The Quiet Plains
Chapter I. Now
(Late April, Junior Year)
Eric didn't miss a beat. Even if the grand pause in this entire theatrical gong show lasted a whole year.
"Well, Kenny," Eric began, taking care to draw out every syllable. He could see that the apparent and deliberate slowness made Kenny anxious. The poor piece of shit looked antsy as fuck. "As you can probably see—but, hell, I don't wanna assume what poor people can or can't do with their gimp genetics—"
Kenny flipped him off. Old habits died hard. "Cut the crap. As heartfelt as this reunion is, you and I literally don't have any time to waste. Tell me what the fuck went down."
"Oh, for fuck's sake—don't tell me you haven't already heard," Eric spat. "I didn't decide to live in a shithole mountain town because the rumour mill was idle. See, Randall and his cuntbag friends decided it would be a riot to beat the ever loving shit out of me. What the hell else does this look like to you?" He gestured stiffly to his broken body. The effort made him wince.
Eric had half a mind to call for a nurse and tell Kenny to get the hell out, until he noticed how Kenny was standing in the way of the door. His shoulders were in a taught line, the tension pulling on every other muscle in his body, extending all the way to his eyes. The silvery blue of his glare was irate. But there was an underlying sense of haste and panic in the way he looked at Eric's current state.
Before Kenny could respond, Eric scoffed and turned away to look out his window. "Please fucking tell me that the town gossip isn't too far off the mark. The last thing I wanna deal with when I get out is some rumour about me dropping the soap and Randall taking advantage—"
"Jesus," Kenny hissed. "That's not it at all. Fuck, Cartman ... this is serious." He paused, his face taking on a pained expression. "No one knows what actually happened, alright? But everyone's wondering."
Kenny's implied question was loud and clear. But Eric wasn't feeling generous enough to indulge him. Not right now. Not when he, of all people, didn't know what was transpiring on the other side of town. Randall wouldn't talk. None of them would. Neither would Eric. It was better for all of them that way.
In certain circumstances, the less you spoke the lesser the likelihood of getting caught in a place you shouldn't be.
"I don't know what you want me to say, Kenny," Eric grumbled. "I walked by them behind the gym on my way to the parking lot. They must've been doing something shady, because the moment they saw me they freaked. Several hours later, here I am. But you know all of that already."
Eric didn't look at Kenny. His gaze was transfixed on the nighttime scenery outside his window. Suburbia lit up the South Park landscape like a pathetic dust of stars swallowed by city lights. It was all so small and fragile. Was Kenny buying it? Of course he was. He had to. There was not enough out there to believe otherwise. Eric was sure.
Eric heard a small, breathy chuckle from where Kenny stood. Almost against his will, Eric pulled his gaze away from the window.
Kenny held his head in his hands, his shoulders twitching from silent laughter. Without lifting his gaze, body stilling suddenly, Kenny whispered loud enough for Eric to hear, "It's funny ... how we haven't talked for a year ... and now this is how it all comes back." He let out a hoarse guffaw. "When I saw them driving Randall to the police station ... I thought you were dead."
Eric couldn't tell when he started holding his breath.
"I hadn't talked to you for a year—a whole entire year, I pretended like you didn't matter anymore. I just ... didn't care, after what you did—what you did to K—" Kenny stopped himself.
Eric grit his teeth, shutting his eyes tight. It was a small relief to know that Kenny's eyes weren't on him.
Kenny sucked in a breath of air. "I thought I didn't care anymore. Really, Cartman. After all that, I didn't think I had it in me to give a shit. It was all so fucking stupid and now ..." He laughed again, a hysterical high-pitched sound. Blue eyes lifted to level Eric with a knowing, heavy gaze. "Now I'm here in front of you, and I remember. I remember—"
Eric gripped the white sheets tightly in his bruised fingers.
Kenny took a step forward, his hair illuminated further in a halo of fluorescent light. "I grew up with you, Eric. I know you're a manipulative son of a whore."
If not his words, then it was something in Kenny's eyes that made Eric think twice about his chance at succeeding with his charade.
Kenny didn't get any closer. He simply stood a step away from the door, his face still. His eyes were sad and angry, the one thing that seemed to bridge a little bit of the distance between them. It brought Eric uncomfortably close.
"You might want to practice that lie a little bit more," Kenny said, his voice strained. "Even if it worked on the constable and your mom, it's not gonna work on me, and it sure as hell won't work on Kyle."
The name felt like a cold slap against his face.
Eric's heart dropped.
Seeing Eric's complexion go white, Kenny sneered, almost cruelly.
"That's right—he's coming."
It was 8:26 pm and Stan was late.
Kyle glanced up from where he was parked in the Marsh driveway. Stan's bedroom window was bright, sharp and harsh in contrast to the darkness that the sunset brought. The street lamps were coming to life and the last rays of sunlight were starting to fade. Kyle hated idling in his car.
"I said ten minutes ..." Kyle muttered, running his hands over the steering wheel. "Damn it, Stan. Hurry up."
Movement from inside the house caught Kyle's eye. He glanced up and saw Stan waving from the window. He had his hand up, fingers stretched out. Five minutes, he mouthed at Kyle and disappeared within his room, beyond sight.
Frowning, Kyle felt the urge to drive away without him. But he decided to wait a little longer.
"What ... what the hell do you mean he's coming."
Eric's breathing was ragged. He felt nauseous.
No. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not now. Not after a year of silence.
"H-he's supposed to be in Denver." Eric swallowed past the lump in his throat. "He has a tournament. W-what the hell's he doing—Kenny, don't fuck around with me!" He didn't mean to yell. But none of this was supposed to be happening.
Kenny's shrug was unsympathetic. "Like you said—a mountain town ain't a mountain town if it doesn't have an efficient rumour mill."
Eric felt like vomiting. He was abruptly made aware of how broken and weak he looked in his current state.
Kenny started speaking faster. Eric didn't like that. He glanced at the clock above the door and willed it to stop ticking so loud.
"Someone on the basketball team told him." Kenny's tone became low and hushed. "He drove to South Park as soon as he could. He made it within the town proper in under five hours. He's on his way now. But—"
Eric hated Kenny. He hated him.
"I asked Stan to stall. And he'll keep stalling unless you tell me the fucking truth."
It was 8:32 and Stan had yet to make another appearance.
Kyle scowled. He grabbed his phone from out of his jacket pocket, hitting the Call button as soon as Stan's name showed up on his contacts list.
"Pick up ..." he muttered. He was still idling. What a waste of gas. The drive from Denver was bad enough. "For fuck's sake, Stan. Visiting hours are only until nine. What the hell is taking so long?"
After three rings, Stan's voice finally came on the line. "Hey, dude—sorry it's taking so long. I'll be out soon, I just gotta—"
"We don't have a lot of time, Stan." Kyle didn't snap, but his voice was on edge and he knew it. There was no need to get angry, not at Stan. He wasn't angry at Stan. "Just hurry up, okay? I'm tight on gas these days—I've had the car running for a while ..."
"Geez ... I'm real sorry, dude. I'll hurry it up."
The phone beeped and Stan's voice was gone.
Kyle dropped his phone in a cup holder and let his head fall back. He couldn't stand waiting. He had to know for himself. He had to see what the hell went so wrong.
"Why the HELL are you even here."
He was shouting now. Eric was panicking. He wasn't ready.
Kenny stared blankly at him. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he spoke slowly, "I told you, right? I thought you were dead."
"Oh, fuck, yes," Eric laughed harshly. "You were so concerned that you came running. Well, I'm alive, dipshit. Now stop fucking around with me. You're the one who said we didn't have time for any of this."
"All I really had to say," Kenny said with a cold smile, "was that Kyle is on his way. That's all it took to rile you up." He took a few steps closer, now hovering over Eric, making him painfully aware of his helplessness. "If there's anything that gets you worked up, it's Kyle. You know that poker face you've always got?"
Eric glared, clenching his jaw. How satisfying it would be to punch Kenny right in his straight, pointed nose.
"It falls apart when Kyle comes into the picture."
Eric wanted nothing more than to strike Kenny and break his shiteating grin.
"And I know all of this." Kenny's voice was down to a sinister whisper. "You know what that gives me?"
Eric wanted to spit in his face.
Kenny smiled.
"It gives me leverage."
Kyle resisted the urge to gun the accelerator. They were still in the suburbs. The exit to the town's main road seemed lost in the twist and turn of cul-de-sacs and circling streets. It all seemed so far away.
Stan plugged his phone into the stereo and started playing ambient trance. The melodic sounds were supposed to be relaxing.
Kyle knew how tense he was. He was just waiting for Stan to make mention of it. They were both oddly silent and it bothered Kyle. Something about the stillness made him feel out of the loop.
"Stan," Kyle started, feeling his throat tighten. "Do you ... do you know ..."
Why was he so nervous?
Stan turned to look at Kyle. His eyes appeared midnight blue in the darkness, oddly expressionless. "Do I know what happened? No. No one does. From what I heard, Randall and his friends aren't talking. Not yet, anyway."
Kyle's lips tightened into a grimace. "No ... I meant—Stan." He hadn't planned to say so much on the drive there. There was no plan at all. From the moment he got into his car that afternoon, Kyle had only one thing on his mind. "Dude ... this is just ... I don't know why this is so hard for me right now. Talking, I mean."
Stan glanced away.
Kyle slowed as a red light came on at an intersection. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"What are you trying to say, Kyle?" Stan asked, his voice soft and quiet. He had asked no questions when Kyle called him in a panic only a few hours earlier. Stan simply complied with the rapid-fire, frenzied interrogation. Most questions were answered with "I don't know," and that was the truth. No one knew why Eric was in the hospital while Randall and his friends were still at the police station.
There was a long pause before Kyle spoke again.
"What I'm trying to say ..." Kyle murmured, almost to himself. It was so hard to string words together. "Jesus, dude." He laughed and it sounded sheepish. "I mean ... you must think I've gone insane."
Kyle didn't notice, but Stan stiffened in his seat, glancing anxiously at the stop light.
"It's been a year, Stan."
If only the red light lasted longer. But they were moving again.
Stan frowned, watching as they flew past open fields, faster now that they turned into the main road. "Yeah ... I didn't wanna ask. I really ... didn't want to." It was also hard for him to talk about it. "But I understand why you would feel bad."
Kyle felt a lump rising in his throat.
"Nothing was ever your fault, Kyle. Cartman is—he's fine, from what I heard. He should be out of the hospital in a few days. And you also have a tournament back in Denver ..."
"Oddly enough, I don't really give a shit about that right now." Kyle's voice was breathy. He sounded defeated.
Stan was ready to leave it at that, but Kyle pressed on. They were picking up speed.
"You know the first thing that came to my mind when I got the news? I thought to myself ... damn, this entire year was pointless." Kyle laughed and he sounded so sad through the upturn of his lips. "Suddenly, it all seems so petty. So ... senseless. I mean ... at that point, I couldn't even remember why I stopped talking to Cartman. That stopped mattering when I thought he was ..."
Kyle swallowed. His throat felt tight.
"God, Stan ..." he whispered, the sound of his voice so taut, as if he was about to break. "I just got into my car and I didn't care anymore ... maybe my head was just filled with misplaced nostalgia, but on the way over here, the bad stuff didn't seem so awful anymore."
Stan felt like shouting. He didn't understand how he could sit so still in the passenger seat as he listened to all of this.
"I kept thinking ..." Kyle sounded like he was about to cry. "I kept thinking about the last words I ever said to him."
The lights of downtown Park County came up as they rose atop the curve of a hill.
"I couldn't bear it, Stan."
Kyle choked back the shaky watery tone of his voice.
"I thought he was dead and I hated myself for being too proud."
"The truth, Cartman." Kenny sounded so bitter. "You know how I'm sure that you're lying?"
Eric didn't respond. He didn't need to because Kenny kept talking anyway. But neither did he want to know about the gaping hole that Kenny supposedly saw through his story.
"It's because you've been so awfully quiet about all of this. So perfectly ... passive." Kenny's eyes were piercing and cold. "That's not at all like you, fat boy. The you I know would have taken advantage of the ruckus."
Cold calculation was his game, Eric thought malevolently. Kenny had no place in all of this.
"The you I know ..." Kenny whispered, sitting down at the edge of the bed. "The Cartman I know and so lovingly hate would have seen to it that Randall never breathed an ounce of fresh Colorado air as long as he lived."
Kenny would never win against Eric in his own game. Eric wouldn't allow it.
"So tell me, Cartman ..."
Kenny's hands were balled into fists and for a moment Eric thought another injury was coming his way.
"Tell me why you're protecting them."
That wasn't what he expected. Eric didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. He should have anticipated Kenny's guess, but his mind was in a frenzy over K—
"Protecting ..?" Eric stared at Kenny. The curtains were up now. He had to be convincing. "The hell—what the fuck do you mean, protecting?" His voice rose in a crescendo of wrath. "Did that dirt poor brain of yours break from snorting too much crack? You tell me, Kenny," Eric sneered, "what about protecting Randall and his parade of faggots would ever be beneficial to me?"
Kenny's fists looked ready to fly. "You—that's why I'm HERE. I'm asking you—"
"A dumb fucking question," Eric spat. "You keep going on and on about the 'truth.' Well, here's the fucking truth: I don't know jack shit about why they jumped me the way they did. I know about as much as you do—God help me."
Kenny was glaring, his face contorted in an expression of bewildered frustration. "You're lying."
"For all fuck's sake." Eric was feeling the strain of all his injuries. He wanted Kenny out of the room. The mental gymnastics were wasting his energy. Eric had to be prepared but Kenny's relentless hounding was wearing him out. All the anger was taking its toll.
Eric took a deep breath. He then smiled a mocking smile.
"You want a play by play of events? Well, if that'll get you out of my room faster, then why the fuck not, right? See, at around five o'clock yesterday afternoon, I was making my way out of the school and decided to take a shortcut through the gym. I wasn't about to make that pain in the ass walk through the school entrance. But see, Kenny, on my way out the fire exit, I saw Randall and his band of pussies making their way towards the locker rooms by the football field. You know how I always said that guy was shady as all fuck? Well, I wasn't about to miss out on proof of my absolute rightness. So I followed them."
Eric licked his cracked lips. He was short of breath now.
"They went into the boys locker rooms and sure enough, Randall started handling little ... little baggies." Eric grinned, watching as Kenny's resolve turned brittle. "But fuck if I care about some drug deal, right? Seen worse shit go down than that. I decided to leave them to it, really save the blackmail for a more opportune moment. But ... I guess one of the guys saw me, because next thing I know I'm being tackled against the tile wall.
"I wrestled my way out of there long enough to run outside. I got as far as the parking lot before Randall caught up to me."
The hesitation and doubts in Kenny's eyes were palpable in his silence. Victory tasted sweet.
"Randall's pretty fucking desperate at this point, because he doesn't even bother with small talk. He starts with the beating, gets right to the point." Eric's smile turned cold. "I mean, what would his poor lawyer father do if he found out that his precious baby faggot was dealing drugs? It would be a real shame if Randall couldn't play football for some ivy league college, all because of a drug record, right?
"Randall's not too bright, you see. Battery and assault, right on top of drug possession? Goddamn, that kid's lucky he's got the biceps of Thor because that's the only thing he's got going for him. He just starts panicking, and the more he panics, the more he whales on me. Some of his friends join in. But then ... it starts looking pretty bad for me.
"It must have. All I remember is a wicked fucking pain against my jaw and I'm out like a light. I thought I heard Randall screaming, freaking out. A couple hours later, I wake up attached to this IV drip." Eric gestured around him. "And lots of beeping machines ... you'd think I was dying and they'd put me on life support. But as you can see, Kenny," he turned to look at the ever familiar face by the end of his bed, "I'm alive and well, save for a few broken ribs and a shit ton of internal bleeding. I am fucking impressive.
"But mark my words."
The room seemed to grow colder. Kenny's face was pale with no hint of the confidence he had before.
"When I get out of here, Randall Lee better hope they send him somewhere pretty fucking far. Because nothing short of concrete walls and electric fences will keep me from destroying his life.
"How's that for truth, Kenny?"
Kyle felt the difference in air pressure as he crossed the threshold of the automatic doors and walked into the hospital lobby. Were his steps too rushed? He was straining to keep his pace even with Stan.
Stan had been calm throughout the day. It was both comforting and unnerving to see his best friend resolutely held together while Kyle felt like he was unravelling. He wanted more control, but his mind was rushing, thinking up a million things to say, none of which seemed good enough after a year of silence.
Kyle wanted to speak to who he was a year ago and ask, "Did you ever have any intention of breaking the silence eventually?"
He knew he wouldn't find an answer, and maybe that wasn't important any longer. Too much time had passed. And just a few hours earlier, fear and guilt made him see what an entire year of feeling hollow couldn't do.
"Eric Cartman?" the receptionist at the desk repeated after Kyle and Stan told her who they would be visiting. "You boys are here pretty late. There are only ten minutes left for visitors." She input a few keys on her keyboard and glanced at the computer screen on her desk. "Room 332," she said, smiling up at them. "Make it quick."
No one else was on the elevator as Stan and Kyle made the short ascent.
In the sterile metal compartment, the silence took on a thick tension that made the walls seem way too close. Kyle thought that he should have taken the stairs.
"What are you gonna say?"
Kyle glanced up, startled by Stan's question. The elevator ride was almost over. He had no idea.
Nothing seemed good enough.
They were already on the third floor. The doors slid open with a hint of a rattling scrape and both boys stepped out onto the quiet hallway. Wordlessly, they headed to the direction of room 332.
Kyle felt like his heart was about to jump into his throat. He had no idea what to say, but he couldn't get to the room fast enough. He told himself that if Stan wasn't there, he would have broken out into a sprint. Fuck knowing what to say. He didn't have to say anything. Words wouldn't do—how many times were his words swallowed by his pride?
Long enough to let this last an entire year, Kyle thought bitterly.
Besides, what would be the point? Kyle knew through instinct that anything he came up with would prove futile. When he walked into that hospital room and met Eric's gaze for the first time in so long, no amount of planning would move him to speak. And there was the matter of Eric's response. Did he know they were coming? No, Kyle told no one but Stan.
Perhaps, Kyle thought, that was a little unfair.
They were in front of the room. The black numbers 332 were on a sign placed next to the door.
Kyle caught Stan's concerned look. He felt calm all of a sudden.
Neither of them reached for the door handle.
"Don't you think ... this might be a little unfair?" Kyle said with a soft chuckle, not quite meeting Stan's gaze. "I mean ... I've had all this time to think about stuff to say, and Cartman doesn't suspect a thing. It feels like I have an advantage or something."
Stan sighed. "But did you figure out what you're going to say? I asked you earlier and you didn't say anything."
Kyle glanced at the door. In that moment, he almost wished he could see through it. What would he discover?
"No, Stan."
Kyle reached forward and felt the cold metal of the door handle against his fingertips.
"I have no clue."
Stan saw that Kyle's fingers were paler than usual, trembling against the door handle. He paused before turning to walk down the hallway, back the way they came.
"I'll let you see him first," Stan said. He didn't watch for Kyle's expression. He saw some benches and decided to take a seat and wait for Kyle there.
When he turned back to look, Kyle had already gone into the room.
Leaning against the railing of the balcony, Kenny felt the cool night breeze fluttering against his beat up parka. Smoking out here was probably a bad idea, but no other hospital doors along the floor were open. Besides, it wasn't like he'd be here long. He just needed to cool down and relax with a cigarette.
He ran his hands through his pale hair. Kenny lifted his fingers up to his face and realized he was shaking. He took a drag to steady himself.
There was still something about Eric's story that he didn't quite believe. But what else was there to figure out? What he said made sense.
Kenny blew out one last puff of smoke and let his cigarette fall to the floor. The embers died beneath the soles of his dirty sneakers.
It occurred to Kenny that the sense of unease he felt was due to long standing and innate distrust. He instinctively questioned anything Eric said. But gut feeling was nothing to go by. He had little reason to be suspicious. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Randall Lee was known to have anger issues. It made sense that he'd fly off the handle before asking questions or resorting to diplomacy. Still ...
Kenny rubbed his palms against his face.
There was no time to mull it over on Eric's balcony. He needed to get out of the hospital. Kenny turned around and was about to slide the glass door open when the sight inside the room made him scramble out of view.
Kyle sat on the edge of the bed, his arms around Eric.
Kenny couldn't see Eric's face, but he could see plain as day that Kyle was crying.