The window was foggy, but the Louisiana detective could still see the young man shake, his strangely bright eyes staring intently at his reflection. Black hair hung limp and dirty in his face, pale from obvious anxiety. His knees were tightly drawn to his chest, his entire upper body folded over so his chin could rest upon them. Once expensive clothing now soiled clung to his thin frame. Every now and again his shoulders would tense, his eyes clamp shut, and minutes would pass before he would finally relax again. The boy was a sight to see, no matter what side of the glass you were on.
The teen had been terrified when he'd ran up to the highway, waving his arms and screaming like the world was about to end. He was caked with mud, the palms of his hands bleeding along with visible knees through ripped designer jeans. He hadn't made any sense. All he did was babble on about some boys that had apparently been with him and crawfish.
Now, after a few hours of stewing in the small interrogation room, it seemed like the opportunity had finally arrived to see if he had calmed down enough to speak in coherent sentences.
The soft click of the outer lock turning made the boy tense again, blue eyes snapping to the door as one of the detective walked in. Neither him nor the teen smiled in greeting. Neither one had a reason to smile.
"Timothy Drake-Wayne." Just the way the elderly man said his name made the boy frown. "That's what yer I.D. in yer pocket said, that you boy?" The teen nodded. "A'ight, now we're getting somewhere. Now, what were ya doing running around in the freezing rain like ya was doing?"
Blue eyes shifted uncomfortably between the man before him and the dirty mirror that occupied the wall. A pink tongue darted acrossed chapped lips as the teen took a deep steadying breath through his nose. His forehead sank down to rest on his folded wrists, shoulders shaking either from the strain of his sitting position or something else. Something that the detective wanted to know. The teen slowly sat up, blue eyes downcast for a few moments before looking up at the man. They were startling, filled with a flurry of emotion, many which the elderly man couldn't place. One won out over the others though; fear.
"I-I was…it's a really long story."
"That's A'ight boy, ya just go ahead and start at the beginning. We got plenty of time to talk this out."
"Well, it was Bart's idea." Here the boy paused as a joyless chortle left his shaking form. "It was Bart, and Conner and me…"
cCc
Bright red converses rested on an annoyingly clean dashboard, causing the young man driving to shoot the darkest of glares at there owner. The brunette laughed, golden honey eyes sparkling in sunlight that managed to peek through heavy clouds.
"Feet."
"Come on Tim, it ain't like it's gunna mess up your piece of shit car anymore then it already is. Jeez, for a bagillionaires son you got a shitty car you know that?"
"Feet."
Strong arms wrapped around the seat where the brunette sat, a smiling face peeking over his shoulder. Blue eyes that Tim only saw a glimpse of in the rear view mirror danced with laughter.
"Ok, I would never put my feet on your shitty dashboard." A stern look was shot at him through the mirror they shared eye contact in. "And in Bart's defense, your car is a piece of shit."
"At least I have a car. Feet." With that final demand Tim slapped at Bart's knee, causing the wiry teen to stick his tongue out and roll his eyes as he let his feet drop down to the floorboards.
It had all been Bart's idea, but it was an idea that all three boys loved the second they'd heard it. The semester had ended and the week that all highschoolers dread known as midterms week had been hell on all of them, especially on the young millionaires adopted son, and when Bart had suggested that they all needed a vacation Conner had screamed road trip. It was very out of character for the young football player, but Tim had stacked it up to watching way to many bad college movies when he was supposed to be studying. After OKing it with all of their legal guardians the three boys had packed up a few days worth of clothing, piled into Tim's 2003 Camry, and drove out of Gotham as fast as that piece of shit car could go. Bruce, Tim's adopted father, had offered to let Tim take one of the nicer cars that were under the millionaires name, but Tim had kindly refused. The Camry had belonged to his father, and now belonged to him.
Now four days into their driving adventure they had found themselves leaving Missouri behind, breaking the speed limit to get to Louisiana. They needed to be back in three days, but Tim didn't seem to be slowing down, or turning around for that matter, and his two best friends wouldn't have it any other way. They knew how much their friend needed the fresh air, and hell, they were loving every second of their new found freedom. Even if it was temporary.
"Huuuuuunnngry." Unruly brown hair flopped as Bart slammed his head into the head rest of his seat, jostling Conner's grip and sending him back into the back seat. Tim sighed, shaking his head slowly, but didn't seem otherwise fazed. When the small runner came to the conclusion he was being ignored he crossed his arms acrossed his chest and jutted out his bottom lip in a pout for the ages. Tim glared, where Conner laughed and kicked the back of the brunette's seat.
"Dude, you had a sandwich like, two hours ago."
"Yea, emphasis on the two hours ago part. I got a wicked metabolism from all the Track and Field shit that Wally has me doing, and if you were a good friend you'd know that."
"Aw, you breaking up with me little buddy?"
"Totally, I'm gunna hit Tim now."
"Wait, what?" The disconcerted look on Tim's face caused a booming laugh to fill the whole car. Conner was flushed with the exertion and Bart smiled in triumph.
"So can we stop and grab some munchies cause I totally got them." It wasn't a request, but more of a relaxed statement.
"I guess so…you're not actually going to hit me are you?" There was a long moment of silence where a set of honey and a set of blue eyes stared in awe at Tim before laughter echoed through the cab once more.
cCc
"Conner Kent and Bart Allen, yer friends ya say?" When the teen nodded in confirmation the detective nodded before writing something in a small notepad. This seemed to agitate the teen acrossed the table from him. He shifted his weight acrossed his chair, flexing and unflexing his fingers. "And who is this Wally fella?"
"Bart's cousin, Wally West, he didn't really get along well with a lot of his family, so Wally stepped up and volunteered to take care of him." The elderly man nodded again, noticing the usage of past tense language, and scribbled more. "What are you writing?"
"Just what you've been saying so far." Dark grey eyes rose to meet bright blue. "Just names and what not. So yer friend," a few pages flicked past wire rings, "Bart wanted to grab a bite?"
"Uh…" Blue eyes once again darted to the mirror. "Yea, kid's a pig. We hit this little hole in the wall dinner right off of the 55."
"You remember it's name?"
The man sighed when the teenager shook his head. Just asking a few question made this kid mimic a deer in the headlights. He had let his feet finally touch the ground sometime when he had been yammering on about his tests. From the sounds of it this kid had been put under some heavy pressure, all sorts of big honor roll classes that didn't seem like they'd ever be useful in the real world. Apparently being adopted by one of the world's richest men wasn't all babes and fast cars. Then the Kent kid had to sit on the benches for the last few games, apparently he'd failed some math class or something. His old man hadn't been to happy with him. According to the teen Kent wasn't close with his dad anyway, the sport being one of their only bridges to communication. Allen seemed pressured too, even if his sport was some candy ass thing like running and jumping. Honor Roll kid, in all the same special classes with the millionaire brat despite being two grades below him, but with an estranged family staring down his back, never able to live up to their expectations.
"They had crawfish." The sudden statement made the old man look up. The teen's eyes were downcast once more, focused on something on the table.
"Lot's a places serve crawfish round these parts son." The teen nodded.
"I didn't though, I had some chicken thing, think it was a soup or something…"
"Why boy? You in Louisiana, ain't no place that'll make it better." The teen shrugged a thin shoulder weakly.
"I just…didn't."
A thinning grey eyebrow rose slightly at the boy's seemingly important confession. Little Miss Rich Boy had doubled over again, but this time he clutched to his knees tightly. His knuckles looked uncomfortably white against the dark torn fabric of his jeans. His eyebrows were knit together and water threatened to leak from the corners of his bright baby blues. It almost hurt seeing the kid torn up like this, but the old detective knew he had to keep him talking.
"A'ight kid, don't worry about it. Ya grabbed a bite, ya don't remember the name of the joint, and ya didn't have the crawfish. What happened next?"
"We," his voice shook terribly, his eyes refusing to rise. "Conner fought Bart for the front seat-"
cCc
"Why did I call shot gun in Slidell again?" Tim's blue eyes rose to the rearview mirror when Bart piped up, his voice sounded distant despite the fact that he was only a few inches away. The small runner was laying acrossed the faded leather of the back seat, his feet propped up on Conner's bulky over packed duffle bag and his head resting on a pile of shirts that no doubt belonged to the brunette in question. Conner, who sat leaned back in the front seat dozing, cracked an eye open and smiled lopsidedly.
"Maybe it's cause you missed Timmy."
"Not talking to you."
"Okay, one, ya just did, two, what the fuck did I do?"
"We broke up remember? We're in the process of a Dudevorce and my lawyer advises I don't talk to you unless he's present." Conner broke out into another booming laugh and Tim sighed, fighting the urge to slam his face into the steering wheel.
"Don't make up words."
"Come on Tim, Dudevorce is totally a word! Dudevorce, noun, When two male best friends officially end their friendship over a lame disagreement, usually concerning a girl."
"Dude, we didn't even talk this out yet. We need to have a dudeversation."
"Oh god Conner, not you too."
"Dudeversation, noun, A conversation with other guys talking about topics like love life, relationships, and hook ups." Tim whined softly, rubbing his temples with one hand.
Why did his friends have to be…well, themselves?
"Why don't we put the radio on?"
"We tried that Tim, back in Missouri member? All it was was white trash banjo music. And then Bart started screaming 'Paddle faster', and you banned us from talking for like five minutes." A soft giggle from the back seat. "But, ya know, if your up for round two of the hillbilly parade I'm down."
"If it keeps you from having your 'dudveversation' with Bart, I'll try anything."
Conner laughed again, another booming sound that made Tim crack a smile, and leaned forward to twist a knob on the dashboard. Guitar, drums, and what sounded almost like trumpets. Or maybe a sax.
"Oh I need ya darling, I need ya right now."
"Hey Tim."
"No."
"Hey Tim, 'I know it's wrong, the things I ask you to do, but please believe me darling, I don't mean to hurt you.'" A single drop of water hit the windshield as Tim tried his best not to let his small grin grow in size. He was trying to be mad at the kid!
"Shit, how the fuck do you know the words to this song? Ain't no way you were alive when this came out." Bart rolled his eyes and sat up, flashing a smile at Conner. Water was beginning to make it's slow descent down the glass as the sun crept lower on the horizon.
"I'm a hoody ninja." Another booming laugh, and this time Tim couldn't help but join in.
"That doesn't make any sense. A ninja would have no mobility what so ever in a hoody."
"Oh can you slip-"
A loud screech of static, cutting the melody short.
"Come down to Lake Pontchartrain, rest your soul and feed your brain. That's where you will get to see everything the water can be."
Bart's mouth slowly closed, his snaky reply dying on his lips. Tim's blue eyes left the road momentarily to stare in bewilderment. Conner was fully awake now, sitting straight up with eyebrows knit together.
The voice, the one that had made the advertisement, had sounded so bizarre. Wonderful yet terrifying. A scrap of an inhuman gargle. It sent shivers down Tim's spine, and from the unwelcome silence of his two friends had done the same to them.
Rain pounded against the hood of the small Camry and somewhere far away thunder bellowed.
cCc
The teen shifted, his hands shaking as his eyes flickered from the mirror, to the detective before him, to the table once again. His skin was flushed now, his ears and cheeks taking on a bright hue. Grey eyes stared at the figure before them.
The story sounded so normal up until that part.
Just three rowdy boys saddling up and setting their eyes on adventure before they had to return to their mundane lives. They had stopped in all the tourist towns in-between Gotham and Slidell, and here the boy starts going off about some monster voice over his radio? Sounded almost like nails on a chalkboard talking, that how the kid had described it. Didn't make no sense, no sense what so ever.
"You don't believe me." A simple statement, said way to calm for the panic that was making it's self visible under his stoic expression.
"Now I ain't saying that boy, just that I've lived round these parts my whole life and I never heard me a radio commercial like that."
Blue eyes turned as cold as ice.
"The rain got worse once the sun went down." Apparently the boy wasn't about to acknowledge the oddity. "It was the kind of night that makes you think the whole world is going to hell. We have them in Gotham all-"
cCc
Another shiver ran down Tim's spine, a part of him wishing that he had agreed to take one of Bruce's cars. At least the expensive machines had GPS units, his piece of crap barely had a working heater. And at this point Tim was really willing to agree to the fact.
The only real security he felt at the moment as rain blinded his vision of the road through foggy headlights was sitting in the car with him. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders from the backseat where their owner now resided. Narrow shoulders leaned against his, bony hips pressed into his side. It was really hard driving with Conner pressing him against the seat, it had been harder when his bulk had slipped back there so the smallest teen could settle where he felt safest, and Bart didn't entirely fit in the space between the seats. The runner practically sat in his lap. But he could feel Conner's breath calmly warming the back of his neck. He could feel Bart's heart beat sporadically against his. They had driven in silence after the eerie voice had broken through their good spirits, none of the three teenagers able to raise their voices, and if it wasn't for the two of them Tim had come to a solid conclusion.
Whatever the voice was, whoever or whatever it belonged too, would have unraveled him if not for the two who held him protectively.
"We gotta pull over man." Conner's voice smoothed over Tim's rough edges. Now the young football player may not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but it didn't take a genius to know that zero visibility meant bad tidings in any driving situation.
He could feel Bart's grip on him tighten slightly when Tim slowly merged over and out of traffic to an exit that lead to a small motel. Water sloshed at his tires, making the teen's stomach slosh right along with them. If the rains didn't let up the bayous would surely wash them away, but his panic swelled only momentarily. Conner rested his chin on Tim's shoulder, a position that should have been uncomfortable for the larger teen. A small smile pressed him through a pounding headache as it began to develop.
The parking lot of the rundown motel was already mostly water logged, but there were a few dry spots left for them to hide. The gold Camry sputtered gratefully when Tim cut the ignition and he fell back limply into Conner's strong grip.
Moments ticked by, and Tim counted every single one of them. Fifteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.
"So…I'm not hungry right now." The attempt to lighten the atmosphere only made Tim's headache worse. Blue eyes glanced over at the figure next to him then dropped down to the floor boards to blindly swat around under his seat. He knew his father had kept a map under there, but if had just been a local one or a national one was beyond him. And then of course there was the fact that it may no longer even be there.
There was a loud sloshing noise and a crash. Blue eyes were brought up in terror. The windshield cracked under the weight of reparative strikes. Nails grey with ill and sharpened drew deep lines in the glass with an ear shattering cry. Yellow eyes shone with a malevolent luster. Black teeth jarring and tearing into pink flesh. Blood dark and caked, dripping from a mouth that gapped. An abrasive gargle that turned into a deafening scream.
"Come down to Lake Pontchartrain, rest your soul and feed your brain. Free for you and all your friends, crawfish 'til the bitter end. Come down to Lake Pontchartrain, wade to where the shallows break, that's where you will get to see everything the water can be."
cCc
The boys had been attacked? This peeked the detectives attention. The fact that the two boys the rich brat had been talking so fondly about were not found with him had been unsettling at the very best. The fact that they still hadn't found this Camry the boy'd been driving didn't entirely settle either. Wherever they were, they were in danger from the sound of it. That was of course if this was the truth.
Mini-Wayne was sitting with a straight back, fingernails picking almost nonchalantly at the frayed edges of his jeans. A nervous habit maybe? His hands shook terribly, his face pale against his flushed cheeks. His breathing hitched every few seconds. He seemed overly calm, or at least he was trying to be. From the looks of the boy he was trying to collect himself as he paused from speaking.
That was unsettling in a way too.
Not many seventeen year old boys had such control, or even wanted it for that matter. Why would this boy even try? If everything he had said so far had actually happened he should be a wreck. Screaming and sobbing like he had been hours ago when they had found him. Minutes ago when they had first began talking, minus the sobbing.
cCc
Bart was hitting him. Either in the shoulder or the chest, he couldn't tell. Conner was yelling something in that slight southern drawl that he had, but he couldn't quite make it out. The only thing he could focus on was the force behind each and ever smash to his windshield and the grated feeling of his keys twisting in his hand. The car roared to life, gears were shifted, and they shot backwards.
Relief was shot lived.
Yes the man, beast, had fallen forward at the sudden jerk, but the creature soon found its feet, a roaring screech leaving its maw. Water was rushing past them, loosening the grip the tires had on asphalt. In the back of Tim's mind a voice said 'I told you so'. He turned the wheel sharply, crying out as Bart slammed into him. The car moaned as it struggled not to flip with the sudden accelerated switch in directions. Tim's foot slammed into the gas and they were peeling out of the soaking parking lot as fast as a Camry could go.
cCc
"The highway was flooded, I knew it would be flooded, I told myself it would flood, so it wasn't that much of a shock, but I really wish it hadn't been. Not like I'm wrong a lot but I was hoping for once in my god damn life that I could be-"
The teen took in a sharp breath through his nose. The composure he was working so hard to keep slipping from him as his rambling grew higher and higher in pitch. With the deep breath came another wave of tremors acrossed his small frame and then nothing.
Silence sat between the old man and the teenager for a whole six minutes.
"And then what boy? What happened when you found the roads weren't operable?" The detective heard a bit more interest in his voice then he wanted to display, a bit more skepticism.
"There was this road that Bart saw, straight through the trees and…it was so god damn stupid!" His trembling fist slammed into the table. "I should have known! I should have seen it coming!"
"Seen what boy?" A shaking breath.
"If the highway was flooded, why would a man made road hold up in that heavy of rain? I knew it was bound to have been washed away, but I took it anyway, I-"
cCc
"Fuck, Tim I can't see shit!" Bart's voice pierced through Tim's forced calm.
"And you think I can? Fuck Bart, just calm down okay?" He was panicked. His voice shook, his knuckles were plastered white on the steering wheel, his eyes frantic as he searched for a marker through the gloom. Anything.
A road sign yellow in the distance.
A small flicker of hope flashed in Tim's chest and his heart began to pump faster. What did it say? What did it say? What did it-
The teen practically stood up, forcing all of his weight on the brakes, sending his car screaming to a forced stop. Another voice in the back of his head was screaming at him for that stupid move. Not only did it nearly send Bart through the windshield and Conner into the front seat, but that little voice in the back of his head was screaming that he had just stranded them. To stop so suddenly from that velocity…
"Shit, what the fuck man?" A shaking hand left the steering wheel. A finger pointed to the yellow sign, it's faded red letters still painfully obvious.
Lake Pontchartrain
cCc
A bewildered look came over the detective as he stared at the frightened boy in front of him. The lake. There was no sign like that near any edge of it that he knew about, and he wasn't lying when he had told the boy that he had occupied the area his whole life. Hell, he went fishing there almost every week with his partner.
Blue eyes shifted over to the glass again and a sick feeling grew in the older man's stomach. One that told him that the boy may not be afraid after all.
cCc
Silence filled the cab, interrupted only by the angry clattering of the downpour.
"There!" A finger pointed from behind Tim's shoulder. He followed it's line until his vision settled on a figure, lone and wadding deep into the swells. "Bet it's the bastard that scared the shit out of us in the lot!"
The back door swung open, allowing cutting frozen air to jostle Tim's hair. Horrified, he watched the young football player duck out of the car.
"Hold up man!" Another door opened. The chill was painful, his whole body screaming where his voice remained muted. It took Bart all of ten seconds to catch up to his friend as he stormed towards the murky waters.
cCc
"Why the hell would they leave the car?" His voice took on a frantic tone again, one that the elderly man was beginning to believe was practiced. It would explain all the controlled breathing. "And then I heard it."
Grey eyes blinked, his mildly wrinkled face remained stoic.
"Heard what boy?"
"Voices, they were just like the one that we heard on the radio and the one that thing was screaming in."
"What were the voices saying boy-"
cCc
"Come down to Lake Pontchartrain...Come down to Lake Pontchartrain...Come down to Lake Pontchartrain...Come down to Lake Pontchartrain…"
A terrible scream echoed through the trees, one that couldn't be human. A sound that impaled every inch of sane rational thought the millionaires son held on to. What made it worse was the way the waves seemed not to be caused from the freakish wind, but dance along with the chant that filtered from below them.
Tim was frozen. He sat pressed against the driver's side door, his eyes watching as his friends wadded deeper after the figure. The man, the creature, kept going, deeper and deeper, but almost at a leisurely pace. Taunting them further. Tim wanted to scream. To call out for his warm and security to return to him, but he couldn't find the words. The strength.
But then they stopped. The raw chants fading to slowly be over powered by the rain. Hope. The water almost seemed to recede from his friends. They stood up to their waists in the murky gloom. Why didn't they run? Why weren't they laughing or yelling or doing fucking anything? And then Tim noticed that they weren't standing in waist deep water any longer. A scream left his chapped lips.
It was muffled before it even sounded.
Vile snarling penetrated his very soul. Froth lapped at the edges of the banks. Waves licked fiercely at the midnight sky. Water that had once ran from his warmth, his security, collided with them. In a disarray of foam and water that seemed dyed black they were gone.
cCc
A grin slowly crept acrossed lips that were cracked from the weather. The boy beyond the glass was doing such a poor job of controlling his terror at this point. His hands shook worse then they had since they had picked him up all those hours ago. The salty leakage he had fought so hard against stained his face, smearing the dirt and grime that had been forced upon it's once porcelain glory. His voice was barely audible over the pounding of his pulse, the quick scraping hitch that was his breathing.
The best part was that the man that held his fate in his hands didn't believe a word that the boy spewed from his mouth. How delicious.
Yellow venom watched the man's face contort slightly when the boy began to ramble on about how he had ran. How a dark figure howled as it pursued after him. Watched as the man wrote dark footnotes in his little notebook.
Sharpened grey nails tapped playfully against the glass, drawing the teen's attention again. It was almost like the terrified child knew. Knew that the game wasn't over just yet. If only he knew how bad it looked on his part to be so nervous about the opposite side of that foggy mirror.
Black teeth became visible as cracked and bloody lips pulled back to widen a grin. The elderly detective stood, dismissing the boy's desperate cries with a raised hand. Apparently the boy didn't want the man to leave. He was ever so frantic for the man to believe him. But what the detective saw was a hysterical youth with an imagination that would put men to shame. A youth that had buckled under pressures placed upon him. The man left, the door to the windowless room slamming shut behind him, leaving the child cold and alone.
Alone for the fact that his dearest of friends had been lost to the waters.
Alone with the exception of a soft inhuman gargle.
Eight days, many distractions, a bag of family sized Doritos, more antibiotics, and twenty-three Word pages later, you get my baby!~ I'm so fucking proud of this mofo.
I was inspired when I was doing my hair, thinking it looked like Tim's before the Reboot, and listening to one of my favorite songs called Lake Pontchartrain by Ludo. Seriously, listen to it after you read this because it's the only reason my baby exists and Ludo is fucking god. Oh, and the song Bart was singing that came on the radio was Slip Away by Clarence Carter. Listen to that too, cause it's pretty and makes my face happy.
So much more to say, but I won't, I think I'll just collapse in a heap of pure unbridled joy.
Read, review, and please enjoy~