Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Rain of Brass Petals ( Chapter 12 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Inner turmoils are physically revealed...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.27.2007 | Updated On: 01.27.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.7K | Visits: 229 | Status: Completed
Inner turmoils are physically revealed...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.27.2007 | Updated On: 01.27.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.7K | Visits: 229 | 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: Yeah, R overthinks a little too much. Analyzes things that shouldn't be. Poor kid. ;_; As for Jr., his personality will be coming out more and more, so I hope you're looking forward for more long-winded tales of...well...crap that I write (grin) More stuff about Hs, b/c...he's a little too laid-back and uninvolved. THAT'LL change soon...(evil grin) YUP! MORE TO BE REVEALED THE MORE I WRITE (tries to hide the PS2 and SH 2 and 3, to keep from distraction)
Chapter Twelve:
Rain of Brass Petals
Despite their hard-earned reputation, all twelve of them were nervous of the man whose face was stony with furiousness. Though none of them had ever seen the man exert himself in threatening fashion, all of them were quite aware that he was dangerous. None of them were foolish enough to figure out how or why.
“They couldn’t have just disappeared off the face of this world!” he snapped. His voice was clipped and fierce within the tense silence. “Are you sure Alva’s whelp was spotted on the south end?”
“We were unable to pinpoint his exact location,” one of them muttered, shifting uneasily. “But he couldn’t have found them–Anderson found that they’d used the basement to escape, but we only found three ‘prints–”
“Virgil can FLY,” the man in black snarled. “Junior can render himself transparent–he could have caught up to them and led them someplace; has anybody checked the sewers in the area for footprints?”
No one wanted to answer. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, and his fingers tightened into fists.
“Well...ah...how could they have gone through the walls? I mean...nothing was–there wasn’t any displacement leading to this...”
The man in black went still, then his face filled with red. For several solid moments, the scouts could feel his fury radiating from him. Finally he shifted; rising from his seat. Even as cautious eyes watched his hands, the weapons that he wore for show would continue to go untouched.
“Get out,” he hissed. “All of you! Incompetent, worthless IDIOTS! GET OUT! OUT! You sicken me with your pathetic worthlessness!”
The scouts left the room in a single file, careful not to voice their displeasure. As soon as the door slammed shut, the man in black fumed, shoulders shaking as he waited. He heard clipped shouts, surprised screams–all were abruptly silenced before a single weapon could be used. He slowly sat in his chair, drawing his hands over his face. He once again eyed the papers before him, going over copies of the teens’ information, and the documents of Edwin Alva, Jr.
The smell of sulfur caught his attention. He lifted his head to frown at the four shapes that seemed to materialize right out of shadow–one of which regarded him with haughty regard. Various jingling sounded–those of metal, those of bones.
The Seventh’s skeletal structure was all held together by flesh that looked as if it didn’t belong to it. A single curved band of wood surrounded the front of its skull, with more skin stretched within it, slashed facial features made it squinty-eyed and grotesque. Wings were folded tightly against its back, but it was framework only–there wasn’t any helpful leather to hold pieces together. Its arms were also decorated with human bones and claw-like fingers–these jingled musically as it moved, gesturing with its spear.
“You are not getting anywhere cooperating with these walking meatbags!” it hissed, sneering contempt obvious. “Your little plan isn’t working–whatever possessed you to think that you’d succeed in this shape? Are you DONE deluding yourself and ready to come back and do what is right? Because while I tire of watching you fail, I really enjoy watching your stupid delusions slap you in the face.”
The man in black regarded the tall, demonic creature with hate–then sat back in his chair to look at the others. “You’ve all nothing better to do but to annoy me with your ridicule?”
The Fourth wore a black hood, eye holes revealing a glowing red–it wore a hide robe that was frayed and dirtied, blood stains marring every visible inch. Necklaces of human teeth and bones jangled lightly with every movement. It shuffled cloven feet that clopped loudly within the silence of the office. Its arms were sturdy pieces of metal held together by various bands of twine and rope, claw-like hands clutching scythes that were rusted and curved with seemingly misuse. But within the fold of its left arm was a bundle of blankets–he couldn’t see what it was carrying there.
The Sixth was a reptilian creature, flat face covered by a thin white mask, Kabuki-features severe against the rest of its image. The mask was held in place by ropes that pierced the reptilian skin. Two ponytails dangled from the sides of the round, scaly head. It was tall and sleek, scales shimmering black gossamer, robes covering only what was necessary–around its long, stringy arms were shriveled bands of flesh, marked with random slashes and scratches of black color. It managed to project an air of sheepishness as it nudged the Fourth with annoyance, the cloven foot demon turning to hide the bundle behind its sleek frame.
The Second, short with a barrel chest and hind legs of a dog, snuffled. His arms flexed and tensed. His hands were rounded paws with five sharp pins sticking out from the clefts. His head was bald, with ears like those of a rabbit’s, pierced with round, gold hoops. His face was that of a normal human’s–albino-featured and sharp, stark with a hawk beak nose. He looked rather annoyed as well, but was content to lick his paws as he regarded both the Seventh and the man in black with curiosity.
The Seventh shifted, angrily gesturing at the maps. “What do these tell you? Do you think these human pictures will point you in their direction like magic? They should have already been dead. Add to it the Others are guiding the rest of them here–what are you waiting for? For them all to be in one place? Think you can slaughter them easily that way? Haven’t you realized that they have changed since the last?! They have powers–!”
“Are you afraid of them?” the man in black asked, rising once more with a ferocious grin. “Is that what you are saying? You are afraid of the Thirteen and their pretty little powers? I thought you would relish the challenge–not turn all fearful upon knowing what they are capable of!”
“I am saying,” The Seventh snarled, leaning toward him, “that you are a fool to continue this chase when you already had the chance to kill these pathetic idiots...drawing out the cause for your stupid pleasure!”
The man in black calmly deposited the key in front of the hissing demon, who quieted immediately and stared at it. Red blazed from the red slashes of its mask as it turned a contemptuous air onto him. “The key. I have prevented them from obtaining the list.”
The Seventh snatched the key from the desk and hurled it across the room. “You are a fool! They already HAVE the list! The human scum you like to play with tricked you! Are you so besotted by your damn delusions that you have not SEEN this?!”
“...You lie. This is the key. I made sure of it–!”
“It is NOT the key,” the Seventh snapped, red once more blazing from its eyeholes. “You are a fool. I cannot see what you hope to gain in that form, limited by a human being’s stupidity...”
“They already have the list,” the Sixth slurred, words hampered by its speech. “You were tricked. The Magician has already entertained with his trick box.”
“It’ll only be a while before they find the others, or the Others come to them with the others,” the Fourth mentioned with its hissing voice, tinged with retardation. It held onto the bundle in its arms tightly, the Sixth giving the Seventh a nervous gesture.
The man in black sighed, removing his sunglasses to rub at his eyes tiredly. “I was so sure...so positive that I’d had the key...”
“You are besotted with foolishness,” the Seventh muttered. “Disgusting foulbag. Get rid of that form, get rid of this childish display of rebellion with this weak army of meatbags, and do as you were created to do.”
The man in black sighed once more, reaching up to scratch at one ear. “I’m not ready,” he finally said, blinking red eyes up at the Seventh. “I still have things to do before I give up this body.”
“You are an idiot,” the Seventh snarled. “You are slowing us down. You are failing her! She grows displeased with your display of impudence!”
“If she is displeased...she hasn’t spoken to me personally,” the man in black muttered. “I’m quite sure she’d approach me personally to speak of my shortcomings. I’d rather not take your word for hers–as it is, I find you incompetent of any truths or accomplishments of your own. Last you were living you let the–”
“Speak as you do, and I wonder how long it’ll take for her to realize that you are no longer valuable,” the Seventh interrupted, a hint of malicious intent in its tone. “Maybe she’ll give the word for me to rid of you.”
The man in black eyed him evenly–then looked beyond it to the others. “You do that.”
The Seventh sneered at him, then disappeared within a blur of sulphur. The others disappeared as well, and the man in black grit his teeth as he knotted his fists. But he couldn’t help but laugh as he thought of the key–how he’d been tricked.
“Sneaky little beast,” he murmured.
Outside the office, Harley Williams listened to every word that had occurred. He looked down at the messily killed scouts at his feet–blood pooled around his boots. But he listened to the words exchanged and wondered what it was that bothered him about the entire thing.
* - * - * - * - *
“I’m sorry,” Richie apologized. He had found Hotstreak sitting in the courtyard of the station, eating a jar of fruit he’d snagged from Virgil’s supply earlier. The redhead scowled at him, pausing in chewing. He noticed that Richie’s hands were bound with tape, the smell of burn ointment very strong in the air. He almost felt bad for burning him until he remembered how intimidated he felt upon Richie’s pushiness.
He prepared to leave when Richie dropped to his knees on the step above him, grabbing his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. Hotstreak capped the jar and slipped it carefully into his backpack. He licked his fingers clean. “You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t mean to sound so demanding and–and bossy. Please don’t be mad.”
“You’re way too needy, man,” Hotstreak interrupted, pulling his backpack on. “This your idea of foreplay, or something? It ain’t working on me, honey, let me tell you that. It’s fucking annoying as hell–”
“I’m sorry! I know I haven’t made such a good impression on you, and I know I’m not the best when it comes to relating to others. I...I don’t know the appropriate response or action to take when it comes to apologies or to–I...I just really want to take all those things back.”
The best Hotstreak could describe Richie’s eyes at that moment–imploring, a vulnerable amber –was that of a puppy’s. And every word uttered in that soft voice was similar to that of a pitiful, cutesy whine. It scared him, quite frankly. He didn’t DO cute–and he absolutely hated that it made him feel so dirty and low.
Richie rose to close the distance between them, reaching out to hold onto his hand. Even as Hotstreak struggled to tear it away, the teen’s grip was merciless. “I’m sorry. Please. Please don’t be angry at me. I’ll–I’ll make it up to you, Hotstreak, I swear.”
“Okay, you are now just creepy and pathetic,” Hotstreak muttered, disturbed that even while Richie’s fingers were covered in bandages and moist with the burn ointment, he could feel how thin they were. Very unlike Harley’s.
“Please,” Richie said softly, looking up at him with a pleading expression that was quite different from his sullen pout. It made him soft–vulnerable. And continued to make Hotstreak feel like the lowest scum on the planet, desecrating something so innocent with his previous selfish actions. “I’m so sorry...I’ll try harder next time. I really–really like you, and I want you to be happier with me. I’m not going to pretend to play games, nor will I–”
Hearing his young voice continue to plead, Hotstreak finally yanked his hand away, wiping it on his jeans–wanting to wipe off that vulnerability. “You’re too young for me to deal with,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
Hurt turned into a scowl. Lips that Hotstreak had learned were soft and eager turned into a tight frown. “But yet you knew what to do when you fucked me,” he retorted, shoving his bandaged hands into his jacket pockets to hide clenched fists.
Hotstreak winced at the accusation. Guilt tore at his stomach. “Look...you’re throwing baggage and everything I do at my face. I don’t know how to relate to you! I’ve never dealt with anybody like you, or anybody your age!”
Richie’s lips tightened into a white, thin line as he walked around him, entering the building. Hotstreak was annoyed when the door slammed in his face. He followed after the other.
“I’m just saying, the only person I’ve related to was Harley. And he’s so completely different from you–he’s also my age! This is ridiculous, it’s like we’re in a damn relationship! I just fuckin’ met you, for Christ’s sake!” Hotstreak said, exasperated as the teen kept walking. He didn’t know why he kept on talking. “Fuck, I just got OUT of a relationship with someone that I was close to and completely fucking betrayed me with his psychotic–you’re being selfish and so fucking childish that it makes me want to completely forget I ever met you.”
“Then how can I get close to you?” Richie asked, whirling to face him. Hotstreak had to stop short from bumping into him. “Sex? Is that it? Is that the only way to get close to you? Because that’s the one thing you feel we have in common? What do you want me to do?”
“Stop putting so much shit on me!” Hotstreak exclaimed, marching past him. Richie watched him go. Flustered and disappointed, he turned and walked back out onto the steps of the courtyard.
Nightfall hit, but snow accompanied the cold. He sat on the top step, analyzing the things that he’d done since he’d met Hotstreak days earlier. He yearned for the time with Avery, where the man had been–to his knowledge then–truthful with him. Avery hadn’t played these games and had told him exactly what he wanted; what he was looking for. He was confused over Hotstreak’s reaction–if Hotstreak didn’t really care for him, then why did the man continue to be so involved? Why did it affect him so badly in that Richie was himself bothered?
With stiff fingers he touched his neck, where the hickies stood out against his pale skin. The silence was unnerving–snow built in white blankets everywhere. He winced as pain burned within his fingers.
Looking at them, he frowned at his bandaging. I’m so stupid, he thought morosely. I should have let go.
After a few moments, he left the steps and ventured back inside, heading back to Backpack. The little robot was still working to sort and download the needed data, and Richie stared at it moodily, missing its company. Just as he made the decision to go out into the streets to locate one of his safehouses for food, shifting his messenger bag over his shoulder, he heard voices back down the hall. He stilled, listening. He caught only a few words here and there. He quietly moved in that direction, the voices growing more distinctive. They were coming from behind a closed door, so Richie was very careful as he crouched, lowering himself to listen at the crack at the bottom.
“...connection with the Missing,” a calm, deep voice was saying. There was a faint accent to it, but Richie couldn’t place it. “Their records are kept where? I appreciate your cooperation...”
“Back there,” someone else said. He swallowed hard, wondering what these men were up to. Why hadn’t he heard them entering the building? Were they looking for them? The second man went on to say the files were located within a date that was consistent with the invasion three years ago. Richie wondered with a start whether they were Alva’s men. “These names...these kids’ files were transferred to Valentine around that same time, due to the investigations that were brought to attention. Attempted murder, and a kid that had been involved with an online predator the FBI had been tracking. It probably won’t be as much help, considering what you’ve already got. The online perv happens to be one of the Missing, and the other kid’s father is still around, if you want to talk to him. But he probably doesn’t have anything new–”
“I know,” the other replied solemnly, though muffled. But Richie was filled with questions–he knew they were talking about him and Virgil.
“...Are you all close to finding out why...?”
Richie pressed his ear against the door, heart thumping hard in his chest.
“No,” the other replied, a little subdued. “Though there are those that miss their loved ones, the world appreciates the lack of true and evil crime...and we’ve no leads into their sudden disappearance...”
Richie’s brow furrowed as he analyzed that statement. He was truly bewildered as to why it was made. But Virgil’s words from his mother pounded at him. He startled once he realized he could hear a phone ringing, the sounds of paper being shuffled. The heavy thump of boxes being moved and pushed along the linoleum. The creak of a rolling chair.
“Even still, we will continue to search for them. Its mystery is truly astounding...I have found them. This...this Avery, Alex Johnson....he hasn’t any previous records?”
“There’s some info from Minnesota–but they were juvenile records. Destroyed when he turned eighteen, the bastard, so there is only a memo. There is also the probability of many ID’s he’d gone by under since then...but the victim was–has, excuse me–a way for electronics. He’d gone through Avery’s records–DMV, dental, tax registrations...everything–and screwed up the data to a point where even his original files in Minnesota were tampered with. Birth certificate, social security–a real screw-up for the FBI, who can’t get a tangible hold on any other known ID’s...”
The door opened with a loud creak, startling Richie badly as he gasped and fell back on his haunches with a panicked start. It took a few moments to realize that it had been opened from his side–the voices stopped abruptly. Silence was deafening. He jerked his head up to see Hotstreak staring at him with a troubled expression as he pushed the door open to investigate. The door hit the wall, and Richie looked in.
He felt numb when he realized that it was empty. Abandoned, dark and unoccupied as the rest of the police station was. The dust on the floor, the musty smell–all of it was thick. The very fact that he’d heard the voices confused him as he peered in with a dumbfounded expression. He rose to his feet as he took in the empty desks, the cobwebs. No one had been in this room for years. He stepped in, completely forgetting about Hotstreak, the man speaking but his words going unheard.
In a state of disbelief, Richie visually examined the room. Nothing was moved, but he noticed that the room looked hastily abandoned. Chairs facing away from desks, filing cabinet drawers pulled open. He though about the conversation and found the small room that the calm voice was coming from. He ventured toward it, recalling that both he and Virgil were the main subjects in the discussion. Sorting through the dates on the file boxes–none past the date of the invasion–he found brief overviews on himself and Virgil. A few minutes later, he found the file on Alex Johnson Avery. The file was thick and decorated with multi-colored Post-its with various info and phone numbers.
Opening it, he found a videotape within a manila envelope. He stood there, wondering what was on the tape, lost in his examinations. The fact that Hotstreak was still there, talking aloud about his mental state went unregistered–for this moment, the man didn’t exist. What mattered was what he’d heard and what it was he was looking at. He shuffled away, looking for a player for the tape. He found a VCR in an office down the hall, and quickly set up the system with the other powercell he had in his bag. He turned on the monitor, a little startled by the appearance of snow. He blew dust from the VCR deck and hoped that it would still work as he slipped in the tape.
It was a recording of himself and Avery, the man laughing and joking with him within the man’s bedroom. It wasn’t long before Avery was coaxing him into taking off his clothes. Richie felt sick upon viewing his younger self complying, an expression of complete trust and adoration for the man that softly encouraged him to touch himself as he slowly undressed. His fingers were shaking as he fumbled to turn the tv off. He’d never known Avery had recorded these moments–his face burned with horror and embarrassment as he tore the tape from the VCR. He flung the tape across the room, wondering how many others had seen that grainy video.
An ice brick in his stomach made it impossible to breathe, his hands shaking violently as he gripped his jacket. He pulled the material tight, as if trying to protect himself. Breathing hard, struggling to stay composed, he thought that it had been peculiar how Avery had certain positions he used in the room. To think that it had all been recorded...and possibly distributed.
His body seized and he retched, feeling utterly sick at how easily he’d been duped. He had never seen that then–totally blinded by the man’s ‘kindness’, eager to please and eager for understanding. Junior had been right–he’d been right and Richie had always denied everything, even though he started to see the details that the younger Alva pointed out without never meeting Avery. It was different now that he had actual proof of Avery’s crimes.
His knees felt extremely weak, and he hit the floor in a sickened daze, clutching his jacket tight. The videotape was now visible against the far wall. He glared at it, feeling his skin heat with hatred and intense shame. He remembered every moment they’d had. Feeling wanted and worth something. Feeling as if he were liked. It was all a lie. He shook, thinking furiously of how Junior had pushed and pushed to point out this creature’s wrongdoings. How vehement Richie was to deny and pretend that it wasn’t so. At some point, he knew, but to have the proof in his hands...to see it with his own eyes...
He grit his teeth as his eyes burned, but he refused to cry. He swallowed continuously, forcing himself to think of the men minutes earlier–the significance of their ghostly actions. He lifted his head, fingers gripping the material of his jacket tight. He felt ugly and repulsive at that moment–bitterly wondering how anybody could stand looking at him. He’d been overweight in that video, but in front of Avery, he’d felt so good of himself...and his thoughts turned viciously over how ugly he was, how repulsive how submitting how desperate–
He slowly rose, breathing unevenly–he forced himself to lower his arms, but his fists were knotted tightly. He was unaware of the pain he was causing himself as his fingernails pressed into the bandages and against the blisters of his palms. He felt weak–not trusting himself to move just yet, he slowly scanned the room to give himself some grip to continue moving on. He startled once he met Hotstreak’s horrified eyes.
His mind went blank–he’d forgotten the man was there. His face flamed brilliantly, wondering just how much the man knew–how much he’d seen in that tape. The feeling of having this man–who’d rejected him, who disliked him so immensely to play selfish games with him and call him ‘baggage’–was horrendous. He felt suffocated at this knowledge, overheated with shame; he’d been a fool to think that anybody would ever want him after what Avery had done. He was disgusting and impure–riddled with disease.
Rage boiled its way up to the surface, and he flung various things at Hotstreak who reacted with surprise. Richie dashed past him, running from him and that room as if his life depended on it. He heard Hotstreak shouting after him, but the words were lost as he ran blindly through the halls. He just wanted to get away.
* - * - * - * - *
Junior knew Virgil was priming himself to run. What he’d confessed to had been disturbing–but he couldn’t think about that now. Even as the haze of hatred and disgust continued to swirl within him at the very memories of the prostitutes he’d murdered, he knew he had to say or do something to keep the teen at peace.
It was quite obvious, from the look on Virgil’s face, that the teen now viewed him in a different manner. He swallowed hard, struggling to think of a way to appease the boy to keep him from panicking. He held up his hands in a placating way, but Virgil startled visibly at the movement.
“Look...Hawkins–Virgil. That was back then,” he started slowly, speaking low. “It’s not–I haven’t felt that way in awhile...I’m not that person no mo’. You’ve got to look beyond that–don’t you realize that our crimes were a prerequisite here? And you’ve seen and you know enough ta know that it all for a reason...”
“Yeah but...man...dude, you just confessed to wanting to kill us guys, too!” Virgil squeaked, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, how’s that supposed to work out when I know you’re plottin’ on us to die?!”
“Virgil, look–back then, I was under a whole lotta pressure; I took it out in the worst way possible. But it–I don’t feel that way right now! I don’t want to hurt anybody, unless I absolutely have to! I haven’t given thought to–to any of that stuff in a long while! Especially when it comes to you boys...”
Virgil frowned, still not relaxing. He swallowed hard, glancing down at his bleeding foot. Throbbing pain ran up and down his leg, almost unbearable to endure. He grimaced, wrapping his fingers around his ankle in an effort to shut out some of the pain. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, his skin growing clammy. Jesus, he thought, not wanting to have Junior out of his sight. I’ve gotten more injuries this past week than I did these past three years!
He noticed Junior looking at his foot, but he held up a warning hand, powers flashing as Junior took a step back. “Back off, man,” he warned. “I–I don’t know about you!”
“C’mon, Hawkins! It ain’t like that!” Junior cried, exasperated. “It ain’t like I’m plottin’ on the lot of you! I wouldn’t have spent all this time tryin’ to track ya’ll down just to fucking slaughter you! ‘Sides, what would be the point, now, huh? You know we got something goin’ on, and there ain’t no point wastin’ time like this.”
“Y–yeah. I know. But...! I can’t just...keep–it makes me feel weird that you were killin’ some stupid prostitutes an’ imaginin’ that it was us you were killin’!”
“Oh, c’mon, Virgil! It ain’t like you’ve ever done that, before!”
“I haven’t!” Virgil exclaimed, grimacing as he rose. “I haven’t ever imagined tryin’ to kill somebody I know! Always about my mom’s killers, but never anybody I know! Yeah, I’d imagine beatin’ them up or–or somethin’, but never...”
Junior sighed, looking extremely tired at that moment. He gave Virgil an exasperated expression. “Look. It’s nothin’. It’s all under the bridge. Ain’t like it’s gonna come back up, anymore. It’s over and done with. Now, let me help you with all that–”
“I don’t your damn help!” Virgil snarled, struggling to ignore the wave of nausea that swept through him. His foot ached badly, sending sharp streaks of pain throughout his entire leg. Determined to stay in this position, he fought to ignore it all, focused on the man he’d once trusted. “Hidden beneath all that fakeness of yours is somebody more dark-hearted than I ever thought. Jesus, man! While we were chillin’ in our cells after the day was done, you were off dismembering innocent people–!”
“‘Innocent’?!” ; Junior hissed, that unfamiliar expression of hate crossing over his impatience. “You think those–whores–were ‘innocent’?! Let me tell ya somethin’, Hawkins–those disgusting bags of disease and schemin’ worthlessness were far from innocent! While they were fuckin’ around with nameless strangers, they were leavin’ behind innocent kids; druggin’, shootin’, bringing home their dirty johns to play with those same children! They weren’t innocent–! I was doin’ the city a damn favor by gettin’ rid of them!”
Virgil pointed at him accusingly. “See? You see? No normal person would ever talk like that. You mad in the head, bro. Just the very mention of prostitutes gets ya all crazy.”
Junior squeezed his eyes shut with exasperation, then gestured furiously as his patience broke. “It’s over and done with, Virgil! It ain’t like it’s gonna happen again! We’ve got more important things to do than to argue around about this old shit!”
“Uh-uh. No way, man. Yeah, I realize we got us a big mission to do, but I ain’t so lovin’ the idea of you workin’ along with us, imagining what you’re gonna do to us once we get it all over and done with...I’m thinkin’ we need to...well...work separately.”
“You know that ain’t gonna work! There’s a reason why you were sent to gather us together! Like it or not, we’re attached.”
Virgil scrunched his face up with misery, truly uncertain. But then he started to think of his mission; how he had to find everybody. Junior was right in that aspect, but it didn’t make him comfortable working with someone that had fantasized about killing him when his patience had run thin. He shuddered, growing more aware of his injury as the cold within the room continued its persistent bother.
Finally, he shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever. I guess you’re right. But it don’t make it okay...”
Relieved, Junior nodded. “Now...we need to get your foot looked at. Probably a hospital–”
“There’s one about five blocks down. But...I don’t think it’s important. That much. We need to find Maureen.”
Junior hesitated, staring at the blood-soaked material on Virgil’s foot. He shook his head. “Hospital first, then Maureen. Otherwise, you die of blood loss, or something equally as stupid.”
Reluctantly, Virgil held out his hands to see what power level he could work with–due to his traumatic injury, his shock was affecting his powers. Just as they had in the school. “I ain’t gettin’ no where,” he said sullenly.
Junior shifted over, shifting one of Virgil’s arms over his shoulders. “Then we’ll go like this.”
“Man, you smell...”
“Just ignore it. I haven’t had time for hygiene and cleanliness...”
Before they could say or do anything more, a faint explosion caught their attention. The glass rattled within the windows, and metal shook. Both of them stilled, hearing the tremors that affected the still surroundings. Before Virgil could ask what that was, Junior remembered what the men had said earlier.
“They must’ve blown up that pool,” he muttered. “They was plannin’ on doin’ it. They knew you went out there a lot, an’ that was where you’d met Maria...?”
Virgil’s eyes widened. “NO! Does that mean she’s dead?”
“Nah. She travels from body to body–anywhere where there’s enough liquid present. She got me in the toilet, actually. Enough for her.”
Before Virgil could say anything, nose wrinkled as he imagined that scenario, the snow from Maureen’s earlier attack shifted with a soft whisper. Both of them watched as the woman they were just talking about rose from the frozen mess, materializing in snowy white rather than liquid shimmers.
“It is true,” her voice broke the terse silence, but it was filled with amusement. “They happened to destroy the pool. But there are no worries, Virgil. I remain alive. As does the man I’d taken.”
Virgil thought of the man posing as a Ghoul. “Wha...? Really? Is he...?”
“No. Do not worry about it–there is much that you are not needed for, but there are others out there that are pertinent.”
“...Wha...?”
“We found Maureen–but what do we do next?” Junior interrupted, dropping his hold on Virgil. The teen crashed to the floor with a pained curse.
Maria shifted quietly, her facial features unseen within her current form. “She knows–she grows aware of what you are doing. She will try to trick you–you must see these tricks and understand them. Use them. She can reach into your most inner turmoil and use it against you. But you must understand them–you must realize that your lives are fragile. She can kill you–do not push what you feel uncertain about.”
“More riddles,” Virgil grumbled as he rose.
“You’ve found the list–but she has called out her Seven Bad Men.”
“...Great. What’s so bad about them?” Virgil asked in exasperation. “They can’t be any worse than the creeps around here. Y’know, just last year around this time, Rich an’ I–”
“They can kill you,” Maria spoke over him. “One strays–his motives...are not exactly clear. But there is displeasure among the others over his rebellion.”
“So we got one on our side?” Junior asked, before Virgil could say anything more. He shushed the teen with a hand over his mouth, Virgil shocking him.
“No. But I must warn you–with her new tricks, there is a possibility of...betrayal.” Maria hesitated, shifting constantly. It was then that Virgil noticed that the snow and ice were quickly dissipating–evaporating. “She plays with human emotions–your thoughts. You must trust each other. You must help one another. Realize that you are important to yourself and each other.”
“So, like...male bonding is in order?” Virgil asked skeptically, eyeing Junior with a frown. “You’ve got to realize that while there’s a possibility three of these guys are gay–two are in the closet–I ain’t goin’ gay. I’m too manly for that.”
“You know how hard it was tryin’ to get these two to sit still and kept their hands off each other for five minutes?” Junior complained. “There must be another way–! Wait a minute–did you just insinuate that I’m a–a homosexual?”
“Well, I start to wonder where all this hatred towards women means!” Then Virgil heaved a sigh. “Well, okay, if I absolutely HAVE to be gay, I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”
Maria was shifting back, trying to retain her form as the cold began dissipating. As a result, she was moving further away from them–moving toward the front entrance of the gym. “It is important that you trust.”
“Is that it? No other clue?! What happens next?” Virgil yelled, hobbling in that direction. “What about Maureen? What’s this rebellion?! Where do we find the others?! What about that guy?!”
But Maria shifted away into nothingness, saying nothing more. Junior frowned at the spot she’d last stood, shoulders slumping. While the woman had given them sage advice, he was utterly clueless as to how it tied into all that they were doing.
He sighed heavily, listening to Virgil rant and rave, teenage voice cracking and shifting pitch whenever he upped the volume to punctuate some threat or observation. Grimacing, he made his way over to the teen, going over Maria’s words with some doubt. He’d just reached Virgil’s side when they heard the obvious noises of the community center’s doors opening. Both of them stilled, listening to the shuffling noises, the clack of feet upon linoleum. Before Virgil could call out, Junior slapped a hand over his mouth.
Virgil shocked him, glaring at him as he hissed, “I don’t know where your hands been, stank-ass chump! Don’t be touchin’ me!”
“Listen!” Junior shushed him.
Virgil quieted, slowly noting that there was heavy and tortured breathing within that shuffling. “Zombies,” he whispered. “Easy meat. But let’s avoid them. We gotta find that girl–!”
“Hospital first. If it’s zombies, we’ll bypass them. But you need me to help you.”
“Man...let me hold my breath, first.”
“Virgil–!”
* - * - * - * - *
Hotstreak felt sick after what he’d just witnessed. It bothered him upon remembrance of accusing Richie of being a prostitute when it was obvious he’d been duped and used. The reaction he’d seen seconds earlier had been raw–there was no denying that the teen had believed otherwise.
He thought of Harley at that moment, of the little boy. He felt ill, a burning feeling at the back of his throat. His conscience panged. He hated when that happened.
He startled when he heard Richie scream–a teenage male’s cracking voice, tinged with obscenities–and whirled. He wasn’t sure what was happening–he thought that perhaps Richie was unleashing his anger somewhere, stabbing something up; punching, kicking something. The way males do when privately frustrated and furious. He listened, every muscle tense and his ears straining. He heard scuffling and felt wariness flitter through him as he thought of Alva’s men. Of Harley.
At that, his heart beat faster–he wasn’t ready to face Harley, yet. Even if he was armed with more disgust for what the man had done.
He heard Richie shriek again, but these were screams of fear. Something hit the walls with a tremendous thud, and he heard the teen grunt–there was no mistaking that sound of pain. But accompanying that was a peculiar hissing sound that grew into a wave of interchanging decibels–something inhuman. He hurried out of the room, not wanting to encounter something he couldn’t identify from the strange sound. The shimmer of bass into tenor echoed throughout the halls. He followed the noises, hearing more scuffling.
“STOP!” he heard Richie scream, panic and fear making Hotstreak move into a pounding run, definitely not wanting to see what it was that made the teen so scared. “Don’t touch me–! Avery, stop–!”
Before he could register his confusion upon hearing that, Hotstreak rounded the last corner and stilled. This one was new–he didn’t know this creature. It was a massive shadow, over six feet. It was humanoid for sure, but its appearance was unusual–with the two legs appeared another, but this one was particular. He was quite certain it was a massive, swinging dick. Its every action was almost graceful–a modern dancer interpreting something that he couldn’t get. Its arms moved to some unheard beat, waving gracefully through the air even as it hit at the teen, stopping him from rolling away from it.
Hotstreak could hear the slap of its extra-big dick against its bare legs, a fleshy smack that was almost similar to that of sex–
The monster managed an odd dip, snarling words that Hotstreak actually caught. It snapped at him while shifting fluidly to stand over Richie, blocking the teen from escaping. The teen wasn’t much help at all–he was obviously lost in the throes of something that Hotstreak couldn’t see, whimpering Avery’s name and cowering rather than fighting.
“Get you,” it snarled. “Give it to you good, give me what you got!”
Hotstreak’s brow furrowed, but two extra arms stretched at him from the center of its chest, while two normal ones rotated in a sickening fashion to grab ahold of Richie’s hair. Even as the monster focused on Hotstreak with its fluid movements, side-stepping and snarling incoherently with those mess of words, those two arms were yanking and punching at the teen. He also found it very distracting that the monster’s dick kept slapping the air, grotesquely large and over exaggerated. He could even see the veins that shimmered with its movement.
He lit his fists, uncertain of what to do. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and whirled, gaping once he realized that another monster of the same appearance was pulling away from the wall. Only this one had a protruding belly, tiny dick. Shorter arms. It panted and wheezed, moving in the same way as the other, snarling the same words. It had a large mouth, though–opening wide to reveal crooked, rotten teeth, tongue moving in sickening suggestive manner. Beyond it, other monsters began pulling from the walls, all with exaggerated body shapes.
He muttered an obscenity.
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: Yeah, R overthinks a little too much. Analyzes things that shouldn't be. Poor kid. ;_; As for Jr., his personality will be coming out more and more, so I hope you're looking forward for more long-winded tales of...well...crap that I write (grin) More stuff about Hs, b/c...he's a little too laid-back and uninvolved. THAT'LL change soon...(evil grin) YUP! MORE TO BE REVEALED THE MORE I WRITE (tries to hide the PS2 and SH 2 and 3, to keep from distraction)
Chapter Twelve:
Rain of Brass Petals
Despite their hard-earned reputation, all twelve of them were nervous of the man whose face was stony with furiousness. Though none of them had ever seen the man exert himself in threatening fashion, all of them were quite aware that he was dangerous. None of them were foolish enough to figure out how or why.
“They couldn’t have just disappeared off the face of this world!” he snapped. His voice was clipped and fierce within the tense silence. “Are you sure Alva’s whelp was spotted on the south end?”
“We were unable to pinpoint his exact location,” one of them muttered, shifting uneasily. “But he couldn’t have found them–Anderson found that they’d used the basement to escape, but we only found three ‘prints–”
“Virgil can FLY,” the man in black snarled. “Junior can render himself transparent–he could have caught up to them and led them someplace; has anybody checked the sewers in the area for footprints?”
No one wanted to answer. His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses, and his fingers tightened into fists.
“Well...ah...how could they have gone through the walls? I mean...nothing was–there wasn’t any displacement leading to this...”
The man in black went still, then his face filled with red. For several solid moments, the scouts could feel his fury radiating from him. Finally he shifted; rising from his seat. Even as cautious eyes watched his hands, the weapons that he wore for show would continue to go untouched.
“Get out,” he hissed. “All of you! Incompetent, worthless IDIOTS! GET OUT! OUT! You sicken me with your pathetic worthlessness!”
The scouts left the room in a single file, careful not to voice their displeasure. As soon as the door slammed shut, the man in black fumed, shoulders shaking as he waited. He heard clipped shouts, surprised screams–all were abruptly silenced before a single weapon could be used. He slowly sat in his chair, drawing his hands over his face. He once again eyed the papers before him, going over copies of the teens’ information, and the documents of Edwin Alva, Jr.
The smell of sulfur caught his attention. He lifted his head to frown at the four shapes that seemed to materialize right out of shadow–one of which regarded him with haughty regard. Various jingling sounded–those of metal, those of bones.
The Seventh’s skeletal structure was all held together by flesh that looked as if it didn’t belong to it. A single curved band of wood surrounded the front of its skull, with more skin stretched within it, slashed facial features made it squinty-eyed and grotesque. Wings were folded tightly against its back, but it was framework only–there wasn’t any helpful leather to hold pieces together. Its arms were also decorated with human bones and claw-like fingers–these jingled musically as it moved, gesturing with its spear.
“You are not getting anywhere cooperating with these walking meatbags!” it hissed, sneering contempt obvious. “Your little plan isn’t working–whatever possessed you to think that you’d succeed in this shape? Are you DONE deluding yourself and ready to come back and do what is right? Because while I tire of watching you fail, I really enjoy watching your stupid delusions slap you in the face.”
The man in black regarded the tall, demonic creature with hate–then sat back in his chair to look at the others. “You’ve all nothing better to do but to annoy me with your ridicule?”
The Fourth wore a black hood, eye holes revealing a glowing red–it wore a hide robe that was frayed and dirtied, blood stains marring every visible inch. Necklaces of human teeth and bones jangled lightly with every movement. It shuffled cloven feet that clopped loudly within the silence of the office. Its arms were sturdy pieces of metal held together by various bands of twine and rope, claw-like hands clutching scythes that were rusted and curved with seemingly misuse. But within the fold of its left arm was a bundle of blankets–he couldn’t see what it was carrying there.
The Sixth was a reptilian creature, flat face covered by a thin white mask, Kabuki-features severe against the rest of its image. The mask was held in place by ropes that pierced the reptilian skin. Two ponytails dangled from the sides of the round, scaly head. It was tall and sleek, scales shimmering black gossamer, robes covering only what was necessary–around its long, stringy arms were shriveled bands of flesh, marked with random slashes and scratches of black color. It managed to project an air of sheepishness as it nudged the Fourth with annoyance, the cloven foot demon turning to hide the bundle behind its sleek frame.
The Second, short with a barrel chest and hind legs of a dog, snuffled. His arms flexed and tensed. His hands were rounded paws with five sharp pins sticking out from the clefts. His head was bald, with ears like those of a rabbit’s, pierced with round, gold hoops. His face was that of a normal human’s–albino-featured and sharp, stark with a hawk beak nose. He looked rather annoyed as well, but was content to lick his paws as he regarded both the Seventh and the man in black with curiosity.
The Seventh shifted, angrily gesturing at the maps. “What do these tell you? Do you think these human pictures will point you in their direction like magic? They should have already been dead. Add to it the Others are guiding the rest of them here–what are you waiting for? For them all to be in one place? Think you can slaughter them easily that way? Haven’t you realized that they have changed since the last?! They have powers–!”
“Are you afraid of them?” the man in black asked, rising once more with a ferocious grin. “Is that what you are saying? You are afraid of the Thirteen and their pretty little powers? I thought you would relish the challenge–not turn all fearful upon knowing what they are capable of!”
“I am saying,” The Seventh snarled, leaning toward him, “that you are a fool to continue this chase when you already had the chance to kill these pathetic idiots...drawing out the cause for your stupid pleasure!”
The man in black calmly deposited the key in front of the hissing demon, who quieted immediately and stared at it. Red blazed from the red slashes of its mask as it turned a contemptuous air onto him. “The key. I have prevented them from obtaining the list.”
The Seventh snatched the key from the desk and hurled it across the room. “You are a fool! They already HAVE the list! The human scum you like to play with tricked you! Are you so besotted by your damn delusions that you have not SEEN this?!”
“...You lie. This is the key. I made sure of it–!”
“It is NOT the key,” the Seventh snapped, red once more blazing from its eyeholes. “You are a fool. I cannot see what you hope to gain in that form, limited by a human being’s stupidity...”
“They already have the list,” the Sixth slurred, words hampered by its speech. “You were tricked. The Magician has already entertained with his trick box.”
“It’ll only be a while before they find the others, or the Others come to them with the others,” the Fourth mentioned with its hissing voice, tinged with retardation. It held onto the bundle in its arms tightly, the Sixth giving the Seventh a nervous gesture.
The man in black sighed, removing his sunglasses to rub at his eyes tiredly. “I was so sure...so positive that I’d had the key...”
“You are besotted with foolishness,” the Seventh muttered. “Disgusting foulbag. Get rid of that form, get rid of this childish display of rebellion with this weak army of meatbags, and do as you were created to do.”
The man in black sighed once more, reaching up to scratch at one ear. “I’m not ready,” he finally said, blinking red eyes up at the Seventh. “I still have things to do before I give up this body.”
“You are an idiot,” the Seventh snarled. “You are slowing us down. You are failing her! She grows displeased with your display of impudence!”
“If she is displeased...she hasn’t spoken to me personally,” the man in black muttered. “I’m quite sure she’d approach me personally to speak of my shortcomings. I’d rather not take your word for hers–as it is, I find you incompetent of any truths or accomplishments of your own. Last you were living you let the–”
“Speak as you do, and I wonder how long it’ll take for her to realize that you are no longer valuable,” the Seventh interrupted, a hint of malicious intent in its tone. “Maybe she’ll give the word for me to rid of you.”
The man in black eyed him evenly–then looked beyond it to the others. “You do that.”
The Seventh sneered at him, then disappeared within a blur of sulphur. The others disappeared as well, and the man in black grit his teeth as he knotted his fists. But he couldn’t help but laugh as he thought of the key–how he’d been tricked.
“Sneaky little beast,” he murmured.
Outside the office, Harley Williams listened to every word that had occurred. He looked down at the messily killed scouts at his feet–blood pooled around his boots. But he listened to the words exchanged and wondered what it was that bothered him about the entire thing.
* - * - * - * - *
“I’m sorry,” Richie apologized. He had found Hotstreak sitting in the courtyard of the station, eating a jar of fruit he’d snagged from Virgil’s supply earlier. The redhead scowled at him, pausing in chewing. He noticed that Richie’s hands were bound with tape, the smell of burn ointment very strong in the air. He almost felt bad for burning him until he remembered how intimidated he felt upon Richie’s pushiness.
He prepared to leave when Richie dropped to his knees on the step above him, grabbing his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. Hotstreak capped the jar and slipped it carefully into his backpack. He licked his fingers clean. “You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t mean to sound so demanding and–and bossy. Please don’t be mad.”
“You’re way too needy, man,” Hotstreak interrupted, pulling his backpack on. “This your idea of foreplay, or something? It ain’t working on me, honey, let me tell you that. It’s fucking annoying as hell–”
“I’m sorry! I know I haven’t made such a good impression on you, and I know I’m not the best when it comes to relating to others. I...I don’t know the appropriate response or action to take when it comes to apologies or to–I...I just really want to take all those things back.”
The best Hotstreak could describe Richie’s eyes at that moment–imploring, a vulnerable amber –was that of a puppy’s. And every word uttered in that soft voice was similar to that of a pitiful, cutesy whine. It scared him, quite frankly. He didn’t DO cute–and he absolutely hated that it made him feel so dirty and low.
Richie rose to close the distance between them, reaching out to hold onto his hand. Even as Hotstreak struggled to tear it away, the teen’s grip was merciless. “I’m sorry. Please. Please don’t be angry at me. I’ll–I’ll make it up to you, Hotstreak, I swear.”
“Okay, you are now just creepy and pathetic,” Hotstreak muttered, disturbed that even while Richie’s fingers were covered in bandages and moist with the burn ointment, he could feel how thin they were. Very unlike Harley’s.
“Please,” Richie said softly, looking up at him with a pleading expression that was quite different from his sullen pout. It made him soft–vulnerable. And continued to make Hotstreak feel like the lowest scum on the planet, desecrating something so innocent with his previous selfish actions. “I’m so sorry...I’ll try harder next time. I really–really like you, and I want you to be happier with me. I’m not going to pretend to play games, nor will I–”
Hearing his young voice continue to plead, Hotstreak finally yanked his hand away, wiping it on his jeans–wanting to wipe off that vulnerability. “You’re too young for me to deal with,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
Hurt turned into a scowl. Lips that Hotstreak had learned were soft and eager turned into a tight frown. “But yet you knew what to do when you fucked me,” he retorted, shoving his bandaged hands into his jacket pockets to hide clenched fists.
Hotstreak winced at the accusation. Guilt tore at his stomach. “Look...you’re throwing baggage and everything I do at my face. I don’t know how to relate to you! I’ve never dealt with anybody like you, or anybody your age!”
Richie’s lips tightened into a white, thin line as he walked around him, entering the building. Hotstreak was annoyed when the door slammed in his face. He followed after the other.
“I’m just saying, the only person I’ve related to was Harley. And he’s so completely different from you–he’s also my age! This is ridiculous, it’s like we’re in a damn relationship! I just fuckin’ met you, for Christ’s sake!” Hotstreak said, exasperated as the teen kept walking. He didn’t know why he kept on talking. “Fuck, I just got OUT of a relationship with someone that I was close to and completely fucking betrayed me with his psychotic–you’re being selfish and so fucking childish that it makes me want to completely forget I ever met you.”
“Then how can I get close to you?” Richie asked, whirling to face him. Hotstreak had to stop short from bumping into him. “Sex? Is that it? Is that the only way to get close to you? Because that’s the one thing you feel we have in common? What do you want me to do?”
“Stop putting so much shit on me!” Hotstreak exclaimed, marching past him. Richie watched him go. Flustered and disappointed, he turned and walked back out onto the steps of the courtyard.
Nightfall hit, but snow accompanied the cold. He sat on the top step, analyzing the things that he’d done since he’d met Hotstreak days earlier. He yearned for the time with Avery, where the man had been–to his knowledge then–truthful with him. Avery hadn’t played these games and had told him exactly what he wanted; what he was looking for. He was confused over Hotstreak’s reaction–if Hotstreak didn’t really care for him, then why did the man continue to be so involved? Why did it affect him so badly in that Richie was himself bothered?
With stiff fingers he touched his neck, where the hickies stood out against his pale skin. The silence was unnerving–snow built in white blankets everywhere. He winced as pain burned within his fingers.
Looking at them, he frowned at his bandaging. I’m so stupid, he thought morosely. I should have let go.
After a few moments, he left the steps and ventured back inside, heading back to Backpack. The little robot was still working to sort and download the needed data, and Richie stared at it moodily, missing its company. Just as he made the decision to go out into the streets to locate one of his safehouses for food, shifting his messenger bag over his shoulder, he heard voices back down the hall. He stilled, listening. He caught only a few words here and there. He quietly moved in that direction, the voices growing more distinctive. They were coming from behind a closed door, so Richie was very careful as he crouched, lowering himself to listen at the crack at the bottom.
“...connection with the Missing,” a calm, deep voice was saying. There was a faint accent to it, but Richie couldn’t place it. “Their records are kept where? I appreciate your cooperation...”
“Back there,” someone else said. He swallowed hard, wondering what these men were up to. Why hadn’t he heard them entering the building? Were they looking for them? The second man went on to say the files were located within a date that was consistent with the invasion three years ago. Richie wondered with a start whether they were Alva’s men. “These names...these kids’ files were transferred to Valentine around that same time, due to the investigations that were brought to attention. Attempted murder, and a kid that had been involved with an online predator the FBI had been tracking. It probably won’t be as much help, considering what you’ve already got. The online perv happens to be one of the Missing, and the other kid’s father is still around, if you want to talk to him. But he probably doesn’t have anything new–”
“I know,” the other replied solemnly, though muffled. But Richie was filled with questions–he knew they were talking about him and Virgil.
“...Are you all close to finding out why...?”
Richie pressed his ear against the door, heart thumping hard in his chest.
“No,” the other replied, a little subdued. “Though there are those that miss their loved ones, the world appreciates the lack of true and evil crime...and we’ve no leads into their sudden disappearance...”
Richie’s brow furrowed as he analyzed that statement. He was truly bewildered as to why it was made. But Virgil’s words from his mother pounded at him. He startled once he realized he could hear a phone ringing, the sounds of paper being shuffled. The heavy thump of boxes being moved and pushed along the linoleum. The creak of a rolling chair.
“Even still, we will continue to search for them. Its mystery is truly astounding...I have found them. This...this Avery, Alex Johnson....he hasn’t any previous records?”
“There’s some info from Minnesota–but they were juvenile records. Destroyed when he turned eighteen, the bastard, so there is only a memo. There is also the probability of many ID’s he’d gone by under since then...but the victim was–has, excuse me–a way for electronics. He’d gone through Avery’s records–DMV, dental, tax registrations...everything–and screwed up the data to a point where even his original files in Minnesota were tampered with. Birth certificate, social security–a real screw-up for the FBI, who can’t get a tangible hold on any other known ID’s...”
The door opened with a loud creak, startling Richie badly as he gasped and fell back on his haunches with a panicked start. It took a few moments to realize that it had been opened from his side–the voices stopped abruptly. Silence was deafening. He jerked his head up to see Hotstreak staring at him with a troubled expression as he pushed the door open to investigate. The door hit the wall, and Richie looked in.
He felt numb when he realized that it was empty. Abandoned, dark and unoccupied as the rest of the police station was. The dust on the floor, the musty smell–all of it was thick. The very fact that he’d heard the voices confused him as he peered in with a dumbfounded expression. He rose to his feet as he took in the empty desks, the cobwebs. No one had been in this room for years. He stepped in, completely forgetting about Hotstreak, the man speaking but his words going unheard.
In a state of disbelief, Richie visually examined the room. Nothing was moved, but he noticed that the room looked hastily abandoned. Chairs facing away from desks, filing cabinet drawers pulled open. He though about the conversation and found the small room that the calm voice was coming from. He ventured toward it, recalling that both he and Virgil were the main subjects in the discussion. Sorting through the dates on the file boxes–none past the date of the invasion–he found brief overviews on himself and Virgil. A few minutes later, he found the file on Alex Johnson Avery. The file was thick and decorated with multi-colored Post-its with various info and phone numbers.
Opening it, he found a videotape within a manila envelope. He stood there, wondering what was on the tape, lost in his examinations. The fact that Hotstreak was still there, talking aloud about his mental state went unregistered–for this moment, the man didn’t exist. What mattered was what he’d heard and what it was he was looking at. He shuffled away, looking for a player for the tape. He found a VCR in an office down the hall, and quickly set up the system with the other powercell he had in his bag. He turned on the monitor, a little startled by the appearance of snow. He blew dust from the VCR deck and hoped that it would still work as he slipped in the tape.
It was a recording of himself and Avery, the man laughing and joking with him within the man’s bedroom. It wasn’t long before Avery was coaxing him into taking off his clothes. Richie felt sick upon viewing his younger self complying, an expression of complete trust and adoration for the man that softly encouraged him to touch himself as he slowly undressed. His fingers were shaking as he fumbled to turn the tv off. He’d never known Avery had recorded these moments–his face burned with horror and embarrassment as he tore the tape from the VCR. He flung the tape across the room, wondering how many others had seen that grainy video.
An ice brick in his stomach made it impossible to breathe, his hands shaking violently as he gripped his jacket. He pulled the material tight, as if trying to protect himself. Breathing hard, struggling to stay composed, he thought that it had been peculiar how Avery had certain positions he used in the room. To think that it had all been recorded...and possibly distributed.
His body seized and he retched, feeling utterly sick at how easily he’d been duped. He had never seen that then–totally blinded by the man’s ‘kindness’, eager to please and eager for understanding. Junior had been right–he’d been right and Richie had always denied everything, even though he started to see the details that the younger Alva pointed out without never meeting Avery. It was different now that he had actual proof of Avery’s crimes.
His knees felt extremely weak, and he hit the floor in a sickened daze, clutching his jacket tight. The videotape was now visible against the far wall. He glared at it, feeling his skin heat with hatred and intense shame. He remembered every moment they’d had. Feeling wanted and worth something. Feeling as if he were liked. It was all a lie. He shook, thinking furiously of how Junior had pushed and pushed to point out this creature’s wrongdoings. How vehement Richie was to deny and pretend that it wasn’t so. At some point, he knew, but to have the proof in his hands...to see it with his own eyes...
He grit his teeth as his eyes burned, but he refused to cry. He swallowed continuously, forcing himself to think of the men minutes earlier–the significance of their ghostly actions. He lifted his head, fingers gripping the material of his jacket tight. He felt ugly and repulsive at that moment–bitterly wondering how anybody could stand looking at him. He’d been overweight in that video, but in front of Avery, he’d felt so good of himself...and his thoughts turned viciously over how ugly he was, how repulsive how submitting how desperate–
He slowly rose, breathing unevenly–he forced himself to lower his arms, but his fists were knotted tightly. He was unaware of the pain he was causing himself as his fingernails pressed into the bandages and against the blisters of his palms. He felt weak–not trusting himself to move just yet, he slowly scanned the room to give himself some grip to continue moving on. He startled once he met Hotstreak’s horrified eyes.
His mind went blank–he’d forgotten the man was there. His face flamed brilliantly, wondering just how much the man knew–how much he’d seen in that tape. The feeling of having this man–who’d rejected him, who disliked him so immensely to play selfish games with him and call him ‘baggage’–was horrendous. He felt suffocated at this knowledge, overheated with shame; he’d been a fool to think that anybody would ever want him after what Avery had done. He was disgusting and impure–riddled with disease.
Rage boiled its way up to the surface, and he flung various things at Hotstreak who reacted with surprise. Richie dashed past him, running from him and that room as if his life depended on it. He heard Hotstreak shouting after him, but the words were lost as he ran blindly through the halls. He just wanted to get away.
* - * - * - * - *
Junior knew Virgil was priming himself to run. What he’d confessed to had been disturbing–but he couldn’t think about that now. Even as the haze of hatred and disgust continued to swirl within him at the very memories of the prostitutes he’d murdered, he knew he had to say or do something to keep the teen at peace.
It was quite obvious, from the look on Virgil’s face, that the teen now viewed him in a different manner. He swallowed hard, struggling to think of a way to appease the boy to keep him from panicking. He held up his hands in a placating way, but Virgil startled visibly at the movement.
“Look...Hawkins–Virgil. That was back then,” he started slowly, speaking low. “It’s not–I haven’t felt that way in awhile...I’m not that person no mo’. You’ve got to look beyond that–don’t you realize that our crimes were a prerequisite here? And you’ve seen and you know enough ta know that it all for a reason...”
“Yeah but...man...dude, you just confessed to wanting to kill us guys, too!” Virgil squeaked, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, how’s that supposed to work out when I know you’re plottin’ on us to die?!”
“Virgil, look–back then, I was under a whole lotta pressure; I took it out in the worst way possible. But it–I don’t feel that way right now! I don’t want to hurt anybody, unless I absolutely have to! I haven’t given thought to–to any of that stuff in a long while! Especially when it comes to you boys...”
Virgil frowned, still not relaxing. He swallowed hard, glancing down at his bleeding foot. Throbbing pain ran up and down his leg, almost unbearable to endure. He grimaced, wrapping his fingers around his ankle in an effort to shut out some of the pain. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, his skin growing clammy. Jesus, he thought, not wanting to have Junior out of his sight. I’ve gotten more injuries this past week than I did these past three years!
He noticed Junior looking at his foot, but he held up a warning hand, powers flashing as Junior took a step back. “Back off, man,” he warned. “I–I don’t know about you!”
“C’mon, Hawkins! It ain’t like that!” Junior cried, exasperated. “It ain’t like I’m plottin’ on the lot of you! I wouldn’t have spent all this time tryin’ to track ya’ll down just to fucking slaughter you! ‘Sides, what would be the point, now, huh? You know we got something goin’ on, and there ain’t no point wastin’ time like this.”
“Y–yeah. I know. But...! I can’t just...keep–it makes me feel weird that you were killin’ some stupid prostitutes an’ imaginin’ that it was us you were killin’!”
“Oh, c’mon, Virgil! It ain’t like you’ve ever done that, before!”
“I haven’t!” Virgil exclaimed, grimacing as he rose. “I haven’t ever imagined tryin’ to kill somebody I know! Always about my mom’s killers, but never anybody I know! Yeah, I’d imagine beatin’ them up or–or somethin’, but never...”
Junior sighed, looking extremely tired at that moment. He gave Virgil an exasperated expression. “Look. It’s nothin’. It’s all under the bridge. Ain’t like it’s gonna come back up, anymore. It’s over and done with. Now, let me help you with all that–”
“I don’t your damn help!” Virgil snarled, struggling to ignore the wave of nausea that swept through him. His foot ached badly, sending sharp streaks of pain throughout his entire leg. Determined to stay in this position, he fought to ignore it all, focused on the man he’d once trusted. “Hidden beneath all that fakeness of yours is somebody more dark-hearted than I ever thought. Jesus, man! While we were chillin’ in our cells after the day was done, you were off dismembering innocent people–!”
“‘Innocent’?!” ; Junior hissed, that unfamiliar expression of hate crossing over his impatience. “You think those–whores–were ‘innocent’?! Let me tell ya somethin’, Hawkins–those disgusting bags of disease and schemin’ worthlessness were far from innocent! While they were fuckin’ around with nameless strangers, they were leavin’ behind innocent kids; druggin’, shootin’, bringing home their dirty johns to play with those same children! They weren’t innocent–! I was doin’ the city a damn favor by gettin’ rid of them!”
Virgil pointed at him accusingly. “See? You see? No normal person would ever talk like that. You mad in the head, bro. Just the very mention of prostitutes gets ya all crazy.”
Junior squeezed his eyes shut with exasperation, then gestured furiously as his patience broke. “It’s over and done with, Virgil! It ain’t like it’s gonna happen again! We’ve got more important things to do than to argue around about this old shit!”
“Uh-uh. No way, man. Yeah, I realize we got us a big mission to do, but I ain’t so lovin’ the idea of you workin’ along with us, imagining what you’re gonna do to us once we get it all over and done with...I’m thinkin’ we need to...well...work separately.”
“You know that ain’t gonna work! There’s a reason why you were sent to gather us together! Like it or not, we’re attached.”
Virgil scrunched his face up with misery, truly uncertain. But then he started to think of his mission; how he had to find everybody. Junior was right in that aspect, but it didn’t make him comfortable working with someone that had fantasized about killing him when his patience had run thin. He shuddered, growing more aware of his injury as the cold within the room continued its persistent bother.
Finally, he shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever. I guess you’re right. But it don’t make it okay...”
Relieved, Junior nodded. “Now...we need to get your foot looked at. Probably a hospital–”
“There’s one about five blocks down. But...I don’t think it’s important. That much. We need to find Maureen.”
Junior hesitated, staring at the blood-soaked material on Virgil’s foot. He shook his head. “Hospital first, then Maureen. Otherwise, you die of blood loss, or something equally as stupid.”
Reluctantly, Virgil held out his hands to see what power level he could work with–due to his traumatic injury, his shock was affecting his powers. Just as they had in the school. “I ain’t gettin’ no where,” he said sullenly.
Junior shifted over, shifting one of Virgil’s arms over his shoulders. “Then we’ll go like this.”
“Man, you smell...”
“Just ignore it. I haven’t had time for hygiene and cleanliness...”
Before they could say or do anything more, a faint explosion caught their attention. The glass rattled within the windows, and metal shook. Both of them stilled, hearing the tremors that affected the still surroundings. Before Virgil could ask what that was, Junior remembered what the men had said earlier.
“They must’ve blown up that pool,” he muttered. “They was plannin’ on doin’ it. They knew you went out there a lot, an’ that was where you’d met Maria...?”
Virgil’s eyes widened. “NO! Does that mean she’s dead?”
“Nah. She travels from body to body–anywhere where there’s enough liquid present. She got me in the toilet, actually. Enough for her.”
Before Virgil could say anything, nose wrinkled as he imagined that scenario, the snow from Maureen’s earlier attack shifted with a soft whisper. Both of them watched as the woman they were just talking about rose from the frozen mess, materializing in snowy white rather than liquid shimmers.
“It is true,” her voice broke the terse silence, but it was filled with amusement. “They happened to destroy the pool. But there are no worries, Virgil. I remain alive. As does the man I’d taken.”
Virgil thought of the man posing as a Ghoul. “Wha...? Really? Is he...?”
“No. Do not worry about it–there is much that you are not needed for, but there are others out there that are pertinent.”
“...Wha...?”
“We found Maureen–but what do we do next?” Junior interrupted, dropping his hold on Virgil. The teen crashed to the floor with a pained curse.
Maria shifted quietly, her facial features unseen within her current form. “She knows–she grows aware of what you are doing. She will try to trick you–you must see these tricks and understand them. Use them. She can reach into your most inner turmoil and use it against you. But you must understand them–you must realize that your lives are fragile. She can kill you–do not push what you feel uncertain about.”
“More riddles,” Virgil grumbled as he rose.
“You’ve found the list–but she has called out her Seven Bad Men.”
“...Great. What’s so bad about them?” Virgil asked in exasperation. “They can’t be any worse than the creeps around here. Y’know, just last year around this time, Rich an’ I–”
“They can kill you,” Maria spoke over him. “One strays–his motives...are not exactly clear. But there is displeasure among the others over his rebellion.”
“So we got one on our side?” Junior asked, before Virgil could say anything more. He shushed the teen with a hand over his mouth, Virgil shocking him.
“No. But I must warn you–with her new tricks, there is a possibility of...betrayal.” Maria hesitated, shifting constantly. It was then that Virgil noticed that the snow and ice were quickly dissipating–evaporating. “She plays with human emotions–your thoughts. You must trust each other. You must help one another. Realize that you are important to yourself and each other.”
“So, like...male bonding is in order?” Virgil asked skeptically, eyeing Junior with a frown. “You’ve got to realize that while there’s a possibility three of these guys are gay–two are in the closet–I ain’t goin’ gay. I’m too manly for that.”
“You know how hard it was tryin’ to get these two to sit still and kept their hands off each other for five minutes?” Junior complained. “There must be another way–! Wait a minute–did you just insinuate that I’m a–a homosexual?”
“Well, I start to wonder where all this hatred towards women means!” Then Virgil heaved a sigh. “Well, okay, if I absolutely HAVE to be gay, I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”
Maria was shifting back, trying to retain her form as the cold began dissipating. As a result, she was moving further away from them–moving toward the front entrance of the gym. “It is important that you trust.”
“Is that it? No other clue?! What happens next?” Virgil yelled, hobbling in that direction. “What about Maureen? What’s this rebellion?! Where do we find the others?! What about that guy?!”
But Maria shifted away into nothingness, saying nothing more. Junior frowned at the spot she’d last stood, shoulders slumping. While the woman had given them sage advice, he was utterly clueless as to how it tied into all that they were doing.
He sighed heavily, listening to Virgil rant and rave, teenage voice cracking and shifting pitch whenever he upped the volume to punctuate some threat or observation. Grimacing, he made his way over to the teen, going over Maria’s words with some doubt. He’d just reached Virgil’s side when they heard the obvious noises of the community center’s doors opening. Both of them stilled, listening to the shuffling noises, the clack of feet upon linoleum. Before Virgil could call out, Junior slapped a hand over his mouth.
Virgil shocked him, glaring at him as he hissed, “I don’t know where your hands been, stank-ass chump! Don’t be touchin’ me!”
“Listen!” Junior shushed him.
Virgil quieted, slowly noting that there was heavy and tortured breathing within that shuffling. “Zombies,” he whispered. “Easy meat. But let’s avoid them. We gotta find that girl–!”
“Hospital first. If it’s zombies, we’ll bypass them. But you need me to help you.”
“Man...let me hold my breath, first.”
“Virgil–!”
* - * - * - * - *
Hotstreak felt sick after what he’d just witnessed. It bothered him upon remembrance of accusing Richie of being a prostitute when it was obvious he’d been duped and used. The reaction he’d seen seconds earlier had been raw–there was no denying that the teen had believed otherwise.
He thought of Harley at that moment, of the little boy. He felt ill, a burning feeling at the back of his throat. His conscience panged. He hated when that happened.
He startled when he heard Richie scream–a teenage male’s cracking voice, tinged with obscenities–and whirled. He wasn’t sure what was happening–he thought that perhaps Richie was unleashing his anger somewhere, stabbing something up; punching, kicking something. The way males do when privately frustrated and furious. He listened, every muscle tense and his ears straining. He heard scuffling and felt wariness flitter through him as he thought of Alva’s men. Of Harley.
At that, his heart beat faster–he wasn’t ready to face Harley, yet. Even if he was armed with more disgust for what the man had done.
He heard Richie shriek again, but these were screams of fear. Something hit the walls with a tremendous thud, and he heard the teen grunt–there was no mistaking that sound of pain. But accompanying that was a peculiar hissing sound that grew into a wave of interchanging decibels–something inhuman. He hurried out of the room, not wanting to encounter something he couldn’t identify from the strange sound. The shimmer of bass into tenor echoed throughout the halls. He followed the noises, hearing more scuffling.
“STOP!” he heard Richie scream, panic and fear making Hotstreak move into a pounding run, definitely not wanting to see what it was that made the teen so scared. “Don’t touch me–! Avery, stop–!”
Before he could register his confusion upon hearing that, Hotstreak rounded the last corner and stilled. This one was new–he didn’t know this creature. It was a massive shadow, over six feet. It was humanoid for sure, but its appearance was unusual–with the two legs appeared another, but this one was particular. He was quite certain it was a massive, swinging dick. Its every action was almost graceful–a modern dancer interpreting something that he couldn’t get. Its arms moved to some unheard beat, waving gracefully through the air even as it hit at the teen, stopping him from rolling away from it.
Hotstreak could hear the slap of its extra-big dick against its bare legs, a fleshy smack that was almost similar to that of sex–
The monster managed an odd dip, snarling words that Hotstreak actually caught. It snapped at him while shifting fluidly to stand over Richie, blocking the teen from escaping. The teen wasn’t much help at all–he was obviously lost in the throes of something that Hotstreak couldn’t see, whimpering Avery’s name and cowering rather than fighting.
“Get you,” it snarled. “Give it to you good, give me what you got!”
Hotstreak’s brow furrowed, but two extra arms stretched at him from the center of its chest, while two normal ones rotated in a sickening fashion to grab ahold of Richie’s hair. Even as the monster focused on Hotstreak with its fluid movements, side-stepping and snarling incoherently with those mess of words, those two arms were yanking and punching at the teen. He also found it very distracting that the monster’s dick kept slapping the air, grotesquely large and over exaggerated. He could even see the veins that shimmered with its movement.
He lit his fists, uncertain of what to do. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and whirled, gaping once he realized that another monster of the same appearance was pulling away from the wall. Only this one had a protruding belly, tiny dick. Shorter arms. It panted and wheezed, moving in the same way as the other, snarling the same words. It had a large mouth, though–opening wide to reveal crooked, rotten teeth, tongue moving in sickening suggestive manner. Beyond it, other monsters began pulling from the walls, all with exaggerated body shapes.
He muttered an obscenity.