Stan woke with a start, he found he was in a sunny bedroom lying on soft sheets with comfy pillows and a olive colored top blanket. The walls of the room were white and there was wooden chest of drawers with gold knobs directly in front of him with a dolly on it. The sun was coming in from the east and it was pretty high in the sky so it must be before noon. The room smelled slightly musty. He wondered how the hell he got here, he couldn't exactly remember the last couple of months. He tried to figure out how he got here, or where here was exactly. His right wrist itched, he scratched it and felt something around it, a plastic bracelet. It listed a name that wasn't his a bunch, a date of birth that wasn't his either, and a bunch of numbers he couldn't understand. Where was Carla? She'd been with him for a year and half… he tried to remember. The images that flashed through his head were terrible, confusing, and the bit with the vibrating shapeshifting dragons must have been a hallucination. He tried harder, memories bubbled up from the bottom of his mind. Carla… there was guy Thistledown he played guitar? He had long blond hair and a beard… Carla wearing bell bottoms…. Them blasting off in rainbow…. Carla telling him it was for his own good, a look in her eyes, distant, hard, and cold. She was above him and they were holding him down on a table… his arms and legs… he couldn't kick or punch. He could still feel …the pinch of a needle in his arm… then everything became ..began… oh god… so much worse. He heard himself scream, he was clutching his head, it hurt so bad to remember. He cried, he didn't want to but it came seeping out like leaking sewage. He took deep breaths, gulping down air. After a while of just sitting and listening to his heartbeat he calmed down. He wiped his eyes and got up, he was in blue stripped pajamas and there were maroon slippers on the carpet when he got up. He itched his plastic bracelet and tried to figure out where he was. The room had no pictures on the walls and the closet was filled with old clothing that smelled like mothballs. He looked out the window, outside were rolling green hills, a dirt road looping through them, and a blue sky overhead... so not the southwest, other than that he had no clue. Last he recalled he was in Texas with… Carla. Was this still Texas?
He opened the door and found himself in a narrow hallway, the floor was wood, the wallpaper was off white and floral patterned. There was art on the wall, mostly dull landscapes and black & white photographs of people he didn't know. Though there was one of a woman with a sullen expression and slightly messy dark hair that looked familiar. He saw stairs at the far end of the hall and heard the sound of someone down there. But there were other rooms in the hallway, one was locked, the other two were dusty and unused guest rooms, their furnishings covered with white sheets. He considered picking the lock, but he had no tools and no heavy rock. He decided it would be better to go down stairs and see what was going on.
He walked down the stairs, he found himself in a living room. The drop clothes had been removed here, the furniture was old but well cared for, dark wood and faded peach colored upholstery. There was a tv at the end of the room and shelves on the wall with various knickknacks. Beyond this was the kitchen and other rooms (How many rooms did a person need? These people must be loaded) He could smell bacon frying, he went directly to the kitchen. Beige tiles, wood paneled walls, small wooden table, cabinets, all the standard kitchen things. Standing in the front of a white stove was a woman. She was plump, her brown hair short and sensible, she was in a green dress with an apron tied around it. She turned around at his footsteps. She was middle-aged and cheerful looking.
"You're up and about, finally." She said warmly, "Rich said the drugs would wear off about today."
"Where am I? Who are you? Who's Rich?" He asked.
Her smile widened, "Why you're in Milworth, I'm Mrs. Paterson and you already know Rich."
"Where is Milworth?" He asked.
"About two hours west of Albany," She said sucking her lower lip. "We're kinda in the middle of nowhere."
"Which Albany?" He asked suspiciously
"Albany, New York of course!" She said.
"Oh." He sighed. Had he been banned in this state? Maybe? However they were in the middle of nowhere and he was under the name Andrew Alcatraz. He brightened up. "Whatcha makin'?"
"BLTs," she said smiling. "Rich has always loved his BLTs, ever since he was kid, back when Mr. and Mrs. Van Der Aart, were still with us."
"Who?"
"Rich's grandparents! They owned this house, well now it's been passed on to Lawrence, but he never comes up from Manhattan. I was so glad that Rich came back and hired me back as housekeeper." She said.
Stan was wondering who Rich was, when in the far corner the basement door banged open and Rick came tromping up, "Hey Mrs. P didja get any beer?"
"Yes, Rich it's in the fridge." She said chopping tomatoes.
"Thanks." He said and opened the fridge. "Awww Old Canoe, that stuff fuckin' terrible."
Mrs. Paterson sighed. "It was only one left at the store."
Rick turned and noticed Stan for the first time. "HEY! You're awake!" he grabbed another can of beer from the fridge.
He sat down at the table and gestured for Stan join him. The beer was cool and as terrible as Rick said, maybe it was bad beer, but then again, it was cold and alcoholic so not all that bad. Mrs. Patterson had made two BLTs, they ate and she left the room.
"Why is she calling you Rich any how? What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
Rick was eating a bite of his BLT and holding up a finger, as if to say wait. He chewed swallowed, took a sip of beer. "Slow down Pines, w-w-what do you do want to know?"
"Why the fuck does she think you're Rich Van Der Aart?"
"It's an alias, Stan."
"Why are we here?"
"It's my maternal grandparent's house. They were the Van Der Aarts."
"How did you get me from Texas?"
"Fuckin' forgery. You should be grateful, you were in a nuthouse jacked up on Thorazine and you d-d-didn't know asshole from breakfast."
"Real nice alias there, you're childhood nickname and your mother's maiden name. They'll never find us this way." Stan said sarcastically
"'They aren't looking for us, the asylum I took you from was overcrowded, 'they' won't miss you. Milworth is in the middle of fuckin' nowhere. No one will find us and no one is looking for us, or you. Don't be so fuckin' paranoid, Pines."
"Hey, I'm not being paranoid, there are people out to get me, Sanchez." Stan said taking another sip of beer and bite of the sandwich.
"Coulda fooled me, you were drooling in a madhouse, no one cared. Who the fuck knows why I sprung you." Rick said.
"Why were you in an asylum in Texas?" Stan asked
"I needed test subjects and the hobos kept running away. The head of psych knew me from MIT." Rick sighed.
"If you're grandparents were loaded why were you hustling?" Stan asked suspiciously.
"The money is in a trust and I get it when I turn 25." Rick said rolling his eyes.
"Why did the housekeeper call you Rich?" Stan asked.
"Because, that's what they call me here, it's an alias." Rick said in a cold tense way.
"A weak one." Stan replied.
" Yeah, sounds too WASPy for me," Rick said. "But Gran and Pops used to call me Rich."
Stan ate his sandwich and took a gulp of the beer. "Van Der aart?"
"That was Mom shitting on my Dad after she got custody." Rick said bitterly. "She was good at that."
Stan had almost finished the BLT, he decided raising the subject would get him punched. Rick was eating his and not looking up.
"So what are you doing in the basement?"
"None of your business, Pines."
"Sorry I asked." Stan groused.
Rick gulped down the beer and gobbled up the sandwich, and walked off back to into the basement. Stan heard Mrs. Patterson vacuuming some part of the house, Stan decided to watch tv in the living room. Two hours North of Albany meant the TV signals were weak, the daytime soap operas and The Price Is Right dissolved into fuzz. Mrs. Patterson left after saying a cheery good bye that Stan barely acknowledged, she'd also made them dinner, iit was in the fridge but they could warm it up in the oven. Stan felt himself getting heavy with sleep, he closed his eyes, just to rest them. He woke up with a start, a shout on his lips from nightmares he couldn't remember but felt echoing inside him viscerally. The room was dark and the crickets were chirping outside, he heard Rick banging around the house somewhere, got up and went off to find him. Darkness in the country was like the blackness of some deep mine shaft, compared to the mere dimness of the city. Stan banged his shins on a few end tables and things before finding a wall. Keeping a steady hand on it he was able to feel his way out into the hallway where he could hear Rick's off key mumbled singing and see yellow light coming from under the kitchen door. Stan's eyes had adjusted to the point where he could see his way to the kitchen. He opened the door. Rick was sitting at the cleared off table, methodically making lines of some white powder.
"Hey, Sanchez."
"Yeah?" Rick looked up.
"Whatcha got there, coke?"
"Naw, it's speed. Wanna do a some lines with me?"
Stan shrugged. "Eh, I got nothing better to do."
He sat down at the kitchen table. Doing lines of speed was like being zapped with amazing electricity, also it left a distinctive salty taste in the back of Stan's throat. Meanwhile they chatted about bullshit, it didn't matter. Suddenly Stan could feel his heart jack hammering in his chest, he looked at his hands, they were shaking slightly.
"Whoa…" Stan said.
"Y-y-yeah I know Pines, isn't it fucking amazing?" Rick said speaking rapidly.
""I think that's enough for me, 'Rich'." Stan said getting up.
"What are you some kind of pussy?" Rick came back with.
"No, I'm high as fuck and I think I'll die if I do more of this crank." Stan said. "I'm done."
He turned to leave and walk out the door.
"CHICKEN! CHICKEN!" Rick shouted at his back.
No one called Stan Pines a chicken, he'd show that skinny motherfucker! Stan spun around and dove over the kitchen table, tackling Rick to the kitchen linoleum with a roar. He had Rick underneath him, one beefy arm pushing Rick's sideways against the kitchen floor.
"You think you're so tough, just cuz you got me pinned down?" Rick sneered.
"Uh yeah." Stan replied. "I overpowered you." Geez, his heart just kept jackhammering away, the seconds ticked by, Rick muttered under his breath. Stan's shoulder itched, damned mosquitoes, he reached up to scratch it and Rick bit his other hand. Stan yelped and drew back. Rick jerked upwards ramming his forehead into Stan's chin, hard. Stan cursed and backed up.
"That's what you get, Pines!" Rick spat as he leapt to his feet, fists out.
"Fuck you crazy son of a bitch." Stan yelled and put up his fists as well.
Rick swung, Stan dodged edged closer and grabbed Rick by the shoulder, drawing his arm back to slam into Rick's face.
"That's what you want isn't it?" Rick said with a leer.
Stan looked deep into Rick's grey eyes, He pulled Rick into his arms and brutally kissed him, all teeth and tongues, hot and sweaty. His heart was pounding in his ear and he was as hard as railroad spike. Rick ground hungrily against him.
"You want it?" Stan asked.
"Yeah," Rick breathed in his ear.
Stan took Rick by the back of the neck and bent him over the kitchen table., Rick already had his pants around his ankles when Stan unzipped. He took Rick hard against that table, hands wrapped around Rick's neck, driving it home as the table shook in rhythm with Rick grunting. Neither of them could come because of the speed buzzing around in their veins, neither one of them wanted to stop either. They did it on the living room sofa spooning like lovers, they did it on the stairs, and they did it twice in the master bedroom where Rick slept, a huge clunky air conditioner blasting arctic air over them as Rick mounted and rode Stan furiously. That last time left them sore all over when they finally got release. The speed was starting to wear off, Stan felt tiredness hit him like a wave. Rick was already snoring deep, deep asleep. When Stan snuck out of the master bedroom and made his way back to his own room. He was so tired he just dropped off to sleep as soon he was in his own bed.