Gordie Lachance awoke to the sound of everlasting silence piercing his ears. His chestnut brown hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes were teary and wide. Something had awoken him from a terrible dream. A dream about his brother, and many other things, most particularly the things that took place in the event of the last few days. What else would it be? Just a week and a half ago, him and his friends had ventured out to find the dead body of Ray Brower. A dead body. And if that wasn't enough to give him nightmares, both his brother's car and his brother himself had been totaled in a gory automobile accident a few months back.

Although grateful for being wrenched from his horrible nightmare, something had awoken him. Gordie looked around his boxy room. Nothing was there, nobody. He looked at the window. The full moon hanging in the summer sky pulsed blue-silver light through the glass, and a soft breeze flowed through the mosquito net.

Ping!

It happened so fast, Gordie had to blink a few times before he let a shiver run down his spine. What was that? Something had just ricocheted off of his window. But what?

Ping!

There it was again. With numb toes and sweat curling across his skin, Gordie let his legs swing out of bed. He pushed the thin covers out of his way, and slowly, slowly, crept across the bare floor towards the window.

His breath was shaky. Closer, closer he walked. His mind screamed to run, but his feet said he had to keep going. What was out there? He could only guess.

Ping!

Gordie recoiled just a little bit before he shook his head.

It's nothing! His mind raged, disappointed in himself, Stop being such a pussy!

Gordie took a few more lurching steps forwards, but collided with his typewriter.

"Sorry," Gordie mumbled, "Sorry, I mean-urgh." Being that his mind was still groggy from sleep, apologizing to typewriters was excusable.

With one final push, Gordie wrenched himself from his spot, rooted to the floor, and silently sprinted towards the source of the noise. Using the window-sill to break him as he rammed himself towards the window, Gordie tentatively peered through the mosquito netting, bracing himself for the worst.

A figure stood on the dirt ground outside of the Lachance's place. He was nervously shifting from foot to foot, looking restlessly up at Gordie's open window. He wore a dirty, light blue tee-shirt, ripped jeans and black Converse, so covered in dirt and dust that they looked almost dark grey. The boy was of close-cut dirty-blonde hair, a straight jaw and dark blue eyes, shadows playing across his features as he stood in the dark.

"Chris?" Gordie's voice croaked. The tense figure jumped, and looked up at Gordie's dark silhouette peeking through the screen.

"Gordie!" Chris Chambers hissed, "Get down here!"

Gordie blinked.

"What the hell for?" He called, then opened the screen and leaned full out the window. Chris stared up at him with eyes like a scared puppy. "It's the middle of the night!"

"Just get down here, God damn it!" Chris almost yelled, then looked embarrassed.

Taken aback by the sternness in his friend's voice, Gordie stumbled backwards into his room. He quickly pulled on a shirt, his old, patched jeans and shoes and tiptoed down the stairs. Gordie didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. He didn't even know what this was about, but all he really knew was that if he was found hanging around Castle Rock late at night with a Chamber's kid, he'd be dead meat.

Gordie scurried towards the front door, and grabbed his jean jacket and Yankees cap that his brother had given him before slinking out the door and into the night.

Chris was standing on the curb when Gordie turned around after locking the door with his spare keys.

"Shit, man, this better be good," Gordie whispered to him through gritted teeth as Chris lead him down the street, "I swear to God, if we get in trouble-"

"We're not going to get in trouble," Chris snapped. Gordie had never seen Chris this nervous before, which hinted to him that it was something bad. Something really bad.

"Shit, man," Gordie mumbled, but a horrible thought occurred to him. He stopped short, and placed his hands on Chris's shoulders.

"Chris, is this about your dad? Because if it's about your dad-"

"It's not my dad," Chris assured him. Chris's daydream eyes were wide and scared, so much that it scared Gordie. Nonetheless, Gordie did a quick scan across his friend for any fresh signs of blood or hurt.

"W-what is it then?" Gordie asked, dead serious.

"Just stick with it. I'll tell you when we get the others." Chris started to walk again, but it took Gordie a few seconds to register.

"The others?" He asked, jogging to catch up.

"Yeah." Chris said, keeping his eyes on the dark horizon.

"Is it about Brower, then?" Gordie asked quietly. When Chris didn't respond, Gordie's mind began to race.

"Damn it, Chris, is it about Brower or what?" He asked quickly, "Because I thought we were done and over with that already!"

"It's never really over, is it?" Chris mumbled, and set his jaw.

Gordie stumbled in the rhythm of his steps.

"Don't tell me it's about the Cobras, man. Cause I can't deal with them anymore-"

"We're going to have to deal with them for the rest of our lives, Gordie!" Chris snapped, stopping dead in his tracks. Then, calmer; "Looks like now's where it really get's interesting."

Chris continued to walk, and so did Gordie.

"Shit, man."

A few minutes later, Gordie and Chris found themselves standing outside a dark, creepy-looking house at the top of a small hill. This here was Teddy Duchamp's house. Only two lights were on in the drafty old abode of the craziest guy the boys hung out with, but the place seemed to be buzzing. Even in the middle of the night, Chris and Gordie could hear muffled yelling of what appeared to be two people. One of the voices was easily recognizable as the slightly nasal voice of Teddy.

Gordie and Chris exchanged a worried glance before setting out towards the house, nervously forcing themselves to trek up the hill of dead grass that lead to the trash-laden lot.

They were screams. The boys could recognize them as they got closer. Screaming and yelling, one of an older man, and one of their friend.

"Stop it!" Teddy's voice cut through the night with pure desperation.

Gordie and Chris's eyes widened, watching the place before their brains simultaneously made the decision to run to the house.

They stopped when they neared the lit window, creeping towards it on all fours until their noses could just peek above the windowsill.

Nothing happened at first. It was simply Teddy standing defiantly, nose-to-nose with his father. Both guys were bespectacled, Teddy of square black frames, his father of crooked half-moon glasses. Teddy wore a ripped-up white shirt and jeans, his arms placed at a way that his chest flexed out, his sweat-slashed face glowering on his father as if he banished him to hell. His dark green eyes were narrowed and filled, his floppy mop of blonde hair hanging low over them. Tears streamed down his cheek, which the boys could see was red and slightly black-and-blue bruised. His lip was puffy and bloody, and when he spoke in shaking words, his teeth were covered in the iron-y red stuff.

"Leave me alone, goddamn it!" Teddy managed, spitting blood across his shirt.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, boy!" His father yelled back, obviously drunk. With a beefy hand, Mr. Duchamp grabbed Teddy by his bad ear, the ear that he had put to a stove a few summers back, and slammed his head down onto the kitchen table. Teddy let out a screaming grunt of pain, trying to stifle his tears.

"Man up! You're nothing."

There he was pinned, and with one raise of his hand, Mr. Duchamp slapped his on square across the face. Hard. Twice in a row.

It took only those two times for Chris's face to become mad with fury.

"That son of a bitch!" Chris yelled, beginning to leap up from the ground, but Gordie grabbed his arm with force.

"No way, man," Gordie hissed, yanking his friend back down, "Whatever goes on in Teddy's house is Teddy's business,"

"Not unless it leaves a mark on his face for all the world to see, it doesn't!" Chris yelled.

"Shut up, man!" Gordie leaned forward, attempting to keep his voice down. Teddy's dad was drunk, which meant that his hiding wasn't limited to just his son.

"Look, man, this shit goes on at my place, too. With me. You see these scars?" Chris pointed up and down his bruised arm, "That comes from years of struggle with stuff like this. And I can stand for it with my dad, because there's nothing I can do about it, but I'm not going to stand for it while I watch it going on, Gordie!"

"Chris, if Ted's dad even sees us here, he'll hide us to death. Wadd'you think he'll do if you barge into his house and try to punch him? He'll pull a gun, man!"

The two glanced back into the house, just in time to see Teddy attempt to send a punch flying at his father's chest, but Mr. Duchamp caught his fist in his, the older man's hand clamping around Teddy's. His hand was so much bigger compared to his son's. Compared to Mr. Duchamp, Teddy was frail and useless.

Teddy's dad sent Teddy's fist flying back to where it belonged, which was balled, but controlled, at his side, before Teddy indignantly whipped his sweat-drenched hair from his teary eyes and stormed out of the kitchen. Mr. Duchamp simply watched his son go with dark, judging eyes. With that, he sat back down at the table, grabbing a half-empty beer can, chugged it, and tossed it into the pile of discarded tins.

"I hate him. I hate him so much, I just want to….Argh! He should die in hell with the-""Chris," Gordie interrupted his friend's rant as then walked around the house towards Teddy's first-floor bedroom. "He's not even your dad. How would it be if your father were being damned to hell?"

"If I had him for a father, then I'd want him damned to hell as well! Well, I have him as a father, but that's besides the point…"

Gordie couldn't help but wonder. His father had never hurt him the way his friends' parents hurt them. Sure, his father had put him down, ignored him, criticized his friends, but had not once drawn blood from his skin. Not once made him cry out for mercy, or attempt to hurt him in any way.

It was crazy to see Chris getting so mad over this. Gordie was sure that things would be different in terms of this experience if his father were violent towards him. It made Gordie mad-furious!-that Mr. Duchamp could do this to his own son. But it seemed to be something different for Chris. He knew how it felt, and he felt like it was okay for him to have to deal with it, but he knew if wasn't for others. That was simply how Chris was. He wouldn't stand for others' misery.

As the two approached Teddy's open window, they could already hear his muffled cries. Softly, they crept towards the noise and peered through the glass.

Teddy laid face down on his tiny cot, his face buried in a pile of threadbare cloth and blankets. He let the blood fall from his face, and the tears from his eyes. He looked so different without his glasses, which he had removed, so strange with his face all bruised up.

Chris tapped lightly on the window, making Teddy jump. His dark, drooped eyes looked up at them, and he half smiled at them when he met the two boy's faces.

"What in God's name are you guys doing here?" Teddy asked, laughing slightly through his puffed-up lips.

"Could we come in?" Chris asked with sympathy in his words, soft comfort on his tongue.

"Sure." Teddy said this more as a question than an answer, really, and got up, holding a damp towel to his face to stop the blood. With his available hand, he opened the mosquito net and let them in.

Gordie and Chris sat down on ether side of their friend as he dabbed tenderly at his wounds, letting his sniffling tears turn into full-blown crying. He buried his face in his hands, wiping his bloody nose on his arm.

Chris and Gordie put their arms around Teddy, trying their best to comfort him.

"Hey." Chris said. As usual, Gordie let him do most of the talking. His velvety voice always had a way to get into their heads. "You want to talk about it?"

Teddy shook his head lightly, and, with more force, said, "It's stupid! He's such an asshole! He just…gets drunk, and next thing I know he's keeping me up all night with his shit, and I'm completely sick of it!"

"It's okay…" Chris said in a voice that could heal wounds and patch broken hearts. "It's okay, man…It'll be okay…"

"No it won't!" Teddy wrenched himself away from their grips, "It won't! Because no matter what I do, I'll always have to come home to this!" Teddy jumped up from the bed and faced his friends, his face red from fury. He was yelling now, "I'm always going to have to come home to his crap every day! I'm always going to be that kid; Teddy Duchamp! The boy with a loony, hiding, son of a bitch father!"

"Theodore!" There was a rapping on the door, so loud it made the boys jump. "Theodore, who's in there!? Who are you talking to!?"

"Shit…" Gordie muttered. The door handle rattled, but their door was locked, thank God.

"Come on!" Chris said, bounding towards the window and motioning for them to go out through it.

Teddy hesitated before ducking through it. Gordie next, and lastly Chris, but not before yelling a couple last words.

"Try and get your fat ass out here and stop us, you low-lying son of a bitch!" He yelled, a defiant, hard look shadowing across his face before he ducked under as well.

"Let's get out of here!" Chris said, and the three ran down the hill for dear life.

"You guys are completely insane." Vern Tessio as the four walked away from Vern's house.

"Obviously," Gordy joked as they walked together down the deserted streets of Castle Rock at midnight.

"What did you guys wake me up for, anyhow?" Vern asked, folding and unfolding his hands around themselves out of habit. His eyes darted around the empty streets, "I really don't know about this…Why am I here?"

Vern was the stoutest of the group, with short, stubby brown hair that came to a slight widow's-peak at his forehead, blue eyes, pink, chubby cheeks and a funny smile. The boy was most always a little too cautious about his friends' antics and decisions, so it was only expected that Vern not be totally on-board for this midnight meeting.

"I'll tell you when we get to the treehouse." Chris murmured. The others exchanged glances as they walked slightly behind their dashing leader.