Mitsubishi Eclipse, he felt that part of him deflate. Things shifted again after realizing that the car was riding his tail end, and that was suspicious indeed. His eyes drifted away from the road–Dakota just so closeby!–and at the rearview, seeing that the car wasn’t going to pass him. The two lane one-way highway allowed passing at any time, and the car wasn’t passing him.
He glanced over at Shiv, but the metahuman hadn’t moved since they’d switched seats.
Looking back into the rearview, he saw the car move out from behind him, slowly matching his speed. The silver Eclipse was pulling far away from his vehicle, slithering along the side of the road., the tinted window rolling down. In consternation, Richie glanced over anxiously, seeing a stoic faced teenager behind the wheel, her blunt cut bangs catching the breeze that tore into her car.
He would have thought she was just messing around–another underage driver that shouldn’t be on the road. But what was really startling was the .357 Magnum she was holding up, aiming out her car–aiming at him! At his vehicle!
With a startled cry, his feet were slamming on the brakes, the Eclipse shooting forward, and braking as well. The Rover jerked as it coasted below speeds of twenty-five, and Richie cursed as he struggled to depress the clutch, and shift the gear at the same time. Amidst grinding, he had the Rover jerking forward in third, and he applied too much gas.
“Why didn’t I learn how to drive?” he about shrieked as he glanced up, seeing that the Eclipse was reversing backwards. He jerked the wheel, just barely avoided being slammed by the smaller car’s back bumper. Shiv jerked up from the window, groggily glancing about. “Who is that?”
“Wha–? Who?”
The Eclipse let out a flurry of smoke as the teenage driver then slammed forward, and Richie could see her maniac grin as she aimed her vehicle for his. Giving a desperate cry, he shifted into fourth, then fifth, and amidst the grinding, they were cruising up to speeds of sixty-five once more. The car’s front bumper hit their back, jolting them both in their seats. Richie hurriedly pulled on his safety belt, Shiv struggling to do the same.
“That lil’ cock suck!” he was cursing, slurring his words. He definitely didn’t look very well, Richie decided. He was not going to make it to Dakota. The thought of Shiv dying gave him a mixture of satisfaction and remorse–things he’d pay attention to later. “I’ll kill her...kill her all...”
“You know her?”
“Works with those guys...”
“What guys?”
“Those guys...with Jerome...outta town...shit...where’s my hands? I can’t find my hands...”
“They’re right there,” Richie said weakly, eyeing the car once more.
The grinning girl in the car suddenly gave a frown, and he realized that she wasn’t alone–in the backseat, he could see flashes of Ivan’s clothing. Richie’s chest tightened, and his fingers gripped the wheel in agitation. He looked over, searching for the cellphone. Shiv removed it from underneath him with a dull exclamation, and Richie reached over for it.
The Eclipse slammed into them again, pushing them forward–Richie dropped the phone, gripping the wheel as he struggled to keep it under control. The smaller car pulled out from behind once more, and Richie watched it anxiously, seeing that she had her gun raised yet again. The explosive gunshots made him wince, and every cell of his body anticipated being hit. But the Rover suddenly jolted out of his control, the steering wheel wrenching out of his hands as the front left tire exploded under impact.
Richie and Shiv screamed in terror as the vehicle swerved wildly to the edge of the road, slamming through a road sign and taking a dip in the shoulder. Richie reached out, grabbing the wheel, struggling to apply the brakes.
“TREE! TREE!” Shiv screamed, moments before Richie jerked the wheel violently to the side, the vehicle losing touch with solid ground as it flew over another dip----and then both were flying forward, grunting at the tightened hold of their seatbelts. Richie slammed on the brakes, Shiv pulled on the emergency brake. But the vehicle still managed to slam with violent clamor against a tree, airbags deploying with an explosive ‘Boomf!’.
It took a long while for Richie to realize that constant tone humming through his ears was the car horn. He could hear voices, but his head was swimming with confusion. He couldn’t rightly remember where he was, or what he was doing–he had no idea why he was listening to the car horn on a constant hum.
“You could have killed him, you fuckin’ ugly bitch!”
“Fuck off, ho. They ain’t dead. If the guy’s a fuckin’ genius, ya think he would’ve controlled the car, better.”
The car door jerked open, and there were hands yanking at him. Still trapped within the seatbelt, Richie fell pliant as his thoughts tried to re-organize themselves into something coherent. The safety latch was released, and he fell from the vehicle with a slurred cry, losing the feel of all his limbs. Every muscle felt weak and useless, and he couldn’t even stand, even as his shirt was pulled upon violently. Numbly, he reached out for support, using clothing to climb to his feet. His arms were grabbed, painful pressure being applied, and he felt his knees give out suddenly, without his command. He had to thank God that he hadn’t any body fluids to release, because he was sure he’d have done so.
He heard another car door being opened, and a protesting cry–followed by several shots in a row. Then, he was being dragged, forced over uneven terrain.
“Let’s get back to the place, and get this shit done.”
“He gonna die, man. He might have all that internal injuries, an’ shit.”
“He ain’t gonna die! I made sure Shiv, did, though! Fuckin’ stupid ass bitch...ain’t no one betray me an’ get away with it–! Ah, shit. Where the fuck is he bleeding from?”
“...Kinky...handcuffs----dude, they went into his wrist. Whoa ho ho, that’s gross!”
“Shut up, ho! Pickle, gimme your wrap, man.”
“...Pickle...”
“Fuck off about my name!”
“...Pickle...”
Dimly, Richie realized he was in a lot of danger–but nothing calculated into what he could do, or what he should think. He kept trying to reach for the gearshift, to get him and Shiv out of the trees, his mind racing with all the blurred shapes that passed them by. Nothing was processing–really, if he shut his eyes to think about it, he just wanted to go to sleep. Upon that thought, he saw himself getting ready for bed; kicking off his shoes, chucking off his pants, putting his glasses aside, and sweeping into the bed besides Hotstreak–whom was taking up all the room. He pushed at the guy to make him move, hearing his protest, and growled his name.
“... ‘Francis’? Who’s that? Dude, he outta whack. He don’t know where the fuck he is.”
“Fuckin’ fag. Shut the fuck up about him. He ain’t gonna save you. Let’s go. Before the police come up.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Virgil arrived home, having stripped out of his Static gear and switched into his home clothes. He saw Sharon’s car in the driveway, and figured that she and Adam were either spending the night, or gathering things to spend the night elsewhere. He hoped to God that they were going elsewhere. Because if he had to wake up at the sounds that carried out from his big sister’s room–
He hurried in, immediately spying the empty couch. Tossing his backpack aside, he ran his hands through his dreads, and headed into the kitchen upon hearing voices from there. Adam was busy pouring himself some soda while Sharon picked at a grapefruit.
“Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?” he quipped, giving the fruit a pointed expression.
“It’s an all hour, everyday fruit, Virgil. There’s no set time to enjoy it,” Sharon said, frowning at him as she cheated and sprinkled sugar on top.
“No, I wasn’t talking about the hour...I was talking about this.” He pinched the skin just above her bra strap, indicating her weight. He ducked the spoon that she flung at him.
“Virgil! For one second, can you PLEASE just stand to compliment me, and not bring me down all the time?”
“V, you a little mean to your sister,” Adam said, giving his best scowl, reminding Virgil of Ivan. “Besides, it’s just ten pounds. No one noticed.”
He ducked the piece of fruit that was sent his way, Sharon rising from the table with a huff. Storming out from the kitchen, Virgil laughed at him. “Now you in big trouble, man.”
“And now you bring out the FAT words,” Adam said on a chuckle. “What’chu been up to?”
“Nothin’. Just...patrolling. Not much goin’ on out there. Where’s Richie?”
“...Was he here?”
Virgil frowned, and shook his head. “Yeah, he was supposed to be spendin’ the night. He ain’t here?”
“Prolly in your room. We were makin’ a lot of noise earlier–I mean, when we came in,” Adam corrected upon seeing Virgil’s wince.
Virgil waved at him, then hurried out from the kitchen. He made his way upstairs, and barged into his room, intending to dive bomb the blond if he found him in his bed. But the room was empty.
“Jesus, Rich!” he muttered, running a hand down his face in frustration. “Don’t you know what it’s like to be an individual anymore?”
Sighing, he walked back downstairs, eyeing the couch. The blanket he’d given Richie to use to sleep with was still folded up, left where he’d set it hours earlier–he glanced up at the clock and wondered how long it had taken Richie to leave, or if the blond had left as soon as he had.
It was nearly one a.m. He gave his sister an annoyed look as she flipped through the channels.
“Pops ain’t home yet?” he asked, plopping down onto the couch.
“Nah. I think he’s spending the night,” Sharon said with an expression of distaste. “Thinking about daddy that way kinda makes me a little ill. Parents aren’t supposed to have sex lives...”
“Neither are big sisters.”
“Little BROTHERS aren’t supposed to be, either, but yet you runnin’ around with that girl. You ain’t gonna get her pregnant, are you?”
“NO!” Virgil scoffed, shifting the pillows around to get comfortable. “I ain’t plannin’ on that. I’m too young. Got things goin’ on. If a baby comes along, then I’m going to do the right thing, y’know? But I can’t do that, right now. ‘Sides, she’s on birth control.”
“Good,” Sharon muttered. “Kinda was wondering what was makin’ her so chubby.”
“Yeah, she gained a few. Blames it on the hormones from those shots.”
“She takin’ Depo?”
“I dunno. Somethin’ that last three months?”
“Tell her that ain’t good. Girls be gettin’ pregnant anyway, Virgil. Matter of fact, tell her to come by, tomorrow. I know so many girls that been gettin’ pregnant while on those shots, it ain’t even funny. They should be takin’ that shit off the market!”
“Yeah...whatever...”
“Wh at’chu guys talkin’ about?” Adam asked as he walked in.
“Birth control,” Sharon answered, making room for him.
“You on it, right?”
“Duh!” she exclaimed, giving him a look. “Shut up about it.”
Virgil chuckled at the look Adam gave her, then shifted again. “Say...kinda...you guys...I gotta problem...”
“What?” Adam asked immediately, thinking of Static related issues.
“Let’s say I have this friend...whom you guys don’t know...and he has this, like...girlfriend. That’s really azzy and controllin’ and really–let’s just say that I dislike–the girl.”
“Ookay,” Sharon murmured, giving him a frown. “Go on...”
“An’ they just had a fight...an’ he–no, she was beating him up. I mean...kinda like...I know she’s outta control. She ain’t ever HAD control before. An’ my friend, like, denies it constantly, an’ it’s like–”
“Has Hotstreak hit Richie?” Sharon asked immediately, sitting up in her seat.
Virgil threw up his arms in disgust at the lack of him ever knowing that they’d known.
“Don’t get that way, Virgil! We’ve seen them together! They think they’re bein’ all clever and hiding things, but we’ve seen them around town together! An’ believe me, they ain’t just friends,” Sharon said the last few words mockingly, rolling her eyes. But she turned serious as she pushed Adam aside–of whom was making a face at the raise in subject. “Has he been hittin’ him?”
“I think so, but Rich don’t say nothin’! Kept sayin’ that he never, kept–but I stopped them from fighting today! I saw Hotstreak take him down! And Rich keeps denyin’ it! I wanna make him see that he’s in bad company, but he don’t wanna!”
“Actually, Virgil...it’s really funny you say that,” Sharon said on a small chuckle, giving Adam a nudge with her elbow. “When we see them, it ain’t what you think. That fool be in love...Richie’s got him around his finger.”
Virgil stared at them for several seconds, then demanded, “When did ya’ll know he was–?”
“Gay? It was only obvious.”
“...When did ya’ll know Hotstreak was–?”
“We didn’t. We saw them together, they did a few things that weren’t exactly just friends material–”
“I have been forever traumatized by the sight,” Adam muttered, shaking his head, as if trying to lose the memory.
“–and found out, then. I dunno why you guys try keepin’ that shit from us,” Sharon said with another roll of her eyes. “But from what we saw–Hotstreak don’t hit Richie. I’m tellin’ you, Virgil, that fool is smitten.”
“It’s kinda gross,” Adam murmured. “I mean, not for Richie, but...that guy? Can you picture him kissing on Richie? Bein’ all...toward him like...I am toward Sharon? Nightmares, man. Nightmares for days...”
“I think it’s cute, actually,” Sharon said with a grin. “Good boy bringing the bad boy down? No offense, Virgil, but I think you’re just freaked cuz we all know how ya’ll are with Hotstreak. You just be jealous.”
“I AIN’T JEALOUS!” Virgil shrieked. “I mean, yeah, I’m pissed that Richie ain’t the same toward me, but I AIN’T JEALOUS!”
“I ain’t sayin’ that you want him in that way, Virgil! You just jealous cuz he’s spendin’ more time with Hotstreak than he is with you! I ain’t sayin’ you’re gay...cuz you ain’t. I’m just sayin’...”
“Well...fuck you both.”
Adam reached over, pushed on his head. “Don’t talk shit to your sister that way.”
“Don’t treat me like that!”
“Don’t make me treat you like that, then!”
“I ain’t makin’ you do shit!”
“Then don’t say shit!”
“Both of ya’ll shut the fuck up!” Sharon shouted. “Anyway, Virgil, people fight. An’ I imagine guys fight each other just the same way...only, think about it. They be two guys...I know Richie’s stubborn, and I know Hotstreak has to be, too. An’ they probably don’t back down from each other, no matter what...but they do probably come to blows, I admit it. You two fought the same way–!”
“I don’t hit my friend, and he don’t hit me!”
“–It ain’t right, no one should be hitting each other...but we’ve seen them together. I’ve listened to them talk. Virgil, no one be hurtin’ anybody in that relationship.”
“Yeah, but...”
“But no ‘buts’. They in love. It don’t matter if they’re two guys–”
“Nightmares all my life...” Adam murmured.
“They two guys in love. So, just calm down...think about what you’re doin’ to Richie when you keep riding his ass–no pun intended!–about his boyfriend. The more you push Richie to do your thing, to think the way you want–the more you push him away. He be thinkin’ that you ain’t gonna support him, that if he has problems, he can’t come to you because you’ll just talk more shit to him about Hotstreak. That’s prolly why he ain’t been comin’ around lately! You pushin’ him, Virgil, insteada just being there for him. Stop it!”
“I can’t help if I don’t like the guy!”
“Virgil, Richie is happy with him. If you saw what we saw, you’d see that he’s happy with him–that they both happy with each other. ‘Sides, you ever seen bruises on that boy?”
“Nah...but then again, I never knew his daddy was all hittin’ on him all these years, either!”
Sharon and Adam looked at him, obvious expressions of surprise on their faces. Sharon reached up to touch her throat, feeling sickly at this revelation.
“You serious?” she croaked. “Sean? Been hittin’–”
“Yeah, man...Richie finally told me about it, but he made it out to be no big deal. Hotstreak knew before I did!” Virgil exclaimed in frustration. “But...he’s all okay...I just hate knowin’ that all that time, he was tellin’ me all this fuckin’ stupid stuff he did to get this an’ that. Stuff like that pisses me off, Sharon! I ain’t feeling too well on my ability to bein’ his friend, and–fuck it. He’s okay, obviously. He’s all happy an’ shit...it–I shouldn’t even take it that hard. But just knowin’ he keeps secrets from me when he–well, I can’t say anythin’ like that anymore...”
“V, you too overprotective over him,” Adam commented. “Let him live, man.”
“First he was all lookin’ down at him cuz he was over all the time, callin’ him a ‘fungus’ an’ shit, now he all mad cuz Richie does have a life of his own!” Sharon gave him a disgusted look. “God, Virgil. Get a life of your own.”
Virgil tossed a throw pillow in her direction, grinning. “You should talk, fish lips.”
“You little–!”
“CHILDREN. Daddy’s in the house,” Adam scolded, a hand on either of their heads, pushing them apart. “Sit down and be still...”
“That...was disturbing. Keep your sex shit to yerselves, man,” Virgil muttered, rising from the couch, ignoring the throw pillow that was tossed at his head. “I’m heading to bed...if the phone rings, and it’s him–wake me up, ‘k?”
“He’s gonna be okay, V! Dang. Leave the boy alone!”
Virgil merely grinned, heading up to his room. Once inside, he shut the door, and sighed loudly. He kicked off his shoes and undressed to his boxers, frowning at the weight of the world on his shoulders. Really, Sharon and Adam had to be right–if they’d seen the two together, and had obviously looked past the fact that it was Hotstreak they were actually seeing with Richie, then there was obviously something there that he couldn’t see for himself. It was odd, through–he wanted to smack the two around for being so ignorant.
Hotstreak was a known criminal; he was wanted throughout Dakota; he was behind various arson, assaults, drug dealing, grand theft auto charges–everything up the book besides actual murders, rapes and death charges–yet–and the moment one saw him with Virgil’s best friend, being all ‘loved up’, made people stupid.
“Ooh, love will buy all the Richies in the world!” he cooed to himself, then flopped onto his bed with a loud gust of air. “Fuckin’ ignorant doofuses...don’t know shit from shit...”
But there was something that niggled at him–something that defied his current thinking. That, perhaps, they were right–that the mismatched pair were actually happy being with each other. Richie wasn’t so moody; he was obviously glowing whenever Virgil saw him; and Richie had dropped and left so much in order to be with him–and how could Virgil deny his best friend’s happiness?
“I am too fuckin’ cool for school,” he muttered into his pillow. “Fine! You wanna be that way! Be that way! Just...don’t get hurt too bad, man. You wanna be all happy, then...fine. Can’t stop ya.”
He sighed heavily once more, turning to glare at the unused Shock Vox. Even if Richie had accepted what had been done to him as Gear, he was still avoiding the entire situation. Which was just so odd, considering that Richie had been so into the superhero business–even before he became Gear, he was pushing and prodding at Virgil to do his duties as Static, never letting up. For him to drop the entire thing completely–even going so far as to ignore his brilliant inventions–was something truly telltale about the horror he’d experienced.
At least he was better about things, Virgil had to admit. He wasn’t so moody...
He shifted in bed, and exhaled, bringing his arms around his pillow. Well...may as well as let it go. He all happy with him...perhaps I am reading into too much, and puttin’ in too much of what ain’t there. I should just let it go...
He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly–he wished Richie would at least give him a clue on how to reach him, in case of an emergency. Just to make sure he was okay...it wasn’t as if he were going to call him a thousand times a day. Just...whenever he couldn’t see him. That was all.
OooooooooooO
Hotstreak watched the ember in his cigarette die as he sat sullenly within his car. The cell phone had to be on a fritz–it had rang only once, and it had been some type of wrong number. He’d heard nothing on the other end, and feared police entrapment, hanging up the moment he couldn’t hear anything more. Other than that...nothing.
Talking with Montoya had been a little refreshing. She’d listened to his ranting and raving over Richie’s decision to leave with Static–making her raise an eyebrow at their close involvement to Dakota’s superhero–and had prodded among other things with different questions. It was two a.m., and Hotstreak wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. He wouldn’t be able, anyway. He’d gotten used to sleeping with Richie, and for the blond to be away when he was trying to sleep made it impossible. It was really pathetic the way he’d grown so dependent on the younger meta.
By the time Montoya had left for her shift at County General, he was feeling more sober, and was able to get up and walk. He’d been sitting in the Camry ever since.
Crossing his arms, he looked over at Richie’s school bag, noting the bulk. He’d had more homework than ever–something about college exams and ACTs and SATs–mumbo-jumbo that he’d heard but not really cared about.
He had to frown, through; he knew that Richie’s things would be identified by the cops that had raided their room (thanks to a tip from some snitch) and Richie was going to be pissed at knowing the cops were going to eye him as well.
Hotstreak didn’t want Richie in trouble–he was a good kid, he worked and went to school and threw a fit whenever Hotstreak tried sharing his alcoholic beverages and smokes. Richie shouldn’t be in any trouble at all–but it was realistic to think that Richie was definitely going to be questioned in his involvement with the meta, and how was Hotstreak supposed to help him, then? They could get him for aiding and abetting...they could NOT believe him when he spoke of never doing drugs, or aiding in the crimes Hotstreak participated in. Then what? He’d most likely be sent to Juvenile Hall, or some related program...he didn’t want Richie in that type of environment.
It had been foolish to think that the blond would never find himself in that situation. In the end, despite his efforts, the cops always had the last say.
He chucked out his cigarette, giving the sidewalk a sullen expression.
Well...that aspect was going to change if and ever the cops decided to take him down. He looked at his watch, sighed, and started the car. He was now sober enough to argue coherently...he was going to take a drive down to the Hawkins’. Being early Sunday morning, there was no doubt that the entire family was there...they’d be getting up later on, going to Church or something...he repressed a shudder, thinking of Maria’s devotion to someone that no one had ever seen. But Richie would be there, and they would talk, and things would be all right once more.
The drive was slow, and he spent most of the time trying to anticipate what Richie would say. Sure, he’d bitch about the hour (it was nearly two thirty in the morning), then maybe go off about the way Hotstreak had called him a girl, THEN go off about the situation with their living conditions...but in the end, they always made up.
Always.
He parked his car a couple of blocks down from the Hawkins’, and walked over to the house. He had no idea whose window belonged to whose room, but judging from the amount of cars in the driveway, everyone was home. He frowned, eyeing the porch, wondering if he could just get away with knocking on the door and asking for Richie. But if Virgil knocked on the door, he’d throw a fit, throw things out of proportion–he picked out his cellphone, trying to remember the family’s number. He didn’t want to have to go look for it–maybe they were unlisted. Or private, or–he just made up his mind, sliding his cellphone back into his pocket and walked up the porch. Peering into through the side windows told him nothing–he couldn’t see within the darkness of the house.
He didn’t want to leave, but he had a feeling Richie would also bitch about him being rude and waking everybody up at such an ungodly hour...finally, he decided to just knock on the door. That wasn’t as loud as the doorbell, and if anybody heard it, then it wouldn’t be the entire household.
He waited for a few moments, then knocked again, a little louder.
He heard someone coming down the stairs in a flurry of movement, and grew happy. Now they could sort things out; he’d lay down the law, they’d figure out the cop situation, they’d make up; they’d do all the nasty, gratifying things that made all the fights very much worthwhile–
When Virgil swung the door open with a groggy growl, Hotstreak felt entirely disappointed and wholly annoyed. Virgil looked the same exact way, and the two glared at each other.
“What the hell you want?” Virgil snapped, straightening the t-shirt he’d thrown on in his haste to answer the door.
“I came here to get Rich,” Hotstreak muttered, not looking away from him. The guy could pull a trick on him when he wasn’t looking.
“What are you talkin’ about? Rich ain’t here!” Virgil exclaimed, then realization dawned on him. “He ain’t...he ain’t with you?”
“Whaddaya mean he ain’t here?” Hotstreak growled. “You took off with him!”
“He ain’t here! Seriously! I thought he was with you!”
“He isn’t! Where the fuck could he be?”
“Obviously not with you! He didn’t call you, or nothin’?”
“No...not all night. He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t just run away...we kinda don’t have a place to go to, right now.”
“Ya’ll are fuckin’ HOMELESS?” Virgil shrieked, destroying the silence of the neighborhood.
“Just temporarily outta place to stay!” Hotstreak snapped back, inwardly feeling awful at the way Virgil made their situation sound. “It’s going to be fixed!”
“You’re makin’ my best friend live like a fuckin’ loser like you an’–”
“It’s not what you think! ‘Sides, it just happened, an’–!”
“Don’tchu be makin’ excuses, you fuckin’–!”
“Virgil, what the hell is goin’ on?” Sharon demanded sleepily, marching over in her robe. She looked at Hotstreak, then at her brother. “It’s two thirty in the morning–what are you two doin’ at two thirty in the morning?”
“He’s looking for Richie,” Virgil muttered. “An’ he ain’t here.”
“He wasn’t here all night,” Sharon said, giving Hotstreak a suspicious glance. “Weren’t he with you?”
“He was, but he came with fuckin’–”
“Don’t you be cussin’ ‘round me! Specially when it’s over my brother! You know better than that! I don’t care who the hell you are, or what you can do, you don’t come up in this here household and start cussing out my family members cuz ya’ll so irresponsible!”
Hotstreak wasn’t sure whether to cuss her out for snapping at him in such a way, or just ignore her, so he held his hands up in surrender, wanting to figure out where Richie was.
“Oh, Rich was here,” Virgil amended, gesturing at the couch. “That was around nine, nine-thirty...yeah, cuz I went over to Taco Muchacho around ten thirty, before they closed. I don’t know what time he left, though. I got back here ‘round one...? An’ you and Adam were already here.”
“We came in about an hour before you. An’ he wasn’t here. No note, no nothing...everything was locked up,” Sharon said, then looking at him. “He ain’t contacted you?”
“No, he–”
“What’cha all fightin’ about, anyway?”
“None of your damn business–!”
“You hittin’ him?”
“I DON’T HIT HIM!”
“Sheesh, calm down, man. Just askin’ ya a simple question,” Sharon snapped, hearing Adam coming downstairs. “Virgil’s been freakin’ out about it–!”
“I don’t hit him,” Hotstreak growled at Virgil, wanting to hit him for ever thinking like that.
“What’s goin’ on, here?” Adam demanded, pushing himself in front of Sharon protectively, giving Hotstreak a glare. “What’chu doin’ out here so fuckin’ early?”
“He’s lookin’ for Richie.”
“...He ain’t been here all night.”
“He was here,” Virgil repeated.
Hotstreak wasn’t going to get anywhere with this constant repeating, and threw up his hands in exasperation. So Richie wasn’t here...where would he go? The answer came to him suddenly, and he looked at Virgil. “His parents.”
“Think so?”
“I’ll call over there and check,” Sharon said, moving away from the door. “Any of ya’ll do it, they’ll be pissed for days.”
“I thought he wasn’t stayin’ there, no more,” Adam said, giving Virgil a frown. “Why would he go back there?”
“I dunno...he been talkin’ about home, lately?” Virgil asked Hotstreak, who shook his head.
“Nah, he never wanted to go back home–”
“He’d rather live out on the streets with your loser ass...”
“Ya’ll livin’ on the streets?” Adam exclaimed, giving Hotstreak a disgusted frown. “What’chu been doin’ to him?”
“We ain’t livin’ on the fuckin’ STREETS!”
“You just said ya’ll were homeless!”
“It just happened yesterday!”
“He ain’t makin’ enough money to support you and your habits, so ya’ll got kicked outta whatever roach hole ya’ll been livin’ in?” Virgil snapped, stepping forward.
“He don’t support me! You know what? Fuck you! You little shit!”
“Don’t you be calling me–!”
“There’s no answer,” Sharon said with a frown. “No one’s pickin’ up.”
Virgil frowned, shrugging. “I don’t know where he’d be, then...”
“Was he really distraught? You guys fightin’ over somethin’ serious? Somethin’ that would make him...I dunno...scared?” she asked Hotstreak, who crossed his arms defensively.
But before he could answer, Virgil cut in with, “He wasn’t talkin’ like that at all. He kept wanting to go back there to find this stupid-ass...there was no way he was distraught, or anythin’. I had to make him stay here.”
“You made him stay when he didn’t wanna stay?” Hotstreak snarled. “You call me controlling?”
“Hey, it’s better to think over things, than to just–shut up! Shut up, you gnarly, flaming–!”
“Virgil, stop. Act your age,” Adam muttered. “Both of you, act your damn age. Ya’ll sound like a bunch of kids...now: if he ain’t with you, and he ain’t here...where would Richie go?”
Virgil nearly exploded, snapping his fingers. “The Gas Station!”
“The...what?”
“Oh, uh...never mind. Let me toss on some clothes, and I’ll head on over there to see if he’s there.”
“What’s a–”
“Secret club hideout–no. GIRLS. ALLOWED,” Virgil snapped, emphasizing the words as he looked at Hotstreak pointedly.
“Hey, fuck you, you lil’–!”
“NO CURSING AROUND THIS HOUSE!” Sharon snarled, Virgil racing off to his bedroom. “While he goes an’ checks...why don’t you come in and sit awhile?”
“Sharon!” Both Virgil and Adam shouted.
“What?”
“What is going on down here?” Robert demanded, booming actually as he walked over to the top of the staircase. Seeing that the front door was crowded with his daughter, her boyfriend, and Hotstreak–with Virgil rummaging throughout his room–he put his hands on his hips and gave everyone a glare. “What’s all this noise bein’ made for?”
“Daddy, we’re just lookin’ for Richie,” Sharon said, turning to face him. “You ain’t heard from him, have you?”
“No...I haven’t talked to him since he came over for dinner that one Sunday. What’s goin’ on? Why is he missing?...And who the hell are you? What the hell are you doin’ here?” he asked, gesturing at Hotstreak.
Who sighed heavily, turning away from the door to lean against the side windows.
“He’s lookin’ for Richie, too.”
“What you be wantin’ with him–!”
“Daddy, they boyfriends–!”
“JESUS CHRIST!” Hotstreak shouted, whipping away from the window, every visible inch of his skin turning bright red. “It ain’t that way! It ain’t that WAY!”
“You shut the fuck up, boy!” Sharon bellowed. “Deny it all you want, you cretin, it all obvious! ‘Sides, me an’ Adam saw you two down at Parker’s, gettin’ all cozy in the back booth. You can’t be denyin’ it, either! Ain’t no way just FRIENDS be playing footsie under the table and touching each other the way you two were doin’!”
“Nightmares...nightmares...”
< br> “You–! I–! He–! Not–! Uh–! It’s–!”
“SHUT UP!”
Robert was a little stunned–he’d certainly never known about Richie and Hotstreak. He was standing still, in a state of disbelief, when he heard Virgil leave out through his window as Static. As he blinked away the paralyzation he’d felt upon hearing that, Sharon was once again inviting Hotstreak into the house to sit.
Adam threw his hands up in disbelief.
OooooooooooO
At first, he thought the car speeding up to the Rover was a highway patrol. He hoped to God that it was a highway patrol. That way, when he pulled Richie over, Richie could tell him everything that had happened. That Shiv could get medical attention, and confess to his part in the action. That things would turn out all right...
But when he saw that the headlights were shaped wrong, that the car was a Mitsubishi Eclipse, he felt that part of him deflate. Things shifted again after realizing that the car was riding his tail end, and that was suspicious indeed. His eyes drifted away from the road–Dakota just so closeby!–and at the rearview, seeing that the car wasn’t going to pass him. The two lane one-way highway allowed passing at any time, and the car wasn’t passing him.
He glanced over at Shiv, but the metahuman hadn’t moved since they’d switched seats.
Looking back into the rearview, he saw the car move out from behind him, slowly matching his speed. The silver Eclipse was pulling far away from his vehicle, slithering along the side of the road., the tinted window rolling down. In consternation, Richie glanced over anxiously, seeing a stoic faced teenager behind the wheel, her blunt cut bangs catching the breeze that tore into her car.
He would have thought she was just messing around–another underage driver that shouldn’t be on the road. But what was really startling was the .357 Magnum she was holding up, aiming out her car–aiming at him! At his vehicle!
With a startled cry, his feet were slamming on the brakes, the Eclipse shooting forward, and braking as well. The Rover jerked as it coasted below speeds of twenty-five, and Richie cursed as he struggled to depress the clutch, and shift the gear at the same time. Amidst grinding, he had the Rover jerking forward in third, and he applied too much gas.
“Why didn’t I learn how to drive?” he about shrieked as he glanced up, seeing that the Eclipse was reversing backwards. He jerked the wheel, just barely avoided being slammed by the smaller car’s back bumper. Shiv jerked up from the window, groggily glancing about. “Who is that?”
“Wha–? Who?”
The Eclipse let out a flurry of smoke as the teenage driver then slammed forward, and Richie could see her maniac grin as she aimed her vehicle for his. Giving a desperate cry, he shifted into fourth, then fifth, and amidst the grinding, they were cruising up to speeds of sixty-five once more. The car’s front bumper hit their back, jolting them both in their seats. Richie hurriedly pulled on his safety belt, Shiv struggling to do the same.
“That lil’ cock suck!” he was cursing, slurring his words. He definitely didn’t look very well, Richie decided. He was not going to make it to Dakota. The thought of Shiv dying gave him a mixture of satisfaction and remorse–things he’d pay attention to later. “I’ll kill her...kill her all...”
“You know her?”
“Works with those guys...”
“What guys?”
“Those guys...with Jerome...outta town...shit...where’s my hands? I can’t find my hands...”
“They’re right there,” Richie said weakly, eyeing the car once more.
The grinning girl in the car suddenly gave a frown, and he realized that she wasn’t alone–in the backseat, he could see flashes of Ivan’s clothing. Richie’s chest tightened, and his fingers gripped the wheel in agitation. He looked over, searching for the cellphone. Shiv removed it from underneath him with a dull exclamation, and Richie reached over for it.
The Eclipse slammed into them again, pushing them forward–Richie dropped the phone, gripping the wheel as he struggled to keep it under control. The smaller car pulled out from behind once more, and Richie watched it anxiously, seeing that she had her gun raised yet again. The explosive gunshots made him wince, and every cell of his body anticipated being hit. But the Rover suddenly jolted out of his control, the steering wheel wrenching out of his hands as the front left tire exploded under impact.
Richie and Shiv screamed in terror as the vehicle swerved wildly to the edge of the road, slamming through a road sign and taking a dip in the shoulder. Richie reached out, grabbing the wheel, struggling to apply the brakes.
“TREE! TREE!” Shiv screamed, moments before Richie jerked the wheel violently to the side, the vehicle losing touch with solid ground as it flew over another dip----and then both were flying forward, grunting at the tightened hold of their seatbelts. Richie slammed on the brakes, Shiv pulled on the emergency brake. But the vehicle still managed to slam with violent clamor against a tree, airbags deploying with an explosive ‘Boomf!’.
It took a long while for Richie to realize that constant tone humming through his ears was the car horn. He could hear voices, but his head was swimming with confusion. He couldn’t rightly remember where he was, or what he was doing–he had no idea why he was listening to the car horn on a constant hum.
“You could have killed him, you fuckin’ ugly bitch!”
“Fuck off, ho. They ain’t dead. If the guy’s a fuckin’ genius, ya think he would’ve controlled the car, better.”
The car door jerked open, and there were hands yanking at him. Still trapped within the seatbelt, Richie fell pliant as his thoughts tried to re-organize themselves into something coherent. The safety latch was released, and he fell from the vehicle with a slurred cry, losing the feel of all his limbs. Every muscle felt weak and useless, and he couldn’t even stand, even as his shirt was pulled upon violently. Numbly, he reached out for support, using clothing to climb to his feet. His arms were grabbed, painful pressure being applied, and he felt his knees give out suddenly, without his command. He had to thank God that he hadn’t any body fluids to release, because he was sure he’d have done so.
He heard another car door being opened, and a protesting cry–followed by several shots in a row. Then, he was being dragged, forced over uneven terrain.
“Let’s get back to the place, and get this shit done.”
“He gonna die, man. He might have all that internal injuries, an’ shit.”
“He ain’t gonna die! I made sure Shiv, did, though! Fuckin’ stupid ass bitch...ain’t no one betray me an’ get away with it–! Ah, shit. Where the fuck is he bleeding from?”
“...Kinky...handcuffs----dude, they went into his wrist. Whoa ho ho, that’s gross!”
“Shut up, ho! Pickle, gimme your wrap, man.”
“...Pickle...”
“Fuck off about my name!”
“...Pickle...”
Dimly, Richie realized he was in a lot of danger–but nothing calculated into what he could do, or what he should think. He kept trying to reach for the gearshift, to get him and Shiv out of the trees, his mind racing with all the blurred shapes that passed them by. Nothing was processing–really, if he shut his eyes to think about it, he just wanted to go to sleep. Upon that thought, he saw himself getting ready for bed; kicking off his shoes, chucking off his pants, putting his glasses aside, and sweeping into the bed besides Hotstreak–whom was taking up all the room. He pushed at the guy to make him move, hearing his protest, and growled his name.
“... ‘Francis’? Who’s that? Dude, he outta whack. He don’t know where the fuck he is.”
“Fuckin’ fag. Shut the fuck up about him. He ain’t gonna save you. Let’s go. Before the police come up.”