Author's Note: Lol three years wtf?! The update, as promised. A little late. Posting this at 3:00am, excuse grammatical fail plz. :(

Chapter Seven

Night in the creepy docks descended upon the foursome much too quickly for comfort, and they were forced to resort to prying open a large window and sneaking inside the nearest warehouse. It was full of dusty old crates stacked on top of each other, some reaching as high as the ceiling. Frieda leaned the flying board against one.

The last person in, Richie glanced around in the dimly lit repository and let the window drop with a clang back into place. The group stood awkwardly until Shelly broke the silence.

"This is awful," She said with a sigh to Frieda. "I'm sorry I let you come with me, I can't imagine what your parents would say."

"Miss Sandoval, I don't blame you, really," The redhead assured her. "Investigative journalism is something I've always wanted to do. I just…" She bit her lip, glancing at her old classmates. "I didn't think it would go so far."

With another sigh, Shelly turned to Richie and Madelyn. "Listen you two, I'm sorry you're in trouble, but as the adult in this situation I've made the decision. I'm afraid we're all going to the authorities as soon as possible."

"What?" Richie said incredulously, at the same time Madelyn demanded, "Excuse me?"

"I don't know how you became involved in whatever's going on, Richie, Madelyn, but this isn't something you can solve on your own." Shelly said patiently. "It's time to hand things over to people who know what's going on."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Madelyn spat from where she stood next to Richie, whose dark brows were knitted in consternation. The two had drawn unconsciously closer together at Shelly's words, standing side by side like a last line of defense. Madelyn was noticeably smaller than Richie when compared this close, but they seemed to possess equal strength; his arms were crossed against his chest and her hands were firmly on her hips, as was usual during her more heated arguments. "This is bigger than me and this dumb jerk!"

"Miss Sandoval, you have to understand," Richie began, uncrossing his arms in a placating way. "It's not that I don't trust you… it's just that, um, well I sort of don't trust you very much. With the information you have. And that you know my identity." Frieda gave him an exasperated look and Richie quickly backpedaled. "Not that you're not a nice person and everything, and uh, you've been really great, and cooperative, helping us and all, and uh, well, what I mean is…"

"Richie, you should really give it some thought," Frieda cut him off as he floundered for words. She dusted off the crate closest to her and took a seat. "Who knows what we're up against?"

Madelyn glared at Frieda so ferociously that the other girl was taken aback. Madelyn started forward to make her point and her ankle jerked to the side. With a grimace she plopped down on a crate opposite Frieda.

Sending a concerned frown in Madelyn's direction, Shelly stepped in between the girls.

"I know you don't want to, but you really don't have a choice," She said. "It's too dangerous to do… whatever it is we're doing. It's not - "

"You will do what I say!" Madelyn interrupted, trying to stand on her feet and being prevented by her ankle. She brushed her bangs out of her face angrily. "And I say that you will stay here and not go to any authorities whatsoever!"

Shelly opened her mouth to respond, but Richie intervened.

"Look." He said. "Let's just put the topic aside for now and focus on the present."

"If I had my powers..." Madelyn muttered threateningly.

Shelly turned on them, frustrated. "I'm responsible for you kids, somehow or another. We have no plan, no food, two of you are injured without proper medical care. We don't even have anywhere to spend the night!"

There was a thick silence following her outburst, and Richie and Shelly, the only two still standing, sank down onto crates as well. Madelyn stared sullenly at the ground, and scooted farther away from Richie as he sat on a nearby crate. The moonlight was filtering in through the dirty windows and the shadows in the warehouse were deep.

"Actually, I think there's a motel around here," Frieda supplied at last. Her pretty voice echoed. "I don't know how far… but downtown used to have a few."

"Well, that settles it," Richie said with finality, rubbing his hands together. "Come on, gang. We can fly low since it's dark out, and we'll glide until we spot a motel."

"We don't have any money," Madelyn said flatly.

"I have like ten dollars," Frieda offered.

"I've got my credit card," Shelly suggested, to which Richie immediately shook his head.

"Credit cards, IDs, cell phones - we can't use any of it. It can all be traced."

"Oh, fine," Shelly said, defeated. She resignedly walked over to the board, and Frieda got up and followed, her hair swaying behind her.

Richie looked down at Madelyn. Madelyn looked up at Richie. Blue eyes met brown and with a sigh he stretched out a hand to help her up. She unhappily accepted it. Their metal bracelets clinked together.

Twenty minutes of searching eventually led to rough landings behind a dingy old motel. The lights were off in every room, and the group stalked along the back, trudging over strangled brown weeds and a broken cement sidewalk. The doors were dirty, and the bronze knobs looked shaky.

Peeking in windows through the cracked blinds, they finally found a room on the far end of the motel which looked deserted. As Shelly jiggled the handle, the intensely moral superhero in Richie finally burst free.

"But - but - that's illegal!" He sputtered. Madelyn rolled her eyes.

"Nothing's illegal until you get caught," Shelly said grimly. The door handle popped open with a soft click.

"That's my kind of journalism!" Frieda said enthusiastically.

"Stay here," Shelly said. "I'll have a look around and see if it's safe."

"But -" Richie started, but Shelly was already gone.

Inside, the motel room was small but not cramped. The lights were off and Shelly refrained from turning any on, but the moon was full and the light, though dim, was enough. There were two twin beds, each with nightstands, a tall bureau, and a small dirty-orange armchair. In the corner was a small table with a Mr. Coffee and a complimentary whicker basket of instant coffee and grape jelly packets. Shelly crept further into the room, gently running her fingers over the dusty telephone on the far left nightstand. The wallpaper which clung to every inch of available wall was hideous; it was a disastrous mustard yellow with a clumsy, repetitive arrangement of swirly, bulbous purple flowers.

The only thing in the bureauwas a tattered old bible with dog-eared pages and faded print. Shelly moved past it and immediately come across a bathroom. Feeling that it was safe enough, she called quietly to Richie, Frieda, and Madelyn. The latter was hobbling, using Frieda for support. They looked around, much in the same way as Shelly had.

With the door they'd come through safely shut and locked behind them, Shelly flicked on the light in the bathroom. With the bathroom door closed, the light wasn't obvious, and their risk of being discovered would be slim.

The bathroom was grungy, with old tile and a rust stain from the faucet, but it would do. She leaned into the shower stall and turned on the water. It chugged into life reluctantly at first, and then came to full power. Satisfied, Shelly turned it off. Upon further snooping, she was surprised to find that there were a few towels in the cabinet, and they actually looked relatively clean, and in the drawer underneath the sink she found a sparse first aid kit. She smiled.

"Okay," Shelly said to the teenagers after re-emerging from the bathroom. "There's only instant coffee and I don't think any of us needs to be awake right now, so we'll save it for the morning and try to find some food then. The shower works fine. Who's first?"

Frieda ended up showering first, then Shelly, then Richie. Madelyn was next in line, and was giving the hot water a minute to regenerate. The closeness of the motel room and their escaping capture so far gave the group a sense of temporary security.

"It's so crazy… this whole experience has been really Twilight Zone-y," Frieda was saying from where she sat on one of the twin beds, dressed and toweling off her red hair. She pulled it up into a ponytail. They all had no other clothes except their grimy old ones, but they had to do.

"Or Outer Limits-y," Richie put in.

"What?"

"Good show, same eerie kind of feel as the Twilight Zone, same era, but not as widely referenced," Richie explained knowingly. He adjusted his glasses and leaned back on his chair.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was that?" Madelyn teased. She was sitting on the other bed opposite Frieda. "I don't speak geek."

"Ha, ha. You're so funny."

"Ouch," Frieda commented, but her lips were twitching upwards. Shelly winced in sympathy.

"Does it hurt when I burn you?" Madelyn asked Richie, smirking.

"I hate women," Richie muttered under his breath.

"Well, it shows," Madelyn quipped. Shelly and Frieda couldn't hold it in any more and burst into laughter.

"That's it!" Richie cried, standing up so quickly that his chair fell back onto the floor. "I'm sick of you, Madelyn! You're always starting stuff for no reason! It's like we're back to running for Freshman class president and you're a sore loser."

"Calm down, Richie, it was just a joke," Frieda said with a frown, giggles dying off. "She didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah, well I'm sick of you, Richie Foley!" Madelyn said, eyes flashing. She stood and limped over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with more force than was necessary.

"Whatever," Richie said forlornly. "Psycho."

Soon after the fight, both Shelly and Frieda nearly collapsed with exhaustion on the first bed, too tired to be concerned about the close proximity. Richie was laying on the second bed, but his mind was buzzing as usual, and making it hard for him to sleep. He was almost dozing off when he heard a low thump and a curse from inside the bathroom.

In a second he was up and his ear pressed against the door.

"Madelyn?" He hissed. He tapped his knuckles against the wood. "Madelyn!"

A groan greeted him in response.

Richie's eyes widened, and he cast a quick glance at the two women on the bed. Frieda was snoring slightly, mouth hanging open. They were both deeply asleep.

"Madelyn?" He asked again, and the answer he received was muffled. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Richie steeled himself and opened the door.

Hot steam hit him the instant he did, fogging up his glasses and leaving him completely unprepared when a figure fell forward at him. Conquering a sudden déjà vu involving a bloody corpse, Richie cringed and caught the girl by the hips, very, very relieved to feel towel and not bare skin.

"Ahhhh," Madelyn groaned, buckled a little in Richie's arms. "Ouchhh ouch ouch."

Richie helped her sit on the edge of the bathtub, her left leg sprawled out in front of her. Her ankle, he noted in alarm, was purple and swollen twice the size of the other.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" Richie demanded.

"What, and ruin all the fun we were having?" Madelyn answered snidely.

"Okay," Richie said, gritting his teeth and ignoring her sarcasm. "Well what happened just now?"

"I tripped and couldn't get up," the girl admitted miserably. Richie could tell she was exhausted and her ankle was causing her a lot of pain, but somehow, she still managed to add a little nastiness into her tone. "When I was trying to stand just now I fell again… good thing you caught me."

"Ha, ha…" Richie laughed awkwardly, noticing how Madelyn's shiny black hair was clinging delicately to her neck and to the curve of her collarbone. She shifted and suddenly a rather lot of slim, tan leg was showing. She didn't seem to notice. With a cough, Richie looked away at the cabinets.

"Oh! I know!" He said excitedly, practically bursting with relief in this distraction. "The first aid kit Miss Sandoval found, I bet it has gauze or something. I'll wrap up the ankle to stop the swelling."

Grabbing the first aid kit, Richie snapped open the box. He sifted through the contents, finding bandaids, a half used tube of disinfectant, some old tylenol, and a roll of gauze. Madelyn was silent while Richie pulled out a length of gauze and wrapped it tightly around her ankle. She hissed a little when he pulled it taunt, and jerked her leg away once he was finished. He backed out of the bathroom after that, leaving her to get dressed. When she opened the door fully clothed, she leaned against the doorframe.

"Um… thanks." She said awkwardly. The words were foreign in her mouth.

"Uh, you're welcome, I guess," Richie said uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

After a minute of silence, Richie started towards the bed, intent on resuming his dozing.

"What do you think you're doing, Richie Foley?" Madelyn said icily. Richie turned around.

"Going to bed. What does it look like?"

"Oh, no you're not," Madelyn said. "That's my bed."

"No way! I got it first!" Richie countered, falling back into their more comfortable manner of communicating. This he could handle.

"Excuse me, blondie, but I am not sleeping on the floor!"

"Well neither am I!"

"Oh yes you are!"

"No I'm not!"

"Obey me!"

"Obey… what? What is wrong with you?"

Madelyn started to reply but Richie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Another headache was building.

"Look, Madelyn, whatever," He said. "I'm tired, just take the stupid bed."

The girl was silent for a minute, and then, chin raised high, gave Richie a triumphant "hmph" and crawled into bed. With a groan, Richie resigned himself to the armchair, taking off his glasses and curling up as best he could.

Richie awoke to the sound of female voices and immediately registered three things: the smell of bad instant coffee, the throbbing pain of his arm, and the sharp ache in his neck from the awkward angle in which he'd slept. He stretched and groaned, fumbling blindly for his glasses and cracking his spine as he did.

"Oh, Richie, that's gross," Frieda said from somewhere to his left. "And so bad for you. Arthritis or whatever."

"Actually, Frieda," Richie began around a yawn. He rubbed his bleary, sleep-filled eyes as he spoke. "The fluid in your joints takes about 20 minutes to reform after you break the seal inside them, and as long as you wait enough time between cracking there's no definite harm in the long run."

She made a face. "Who cares?"

Richie frowned, proceeding to crack his knuckles.

"Want some coffee?" Shelly offered. She was holding out a white Styrofoam cup brimming with steamy black coffee, stirring it with a small straw. Richie climbed out of the armchair stiffly and took the cup from her, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the Styrofoam. He looked into it.

"Sorry," Shelly said apologetically, knowing what he was thinking. "You'll have to take it black. No creamer or anything."

"Well, better than nothing," Richie shrugged. He raised his cup in mock salute and said, "Bottom's up!"

He took a swig - and promptly gagged on his coffee as it scorched his tongue.

"What the - " He sputtered. "What did you give me, boiling lava?!"

Madelyn laughed.

Richie glared in her direction. She was perched daintily on the edge of the bed, her clothes somehow managing to look neat despite everything, and appearing relatively well rested. Richie was simultaneously overwhelmed with a bitter surge of regret at letting her have the bed, and a flash of the events of last night - their fight, her gasp when he bandaged her ankle, the contrast of her black hair against her wet skin...

"Oh," Richie said, shaking his head. "I just remembered. Let's take that first aid kit with us."

"But that's stealing, Foley," Madelyn mocked.

"It's necessary, Spaulding," Richie said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, we should," Frieda said. "We should really get going though. And get some food."

Richie's grumbling stomach agreed with that statement very much and very loudly. The girls all stared and his ears pinked.

"I'm a growing boy, ladies," He said sheepishly.

"Sorry to interrupt," Madelyn said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. Her metal bracelet caught the light. "But we need a plan. I think I'm best at this sort of thing, after all, so I should be leader."

"Leader?" Richie snorted. "We've been over this before. And I have a plan anyway."

"Oh, do you, now?" Madelyn replied with false sweetness. "Is it as well thought out as your last platform?"

"This isn't some dumb class election, Madelyn," Richie said in frustration. He started pacing back and forth on the stained carpet of the motel room. "Just listen. We need to find some food and we need to get into the gas station again - I need to get Backpack and I have enough equipment there to run some tests."

"That place is going to be swarming with cops and news crews," Shelly pointed out. "Not exactly easy to get into."

"I know," Richie said unhappily. "But we have to try. Or at least get somewhere for me to put together enough data to have some kind of idea as to what happened to us."

"Back to the building?" Frieda suggested.

"No, that's too dangerous." Shelly said firmly. She was leaning against the wall, looking at each of the teenagers in front of her. "I can't have any of you put yourselves in even more danger than is necessary. I still believe we need to go to the authorities."

"We're not having that discussion again," Madelyn warned.

"Okay then," Richie said. "The alternative is maybe… oh I don't know…"

"What about the school science lab?" Frieda asked. Richie gave her a skeptical look and she added defensively, "Well, you're supposed to be a super-genius, right? You could work with primitive high school lab equipment."

"I guess…" He said hesitantly.

"So school it is!" Madelyn said. "This'll be fun. I haven't been in Dakota High since, well, you know."

"But first…" Richie said with a grin. "To the food!!"

After a few minutes of taking turns in the bathroom freshening up and a few more trying to make it look as if they'd never been there, the foursome crept from their motel room into the early morning light, emboldened by their lack of detection. Frieda and Shelly seemed to have gotten the hang of balancing on Gear's board, but Madelyn and Richie were still uncomfortable with the closeness required for the skates.

"Be careful where you're grabbing," Madelyn said as Richie put an arm around her waist and she clasped her hands around his neck. She stepped onto the top of his feet and braced herself as Richie crouched and they shot up into the sky.

Richie stared resolutely ahead as they flew on, scanning the area.

"There!" He called to Frieda and Shelly after they'd been flying for a while. "That diner!"

He dipped low, and Madelyn felt his grip tighten and found herself pressed very close against his chest. She felt her breath shorten. From the altitude.

They landed beside the other two and after concealing the board and Richie's skates in a nearby alley, they walked cautiously into the diner.

It was a homey, isolated Mom-and-Pop sort of place, with cheap, homemade food and old regulars chatting at their tables. Yellowing old family photos were hung on the walls in thick wooden frames, and roughhewn tables covered with plastic tablecloths were all topped with ketchup bottles and salt and pepper shakers. The smell of bacon and eggs hit them and had all of their stomachs grumbling immediately.

A few heads turned when the bell above the door chimed as they entered but none stayed interested for long. They wandered in and sat at a table in a corner near the door, where Richie deliberately stole the seat next to Frieda. The paper menu was simple, with basic breakfast staples.

A friendly-looking old woman with silver hair appeared, holding a little notepad in one hand and smiling down at them. In her other hand she held a small platter with four ceramic mugs and a matching pitcher. She set them down and began pouring a much more appetizing version of the drink Richie had so horribly experienced not thirty minutes ago.

"Complimentary coffee until 10:00am," She explained in a warm, warbling voice. "Now what can I get for you children?"

"Four waters," Madelyn said before anyone could object. "And for me I want the pancakes. They need to be fresh with 1/3 cup refined maple syrup and if you insist I'll take three tablespoons whipped cream, on the side."

Three sets of eyes glared at her, but the old woman just smiled. The crows feet around her gray eyes crinkled upwards.

"Very nice," She said. "Who's next?"

Shelly, Frieda, and Richie all ordered much more politely than Madelyn, who was unfazed by their reactions. Their food was fast to arrive, and as they ate, Shelly noticed an old television set mounted above the bar was tuned to the news.

"Look," Shelly said, pointing with a crispy piece of bacon. "I think they're talking about yesterday."

Richie stopped in the middle of inhaling his scrambled eggs and turned his attention to the TV.

"This Robert Smith, standing in for Shelly Sandoval." A sharply dressed man said in an even voice. His teeth were blinding. Behind him was the Gas Station of Solitude, every inch seemingly covered in yellow police tape. "I'm here live at this old gas station, previously thought to be abandoned. Police are investigating the alleged kidnapping of high school Seniors Richie Foley and Frieda Goren. They were spotted with two more unidentified females leaving this very gas station riding some sort of flying instruments yesterday around 6:00pm and have not been seen since. Dakota PD assures us that more information will be released as the investigation continues but stress that the safe return of Richie Foley and Frieda Goren is their top priority.

"In other news, accomplished scientist and researcher Andrew Sandoval - best known for his renowned breakthroughs in genetic research - was found dead yesterday in an Alva Industries laboratory in east Dakota. Sandoval had been rumored to be working in conjunction with a few other scientists, though the nature of their project is unknown. Details of this tragic event have not yet been disclosed and Alva Industries has declined comment.

"Again, if anyone sees Richie Foley or Frieda Goren, they are strongly urged to contact the police."

Richie stared as giant pictures of him and Frieda suddenly took over the screen. Then Robert Smith's chiseled jaw and slick hair reappeared, smiling.

"For Dakota's News Watch W4SM, this is Robert Smith, signing off."

The diner was eerily quiet. Richie's gaze locked with Madelyn's; her brown eyes were wide. Slowly he turned around, and every face in the diner was staring at him, his distinctive blonde hair and glasses giving him away all too easily. A man at the bar had some hash browns dangling off his lip, and a woman a few feet away had stopped eating, fork in midair. The silver-haired woman who had taken their order was picking up the phone.

"Oh shi-"

"Run!" Frieda cried, but Shelly was frozen to her chair.

"Did you hear that?" She whispered hoarsely. "Oh god, did you hear that?"

"Yes, and that woman is calling the police right now!"

"No," Shelly said in a daze. "My father! He's… Oh god…"

Richie's heart sank to the floor even as he grabbed one arm and Frieda grabbed the other, and they were pulling Shelly to the door, Madelyn limping along behind them.

"Stop!" A man shouted, and half the diner was up from their seats noisily, moving, following, as the foursome tore down the street into the alleyway. Panting, Madelyn didn't hesitate to latch onto Richie, and Frieda struggled to keep the dazed Shelly from falling off the board. With a few stomps on the panels Frieda was in the air, supporting Shelly's weight as the Hispanic woman stared off in a watery-eyed stupor.

The mob was skidding around the corner now, peering into and then charging the dark alleyway in a mad dash at capturing them. A middle-aged man, the one who had shouted first, reach them just as they were lifting off.

"Wait!" He said loudly, grabbing onto Richie's ankle with sweaty fingers and pulling hard.

"Yahh!" Richie yelped, but Madelyn kicked the man square in the face. With a cry of pain he let go, clutching his nose with blood streaming down his chin. Richie hit the thrusters, forcing their way into the sky, and he and Madelyn zoomed off after Frieda and Shelly. They looked back down at the crowd from the safety of the clouds.

"Oh," Richie said with a little guilt. "We didn't even leave a tip."

Author's Note: Uh, review for me please? If anyone is even still reading. :( I understand, you guys. But I have inspiration, I plan on finishing this… eventually. Ahaha. :P