Hey, it's a new story! Just in time for April Fool's day.
Due to circumstances, WtchCool has declined to beta.
This story will deserve the M-rating eventually. Fair warning.
- o – o -
The Eyes Have It
Chapter One: Somebody's Watching Me
If there was one thing to be said for the Palm City public schools, it was that they had the amazing ability to unite their students. Over the past year, it had become even more apparent that they were good at it; one elementary school in particular came to mind. (That this unity came at the expense of one student was largely ignored by the residents of Palm City.)
The single unifying factor among the public school system was the mutual fear and loathing of the resident villain and murderer, Chess. And unfortunately for Trip Faraday, everyone was certain that his father was Chess; and, deceased or not, they still weren't going to let up.
Thus, Trip was running from some of his classmates for the third time that week. His mother always asked him why he looked so out of breath after a bus ride home from school, but never bothered to ask if he ever rode the bus. (Getting on it in the morning was bad enough, in the ten-year-old's mind.) The simple truth was, he always ran home from school—the shortcuts he'd found made it easier to arrive just as the bus pulled away if he sprinted for most of the trip.
Unfortunately, he'd made the mistake of taking a shortcut past a local diner. Some of the kids from school—the more militant ones that would've driven his dad nuts in a few years—had been hanging out. Trip had pulled his hood up, hoping that they wouldn't notice him.
Sadly, Ryan Craig spotted him. Ryan was a bit larger than the average fifth grader, and a lot meaner. Almost everyone hated him, but they were too afraid of him to stand up to him. If Ryan told them to beat Trip up, they'd do it.
Trip groaned under his breath as he felt one of the straps on his backpack catch on a fence he'd been attempting to climb over.
"Shit," he swore under his breath, not caring that his mother would kill him if she heard him swearing. Where was the Cape when he needed him? The ten-year-old wriggled out of his backpack, thankful that he'd left everything important at home or with Mrs. Debolt. His teacher was surprisingly cool about it, which made Trip think she was a bit more astute than everyone else in the school.
He sped up as he heard the fence jangling behind him, ducking into a side alley. The ten-year-old put on an extra burst of speed, ducking into an open doorway. Trip slid down the wall, panting in relief as the boys who'd been chasing him sped past, yelling at each other. Honestly, what was their problem? He was ten, for God's sake!
Of course, that meant nothing to idiots like that. For cryin' out loud, some of them had been from the high school!
After a few minutes, Trip stood up and peered out the door. No one was hanging around, which was a good thing. He retraced his footsteps carefully, only to realize he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. Instead of the fence where he'd lost his backpack, he was facing a mountain of dirt.
Trip groaned and used some of the more interesting curses he'd picked up over the last few months under his breath. Well, if he climbed up the hill, he might be able to get his bearings. His mother was going to kill him if he was late…
The ten-year-old began climbing the dirt pile. He sat down at the top to catch his breath and swore again. (If his mom heard him, he'd be grounded for a month at least. And he really needed to find a payphone now. Because there was no way he was going to get home from here.)
He sighed and stood up. Unfortunately, his footing wasn't quite as sure as it could have been, and he slid down the other side of the mountain of dirt, tearing his jeans in the process. Trip came to a rest at the bottom of the hill and promptly began spitting out the dirt he'd gotten in his mouth on the slide down.
"Blegh," Trip groaned, spitting another clod of dirt out. He stood up, brushing his hands off on his jeans. There were some bright red scratches on his knees where his jeans had been torn open, but that didn't bother him.
In fact, there was very little that would get his attention at this point. All Trip could do was stare at the perfect rows of bodies lying in front of him. Three seconds later, Trip was on his knees and throwing up everything he'd eaten that day.
- o – o -
Being a switchboard operator at the ARK emergency call center was bound to give you the patience of a saint or drive you completely bonkers. That being said, Tom Jacobs wasn't looking forward to having his board light up again. Calls from the slums on the east end were never fun to respond to—too many drunks in that area not killing each other quickly enough.
"Hello, 911," he said into his mic, boredom tinging his voice. "How can I be of assistance?" After nearly a minute of the panicked breathing on the other end, Jacobs was about ready to write it up as another crank call when the babbling began.
Instead of some lady calling about her drunk of a husband beating up their drunk of a landlord (those happened every week, like clockwork), it was a kid babbling like the room was on fire. He couldn't get the words out fast enough, which was unfortunately faster than Jacobs could write them down.
"Wait a minute, slow down kid. Did you say bodies?" Jacobs asked, cutting through the panicked jumble that was slowly killing his hearing.
-Ohgodohgod—whathappenedtotheireyes?—
Jacobs raised an eyebrow and looked at his monitor to make sure the call was being recorded. Now the day wasn't so boring after all…
-I…I…Why are their eyes missing?—
Oh that was comforting, Jacobs thought as he forwarded the caller's location to a patrol in the area.
- o – o -
Dana Faraday paced around the bus stop, waiting for the next school bus to arrive. There was every possibility that Trip had caught a ride home on another bus (unlikely), or that he'd come on one of the city buses. If the latter scenario was the case, she was going to hug him tightly and then yell at him for taking such an unnecessary risk during the middle of a gang war.
She did hope he'd simply picked up baseball again and had simply forgotten to tell her about it, but wasn't holding out much hope. The public defender sighed, pausing at the crosswalk again. Her son was withdrawing into himself even more these days, and school wasn't helping any.
The public defender sighed and sat down on the bench. She was up again when the second school bus rumbled by without stopping. Her son was still en route from school, or he was missing. God knew what had happened to him, although there was much a ten-year-old could get up to in this day and age. (She brutally quashed the fear gnawing at her gut that said something terrible had happened to him. He was going to be fine. He was just…late.)
Dana waited at the bus stop for another five minutes before pulling her cell phone out. As she grabbed her coat and briefcase, she dialed Mrs. Debolt's number. Alice was fast becoming a pretty good friend; Dana had lost count of the times Mrs. Debolt had called her into school so she could get Trip herself. Given that it was probably safer for Trip, it was a good idea. Maybe the teacher had kept him after or something… Or maybe Trip had gotten a ride home from school with one of the other kids… Wait, no. That was a laugh. She didn't know anyone who'd do that for her son; Gerry was homeschooled, so getting Mrs. Blander to give him a ride was a no go.
The public defender was crossing the street when an ARK patrol car roared up to the stop sign, sirens blaring loud enough to wake the dead. Dana rolled her eyes and was about to move on when an officer stepped out of the vehicle. It was Detective Farris, the man who'd interviewed her after the drive-by nearly three weeks ago.
She frowned, wondering what the man was on Sycamore Boulevard for. Was it possible to immolate him with a thought…? Her animosity towards him hadn't lessened any in the three times they'd met since the drive-by. By all accounts, the feeling was mutual. He was a smarmy bastard, and—
"Mrs. Faraday?" Detective Farris asked, interrupting her train of thought. Dana nodded curtly, wondering if her scowl was showing. "You need to come with me." He looked unnaturally pale. (That would play into her private theory that everyone who worked for ARK was a vampire, oddly enough.)
"Actually, I have to go home and see if my son is there," Dana corrected him sharply, shutting her phone with a snap. She hadn't dialed Alice's cell number. Farris's face twisted into a grimace, and Dana felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. Oh god. Had some nutcase finally attacked her son for something he had nothing to do with?
"Where's my son?" Dana barked, suddenly business-like and sharp. She was not in one of her good moods now.
"Get in the car," Farris said. "I'll do my best to explain on the way. Trust me on this, though," he added as he slid into the driver's seat, "You're going to need to find a good counselor."
Dana really had to wonder what that had to do with anything, but was too preoccupied with thoughts of her son—lying on some slab in a morgue, dead—to really question the statement. What had happened to her son?
- o – o -
As soon as Dana saw her son sitting in one of the break rooms, she dropped everything and grabbed him up in one of the tightest hugs she'd ever given him. All the while, she whispered thanks to whatever god was listening that her little boy was alright. After a few minutes of holding Trip, she took a step back to study him.
Trip had a black eye that was beginning to swell, and his jeans were torn open at the knees. He also had dirt stains everywhere and a few scrapes to round everything out. Dana wondered what he'd been up to—ARK wouldn't have brought her here just for her son fighting in school, or in public. So what was wrong…?
Detective Farris entered the room, carrying a can of soda and two cups of coffee. He gave the soda to Trip, who just stared mutely at the drink. The detective gave the second cup of coffee to Dana, an apologetic look on his face.
"Over here," Farris muttered, seeing the look in Dana's eyes. When the two adults were seated at one of the tables at the far end of the room, he sighed. Dana noticed that he looked far older than he had two weeks ago, which didn't surprise her. ARK was currently embroiled in a gang war that was giving everyone who worked for them the overtime from hell.
"Alright," Dana said quietly. "What's up? Why is my son here?"
Farris grimaced. "It's a bit of a story," he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "The ARK switchboard got a call about half an hour ago. They thought it was a crank call, 'cause the kid on the other end was babbling something about eyes. Then they actually listened to what was going on." He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the flavor. "Mrs. Faraday, your son discovered some psychopath's body dump. All of the corpses were missing their eyes in addition to…other injuries."
Dana felt her stomach rise to her throat. "My son…saw this?" she finally asked, voice hoarse. She looked over at Trip, who was sitting on the hard plastic chair near the door, knees drawn up to his chest. The can of soda was on the floor, untouched.
"Unfortunately," Farris replied. "He's now the primary witness to what may turn into a serial murder." Farris had an excellent sense of self-preservation, and didn't voice what most people in Palm City would have said.
"Wonderful," Dana muttered under her breath. What she really wanted to know, however, was why her son had been in the area to discover these bodies anyways.
Why hadn't he been on the bus?
- o – o -
Trip stared mutely at the ground, trying to suppress the memories of the dead bodies by sheer force of will. He should have just risked riding the bus today… If only riding the stupid bus wasn't torture—he could put up with a lot, but trying to put up with the other kids throwing things at him was getting to be way too much.
He chewed on his lower lip, shooting a look at his mother and the detective she was talking to. She didn't look angry, although there was a greenish tint to her face. If Detective Farris had told her about the dead guys, he wouldn't blame her.
The ten-year-old buried his face in his knees, swallowing as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach from coming back up. If the soda had been sprite or ginger ale, he would have chugged it. Unfortunately, it was orange soda. He really didn't want to see anything food-related that had color in it right now…
He looked up when the door opened again, and saw Detective Farris talking to someone else, half-hidden by the door. A minute later, the detective brought his friend over. Both of them knelt down so they were eye-level with the ten-year-old. The younger officer had a half-hearted attempt at a smile on his face.
"Hey kiddo," the younger man said. He smiled again, and his eyes lit up a little. "I'm Officer Philips. I'm working on the case you stumbled over." The smile disappeared, replaced by a slightly ill look. "We're gonna go get your mom, and then go to an interview room. Okay?"
Trip nodded, still staring at his knees. As Officer Philips was leaving, Trip looked up. "They were missing their eyes…"
Philips and Detective Farris both froze, then turned back to look at him. Trip swallowed, feeling his stomach twisting.
"Why were their eyes missing?"
Neither of them answered.
- o – o -
So, here it is: A new story. What do you guys think? Good, bad? Are you feeling a little leery about this story? Drop a line and let me know!
