The Lost

Chapter One

"Don't."

"I have to."

"No you don't. Just stay here."

The two boys were crouched low in the alley. It was dark and damp. Rats could be heard rummaging in the garbage. Rick was just thankful that the alley didn't stink too bad. The smells of trash were in the air but nothing else. No urine. No feces. Just trash. That was because a good portion of the neighborhood used the alley as a throughway and didn't want to walk through anything worse than rotting food.

Not that there was much of that. Food in a neighborhood like this was often a rare commodity, coming and going for one family or another. You don't throw out food that might be your last meal for a long time, even if it was starting to turn. No one around there could afford a food synth like the middle and upper classes living six or seven blocks south, stretching on into pale perfection. Those people even fed their plants. In this neighborhood you were lucky to have weeds for grass.

"He's drunk." Rick said it matter-of-factly. He wasn't looking down on the man for that. He was looking down on him because Kyle had come to school with half his face swollen, one eye closed and unable to blink. It was weeping now, from beneath the swelling. Rick pretended not to notice that Kyle's good eye was weeping as well.

Rick had been in and out of assorted foster homes all his life, so he was no stranger to beatings and pain. In the past four years, though, he'd been living with the Vibbard family. He was one of three foster kids living in the house. The Vibbards had two of their own kids; a boy and a girl. Twins his own age, Rick had been expecting snide comments and underhanded torture from the pair.

Wary of the kindness of strangers from past experience, Rick had been decidedly skeptic about them both. When they'd turned out to be genuinely kind and giving Rick had been confused and surprised. They'd offered to share everything, even their friendship and the love of their parents. Dale and Linda Vibbard were warm and caring. They usually kept kids until they came of age and cried when they left.

Most of their "kids" went on to some form of further education after leaving high school. Most were very successful in life. He would be kid number thirteen when he left. Rick hoped it was a lucky number.

The oldest foster kid in the house, Rick had taken on a protective role of the other two. A boy and a girl, orphaned in one of the colony battles then sent back to Earth to hopefully stay with relatives. Relatives not the least bit interested in two small children without money.

When Rick had met Kyle he'd thought him lucky. Real parents. He had nicer clothes that a lot of the kids at school. Much better clothes than the Vibbards could afford for Rick to wear. Rick wasn't jealous of anyone, though, and had no reason to be jealous of the Vibbards real children. All of them wore hand-me-downs and thrift store clothes.

But Kyle's clothes were borderline expensive, which didn't often happen in this neighborhood. Clothes didn't mean anything, though. Neither did having both parents. Rick realized that when he saw Kyle limping through gym class, wearing long sleeves and sweat pants instead of a t-shirt and shorts as he usually did. In the locker room, Kyle had shown Rick the bruises on his arms and legs. On his ribs and stomach and back. Kyle's dad had beaten him with a led pipe and then kicked him down the stairs because Kyle hadn't put away a vid chip he'd watched earlier.

That wasn't the last time Rick saw Kyle limp. He got bruised and beaten close to every other day by his father, while his mother stood by and whimpered. She was beaten often, too, but never as severely as Kyle. Rick wished he was bigger and older. He'd kill Kyle's dad himself.

Now the two of them crouched in the alley bordering Kyle's house and the Styles' house next door. They could both see Kyle's dad, Evan, storming around the house. He was screaming about something, but they couldn't make out what. When they both heard Evan swear and holler out Kyle's name, Kyle ducked and wrapped his arms around his middle, shuddering a bit.

A bat smashed into a window overlooking the alley and glass shattered everywhere. Evan's voice suddenly became horrifyingly clear.

"Where is that dirty little fuck? Eh?"

The sound of stomping feet and a hard hand meeting soft flesh. A cry and a thump as a body hit the floor. A whimper as the pain and shock of the situation hit home. Evan was beating on Kyle's mom, Glenna.

"This house is filthy! Where's my fuckin' dinner, whore?" Another thud, maybe as Evan kicked Glenna while she was down. "That damn son of a whore should be here, cleanin' up this mess!"

"No," Kyle whispered, his voice hoarse. "I cleaned the house this mornin', Rick. I swear I did. Dusted and washed and swept. Everything. I could see my reflection on every surface. He musta messed it up." A shudder passed hard through Kyle's body. "I woke up extra early, just to make sure everything was perfect."

"You don't have to tell me," Rick said back. "I know you bust your ass for him." And he busts your head in appreciation, he thought to himself.

Kyle took a deep, shaking breath and nodded. "Yeah. You're a good friend, Rick. The best."

"So stay at my place tonight. Let him calm down. Let the Vibbards call someone to tell them your dad is doing this to you and your mom."

"I can't. It'll just be worse in the morning. I just should have been home earlier. Made sure the house stayed clean..."

"You can't blame what he does on yourself, Kyle. He's a man, and you're a kid. He has no right to hit you."

Kyle shook his head. "You don't understand. You've never had a dad that-" Kyle paused, frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant. And you're right, I've never had a dad. But I've had a lot of foster dads, and up until Dale, every last one of them beat me black and blue or used me for slave labor." Or other things, but Rick didn't want to tell Kyle that.

Kyle hung his head and nodded. "I'm sorry. I know. You're one of the few people that do understand. It's just me that doesn't seem to get it."

"So come with me tonight. C'mon. How much worse can it get? For Christ's sake, Kyle. The bastard's in there with a fuckin' baseball bat."

"I have to go in there. He'll kill Mom if I don't."

"I'll come in with you, then."

Kyle looked at Rick like he was crazy. "You're nuts. And let him beat you up too?"

Rick shook his head. "He won't touch me. I'll kill him first."

"No. You can't. It'll just make it worse. Please, Rick. Just go home. I'll be okay." Kyle tried to look optimistic. "C'mon. I survived the pipe, remember?"

"Yeah, and the knife wound, and three concussions in a year," Rick added stubbornly. He couldn't let Kyle go into that mess. He had to be there for him.

Kyle's jaw went hard and a muscle flexed in his cheek. "I'm going in there to help Mom and you're going home. I'll see you tomorrow." Then he stood up and started walking around to the front of the house, hands stuffed deep in his jeans pockets.

"Kyle, wait!" Rick hissed, reaching for Kyle's arm. His fingers grazed the sleeve of the thin, black leather jacket that spoke volumes about how much money Kyle's family made compared to the other families in the neighborhood. He grazed the leather, but he missed the arm inside, and Kyle ignored him and walked around the corner to the front door.

Rick stood in the dark for a moment, listening intently to Evan railing away inside. To Glenna whimpering in a corner somewhere. He heard the front door open and close as Kyle entered the house. Heard Evan go quiet as he realized his son was home.

"Dad?" Kyle's voice, coming from the window. Rick pictured them facing each other, Glenna somewhere on the floor in between them, the bat hefted in Evan's hand, Kyle's hands clenched into fists. Rick prayed he'd fight back this time.

"There you are, you little fuck." Evan's voice, harsh and angry.

"I'm sorry the house is messy. I'll clean it all up right now."

"I told you to clean this fuckin' mess this morning, didn't I?" Footsteps crossing the space that must lie between the man and the boy. Rick knew how Evan liked to get up in Kyle's face, breathe into his nostrils with his foul, alcoholic breath.

"Yes, Dad. I should have done better. I'm sorry." Kyle knew arguing would never help him in the face of Evan's unreasonable anger.

Rick was more than a little surprised when he heard what Evan said next.

"Clean the god damn house and then get in bed. You have school in the morning. And get your mother off the floor, she's getting the carpet wet." His footsteps receded deeper into the house and Rick let out a sigh of relief before turning toward his own house and heading home.

The Next Day:

"Rick?" Someone shaking him. "Rick, c'mon, boy, wake up."

Rick rolled over and swatted at the person next to him, groaning and growling deep in his throat. "What?"

It was Dale Vibbard, shaking him awake. The sun was peaking up and Rick caught a glimpse of the clock on his bedside table. Time for school.

"Get up, buddy. Gotta get ready for another day of wonderful learning." Dale's voice was a little too chipper for Rick but he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up anyways, cracking his neck and shoulders with practiced ease.

Rick really didn't mind going to school. He actually liked it. He'd always been quick at learning, especially in subjects like math and science. His Literature and English teachers were also extremely impressed by his progress. He'd won a number of awards and had even heard that some of the local colleges were looking at him for scholarship. His life was better than it had ever been.

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Rick grabbed the clothes he'd laid out the night before from his desk chair, snagged his towel from the bedpost, and stepped into the hallway. He had to push past Liddy and Jacob, the other two foster kids, who were shoving each other around and laughing, before getting to the bathroom door. He tried the knob but the door was locked. He listened carefully and noticed that the shower wasn't running but the lights were definitely on inside.

"Karen?" he called through the door, jiggling the knob.

"Yeah?"

He'd been right. Karen was in the bathroom, probably trying to pretty herself up. Ever since the three of them had started high school, she'd been getting more girly on him and her brother Eddie. They were all late for school way too often now. Unfortunately, Eddie wasn't much better. He had to make sure his hair was perfect and that his cologne smelled just right.

Rick's morning regime consisted of a five minute shower, shaving, brushing his teeth, and putting on deodorant. It was spicy and that was good enough for him. His hair was cropped close to his head and he didn't even really have to comb it if he didn't want to. A little hair gloss and it was nice and shiny. He sometimes thought about just shaving it all off. He figured he'd look alright like that.

"Could you hurry up? I don't want to be late for school again."

"Yeah, Rick. I'm almost done."

Rick signed. He'd heard that before. For once, though, Karen was telling the truth. A minute later she was out of the bathroom, leaving a streak of jasmine scent in her wake. Rick shook his head and went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

When he got out of the bathroom, Rick headed for the kitchen and grabbed his lunch and breakfast from the counter. Linda Vibbard was just finishing up Liddy and Jacob's lunches as he aimed for the door.

"You heading out already, Rick?" she called to him.

"Yeah. Mr. Van Dyke said he's got a couple papers on a college seminar coming up soon and if I go and do the paperwork for it I can get college credit. I want to look the stuff over and make sure it's not over my head."

Linda smiled affectionately at him. "Rick, there isn't a lot that is over your head. I'm sure it'll go great for you."

"Thanks, Linda. I'll see you after school. Oh, and is it alright if Kyle comes over for dinner?"

"Of course."

"Great. Okay, I'm gone."

Rick pushed through the backdoor and crossed the street to the same alley him and Kyle had been crouching in the night before. The glass from the broken window had been cleaned up already and there was a van in front of the house advertising cheap window replacement.

Evan was standing in the driveway, arms crossed over his chest. He had a black eye.

Stealing himself for Evan's abrasive attitude, Rick crossed the driveway to stand before the man. Despite Rick's age, he was almost as big as Evan and sported more muscles than any of the other boys at school. "Is Kyle here?" he asked, meeting Evan's black eyes with his own.

Evan narrowed his good eye, squinted his bad. "No. He already left. Something about a seminar."

Rick frowned. Kyle was supposed to walk with him to the school so they could go to Mr. Van Dyke's classroom together. "Oh. Okay. I'll just see him at school then."

"You do that."

The comment was rude and unnecessary, but Rick shrugged it off and started on the short walk to school.

Mr. Van Dyke was sitting at his desk when Rick entered the classroom. There were two stacks of discs in front of him, Rick assumed one was graded and one was in the process of getting there.

"Rick. How good that you're here," Mr. Van Dyke called to him. He leaned to the side, looking past Rick as if searching for someone. "Where's Kyle? I thought he was coming, too?"

Frozen. Icy and brittle. Rick felt his blood thicken and slow in his veins. Kyle wasn't there?

"No, he's not. I thought he was coming with you?"

Rick hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud and shook his head at Mr. Van Dyke. "No, I stopped by his house and his dad said he'd already left." His mind was screaming that he knew what had really happened. "Mr. Van Dyke, please call the police and tell them to go to Kyle's house. I think something horrible has happened."

Two Hours Later:

Rick sat on his front steps, his arms looped loosely around his drawn up knees. No one was home yet. He didn't know what to do. He felt like he was screaming inside. Just screaming; one long, breathless, drawn out yell that made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end.

He'd been allowed to go home when the news had gotten back to him. It wasn't as if he'd been doing anything important. No work, in any case. He'd been standing stark still in Mr. Van Dyke's classroom, his back to the wall, windows on the left, the door that he watched with a single-minded determination on the right.

When it slid open and two uniformed officers stepped into the classroom, their faces hard and grim, Rick had felt his stomach slide to his feet. He'd felt like throwing up. He wanted to scream and rage.

"Richard Riddick?" one of the officers said quietly, stepping forward. His hands were gripping his belt on either side of his buckle in stereotypical police fashion.

Rick nodded, pushing smoothly away from the wall and standing up straight, cocking his head slightly to the left, left thumb hooked in his belt, his right hand hanging loose at his side and rocking back on his heals. It was an unintentionally defensive pose. "I'm him," he said quietly.

"We wanted to ask you a few question."

"About what?" Rick asked, eyes narrowing slightly. He was bigger than the cop and knew he could come off as threatening despite his youth. It had been the source of many problems in his past.

"Kyle Sullivan."

"Okay."

"Did you see him this morning, on the way to school?"

"No. His dad said he'd already left when I got there." Rick could feel his skin crawling. Why wouldn't they just tell him how bad it was?

"Is that so." This from the other cop. He was typing into a little computer attached to his forearm. Shorthands, they were called. Rick had scraped and saved to buy one of his own for notes.

"Yeah. So how 'bout the two of you tell me what the fuck is going on so I can go see my friend. We both know his dad must have beat the shit out of him again if you're here asking me stupid questions."

"You know about Evan Sullivan's abusive relationship with his son and wife?" the first cop asked.

"Yeah. And so do you guys. Glenna has been to the police station and the hospital lots of times. Now, where's Kyle?" Rick took a menacing step forward, his left hand dropping to his side, fingers flexing. He knew he was being rude. Unreasonable. Physically threatening armed policemen. It didn't matter. What mattered was Kyle.

"Just tell him," the second cop said.

"Rick, we're sorry, but Evan Sullivan beat his son to death last night and stashed the body in the attic. Kyle's dead."