More reviews=More story! Guys I would absolutely love some more comments please:) I really need them to boost my confidence….this is my longest chapter yet:D And so important it is….Hope you enjoy! I know I loved writing it:) And also, I update pretty damn regularly, so keep checking back cos I love this story:)

Force of Nature- 4

"Lawrence Escobar."

Upon hearing the name, Huey faltered. Why did it sound so familiar to him? He traipsed through bundles of memories and many nuggets of information in his mind, but he could still not place a finger upon the notion.

"Mike," The African-American began hesitantly, struggling to form the correct words, "This man, I don't have any connections to him, do I?"

"Not that we know of," His boss frowned, his forehead creasing ever so slightly, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Huey shook his head, wondering why he was becoming so perplexed over the matter, "The name just seems familiar, that's all."

It came to him eventually, of course. As they were going through the documents and paper work he was going to be reading through back at his friends' house (though there wasn't much to go on), the revolutionist realised why the name appeared to be so familiar to him. Lawrence; Lawrence Freeman. It had been his father's name. Somehow, to Huey, that did not appear to be the entirety to the mystery, however he allowed himself to dwell on the idea no longer, and instead forced himself to concentrate solely on the case at hand.

When he reached the house that belonged to his best friends, Huey let himself inside and was slightly surprised to find neither Jazmine nor Caesar home. He hadn't assumed that planning the reception would take almost three hours, but to be perfectly honest, he did not mind having the house to himself for a short while. Even so, he felt ever so slightly like an intruder, and found himself only comfortable with working on the bed in his room, as there was no desk or such piece of furniture to lean on.

Huey bent over the information that was splayed out before him curiously. There were several bank documents, copies of signatures, fingerprints, information about the man's supposed pastimes, concluded from CCTV and other such findings. There were receipts, documents about where he lived, and the single photograph of the mysterious man ushered into the centre, the only piece of information about this man that Huey found completely useful. There were no known relatives, friends, connections, hospital documents, educational information, anything, that would lead him to understand this man. There was so little to go on, in fact, he did wonder what the point of it all was.

But even so, he was intrigued.

Just why would a man go to such lengths to be under the general radar? Surely that was cause enough to arouse suspicion. It seemed so for Huey's boss, at any rate. The mocha skinned man loomed over the scraps of information like a king over his kingdom, dragging his whining laptop towards him across the bedcovers. Something about this man did not add up, and no matter how long it took him, he was determined to get to the bottom of the cause.

Even though he was sure his work colleagues had tried everything already, Huey launched a search on the internet and tried entering the man's name into Google. Several pieces of data came up, social networking sites and such things Huey had no time nor patience for, but none of which matched the Lawrence Escobar he was searching for. This man certainly was making it difficult for even Huey to trace him, and the young man became so absorbed with his work, he didn't even hear his best friends return to the house.

"Hey there, Huey."

The Chicagoan managed to drag his eyesight away from his work for a few moments to see Caesar's dreadlocks tumbling over his shoulders and his best friend examined the information Huey was struggling t deal with.

"Jesus man, don't you ever take a break?"

"I needed to keep myself occupied."

Huey retorted flatly, shifting the scraps of paper around on the beige duvet awkwardly, hoping his friend would let it be and go back to Jazmine. His wishes, of course, fell on deaf ears, and Caesar leant closer to study the data presented before him.

"Lawrence Escobar?...Odd."

The young man glanced up at his best friend, who's gentle face was twisted into a slight frown as he read and re-read the name on the screen that blared into the dim light.

"How's it odd? Do you know something?"

Huey asked sharply, trying not to sound too eager, and Caesar merely shook his head, straightening back up to his full height as he brushed a couple of stray dreads from his face lazily,

"Nah. It's nothing man, I just…"

His words faded away once more, and Huey found himself becoming increasingly irritated by his friend's inability to string a whole sentence together.

"Caez, do you know something or not?"

"No," Caesar stated flatly, though he seemed unsure by his slow answer, "It's nothing, I'm mistaken. Jazmine wanted me to tell ya that dinner's gonna be ready soon so, you know, come down whenever you want. She really wants you to feel welcome, Huey."

"I do, honest Caez," Huey wondered how many more lies it would take for Caesar to break past his shell and see the obvious truth, "I really do."

July 23rd 2016

Huey lay blindingly awake in bed, staring hard at the ceiling. A frown was plastered straight across his forehead, and his ears strained for any chance of sound at all, a sound to reassure him that all was right in the world. The digital alarm clock to his side blazed fluorescent numbers into his bedroom, alerting him that it was almost three in the morning. Almost three o'clock, and when he grudgingly rolled over to face the door of the room, he noted that his little brother was still not home.

Three or four months previously, Huey did not like to keep count, Riley Freeman had joined a gang. They called themselves "Phoenix," a rather ridiculous name for a gang, in Huey's opinion (though he thought gangs were ridiculous no matter of the name). He had been threatening his brother with the notion for weeks, and no matter how hard Huey tried, no matter what he said, his stubborn sibling would simply not pay attention. As soon as he joined the notorious gang, the young revolutionary had never heard the end of it. His brother was constantly boasting about the latest bank robbery or gunfight, in fact the only times Huey had not been aware of his brother's stupidity was when he was asleep.

As the summer had continued, Riley had become more and more encouraged by his own power, turning into someone that Huey hardly wanted to be seen in the same school with, let alone as a brother. The once quite kindly Riley Freeman had changed into a bully, and not the playground type either. He was so heavily influenced by the people around him, which happened to mostly be gang members, that ideas and notions were forced into his innocent head and twisted into something that was passed off as acceptable. There was many a time when Riley, though smaller than his brother, would thrust Huey up against a wall and hold a loaded gun to his head, demanding one thing or another. The elder Freeman brother could easily brush his brother off like a fly without himself gaining a scratch, but that was not the problem. The problem, indeed, was the sudden attitude change of Riley Freeman, and what Huey could possibly do to save his brother from himself.

Relatively soon, Riley's school grades began to drop so low, they could not even be credited as the work of an intelligent fourteen year old boy. He skipped school so often, he probably missed an entire term of work. He was out at all hours, and though at first he believed wholly that he was living the life, Huey knew that his little brother was going to soon crash down so low, there would be no hope for him. And, as usual, Huey's predictions became truth. Riley would turn up at home like a soldier fresh from the battlefield, bruised and bleeding, with no hope of escape. He soon became the mere shadow, if that, of the Riley Freeman his older brother knew and loved, and there seemed no end to it.

Huey sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a fraction of a moment, pondering over whether to cease worrying over his lost cause of a brother and get some sleep he readily deserved. He was so tempted, his brain certainly didn't have any more patience enough to stay awake, but Huey, and not for the first time either, listened to his heart, and forced himself to painfully stay awake. He had to be sure that his brother was safe, otherwise, he would only have himself to blame.

By half past three, Huey had almost given up. He was exhausted, and he had a big date with his girlfriend the next day and had to look his best for her (it was their one year anniversary; he didn't want her thinking he had forgotten). Just as he began to roll over into slumber, the sound of the front door creaking ever so slightly alerted his senses, and he glared at his bedroom door, getting ready to scare his brother shitless. He wasn't in the mood to play games. He watched silently as the knob turned, and listened as his little brother attempted to enter the room as silently as possible.

As soon as Riley had closed the door and began to limp inside, Huey grabbed for his lamp and sat up as it turned on, an expression of pure rage frozen to his face.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Riley stifled a scream and jumped a mile, not able to make eye contact with his furious older brother.

"You do realise I've stayed up all this time waiting for you? I've got so much to do tomorrow, I shouldn't have to wait for your ass to get in here at all fucking times of the night."

"Nigga, no one made you wait on me. Yo actin' real fucking gay."

Riley clambered into the neighbouring bed, granting Huey a glimpse of a bloodied bandage on his arm before he pulled the duvet over his head and rolled onto his side, allowing his brother only the sight of his back.

"I'm not the one acting-"

"Huey, leave me alone."

That was only the stat of the troubles.

Present day

Huey blinked as he was dragged back to life, shaking his head free of old memories. What was wrong with him lately? Sighing impatiently with himself, he closed his laptop that was making noises much like a person suffering an asthma attack, filed away his diminishing pile of documents and made his way downstairs. A strong aroma of something that felt so wonderfully familiar wafted up the stairs, and he inhaled heavily as the scent floated around him. Entering the beautifully tiled kitchen, he walked in upon a slowly unfolding scene that made his heart ache even more.

Jazmine had her cinnamon curls twisted into a messy bun at the back of her head, a few loose coils framing her heat-shaped face beautifully as she prepared the dinner. She was in a large, loose shirt (he presumed it was Caesar's) and denim blue skinny jeans, making Huey desperate to reach out and pull her into an embrace, to tell he how he really felt. And then Caesar came into view, dreadlocks and all, kissing his fiancée on the cheek as he chopped the vegetables and whispering some sweet nonsense into her ear that caused her to giggle.

Huey had been able to do that once.

Forcing back a sigh, the mocha skinned man padded into the kitchen and seated himself at the table, taking in the many photographs that were splashed across the walls. Luckily for him, they were not all of the happy couple; a few had their parents or other family members on, and some were of groups of friends that Huey did not recognise. Everywhere he looked, the revolutionary could see imaged documentation of the couple's lives, from beginning to end, containing everyone and everything they held dear. Caesar said something to his best friend, but the Chicagoan did not hear, because he found himself suddenly drawn to the largest photo of them all, one that was not hung upon a wall, but instead given the place of honour on the kitchen worktop before the window.

He realised all too late that he had instinctively leapt from his seat and been lured towards the photograph, but he soon brushing off any feelings, noting that he simply did not care. There was a reason why he was so beckoned towards the image on the counter, and once he reached it, there was no turning back. The photograph was cool in his hands as he picked it up ever so cautiously, and it looked several years old. He easily identified this, as he featured in this particular image, at the tender age of sixteen. But it wasn't just him.

It was a group shot of five teenagers, of all seemed happy and blissfully aware of the life-wrecking troubles that were soon to come. His younger self was linked casually with Jazmine, who was granting his cheek with a butterfly kiss. Caesar was on his other side, hands slung in his pockets, grinning broadly without a care in the world. There was Cindy also, laughing at something out of the picture, and leaning on the ground against a person who Huey had not seen in such a long time. The youngest boy in the photograph was preserved in the manner that the revolutionist wished to remember him in, simply perfect. He was sprawled casually on the ground and pretending to be annoyed with the girl resting against him, but the sparkle in his eyes gave everything away. Yes, this was the Riley Freeman that the young man preferred to remember, the boy before the gangs, the guns, the violence.

The boy before the accident.

Huey could remember that day perfectly, every detail etched into his memory for the entirety of his life. It had been late spring, and the weather had been perfect; not too hot or too cold, with a gentle breeze to ease everyone's spirits. It was the rarest day in the world, because it had been one in which Huey had smiled the whole time throughout. He had felt like the luckiest person in the world, and could only see things getting better, instead of worse. He could remember the feel of Jazmine's teased hair tickling his skin as she kissed him, the laughter of best friend and the clamouring of his brother. Everything had been perfect, all had been as it should be.

He wished he could turn back time.

"That's my favourite picture too."

A soft voice enchanted Huey back to reality from his dreams, and he looked to one side slowly, noticing Jazmine's skinny frame hunched over the photograph beside him.

"We were all really happy, weren't we? It's the best one of us all together."

Huey did not reply, holding the image in his grip for a fraction too long, and coming to his senses, placed the frame back down onto the worktop and headed back towards his seat, wondering why he was letting everything get to him so suddenly. As soon as he crashed down onto his chair, a plate of steaming hot food was shoved into his face, and he blinked while his two best friends beamed.

"A Huey Freeman favourite."

Caesar grinned, and encouraged his friend to tuck in as Jazmine served the rest of the food. The meal passed with little strained emotions, and Huey found he was quite content just being around the two people who meant the world to him- even if he struggled to show it sometimes. They were, of course, absolutely correct that the meal they had served was his favourite, and he cleaned his plate of it even after having a second helping. The conversation that passed between the trio was light and reasonably airy, and Huey found it rather refreshing in comparison to the heavy work-talk that rolled around when he had a meal with his colleagues back in London. He didn't allow himself to speak much, preferring to listen to his two friends talk about everything and anything they could, and he was surprised they had not lost their voices yet.

The evening passed at a rather reasonable pace, and soon after staying up until all hours to watch ridiculous films and have popcorn throwing competitions, Huey found himself crashing into bed quite content, readying himself for slumber with high prospects for the weeks to come. Perhaps the rest of his stay in Woodcrest would not be so taxing after all?

Huey left the house the next morning before either of his two friends had arisen from their bed. He didn't bother with breakfast, but instead chose to leave another note in the place of the one from the day previously, and headed straight for the outside world. His hours of trailing through seemingly pointless internet searches the previous night had led him somewhere; he had actually gained enough information to learn at least on which street Lawrence Escobar lived. Huey's plan was relatively simple, track down the mystery man, leave a few hidden cameras around when locating his house, and then leaving it up to the CCTV footage to do the rest of the work. As he meandered along the pavement, hoping he was going in the correct direction, Huey cautiously probed for the gun concealed in his pocket. He didn't want to use it, but he had no idea what this kind of man was like, and anyway, it was only a pellet gun. It wouldn't do any serious damage. Probably.

After almost an hour of walking in the early morning sunshine that washed upon him like an elegant bliss, the African-American man found the exact street he was looking for. He knew that Escobar could only possibly live in house numbers between one and ten, and so however simple it did appear, Huey's plan was to honestly, just knock on doors. Most people, normal ones at any rate (in his opinion), would be up by now, and surely neighbours had to know one another in a street such as this ?

The street itself did not appear like the usual habitat for someone being hunted down by his detective agency. It was rather short, lined with identically-cut trees and the houses were all white bricked, with miniature front gardens and steps with iron railings leading up to the brightly coloured front doors. But Huey knew all too well, that looks could be deceiving.

After several attempts that were less than useful, the revolutionary was beginning to think that he may have to come up with a different way to approach this. The families on this particular street appeared to keep themselves to themselves, which he thought was rather isolating, and he heaved a sigh as he leant against one of the trees that shaded him from the everlasting sunshine. Rolling up his sleeves, and wondering what on earth had possessed him to wear such clothes on this kind of hot day, Huey dragged out the notes of information on the very street he was lurking on, deciphering his scrawled handwriting from the night prior.

As he began to form a fresh plan in his head, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, forcing the young man to turn curiously to one side. A coffee-skinned adult was pottering around in the front garden of one of the houses (number eight, he assumed), emptying some rubbish into one of the bins. He looked no older than twenty years of age, his bitter chocolate hair wrenched back into cornrows. He was dressed in baggy jeans that sagged far too low down his legs to be suitable, wearing an oversized, faded shirt above a tighter, drab sienna one. His feet were covered by a pair of French blue Converses that had seen more than their fair days share of work, and a pair of jet sunglasses hid his eyes from view. Huey could hardly begin to believe his luck; here he was, Lawrence Escobar, mere metres away from him.

But how was he to approach this strange man? It was the one fault in the plan that Huey had hoped would come to him naturally, but now he reached the climax of his journey, he struggled to come up with a reasonable idea. Luckily, Fate was on his side, and Escobar dragged one of the reeking bins down the side of an alley located just beside his house. The perfect place to gather the much needed answers. Fingering the pellet gun in his back pocket and praying it would not have to be used, the mocha skinned man followed the unknowing Lawrence into the depths of the alleyway.

Huey wrinkled his nose as the stench of the heated garbage reached his nostrils, and struggled not to cover his mouth with a palm as he stepped deeper into the abyss. Lawrence was humming tunefully, a song Huey did not know, and his back was still turned to the detective. Just as the young revolutionary shifted another pace forward, the cornrowed man snatched at a flash of silver and in an instant, was standing directly opposite Huey, pistol clenched in one hand.

For some reason or another, Escobar seemed startled by his sudden appearance, even though he had been so readily prepared, and this granted Huey just enough time to whip out his own gun, of which he pointed directly at the younger man's head.

"Nigga, what the fuck do yo think yo doin'?"

The duo circled one another until Escobar was standing partially in the full glare of the sunlight, and Huey decided he must be grateful for the sunglasses at times like this.

"I need some answers, and I need them now," The African-American man stated flatly, eyeing the gun that still faltered to be aimed at him, "Don't make me use this."

He wafted his own pistol a little in the air, and the cornrowed man ever so slowly shifted the position of his gun so it was aimed at Huey, egging him on to step closer. To which he did. Huey lured his own weapon closer to the man's head, desperately pleading with himself and his mind to not pull the trigger.

"Nigga it's me, ok? It's me! Don't bring dat thing any closer!"

Huey was surprised at Escobar's nerves, and watched intently as the younger man paced backwards, away from the revolutionist and further into the sunlight.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

Huey demanded, his impatience with Escobar running high. He wasn't sure what was going on, but something deep inside was telling him there had to be more to the situation than this. The same kind of niggling emotion that warned him of his little brother's vanishing, seven years previously. What was going on?

The younger man raised a hand to his face, and Huey felt his clutches on his gun tighten as Lawrence Escobar fumbled for his shades before ripping them from his face, letting them tumble carelessly to the dirtied and cracked ground.

Maroon eyes met maroon, and Huey stared at the younger man before him, emotions raw and open for the whole world to see. Escobar didn't look just nervous; he looked like a deer in the headlights, scared completely shitless as he allowed his pistol to clatter to the tarmacked floor, it's metal casing glinting slyly into the sunlight.

"Don't yo get it nigga? It's me. It's fucking me, Huey,"

His hands were shaking like a nervous wreck, and Huey gaped open mouthed as the man before him placed his palms behind his head, almost in surrender,

"It's Riley."

Oh how I love cliff hangers:)

Apologies if this isn't properly closed offfrom the text, I can't figure how to do that. It won't work:/