Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Fermata in Mystic Air ( Chapter 11 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Things are not what they had seemed...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.15.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 213 | Status: Completed
Things are not what they had seemed...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.15.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 213 | Status: Completed
AU, OOC, violence...supernatural themes, violence...slash, gore
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS! Dwayne McDuffie and WB and Milestone do in...their various ways. This is based off Silent Hill, of which I do not own...Konami and Team Silent does ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I also don’t own...Akira Yamaoka does...But I own THIS story’s grief...not that it counts...
I’m Alive: (glomp) MAN! I’m so happy for reviews! Thanks for coming back and taking that extra effort to let me know WTF. Well...um...things are a bit different. I thought I revealed too much in the last, and I figure I’d better get out all this darkness in my system...it’s time for a fluffy fic. (Grin)
Chapter Eleven:
Fermata in Mystic Air
The Community Center was almost in the same shape as Virgil had left it–nearly four years ago. In silence, he regarded the building with faint memories, Junior leading the way up from the street and into the front walk. Virgil could picture his father in his mind’s eye–tall, heavyset with weary eyes.
He felt a heavy pain in his chest as he recalled the last time he’d seen Robert–Virgil had been so angry at being taken into custody. He could recall every word, every struggle that the detaining officers had to work with. He could see the hurt and the sadness on his father’s face, looking very defeated as he watched him leave. Virgil felt horrible that that image was the last he had of his father; he had to cringe over the abuse that he’d heaped on the man whenever Robert had tried to contact him.
Guilt gnawed at his insides, making him grimace as Junior let the way into the building. The silence was nearly deafening. Everything was in such a sad state of disrepair that as they walked into the long corridor with the faded signs on the walls, Virgil began to feel immensely guilty in that he’d been the cause of it all.
Junior was mumbling to himself as he consulted the list and then his own screw of memories. He didn’t know the lay-out to the place, and he was overly jumpy. He looked back at Virgil, noticing the turmoil the teen was experiencing. He figured Virgil wasn’t going to talk about it–he’d had a much harder time trying to coax Virgil’s feelings and thoughts out than he had with Richie. Virgil was the type to keep all his anger inside, for only himself to examine.
“Where is your father’s main office?” Junior asked him, his voice obscenely loud within the silence. He winced, turning on the camp flashlight in his pocket and adjusting it so that it peeked over the flap.
Virgil frowned, but led the way without a word. They crossed through a corridor and entered a small office–something creaked noisily within the gym just a few feet away and both of them stilled. Virgil raised a hand, light illuminating the area as Junior quickly snatched his arm down. Virgil jerked his arm away from him, giving him a disgusted glance as he made his way toward the gym rather than the office.
“Virgil!” Junior hissed, not wanting to investigate.
“It’s probably just a stupid monster,” Virgil replied in heavy annoyance, walking into the gym. The gym, which had been so lovingly maintained, was a mess–the wooden bleachers had been stripped, leaving the metal supports that gave the gym an ominous look. The floors were coated with thick layers of dust, the walls covered in grime. Cobwebs hung from various areas–it reeked of decay and urine.
He covered his nose, turning from side to side as the light in his hands illuminated the darkness. There weren’t any hiding places, and the only exit was straight ahead. He started to withdraw when his light caught a flash of purple to his left–upon staring at it for a few moments, he realized he was looking at another person. Junior had finally joined him. Junior started forward as Virgil tilted his head with curiosity, following after the other man. Their footfalls sounded heavy and loud within the dark silence, echoing throughout the decayed area.
“Hey, you all right?” Junior asked, feeling relieved that they’d come upon another person rather than a monster. The shape moved, then shifted until he was looking down into an oddly colored face. It was almost as if he were looking into a Ghoul’s face, with its massive discoloration and deathly parlor. Only as lavender eyes blinked in careful manner did he relax.
Virgil watched as messy white hair spilled out from the faux-fur lined hood, revealing a teen girl around his age. She was thin, moving in a slow way–as if uncertain about things. But she didn’t take her lavender eyes off Junior, mouth falling open to allow for thick breathing; as if her nose was plugged. There was something about her that made bells ring in Virgil’s mind.
“Hi,” she drawled. “Hi, how’d you find me?”
Junior cleared his throat. “Are...are you by yourself?”
“Um...um...no. No, not at all. Well...” And here, the girl looked around herself with confusion, noting the darkness. Completely disregarding Virgil’s glowing hand. “I...I wasn’t always alone. But...sometimes, when I’m by myself, I sometimes think that I’m not alone.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Okaaaay...he just asked you if–!”
Junior cut him off with a hand against his mouth, Virgil biting him in disgust. “Any family? Friends?”
“Well...no. I...I tried to find my mother, but...but it’s been so long...I don’t know if she moved, and my father–I–I don’t know where he’s at, either,” she whispered, still not looking at Virgil. “It has been so long...I tried to go back home, but everything is so different now...I–I–this is rather embarrassing, but I think I’ve lost my way...I can’t remember how to get there, and I fear that I may have wound up in a completely different city...”
“What is your name? Maybe we can take you home?” Junior suggested, much to Virgil’s horror and protest.
“My name is Maureen,” she said eagerly, reaching out to hold onto his vest. His flashlight blinded her, and she drew back with a startled gasp, shielding her eyes.
“Maureen Blake?” Junior asked, turning so that his flashlight wasn’t hurting her. Virgil was annoyed at this, annoyed at her behavior and comprehension. “Is this your name?”
“...Yes. Yes, how did you know?” she asked curiously, lowering her pale white hand. “I don’t...I don’t think–I don’t remember you. I don’t remember anybody. I–am I in trouble again?”
“No,” Junior said quickly, shaking his head as Virgil stared at her.
“Hey, she’s gotta mental thing going on, huh?” he said. She finally looked at him, taking in his image with a sweep of her childishly large eyes. She drew to a standing position, revealing clothes that were dirtied and stained. She also reeked of an unwashed smell that made the other teen draw back in disgust, Junior subtly covering his nose.
Junior reached out to whack Virgil’s head, shoving him behind him as he hissed, “Keep quiet! If you ain’t got nothing good to say, keep it shut!”
“How is this possible?!” Virgil hissed back, shoving his hand away. “We’re the heroes! How can there be mentally challenged people involved?”
Maureen watched them argue, growing tense at the growl of their voices, the intensity of their glares. Her fists knotted, and her stomach clenched as she grew uneasy. She started to grow frightened as she watched the older man shove the teen away, images of horror flashing to memory. She stepped back, the sound of her foot scuffing the dirty floor and drawing their attention.
“N-no. No. Please don’t–I don’t like it when people fight,” she whispered, unable to blink lest something happened. “I don’t–I don’t know any of you. I don’t–”
Junior held up his hands, trying to placate her. But she was wholly agitated as she drew back from the gesture, her pale hands rising to ward off any attack. “No, I’m sorry, it’s just–we’re not here to hurt you. We just want to help you–!”
“That’s what they all say! But I know better! I know what you men want, and I won’t fall for it again! All of you are dirty, just like them, and you found me to hurt me again,” she accused, the lavender in her eyes starting to glow. “I won’t let that happen again! I won’t!”
The two began to back up, eying her cautiously as the temperature in the darkness dropped significantly. Wood creaked in protest, and metal groaned as her eyes turned into a luminous glow that nearly blinded them. Virgil’s hands flared to life, facing her with a challenging look as she backed herself into the corner.
“I know what you want!” she screamed, voice cracking as the air shifted into intense cold, ice crawling along the walls and floors with startling thickness. Virgil yelped as he whipped out his disk and took to the air. Junior himself swept into the floor, and their very actions startled the young woman.
Her hands lowered. The luminous glow dissipated with a slight flash, and she was staring up at Virgil with a curious tilt of her head. Cautiously, sensing no other movement, Junior peered up from the floor and noted her reaction to the other teen. He rose to mold back into human form, drawing her awed attention as well. As his skin shifted from wood, her eyes widened with childlike curiosity. She reached out despite her earlier fears, and touched his exposed limb with a wondrous sound.
Virgil cautiously dropped back to the floor as Junior stood uncomfortably still.
“How...? How is that possible?” she asked softly, pinching his arm. “How did you do that?”
“Um...I can’t rightly explain,” Junior winced as she scratched her nails down his skin, and he pulled his arm back at the uncomfortable pain. “But we’re not here to hurt you none. Just...just talk to you a bit.”
“...I don’t trust you. Either of you,” she declared, pulling back. But she stared at Virgil for a few silent moments, rigid as she contemplated his flight earlier. Virgil gave an uncomfortable shrug, lifting his hands to flash at her. She gasped, hands flying up to protect herself, Junior quickly slamming an arm over his chest to knock off the display. She lowered her arms after realizing they weren’t trying to attack her.
But she was already bothered by the fact that they could do fantastic things–things she couldn’t rightly understand. She was unsure of herself and her surroundings, pressing herself into the very same corner as she kept them both in sight.
Virgil winced. “This ain’t lookin’ good,” he whispered loudly, irritation clear on his face. “You sure you got the name right? There wasn’t even a last name on your list!”
Junior blinked, then withdrew the two pieces of paper, noting that Virgil was right. But she was a Maureen and she obviously had powers–she had also been a person of interest for his father, who’d spent some time and money in relocating her from Dakota to Valentine under the guise of Dakota’s DCF. He slipped them back into his pocket and carefully buttoned it shut. He saw that Maureen was struggling with the situation, and felt helpless in that he had no idea how to change her feelings otherwise.
He fell into a crouch. “Look...Maureen...do you have a home to go to?”
Maureen’s eyes zipped from him to Virgil, and she fidgeted as she absorbed the question. She then licked her blue lips, twirling a greasy strand of hair around her fingers. “Well...I...I won’t answer that. I can’t tell you where I live. I–I sometimes come here, because when everything was normal, I felt okay here. I’m–I’m looking for somebody, actually, but I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want anybody lying to me.”
“There won’t be none of that,” Junior assured her as Virgil wondered who it was she was looking for. He could only picture his father, and felt a pang of guilt shoot through his insides. “We won’t be hurtin’ you. I–I just want to help you. You look hungry...”
“Oh, it’s all right. I had something to eat earlier, and I’d rather not take food from strangers,” she said quickly, wiping her mouth. “I...I’d like to go, now.”
Junior stood quickly, trying to think. “I...You see, we’re kinda doing something, and actually–we need your help.”
Maureen hesitated, blinking inquisitively at him. “‘Help’? You need me...? What would I do?”
“See, that’s the thing. I need your help, but I don’t rightly know what it is you can do. You see, there is a bunch of us that has a really big task to do, and we have to find the people to do it.”
“Oh...kind of like...a scavenger hunt, only it’s people that needed to be found?” she asked cautiously, picking at the backs of her fingerless gloves. She gave a nervous giggle. “I can’t find people...people today are so scary. You can’t tell what they want, or why. I tend to avoid them rather than anything...I’d rather not help, sir. Please excuse me.”
“But we need your help,” Junior pleaded, looking at Virgil for help.
“Don’t look at me,” Virgil muttered, glaring at him. “Don’t you work for head cases?”
“...Hawkins...”
Maureen’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “Mr. Hawkins? Mr. Hawkins, he’s the one I have been looking for! Do you know where he is?”
Virgil whirled on her, asking, “You know my father? Have you seen him?”
“She just said–!”
“I–he was awfully nice to me back when things were normal. When I came here, he always had a place for me to go. He was always so kind to me,” she said wistfully, slumping when she realized that the man in subject wasn’t anywhere nearby. “I was kind of hoping that he would still be around, but every time I come in here, he’s not here. So I’ve just waited, but...”
“Yeah...my dad was the best,” Virgil muttered, giving Junior an embarrassed glance. “But I...I don’t think he’d be here. You see, everyone that’s here is because of something bad that they did–”
“I...I didn’t do anything bad,” Maureen began to stammer, eyes widening with tremendous emotion. Junior froze, hearing the tremor in her voice. She pressed herself against the wall once more, breathing hard as she looked from one to the other. “I didn’t do anything...I swear! I swear on my mother I didn’t do it to be mean! I didn’t–! It wasn’t my fault! It just wasn’t!”
Junior tried to placate her, hands up as he said quickly, “We ain’t sayin’ that you did something, Maureen. It’s all right. It’s okay! There’s nothing–you didn’t do anything, and we know that. Right, Virgil?”
“That’s right–!”
“I didn’t do it to be mean! I–I had to! I just had to, and–and it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!” she ended in a shriek, temperature once more changing significantly. Only this time, as ice shot through the air in dangerous spikes, it also began to shoot up from the floor in the shape of stalagmites. Both males had to maneuver quick to avoid being speared, Maureen’s eyes turning into that blinding flash of light that matched the snow that blanketed the inside from seemingly nowhere.
Virgil took to the air, ducking and weaving around ice spikes, Junior disappearing into the floor as Maureen used the forming ice to her advantage. She glided gracefully atop of it, panting heavily as she moved toward the back exit. Virgil saw this and reacted with holding the doors shut with his powers–she bounced off the metal with a hurt cry, falling to the floor. Once she hit the ice, she screamed, slapping the cold surface with both hands. More ice spikes shot out at him, slamming into the walls and ceiling with dangerous ease.
Virgil swept through the air, looking for some guidance from Junior, but the man was no where to be seen. Maureen jumped to her feet and began running for the other door, gliding across the ice. Her long white hair trailed out after her, her hood bouncing atop of her shoulders as she panted.
Virgil decided to take the action into his own hands, jerking the metal supports that were formerly the bleachers and wrapped them around Maureen. She shrieked in terror as metal wrapped around her, sweeping her off the floor. Ice immediately formed over the metal at her touch, spreading across the twisted surfaces in cobweb-formations. They shattered under a quick bop of her fist against them, and she fell to the floor, much to Virgil’s annoyance.
But he bit his lip as he realized the gym was being destroyed by all this frozen moisture–he was suddenly struck with an image of his father’s face, disapproval and disappointment clear in his mind’s eye. It took that second for Maureen to strike out directly at him, sweeping ice spikes at him with a simple gesture. He cried out as one impaled his foot to his disk. The pain was piercing, sending a horrendous knot of anguish in his gut. He fell from the air, hitting the unforgiving ice with a dull thud of sound.
Maureen watched him struggle to pull the spike from his foot. Virgil writhed in pain, screaming in agony as he realized he couldn’t pull it completely from the injured limb. He clutched the area around the impalement with both hands, screaming as ice-numbing cold swept through his veins. Maureen gasped, hands shakily making their way to her face as she stared at him in horror. Tears formed but fell heavily in the shape of ice crystals as her mind registered the situation in front of her. Knees knocking dangerously, she shook her head, muttering incoherently to herself as Virgil tried once more to pull the spike from his foot.
Junior appeared at that instant, shooting up from the floor in the shape of ice, startling her so badly that she promptly wet her pants. Virgil hesitated in his agony to give her a disgusted look, smelling the strong scent of ammonia and registering her horror in that reaction.
She screamed, pulling her large jacket around herself then dashing off. Junior looked after her with tortured reaction, wanting to race after her but held back by Virgil’s injury. He gritted his teeth as ice and snow stopped its fierce storming within the gym, leaving behind a thick layer of white and blue. Virgil hissed as he held his foot, Junior crouching next to him. He wrapped his fingers around the spike, absorbing the dangerous weapon into his body. Blood sluggishly began to flow from the open wound, which revealed a bright display of muscle and garishly broken skin. It had gone between the delicate bones, and it was too cold for blood to gush in alarming manner.
Still, Junior quickly pulled some material from one of his vest pockets. Virgil shakily removed his shoe and sock, Junior using that material to wrap around the wound. He also used his sock, but sighed heavily as he gave the finished wrapping a frown.
“We’re gonna need a hospital for more supplies,” he said gravely.
Virgil pounded on the ice in frustration. “That bitch is whacked! Why’d she attack us?! We were just tryin’ to help her, and she got all psycho! Damn!”
“She...she can’t help it, Hawkins. She ain’t...rightly of mind. An’ it ain’t proper to make fun of her in that sense, nor stay angry. Unfortunately, I ain’t trained in...ah, mentally challenged people, so I ain’t got no idea how to handle her,” Junior said in defeat, but his voice was shaking noticeably. “I mean, it’s so completely different compared to juvenile criminals...”
Virgil blinked, then frowned at him. Junior looked annoyed that he’d said that, and rose from his side. “Hey! I ain’t no criminal!” Virgil protested.
“You ain’t? Sure, ya are, Hawkins! Why you think you were sent outta state? Attempted murder, refusal to cooperate with your parole officer, the courts–your own daddy?! You tried to kill somebody, Virgil, you don’t think that’s ‘criminal’?!”
Red-hot anger swept through the teen as he rose from the ice, snarling, “I was tryin’ to find my momma’s killers! She was shot–a senseless act of violence, and I intended to fuck over the fuckers that took away what was precious to me! I ain’t seen NO problem with takin’ out fucking trash like that! The world thanked me for it, anyway!”
“Fucked up kids with fucked up problems! You know how hard it was, goin’ day ta day with kids that sexually molested younger kids? Some kids that stole without conscience, from other people that worked hard for their money? For kids that burnt animals and tried to kill others with bombs made from the Internet? To deal with all that, an’ havin’ these same fucks tell me that I’m fucked up cuz I was just there to help them–! FUCK!”
Virgil quieted. He’d never seen this side of Junior before. Hadn’t ever given thought that the man may be hostile or angry. He’d always seemed reserved, save for a few rants here and there. But it was different hearing him spit words in angry and defeat, different to see that ugly expression of frustration and rage.
“There’s a reason why each an’ every one of us is here, Hawkins,” Junior added, eyes brilliant with fury that reddened his skin and made his fists knot. “You’re here for killin’ an’ drivin’ your father up the wall. Foley’s here for protecting a Goddamn child predator and stealin’ people blind–that Pomeranian’s here for killin’ people–yes, he killed people back in the day! Ask ‘im about it! That lil’ girl’s here for killin’ her father–there was abuse in that family! My dad’s here for his fucked up shit, too numerous to count–! There’s a fuckin’ reason for everybody! There ain’t no angels here!”
Virgil felt sick; he didn’t feel like a criminal, and he certainly didn’t feel like one. His actions were based on revenge, and no one would miss who he’d taken out, anyway. But he had to ask. “Well... we all got these skeletons in our closets...what’s yours?”
Junior quieted then turned away, fists shaking. He didn’t say anything for a long while, and Virgil ran a list of terrible things that he could name off the top of his head. He couldn’t imagine the guy doing anything bad–he’d always thought Junior so eager-to-please, corny and incredibly pathetic with his mission to ‘save’ the kids that arrived at the Ranch. To know that he must have done something horrible to be here gave him a sense of superiority over the other. Something as leverage in case Virgil needed it to shut up another ‘Lucy lecture’...something that he and Richie had made up after reading a Peanuts comic strip awhile ago.
Pain throbbed up and down his limb, and he grimaced as he rose slowly–already his bandages were soaked. He felt violent nausea, a wave of dizziness making the world black for a moment–but he was determined to stay upright, determined to be a hero. Determined to prove everyone wrong and to prove his title as hero appropriate.
He was breathing deeply, waiting for an answer. Finally, the other turned around, looking intensely guilty. Sick.
“I...sometimes...I got problems with alcohol,” he muttered. His hands were shaking as they reached up to wipe his face, freckles briefly hidden as he momentarily covered his cheeks. “When–when that happened, I–I would black out. But....I...I used to...used to buy the–the women on Fourth street in Valentine–”
Virgil knew what he was talking about, licking his lips in anticipation of some good dirt on the man.
“–and I’d kill ‘em. I...I had some rage inside of me that was only...calmed with killin’ them. Gettin’ rid of their scummy lives...”
Virgil’s eyes widened significantly, instantly recalling headlines of murdered prostitutes in that destitute part of town. Of a mystery unsolved for over ten years...he was startled in that while the man was confessing, he just couldn’t imagine him taking part in such a gruesome act. Couldn’t even imagine Junior buying sex from anybody–he stilled, as if breathing hard or attracting Junior’s attention would somehow draw danger to himself.
Junior was still shaking, unable to look at him as his face screwed up with hatred. “I fucking hated them! Fucking hated those useless pieces of trash! So dirty, so fucking used–! Fuckin’ every man that looked at them–useless dirty cunts–no point in them being on the planet! All of them were so fuckin’ ugly, pathetic–! One was so young, she weren’t even in high school yet–I couldn’t even touch her–she made me sick! Wanted to suck my dick just as soon’s as I picked her up, an’ tried to bargain other stuff for my hard-earned money–! It was just so easy bashing her skull in with the .45 she kept in her purse–I was so disgusted with her body that I just–I just kept running her over with the car. I wanted to hear her bones crunch, I wanted to see her body splattered, her guts all over–! I wanted her face busted open, so she weren’t able to suck no more dick! Damn dirty cunt...prolly was younger than the both of you...ain’t no right life...”
Virgil held his breath–the vehemence and hatred that Junior used to describe the murder was absolutely horrendous. It felt as if Junior had started to use alcohol as an excuse, but the way he went on made Virgil realize that it wasn’t even involved. He felt scared–he felt as if Junior had completely enjoyed killing the girl. It was almost as if he were listening to a Ghoul speak–the ugly hatred so strong and so violent that his stomach twisted.
“...I even imagined killing some of you, too.” Here, Virgil felt his stomach flop at the suddenly soft tone. The way Junior’s eyes held a faraway look. “I would sometimes look for the women that looked just a little bit like you boys. I wouldn’t use ‘em–just...put your faces on them as I killed them. Stranglin’ Colin, bad-mouthing kid-cunt that used his niece for ass...breaking the skull in of Travis, that kid that stabbed his gramma when she wouldn’t give him no money...ripping fat from Richie, who was a fat, pathetic fuck that wouldn’t give up that man’s name...ripping Virgil’s goddamn jaw out of one’s face cuz I couldn’t stand listenin’ to that lip no mo’...it all gave me satisfaction to deal. Sometimes...sometimes, I’d find the oldest ones an’ pretend they was my daddy. They’d get it worse.”
Virgil wanted to leave. He felt absolutely sick and scared as Junior trailed off, lost in memory. It didn’t even seem as if he remembered who he was talking to, and imagining himself being killed viciously in Junior’s fantasy made Virgil completely uneasy. He licked his lips nervously, easing himself toward his disk. Surely he could get out and to the others before Junior really carried out that fantasy of killing him–
But Junior snapped to attention, looking at him sharply. Virgil stopped in place, struggling to act normal. But as the man looked at him suspiciously, Virgil felt extreme distress and fear hit him like a block of ice in his stomach.
* - * - * - * - *
Richie felt so foolish. He glared at the room before him, recognizing it as the booking center for the juveniles that came through. He was furious, confused and hurt over what had happened.
Avery had been so different.
He’d taken advantage of Richie’s loneliness and low self-esteem by professing his ‘love and devotion’. Had made him feel good about himself–looked beyond his physical points and his comfort of food to make Richie feel as if he were actually someone worth caring about. Had supplied him with top-notch electronic supplies for his various inventions, rallied with him in conspiracy theories and devoted a majority of his time to making Richie feel ‘good’ in the bedroom.
As a result, he’d found so many ‘wonderful’ things in Avery. He’d loved Avery in an oblivious sense. As far as he was concerned, Avery had been the most nicest human being he could ever know–and was confused with how ‘wrong’ the relationship was to others. He had sought to protect Avery by saying nothing about him–electronically covering his every footprint in the system to keep the authorities from touching him.
Then at the Ranch, Junior had opened his eyes significantly, pointing out all of Avery’s actions and intents with scary detail, details that Richie slowly accepted in their truthfulness. It had been incredibly sickening and upsetting to realize that he’d been used for someone’s sick advantage. He’d continued to deny and continued to make excuses for all of the sick points Junior had brought up in concern of child predators, but he’d been scarred by his inability to judge people properly.
He’d closed himself off to others, but he’d gotten comfortable with how Virgil and Junior were always up front with what they thought or felt. He didn’t dare trust completely.
This issue with Hotstreak was threatening for him. He knew lust–or so he thought. He had to question that, conflicting with his guilt and shame over knowing lust at the age he’d been. But he was confused, now. Was it wrong to acknowledge it with what he’d learned was wrong?
He propped his forehead into both palms, feeling absolutely miserable. He continued to romanticize the man’s every action, confusing them with affection. Didn’t it mean anything?
As he sat there, he began to feel angry with himself in that he’d caused such a scene earlier. His emotions were still running dangerously, exerting the situation into something of a dramatic overdose of situations. He then realized that Backpack wasn’t with him, and panicked briefly–the little robot hadn’t even crossed his mind all this time.
He hurried out of the room, calling for Backpack. He didn’t want to run into Hotstreak very soon, but it was inevitable that they’d see each other anyway. Backpack scuttled toward him, and Richie heard its inquiries into his emotional state. He scowled at it as he bent to pick it up, holding it tightly within his arms as he hurried down the hall.
“It wasn’t anything,” he replied shortly.
‘You are upset? I registered your body reaction to his taunts, and it reacted with raised temperature, abnormal heart beat, dry mouth, watery tear ducts, and–’
“Don’t record that!” he growled, feeling a little embarrassed. “Don’t analyze me. Stay in contact with the others, especially Junior and Hotstreak. Record the readings of their powers when activated, as well as any and all brainwave activity when their emotions are peaked. I’m more interested in them than I am myself.”
‘Shall I stop analyzing Hotstreak’s activities and mind set whenever you are his focus?’ Backpack asked in its toneless way, and Richie felt very happy that no one else could hear its words.
“No,” he muttered. “Any other readings than the ones you’ve gathered?”
Backpack gave off his readings over Hotstreak’s physical reactions to emotional and mental distress, and rattled off numbers. Richie listened with one ear while staying alert to Hotstreak’s presence, in case the older man was spying on him once again. He’d only hear Richie’s end, anyway. Backpack’s words were audible only to him.
‘...Also, he exudes characteristics of tension and unease whenever he is in your presence. Currently, with Junior’s presence, he also exudes a sense of defensive rhythms and primitive tension–I suspect that he feels threatened by the other’s presence. Currently, I also–’
“All right. Enough. Maybe I need a more defining program that can measure his mental state when it comes to their perceptions upon each other and their situations. I can’t tell what they’re feeling. I hate not knowing what people are feeling!”
‘Perhaps a more definitive study is needed? Perhaps you’ll have to actively participate in my study when I record their emotions by situation,’ Backpack suggested. ‘That way, you will have an idea of what/when/how to feel as they do, and will have back-up when you have the chance to express yourself properly to others.’
“Er...yeah. Right. Sure. Keep it up, all right?” Richie murmured, feeling a little thoughtful when it came to that subject.
‘On the subject, your body is still healing from–’
“Argh! Don’t report on that! That’s none of your business!”
He left the Detention Center and crossed a few blocks to the nearby police station. Backpack declared it clear save for some structural damage, and they made their way into the archives. There were several computer stations that he could see. Richie assessed them physically before hooking Backpack into a few of them using portable USB cables from his bag. He also withdrew power cells, which were his inventions that had required Virgil’s charging them. He disconnected the computers from the outlets and plugged them into a surge protector that was linked to the cell. Simultaneously, the computers lit. Richie wiped off dust from one of them, and studied the monitor while Backpack investigated their systems.
‘I can access their main records, but it will take some time to link myself with the main network in order to gain the country’s records.’
“Via Internet?”
‘No. This is a database that I can operate independently.’
“Let me know how it goes. Maybe there are other networks connected...?”
‘I will investigate. In the meanwhile, Richard, it’ll take a great majority of my main boards to operate in this fashion. I fear that our connection will be interrupted, or troubled. Perhaps for your safety in case of a crash, I ask that you give the command to disconnect. This will mean that I will no longer be able to function as a security net, nor be able to communicate with you. In the event that something should occur and we are physically separated, I will find you. Is this acceptable?’
The thought of being ‘left alone’ and without Backpack’s reassuring presence in his mind, or having his ability to scan for dangers left Richie feeling anxious. He chewed his thumbnail nervously, eyeing his invention as he went over the pros and negatives of the situation. The separation anxiety was utterly sickening for him.
Backpack waited patiently. The slight buzz that he ‘heard’ from their connection was something that would also leave him during the process. He would hear complete and inevitable silence. But he swallowed hard and gave the command.
Backpack disconnecting from his mind was like a switch–it truly felt as if he were all alone in the world. The silence was unnerving. He didn’t know how Virgil could do it, listening to that silence. Feeling himself trembling slightly, Richie shakily made his way over to a chair and cautiously sat.
While Backpack worked, Richie worked on the GPS device that had already taken readings on Junior. He examined the results, then proceeded to add more programs for a further study. The iPod he’d worked on days earlier was a portable storage device on Virgil’s readings. As he worked, he wondered where Hotstreak was–wondering if the man had even noticed he was gone. He fumed as he worked–why was it he wondered about him constantly while Hotstreak easily put him out of his mind? He didn’t think it was fair that he was so easily ignored when Richie was so focused on him.
He realized that the room was darkening significantly. He looked out the windows to see that snow was falling from the heavens, taking up what small light there was with its stormy darkness.
The intense silence that enveloped the area was unsettling–it truly felt as if he were the last living being on the planet. A sort of panic began to rise within him, mind racing with possibilities of searching out Junior and Virgil. He reluctantly turned back to his device, forcing himself to focus on the readings he’d gotten from it.
It was so silent and still for such a long time that Richie nearly had a heart attack as strong hands grabbed his shoulders, a roar of sound filling the room. Richie shrieked and leapt away from his chair, heart slamming so loud in his chest that he barely registered Hotstreak’s uproarious laughter. Whirling, Richie stared at the man who looked intensely pleased with himself. Richie fought to regain his dignity.
“What?” Hotstreak asked between chuckles, wiping his eyes. “That was the girliest scream I’d heard in all my life...do you need to wipe?”
“F-fuck you,” Richie wheezed. His heart was slamming hard in his chest. He stared up at Hotstreak, and felt so angry at the man to deny him. He wanted this man so much, and it frustrated Richie that he had been rejected. He looked away with a glare, uncomfortable by how green his eyes were. It just wasn’t fair.
“You left me,” Hotstreak then accused, unaware of Richie’s inner turmoil. He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up his arms. Despite the fact that it was snowing outside, he was uncomfortably warm. He wanted to remove his sweater, but that would mean molestation by Richie’s eyes. “You had enough mind to get your dumb thingy, but you didn’t even bother letting me know you were leaving.”
“It’s not as if you’re helpful with anything,” Richie mumbled, giving him an eyeroll.
Hotstreak stared at him for a few moments. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh? You’re gonna be all shitty toward me after bawling your eyes out over me.”
“Oh please,” Richie sneered at him. “You flatter yourself.”
“Riiiight.” But Hotstreak regarded him with a stare, one that made Richie uncomfortable as he finally looked away and worked on his device.
Hotstreak grew annoyed as he realized Richie was ignoring him. He shrugged, looking at Backpack. He didn’t understand how it was working while there wasn’t any electricity. But he figured Richie was smart enough to work around it–he glanced at the teen then wandered off.
Richie was bothered by Hotstreak ignoring him when Richie was ignoring him. It just wasn’t fair that he cared about this and Hotstreak cared for nothing. He threw the device down in frustration, running after the man.
“Don’t ignore me,” Richie snapped at him, startling him in mid-amble. Hotstreak was surprised by the statement and the accompanying glare. “How dare you? How dare you make this out to be nothing.”
Hotstreak was shocked thoughtless at his words. He sputtered as Richie grew angrier with him for not having a more appropriate response. “I know you like me more than you’ll admit! And it’s so ridiculous that you’d play such games at your age!”
Hotstreak was absolutely floored by Richie’s words.
“I don’t play games!” Richie continued, gesturing angrily. “I don’t like them, and I don’t think they’re necessary! Why can’t things just be put on the table? Why can’t you just be straight-forward about everything? It’s not like I’m a lovesick virgin, but I do expect some respect from you, and I’d rather you not DENY everything that has happened, or anything that may!”
“...What the fuck...?” was all Hotstreak could say.
Richie searched for a proper response other than his sputters. He was angry that he was looking for an appropriate reaction in someone like Hotstreak, and frustrated with himself for caring so much about this man’s opinions when he was obviously an idiot. He realized how foolish he was acting, but he crossed his arms stubbornly as Hotstreak continued to stare at him stupidly.
“What the fuck?” Hotstreak then sputtered again. With exasperated gestures, he bellowed, “I ain’t playing with you! There ain’t no games! I told you, I don’t care for you like that–!”
“HAH! You lie,” Richie accused. “You lie. I don’t know why you’re lying to me. You say and do different things that convince me otherwise.”
“I DO NOT!” Hotstreak gasped, appalled. “I’m always up front! See, this is why–!”
“Your actions speak louder than your stupid, idiotic words. And I truly think you’re lying to me to cover up for some stupid conscience that lies to you constantly, because based on your past actions, you obviously have something for me and continue to play these stupid games with me just to regain some control over yourself, and in the process, you hurt me to make yourself feel better!” Richie snapped. Hotstreak was just slightly awed that he said that in one breath. “For example, you’re always touching me. You’re always speaking to me in an entirely different manner than you would with the others. You always pay more attention to me. I don’t know why you continue to deny all this. Your behavior is ridiculous and I think I’m much more mature than you, as much as you want to deny THAT. At least I don’t play games, and I’m more than truthful to you.”
Hotstreak turned to walk away. He felt he was unable to handle this situation, and was completely befuddled by someone taking his actions into such extremes. Richie was demanding for way more commitment and responsibility that he couldn’t give. Or would want to.
Richie immediately dove at him, grabbing his arm angrily. Hotstreak turned up the heat in that limb as Richie shouted, “You answer that! You give me an explanation for your stupid behavior! You owe me that after I’ve revealed myself to you!”
Hotstreak threw him an angry look, intensifying the heat in that arm. But Richie didn’t remove his hands, too focused on getting his answers than realizing the pain in his hands.
“You’re fucking psycho,” Hotstreak muttered gravely, jerking his arm out of his grasp. The teen’s hands were a bright red as he registered them. Skin blistered painfully, curling away from his palms and fingers. “I got nothing to explain to you. See? You don’t got NO idea what it’s like out there. Get over it. Chalk it up as a notch on your little bunkbed bed post, you sexpot, and let go of it. Focus on somethin’ else, or someone else’s dick. I owe you nothin’.”
Richie scowled at him, lowering his hands to his sides. His jaw was set tightly, lips thinned. Hotstreak gave him a disgusted expression, glanced at his hands and then started to walk off before stopping and looking at him with another funny expression.
“See, this is exactly what big-nose was talking to you about. You take shit differently than what it is,” he accused, rather pleased that he now knew what Junior had been talking about. “And it ain’t at all what you think. Goddamn...”
Richie watched him go, then stared down at his damaged hands with a sense of numbness. They hurt–burning so rawly that he grimaced, but it didn’t matter; what mattered was his confusion and continued hurt.
His frustration in that Hotstreak was still playing a game with him.
“I refuse to see the irony in this,” he muttered to himself, walking off to find a first aid kit and analyze that encounter.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS! Dwayne McDuffie and WB and Milestone do in...their various ways. This is based off Silent Hill, of which I do not own...Konami and Team Silent does ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I also don’t own...Akira Yamaoka does...But I own THIS story’s grief...not that it counts...
I’m Alive: (glomp) MAN! I’m so happy for reviews! Thanks for coming back and taking that extra effort to let me know WTF. Well...um...things are a bit different. I thought I revealed too much in the last, and I figure I’d better get out all this darkness in my system...it’s time for a fluffy fic. (Grin)
Chapter Eleven:
Fermata in Mystic Air
The Community Center was almost in the same shape as Virgil had left it–nearly four years ago. In silence, he regarded the building with faint memories, Junior leading the way up from the street and into the front walk. Virgil could picture his father in his mind’s eye–tall, heavyset with weary eyes.
He felt a heavy pain in his chest as he recalled the last time he’d seen Robert–Virgil had been so angry at being taken into custody. He could recall every word, every struggle that the detaining officers had to work with. He could see the hurt and the sadness on his father’s face, looking very defeated as he watched him leave. Virgil felt horrible that that image was the last he had of his father; he had to cringe over the abuse that he’d heaped on the man whenever Robert had tried to contact him.
Guilt gnawed at his insides, making him grimace as Junior let the way into the building. The silence was nearly deafening. Everything was in such a sad state of disrepair that as they walked into the long corridor with the faded signs on the walls, Virgil began to feel immensely guilty in that he’d been the cause of it all.
Junior was mumbling to himself as he consulted the list and then his own screw of memories. He didn’t know the lay-out to the place, and he was overly jumpy. He looked back at Virgil, noticing the turmoil the teen was experiencing. He figured Virgil wasn’t going to talk about it–he’d had a much harder time trying to coax Virgil’s feelings and thoughts out than he had with Richie. Virgil was the type to keep all his anger inside, for only himself to examine.
“Where is your father’s main office?” Junior asked him, his voice obscenely loud within the silence. He winced, turning on the camp flashlight in his pocket and adjusting it so that it peeked over the flap.
Virgil frowned, but led the way without a word. They crossed through a corridor and entered a small office–something creaked noisily within the gym just a few feet away and both of them stilled. Virgil raised a hand, light illuminating the area as Junior quickly snatched his arm down. Virgil jerked his arm away from him, giving him a disgusted glance as he made his way toward the gym rather than the office.
“Virgil!” Junior hissed, not wanting to investigate.
“It’s probably just a stupid monster,” Virgil replied in heavy annoyance, walking into the gym. The gym, which had been so lovingly maintained, was a mess–the wooden bleachers had been stripped, leaving the metal supports that gave the gym an ominous look. The floors were coated with thick layers of dust, the walls covered in grime. Cobwebs hung from various areas–it reeked of decay and urine.
He covered his nose, turning from side to side as the light in his hands illuminated the darkness. There weren’t any hiding places, and the only exit was straight ahead. He started to withdraw when his light caught a flash of purple to his left–upon staring at it for a few moments, he realized he was looking at another person. Junior had finally joined him. Junior started forward as Virgil tilted his head with curiosity, following after the other man. Their footfalls sounded heavy and loud within the dark silence, echoing throughout the decayed area.
“Hey, you all right?” Junior asked, feeling relieved that they’d come upon another person rather than a monster. The shape moved, then shifted until he was looking down into an oddly colored face. It was almost as if he were looking into a Ghoul’s face, with its massive discoloration and deathly parlor. Only as lavender eyes blinked in careful manner did he relax.
Virgil watched as messy white hair spilled out from the faux-fur lined hood, revealing a teen girl around his age. She was thin, moving in a slow way–as if uncertain about things. But she didn’t take her lavender eyes off Junior, mouth falling open to allow for thick breathing; as if her nose was plugged. There was something about her that made bells ring in Virgil’s mind.
“Hi,” she drawled. “Hi, how’d you find me?”
Junior cleared his throat. “Are...are you by yourself?”
“Um...um...no. No, not at all. Well...” And here, the girl looked around herself with confusion, noting the darkness. Completely disregarding Virgil’s glowing hand. “I...I wasn’t always alone. But...sometimes, when I’m by myself, I sometimes think that I’m not alone.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Okaaaay...he just asked you if–!”
Junior cut him off with a hand against his mouth, Virgil biting him in disgust. “Any family? Friends?”
“Well...no. I...I tried to find my mother, but...but it’s been so long...I don’t know if she moved, and my father–I–I don’t know where he’s at, either,” she whispered, still not looking at Virgil. “It has been so long...I tried to go back home, but everything is so different now...I–I–this is rather embarrassing, but I think I’ve lost my way...I can’t remember how to get there, and I fear that I may have wound up in a completely different city...”
“What is your name? Maybe we can take you home?” Junior suggested, much to Virgil’s horror and protest.
“My name is Maureen,” she said eagerly, reaching out to hold onto his vest. His flashlight blinded her, and she drew back with a startled gasp, shielding her eyes.
“Maureen Blake?” Junior asked, turning so that his flashlight wasn’t hurting her. Virgil was annoyed at this, annoyed at her behavior and comprehension. “Is this your name?”
“...Yes. Yes, how did you know?” she asked curiously, lowering her pale white hand. “I don’t...I don’t think–I don’t remember you. I don’t remember anybody. I–am I in trouble again?”
“No,” Junior said quickly, shaking his head as Virgil stared at her.
“Hey, she’s gotta mental thing going on, huh?” he said. She finally looked at him, taking in his image with a sweep of her childishly large eyes. She drew to a standing position, revealing clothes that were dirtied and stained. She also reeked of an unwashed smell that made the other teen draw back in disgust, Junior subtly covering his nose.
Junior reached out to whack Virgil’s head, shoving him behind him as he hissed, “Keep quiet! If you ain’t got nothing good to say, keep it shut!”
“How is this possible?!” Virgil hissed back, shoving his hand away. “We’re the heroes! How can there be mentally challenged people involved?”
Maureen watched them argue, growing tense at the growl of their voices, the intensity of their glares. Her fists knotted, and her stomach clenched as she grew uneasy. She started to grow frightened as she watched the older man shove the teen away, images of horror flashing to memory. She stepped back, the sound of her foot scuffing the dirty floor and drawing their attention.
“N-no. No. Please don’t–I don’t like it when people fight,” she whispered, unable to blink lest something happened. “I don’t–I don’t know any of you. I don’t–”
Junior held up his hands, trying to placate her. But she was wholly agitated as she drew back from the gesture, her pale hands rising to ward off any attack. “No, I’m sorry, it’s just–we’re not here to hurt you. We just want to help you–!”
“That’s what they all say! But I know better! I know what you men want, and I won’t fall for it again! All of you are dirty, just like them, and you found me to hurt me again,” she accused, the lavender in her eyes starting to glow. “I won’t let that happen again! I won’t!”
The two began to back up, eying her cautiously as the temperature in the darkness dropped significantly. Wood creaked in protest, and metal groaned as her eyes turned into a luminous glow that nearly blinded them. Virgil’s hands flared to life, facing her with a challenging look as she backed herself into the corner.
“I know what you want!” she screamed, voice cracking as the air shifted into intense cold, ice crawling along the walls and floors with startling thickness. Virgil yelped as he whipped out his disk and took to the air. Junior himself swept into the floor, and their very actions startled the young woman.
Her hands lowered. The luminous glow dissipated with a slight flash, and she was staring up at Virgil with a curious tilt of her head. Cautiously, sensing no other movement, Junior peered up from the floor and noted her reaction to the other teen. He rose to mold back into human form, drawing her awed attention as well. As his skin shifted from wood, her eyes widened with childlike curiosity. She reached out despite her earlier fears, and touched his exposed limb with a wondrous sound.
Virgil cautiously dropped back to the floor as Junior stood uncomfortably still.
“How...? How is that possible?” she asked softly, pinching his arm. “How did you do that?”
“Um...I can’t rightly explain,” Junior winced as she scratched her nails down his skin, and he pulled his arm back at the uncomfortable pain. “But we’re not here to hurt you none. Just...just talk to you a bit.”
“...I don’t trust you. Either of you,” she declared, pulling back. But she stared at Virgil for a few silent moments, rigid as she contemplated his flight earlier. Virgil gave an uncomfortable shrug, lifting his hands to flash at her. She gasped, hands flying up to protect herself, Junior quickly slamming an arm over his chest to knock off the display. She lowered her arms after realizing they weren’t trying to attack her.
But she was already bothered by the fact that they could do fantastic things–things she couldn’t rightly understand. She was unsure of herself and her surroundings, pressing herself into the very same corner as she kept them both in sight.
Virgil winced. “This ain’t lookin’ good,” he whispered loudly, irritation clear on his face. “You sure you got the name right? There wasn’t even a last name on your list!”
Junior blinked, then withdrew the two pieces of paper, noting that Virgil was right. But she was a Maureen and she obviously had powers–she had also been a person of interest for his father, who’d spent some time and money in relocating her from Dakota to Valentine under the guise of Dakota’s DCF. He slipped them back into his pocket and carefully buttoned it shut. He saw that Maureen was struggling with the situation, and felt helpless in that he had no idea how to change her feelings otherwise.
He fell into a crouch. “Look...Maureen...do you have a home to go to?”
Maureen’s eyes zipped from him to Virgil, and she fidgeted as she absorbed the question. She then licked her blue lips, twirling a greasy strand of hair around her fingers. “Well...I...I won’t answer that. I can’t tell you where I live. I–I sometimes come here, because when everything was normal, I felt okay here. I’m–I’m looking for somebody, actually, but I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want anybody lying to me.”
“There won’t be none of that,” Junior assured her as Virgil wondered who it was she was looking for. He could only picture his father, and felt a pang of guilt shoot through his insides. “We won’t be hurtin’ you. I–I just want to help you. You look hungry...”
“Oh, it’s all right. I had something to eat earlier, and I’d rather not take food from strangers,” she said quickly, wiping her mouth. “I...I’d like to go, now.”
Junior stood quickly, trying to think. “I...You see, we’re kinda doing something, and actually–we need your help.”
Maureen hesitated, blinking inquisitively at him. “‘Help’? You need me...? What would I do?”
“See, that’s the thing. I need your help, but I don’t rightly know what it is you can do. You see, there is a bunch of us that has a really big task to do, and we have to find the people to do it.”
“Oh...kind of like...a scavenger hunt, only it’s people that needed to be found?” she asked cautiously, picking at the backs of her fingerless gloves. She gave a nervous giggle. “I can’t find people...people today are so scary. You can’t tell what they want, or why. I tend to avoid them rather than anything...I’d rather not help, sir. Please excuse me.”
“But we need your help,” Junior pleaded, looking at Virgil for help.
“Don’t look at me,” Virgil muttered, glaring at him. “Don’t you work for head cases?”
“...Hawkins...”
Maureen’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “Mr. Hawkins? Mr. Hawkins, he’s the one I have been looking for! Do you know where he is?”
Virgil whirled on her, asking, “You know my father? Have you seen him?”
“She just said–!”
“I–he was awfully nice to me back when things were normal. When I came here, he always had a place for me to go. He was always so kind to me,” she said wistfully, slumping when she realized that the man in subject wasn’t anywhere nearby. “I was kind of hoping that he would still be around, but every time I come in here, he’s not here. So I’ve just waited, but...”
“Yeah...my dad was the best,” Virgil muttered, giving Junior an embarrassed glance. “But I...I don’t think he’d be here. You see, everyone that’s here is because of something bad that they did–”
“I...I didn’t do anything bad,” Maureen began to stammer, eyes widening with tremendous emotion. Junior froze, hearing the tremor in her voice. She pressed herself against the wall once more, breathing hard as she looked from one to the other. “I didn’t do anything...I swear! I swear on my mother I didn’t do it to be mean! I didn’t–! It wasn’t my fault! It just wasn’t!”
Junior tried to placate her, hands up as he said quickly, “We ain’t sayin’ that you did something, Maureen. It’s all right. It’s okay! There’s nothing–you didn’t do anything, and we know that. Right, Virgil?”
“That’s right–!”
“I didn’t do it to be mean! I–I had to! I just had to, and–and it wasn’t my fault! It wasn’t my fault!” she ended in a shriek, temperature once more changing significantly. Only this time, as ice shot through the air in dangerous spikes, it also began to shoot up from the floor in the shape of stalagmites. Both males had to maneuver quick to avoid being speared, Maureen’s eyes turning into that blinding flash of light that matched the snow that blanketed the inside from seemingly nowhere.
Virgil took to the air, ducking and weaving around ice spikes, Junior disappearing into the floor as Maureen used the forming ice to her advantage. She glided gracefully atop of it, panting heavily as she moved toward the back exit. Virgil saw this and reacted with holding the doors shut with his powers–she bounced off the metal with a hurt cry, falling to the floor. Once she hit the ice, she screamed, slapping the cold surface with both hands. More ice spikes shot out at him, slamming into the walls and ceiling with dangerous ease.
Virgil swept through the air, looking for some guidance from Junior, but the man was no where to be seen. Maureen jumped to her feet and began running for the other door, gliding across the ice. Her long white hair trailed out after her, her hood bouncing atop of her shoulders as she panted.
Virgil decided to take the action into his own hands, jerking the metal supports that were formerly the bleachers and wrapped them around Maureen. She shrieked in terror as metal wrapped around her, sweeping her off the floor. Ice immediately formed over the metal at her touch, spreading across the twisted surfaces in cobweb-formations. They shattered under a quick bop of her fist against them, and she fell to the floor, much to Virgil’s annoyance.
But he bit his lip as he realized the gym was being destroyed by all this frozen moisture–he was suddenly struck with an image of his father’s face, disapproval and disappointment clear in his mind’s eye. It took that second for Maureen to strike out directly at him, sweeping ice spikes at him with a simple gesture. He cried out as one impaled his foot to his disk. The pain was piercing, sending a horrendous knot of anguish in his gut. He fell from the air, hitting the unforgiving ice with a dull thud of sound.
Maureen watched him struggle to pull the spike from his foot. Virgil writhed in pain, screaming in agony as he realized he couldn’t pull it completely from the injured limb. He clutched the area around the impalement with both hands, screaming as ice-numbing cold swept through his veins. Maureen gasped, hands shakily making their way to her face as she stared at him in horror. Tears formed but fell heavily in the shape of ice crystals as her mind registered the situation in front of her. Knees knocking dangerously, she shook her head, muttering incoherently to herself as Virgil tried once more to pull the spike from his foot.
Junior appeared at that instant, shooting up from the floor in the shape of ice, startling her so badly that she promptly wet her pants. Virgil hesitated in his agony to give her a disgusted look, smelling the strong scent of ammonia and registering her horror in that reaction.
She screamed, pulling her large jacket around herself then dashing off. Junior looked after her with tortured reaction, wanting to race after her but held back by Virgil’s injury. He gritted his teeth as ice and snow stopped its fierce storming within the gym, leaving behind a thick layer of white and blue. Virgil hissed as he held his foot, Junior crouching next to him. He wrapped his fingers around the spike, absorbing the dangerous weapon into his body. Blood sluggishly began to flow from the open wound, which revealed a bright display of muscle and garishly broken skin. It had gone between the delicate bones, and it was too cold for blood to gush in alarming manner.
Still, Junior quickly pulled some material from one of his vest pockets. Virgil shakily removed his shoe and sock, Junior using that material to wrap around the wound. He also used his sock, but sighed heavily as he gave the finished wrapping a frown.
“We’re gonna need a hospital for more supplies,” he said gravely.
Virgil pounded on the ice in frustration. “That bitch is whacked! Why’d she attack us?! We were just tryin’ to help her, and she got all psycho! Damn!”
“She...she can’t help it, Hawkins. She ain’t...rightly of mind. An’ it ain’t proper to make fun of her in that sense, nor stay angry. Unfortunately, I ain’t trained in...ah, mentally challenged people, so I ain’t got no idea how to handle her,” Junior said in defeat, but his voice was shaking noticeably. “I mean, it’s so completely different compared to juvenile criminals...”
Virgil blinked, then frowned at him. Junior looked annoyed that he’d said that, and rose from his side. “Hey! I ain’t no criminal!” Virgil protested.
“You ain’t? Sure, ya are, Hawkins! Why you think you were sent outta state? Attempted murder, refusal to cooperate with your parole officer, the courts–your own daddy?! You tried to kill somebody, Virgil, you don’t think that’s ‘criminal’?!”
Red-hot anger swept through the teen as he rose from the ice, snarling, “I was tryin’ to find my momma’s killers! She was shot–a senseless act of violence, and I intended to fuck over the fuckers that took away what was precious to me! I ain’t seen NO problem with takin’ out fucking trash like that! The world thanked me for it, anyway!”
“Fucked up kids with fucked up problems! You know how hard it was, goin’ day ta day with kids that sexually molested younger kids? Some kids that stole without conscience, from other people that worked hard for their money? For kids that burnt animals and tried to kill others with bombs made from the Internet? To deal with all that, an’ havin’ these same fucks tell me that I’m fucked up cuz I was just there to help them–! FUCK!”
Virgil quieted. He’d never seen this side of Junior before. Hadn’t ever given thought that the man may be hostile or angry. He’d always seemed reserved, save for a few rants here and there. But it was different hearing him spit words in angry and defeat, different to see that ugly expression of frustration and rage.
“There’s a reason why each an’ every one of us is here, Hawkins,” Junior added, eyes brilliant with fury that reddened his skin and made his fists knot. “You’re here for killin’ an’ drivin’ your father up the wall. Foley’s here for protecting a Goddamn child predator and stealin’ people blind–that Pomeranian’s here for killin’ people–yes, he killed people back in the day! Ask ‘im about it! That lil’ girl’s here for killin’ her father–there was abuse in that family! My dad’s here for his fucked up shit, too numerous to count–! There’s a fuckin’ reason for everybody! There ain’t no angels here!”
Virgil felt sick; he didn’t feel like a criminal, and he certainly didn’t feel like one. His actions were based on revenge, and no one would miss who he’d taken out, anyway. But he had to ask. “Well... we all got these skeletons in our closets...what’s yours?”
Junior quieted then turned away, fists shaking. He didn’t say anything for a long while, and Virgil ran a list of terrible things that he could name off the top of his head. He couldn’t imagine the guy doing anything bad–he’d always thought Junior so eager-to-please, corny and incredibly pathetic with his mission to ‘save’ the kids that arrived at the Ranch. To know that he must have done something horrible to be here gave him a sense of superiority over the other. Something as leverage in case Virgil needed it to shut up another ‘Lucy lecture’...something that he and Richie had made up after reading a Peanuts comic strip awhile ago.
Pain throbbed up and down his limb, and he grimaced as he rose slowly–already his bandages were soaked. He felt violent nausea, a wave of dizziness making the world black for a moment–but he was determined to stay upright, determined to be a hero. Determined to prove everyone wrong and to prove his title as hero appropriate.
He was breathing deeply, waiting for an answer. Finally, the other turned around, looking intensely guilty. Sick.
“I...sometimes...I got problems with alcohol,” he muttered. His hands were shaking as they reached up to wipe his face, freckles briefly hidden as he momentarily covered his cheeks. “When–when that happened, I–I would black out. But....I...I used to...used to buy the–the women on Fourth street in Valentine–”
Virgil knew what he was talking about, licking his lips in anticipation of some good dirt on the man.
“–and I’d kill ‘em. I...I had some rage inside of me that was only...calmed with killin’ them. Gettin’ rid of their scummy lives...”
Virgil’s eyes widened significantly, instantly recalling headlines of murdered prostitutes in that destitute part of town. Of a mystery unsolved for over ten years...he was startled in that while the man was confessing, he just couldn’t imagine him taking part in such a gruesome act. Couldn’t even imagine Junior buying sex from anybody–he stilled, as if breathing hard or attracting Junior’s attention would somehow draw danger to himself.
Junior was still shaking, unable to look at him as his face screwed up with hatred. “I fucking hated them! Fucking hated those useless pieces of trash! So dirty, so fucking used–! Fuckin’ every man that looked at them–useless dirty cunts–no point in them being on the planet! All of them were so fuckin’ ugly, pathetic–! One was so young, she weren’t even in high school yet–I couldn’t even touch her–she made me sick! Wanted to suck my dick just as soon’s as I picked her up, an’ tried to bargain other stuff for my hard-earned money–! It was just so easy bashing her skull in with the .45 she kept in her purse–I was so disgusted with her body that I just–I just kept running her over with the car. I wanted to hear her bones crunch, I wanted to see her body splattered, her guts all over–! I wanted her face busted open, so she weren’t able to suck no more dick! Damn dirty cunt...prolly was younger than the both of you...ain’t no right life...”
Virgil held his breath–the vehemence and hatred that Junior used to describe the murder was absolutely horrendous. It felt as if Junior had started to use alcohol as an excuse, but the way he went on made Virgil realize that it wasn’t even involved. He felt scared–he felt as if Junior had completely enjoyed killing the girl. It was almost as if he were listening to a Ghoul speak–the ugly hatred so strong and so violent that his stomach twisted.
“...I even imagined killing some of you, too.” Here, Virgil felt his stomach flop at the suddenly soft tone. The way Junior’s eyes held a faraway look. “I would sometimes look for the women that looked just a little bit like you boys. I wouldn’t use ‘em–just...put your faces on them as I killed them. Stranglin’ Colin, bad-mouthing kid-cunt that used his niece for ass...breaking the skull in of Travis, that kid that stabbed his gramma when she wouldn’t give him no money...ripping fat from Richie, who was a fat, pathetic fuck that wouldn’t give up that man’s name...ripping Virgil’s goddamn jaw out of one’s face cuz I couldn’t stand listenin’ to that lip no mo’...it all gave me satisfaction to deal. Sometimes...sometimes, I’d find the oldest ones an’ pretend they was my daddy. They’d get it worse.”
Virgil wanted to leave. He felt absolutely sick and scared as Junior trailed off, lost in memory. It didn’t even seem as if he remembered who he was talking to, and imagining himself being killed viciously in Junior’s fantasy made Virgil completely uneasy. He licked his lips nervously, easing himself toward his disk. Surely he could get out and to the others before Junior really carried out that fantasy of killing him–
But Junior snapped to attention, looking at him sharply. Virgil stopped in place, struggling to act normal. But as the man looked at him suspiciously, Virgil felt extreme distress and fear hit him like a block of ice in his stomach.
* - * - * - * - *
Richie felt so foolish. He glared at the room before him, recognizing it as the booking center for the juveniles that came through. He was furious, confused and hurt over what had happened.
Avery had been so different.
He’d taken advantage of Richie’s loneliness and low self-esteem by professing his ‘love and devotion’. Had made him feel good about himself–looked beyond his physical points and his comfort of food to make Richie feel as if he were actually someone worth caring about. Had supplied him with top-notch electronic supplies for his various inventions, rallied with him in conspiracy theories and devoted a majority of his time to making Richie feel ‘good’ in the bedroom.
As a result, he’d found so many ‘wonderful’ things in Avery. He’d loved Avery in an oblivious sense. As far as he was concerned, Avery had been the most nicest human being he could ever know–and was confused with how ‘wrong’ the relationship was to others. He had sought to protect Avery by saying nothing about him–electronically covering his every footprint in the system to keep the authorities from touching him.
Then at the Ranch, Junior had opened his eyes significantly, pointing out all of Avery’s actions and intents with scary detail, details that Richie slowly accepted in their truthfulness. It had been incredibly sickening and upsetting to realize that he’d been used for someone’s sick advantage. He’d continued to deny and continued to make excuses for all of the sick points Junior had brought up in concern of child predators, but he’d been scarred by his inability to judge people properly.
He’d closed himself off to others, but he’d gotten comfortable with how Virgil and Junior were always up front with what they thought or felt. He didn’t dare trust completely.
This issue with Hotstreak was threatening for him. He knew lust–or so he thought. He had to question that, conflicting with his guilt and shame over knowing lust at the age he’d been. But he was confused, now. Was it wrong to acknowledge it with what he’d learned was wrong?
He propped his forehead into both palms, feeling absolutely miserable. He continued to romanticize the man’s every action, confusing them with affection. Didn’t it mean anything?
As he sat there, he began to feel angry with himself in that he’d caused such a scene earlier. His emotions were still running dangerously, exerting the situation into something of a dramatic overdose of situations. He then realized that Backpack wasn’t with him, and panicked briefly–the little robot hadn’t even crossed his mind all this time.
He hurried out of the room, calling for Backpack. He didn’t want to run into Hotstreak very soon, but it was inevitable that they’d see each other anyway. Backpack scuttled toward him, and Richie heard its inquiries into his emotional state. He scowled at it as he bent to pick it up, holding it tightly within his arms as he hurried down the hall.
“It wasn’t anything,” he replied shortly.
‘You are upset? I registered your body reaction to his taunts, and it reacted with raised temperature, abnormal heart beat, dry mouth, watery tear ducts, and–’
“Don’t record that!” he growled, feeling a little embarrassed. “Don’t analyze me. Stay in contact with the others, especially Junior and Hotstreak. Record the readings of their powers when activated, as well as any and all brainwave activity when their emotions are peaked. I’m more interested in them than I am myself.”
‘Shall I stop analyzing Hotstreak’s activities and mind set whenever you are his focus?’ Backpack asked in its toneless way, and Richie felt very happy that no one else could hear its words.
“No,” he muttered. “Any other readings than the ones you’ve gathered?”
Backpack gave off his readings over Hotstreak’s physical reactions to emotional and mental distress, and rattled off numbers. Richie listened with one ear while staying alert to Hotstreak’s presence, in case the older man was spying on him once again. He’d only hear Richie’s end, anyway. Backpack’s words were audible only to him.
‘...Also, he exudes characteristics of tension and unease whenever he is in your presence. Currently, with Junior’s presence, he also exudes a sense of defensive rhythms and primitive tension–I suspect that he feels threatened by the other’s presence. Currently, I also–’
“All right. Enough. Maybe I need a more defining program that can measure his mental state when it comes to their perceptions upon each other and their situations. I can’t tell what they’re feeling. I hate not knowing what people are feeling!”
‘Perhaps a more definitive study is needed? Perhaps you’ll have to actively participate in my study when I record their emotions by situation,’ Backpack suggested. ‘That way, you will have an idea of what/when/how to feel as they do, and will have back-up when you have the chance to express yourself properly to others.’
“Er...yeah. Right. Sure. Keep it up, all right?” Richie murmured, feeling a little thoughtful when it came to that subject.
‘On the subject, your body is still healing from–’
“Argh! Don’t report on that! That’s none of your business!”
He left the Detention Center and crossed a few blocks to the nearby police station. Backpack declared it clear save for some structural damage, and they made their way into the archives. There were several computer stations that he could see. Richie assessed them physically before hooking Backpack into a few of them using portable USB cables from his bag. He also withdrew power cells, which were his inventions that had required Virgil’s charging them. He disconnected the computers from the outlets and plugged them into a surge protector that was linked to the cell. Simultaneously, the computers lit. Richie wiped off dust from one of them, and studied the monitor while Backpack investigated their systems.
‘I can access their main records, but it will take some time to link myself with the main network in order to gain the country’s records.’
“Via Internet?”
‘No. This is a database that I can operate independently.’
“Let me know how it goes. Maybe there are other networks connected...?”
‘I will investigate. In the meanwhile, Richard, it’ll take a great majority of my main boards to operate in this fashion. I fear that our connection will be interrupted, or troubled. Perhaps for your safety in case of a crash, I ask that you give the command to disconnect. This will mean that I will no longer be able to function as a security net, nor be able to communicate with you. In the event that something should occur and we are physically separated, I will find you. Is this acceptable?’
The thought of being ‘left alone’ and without Backpack’s reassuring presence in his mind, or having his ability to scan for dangers left Richie feeling anxious. He chewed his thumbnail nervously, eyeing his invention as he went over the pros and negatives of the situation. The separation anxiety was utterly sickening for him.
Backpack waited patiently. The slight buzz that he ‘heard’ from their connection was something that would also leave him during the process. He would hear complete and inevitable silence. But he swallowed hard and gave the command.
Backpack disconnecting from his mind was like a switch–it truly felt as if he were all alone in the world. The silence was unnerving. He didn’t know how Virgil could do it, listening to that silence. Feeling himself trembling slightly, Richie shakily made his way over to a chair and cautiously sat.
While Backpack worked, Richie worked on the GPS device that had already taken readings on Junior. He examined the results, then proceeded to add more programs for a further study. The iPod he’d worked on days earlier was a portable storage device on Virgil’s readings. As he worked, he wondered where Hotstreak was–wondering if the man had even noticed he was gone. He fumed as he worked–why was it he wondered about him constantly while Hotstreak easily put him out of his mind? He didn’t think it was fair that he was so easily ignored when Richie was so focused on him.
He realized that the room was darkening significantly. He looked out the windows to see that snow was falling from the heavens, taking up what small light there was with its stormy darkness.
The intense silence that enveloped the area was unsettling–it truly felt as if he were the last living being on the planet. A sort of panic began to rise within him, mind racing with possibilities of searching out Junior and Virgil. He reluctantly turned back to his device, forcing himself to focus on the readings he’d gotten from it.
It was so silent and still for such a long time that Richie nearly had a heart attack as strong hands grabbed his shoulders, a roar of sound filling the room. Richie shrieked and leapt away from his chair, heart slamming so loud in his chest that he barely registered Hotstreak’s uproarious laughter. Whirling, Richie stared at the man who looked intensely pleased with himself. Richie fought to regain his dignity.
“What?” Hotstreak asked between chuckles, wiping his eyes. “That was the girliest scream I’d heard in all my life...do you need to wipe?”
“F-fuck you,” Richie wheezed. His heart was slamming hard in his chest. He stared up at Hotstreak, and felt so angry at the man to deny him. He wanted this man so much, and it frustrated Richie that he had been rejected. He looked away with a glare, uncomfortable by how green his eyes were. It just wasn’t fair.
“You left me,” Hotstreak then accused, unaware of Richie’s inner turmoil. He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up his arms. Despite the fact that it was snowing outside, he was uncomfortably warm. He wanted to remove his sweater, but that would mean molestation by Richie’s eyes. “You had enough mind to get your dumb thingy, but you didn’t even bother letting me know you were leaving.”
“It’s not as if you’re helpful with anything,” Richie mumbled, giving him an eyeroll.
Hotstreak stared at him for a few moments. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh? You’re gonna be all shitty toward me after bawling your eyes out over me.”
“Oh please,” Richie sneered at him. “You flatter yourself.”
“Riiiight.” But Hotstreak regarded him with a stare, one that made Richie uncomfortable as he finally looked away and worked on his device.
Hotstreak grew annoyed as he realized Richie was ignoring him. He shrugged, looking at Backpack. He didn’t understand how it was working while there wasn’t any electricity. But he figured Richie was smart enough to work around it–he glanced at the teen then wandered off.
Richie was bothered by Hotstreak ignoring him when Richie was ignoring him. It just wasn’t fair that he cared about this and Hotstreak cared for nothing. He threw the device down in frustration, running after the man.
“Don’t ignore me,” Richie snapped at him, startling him in mid-amble. Hotstreak was surprised by the statement and the accompanying glare. “How dare you? How dare you make this out to be nothing.”
Hotstreak was shocked thoughtless at his words. He sputtered as Richie grew angrier with him for not having a more appropriate response. “I know you like me more than you’ll admit! And it’s so ridiculous that you’d play such games at your age!”
Hotstreak was absolutely floored by Richie’s words.
“I don’t play games!” Richie continued, gesturing angrily. “I don’t like them, and I don’t think they’re necessary! Why can’t things just be put on the table? Why can’t you just be straight-forward about everything? It’s not like I’m a lovesick virgin, but I do expect some respect from you, and I’d rather you not DENY everything that has happened, or anything that may!”
“...What the fuck...?” was all Hotstreak could say.
Richie searched for a proper response other than his sputters. He was angry that he was looking for an appropriate reaction in someone like Hotstreak, and frustrated with himself for caring so much about this man’s opinions when he was obviously an idiot. He realized how foolish he was acting, but he crossed his arms stubbornly as Hotstreak continued to stare at him stupidly.
“What the fuck?” Hotstreak then sputtered again. With exasperated gestures, he bellowed, “I ain’t playing with you! There ain’t no games! I told you, I don’t care for you like that–!”
“HAH! You lie,” Richie accused. “You lie. I don’t know why you’re lying to me. You say and do different things that convince me otherwise.”
“I DO NOT!” Hotstreak gasped, appalled. “I’m always up front! See, this is why–!”
“Your actions speak louder than your stupid, idiotic words. And I truly think you’re lying to me to cover up for some stupid conscience that lies to you constantly, because based on your past actions, you obviously have something for me and continue to play these stupid games with me just to regain some control over yourself, and in the process, you hurt me to make yourself feel better!” Richie snapped. Hotstreak was just slightly awed that he said that in one breath. “For example, you’re always touching me. You’re always speaking to me in an entirely different manner than you would with the others. You always pay more attention to me. I don’t know why you continue to deny all this. Your behavior is ridiculous and I think I’m much more mature than you, as much as you want to deny THAT. At least I don’t play games, and I’m more than truthful to you.”
Hotstreak turned to walk away. He felt he was unable to handle this situation, and was completely befuddled by someone taking his actions into such extremes. Richie was demanding for way more commitment and responsibility that he couldn’t give. Or would want to.
Richie immediately dove at him, grabbing his arm angrily. Hotstreak turned up the heat in that limb as Richie shouted, “You answer that! You give me an explanation for your stupid behavior! You owe me that after I’ve revealed myself to you!”
Hotstreak threw him an angry look, intensifying the heat in that arm. But Richie didn’t remove his hands, too focused on getting his answers than realizing the pain in his hands.
“You’re fucking psycho,” Hotstreak muttered gravely, jerking his arm out of his grasp. The teen’s hands were a bright red as he registered them. Skin blistered painfully, curling away from his palms and fingers. “I got nothing to explain to you. See? You don’t got NO idea what it’s like out there. Get over it. Chalk it up as a notch on your little bunkbed bed post, you sexpot, and let go of it. Focus on somethin’ else, or someone else’s dick. I owe you nothin’.”
Richie scowled at him, lowering his hands to his sides. His jaw was set tightly, lips thinned. Hotstreak gave him a disgusted expression, glanced at his hands and then started to walk off before stopping and looking at him with another funny expression.
“See, this is exactly what big-nose was talking to you about. You take shit differently than what it is,” he accused, rather pleased that he now knew what Junior had been talking about. “And it ain’t at all what you think. Goddamn...”
Richie watched him go, then stared down at his damaged hands with a sense of numbness. They hurt–burning so rawly that he grimaced, but it didn’t matter; what mattered was his confusion and continued hurt.
His frustration in that Hotstreak was still playing a game with him.
“I refuse to see the irony in this,” he muttered to himself, walking off to find a first aid kit and analyze that encounter.