Author's Note: This is the Second part in a Four Part installment Prequel Series plus Epilogue to Pseudorick's "Broken". I would say "Enjoy" but I don't think that's the write word to use.
He couldn't go home.
It was too soon.
If Rick went home, he'd have to tell everyone what happened, and then it wouldn't just be Jerry that would hate him (not that he cared, Jerry could hate him forever) but then Beth and Summer would too. He could tell himself it didn't matter, that whether Beth loved or hated him didn't make a difference-but it did, and the thought of her knowing he was responsible for Morty's death was more than he could bare.
Besides, they weren't supposed to be back yet; it was still just Friday night, and they had been on their way to a weekend resort. They were supposed to celebrate Morty's winning third place in the Science fair-something that had shocked everyone, Rick included-because Morty usually had trouble in school. Nobody had expected him to even enter the contest, let alone win third prize-but he had done it, and all on his own; he'd made a holographic universe using things he'd found in the garage. Normally Rick would have been pissed, but the creation was so well put together that he'd been not just amused, but impressed (and it took a heck of a lot to impress him).
He'd already paid for their rooms, so Rick went to the resort, alone. He went straight to the resort's finest bar and got himself very, very drunk. Whereas time had slowed down to a near standstill before, now it sped up with a crazy cocktail of drugs and booze and fuckathons, and Rick almost forgot entirely that in a day or so it would all be over, and he'd have to wake up back into a living nightmare. Even as skin meshed with skin he'd see flashes of yellow and red dancing on the periphery of his vision, and he felt more naked than he'd ever been; yet, the women never suspected he was desperately trying his best not to crack. The drinks kept coming, and at one point or more he'd passed out from a mixture of cocktail and overexursion, and soon the women stopped coming and left him to his lonesome.
And alone he really was, as he lay cold and naked in a large bed with sheets strewn wildly about him, biting his hand to keep himself from screaming as he couldn't stop seeing Morty's face, the memory of his grandon's ice cold skin.
It was late Sunday night when Rick returned, somehow in one piece, the torn piece of Morty's bloodied yellow shirt tucked deep inside his pocket for safe keeping. That night he wrote a letter, and left it in Morty's room, barely able to read his own handwriting through the migrain that was assaulting him. He would sleep the next day away, torn out of the blissful state of ignorance that was sleep, when a hard knock jarred him roughly awake.
"DAD!" It was Beth; shit. She was obviously very worried, as well as already clearly very annoyed. She was trying not to show it, but Rick knew all the telltale signs, the tone of her voice was unmistakeable. "Dad, open up! We've got to talk."
Shit. His head was pounding and the last thing Rick wanted to do right then was "talk". Honestly, the only thing he wanted to do was find the nearest toilet and unload whatever contents his stomach may contain (which wasn't much at all, save for the all the liquor in his system). From the tone of her voice, he surmised she hadn't found the letter yet.
"Read teh letURper," he mumbled from under the covers.
"DAD-WAKE UP!" She was pounding on the door, each pound boring like a screwdriver into his skull. "NOW!" Beth was shouting, and Rick's eyes snapped open at once; having lived with Beth's mother, he was still subconsciously 'trained' to respond to such tones.
He had to practically drag himself over to the door. When he opened it there she was, glowering darkly at him. "Dad," Beth said icily, her eyes narrowed into focused slits of suspicion, "where is Morty?"
"Hi ur sweety, how was your URP day?" Rick quickly sidestepped his daughter and made a beeline for the kitchen (he'd need to get loaded for this altercation).
"Dad…" Beth was following suite almost on his heels; they practically walked into each other as Rick swung open the door and snatched his favorite beer, instantly chugging from it, "you are clearly drunk as a skunk and my son is not home. Please tell me for Chrissakes: where on Earth is Morty?"
For some reason Rick couldn't help but immediately double over laughing, hiccupping and gasping with amusement as Beth stared back at him stonily, with astonishment.
"What's so funny Dad?" Beth now crossed her arms with an even deeper glare, but now more concern was beginning to filter in.
"He's taken a little, a little er, trip." Rick burped in response, swaying and hiccupping and trying hard not to giggle.
"A…" Beth blinked with confusion, her eyes widening, "a what?"
"Left you a let-letter. 'Ts ooover thear in his bed-ah-room. Room." Rick snorted as he took another swig of beer. "Issa good lit'l let-ter. Hs'a good wriUGHter."
"Dad….?" Beth took one look at her father, then fled immediately to the bedroom.
Rick stayed right where he was, downing the rest of the beer.
A horrible scream, followed by repeated "Oh my God"'s was heard from down the hall, which alerted the rest of the family and Jerry and Summer immediately came running.
"What the hell is going on!?" Jerry shouted angrily at Rick, who simply shrugged, removed another beer from the fridge and promptly started on the next one.
"Mommy?" came the next shout, followed by Jerry's scream of "Oh dear Lord, no, NO!"
By this time Rick was already heading for the door of the garage, but a red-faced Jerry, eyes glaring daggers even as they threatened to spill over with tears, stood between himself and freedom. "You." The word dripped thick as molasses, and tasted just as bitter; Rick took a step back as Jerry took another step forward. "You. Son. Of. A. BITCH," Jerry hissed as he took another threatening step forward, both fists clenched, his body trembling with rage. "You did this, you…" His hand was poissed and ready to strike; Rick didn't move or blink. "You monster," Jerry finally blurted out in spite of his shock, "you- you killed him!"
"Not really, Jerry." He knew even as he spoke he was asking for it. "If you really think about it, technically it was the ship that ERP killed him."
"You…" Jerry's face was turning purple crimson; his fist was raising higher. "You….you….y-you-"
"That's a brilliant argument Jerry. One for the records. They'll be talking about it in the history URP books."
"You MURDERER!" Jerry swung wildly in his direction. Upon impact with his face, the world was split in half, and Rick saw stars.
"Dad-STOP!" he heard, but that was the last thing he knew before the blissful darkness enveloped him, and all was quiet once again.
The next thing he knew, the house was silent, and he was alone.
Before anyone could catch sight of him, Rick quickly grabbed hold of all the liquor in the house. He had a place where he was wanted, and it wasn't here.
Author's Note:
There will be two more parts to this story. Next part takes place right before Pseudorick's story "Broken". The fourth part is the epilogue. And I'm sorry sometimes writing has to hurt. It hurt writing it, so you're not alone. Cheers.