AN: This chapter contains graphic child abuse. I understand that not all people are interested in reading such scenes. So, I have marked the beginning and end of the section with &&&&& so anyone who wishes to skip that part.
Also, many thanks to Bev, Beth, Aimless, MP and of course my Professor Loribelle for helping me with random details and letting me complaine and ask stupid questions and get opinions.
##PRESENT 1994##
Richie lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe what he had done. It was like one of those dreams. One that was so real it takes you a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream when you wake up. Richie was waiting to wake up and realize that it had all been a dream. Jonathan had never sent him the letter. He had never gotten out of jail. He was still sitting there in his cell chastising himself for being such an unbelievable jerk to an innocent kid.
Sighing, Richie rolled over and looked at his clock. Big, bright red numbers told him it was three twenty seven in the morning.
"This is ridiculous," he groaned as he flopped over. He closed his eyes and decided to try to force himself to relax. He took slow, steady, deep breaths. In...and out. In...and out. In...and out. In...and...out...
##PAST 1992##
"Hush, Max," Richie hissed, looking over at the dog whining behind him. "I know you gotta go out, but I have to do this first." He went back to the dishes. Amy had come over and made dinner for them. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
"Aren't you done, yet?" Jonathan snapped coming into the kitchen.
"There are a lot of dishes," Richie said.
"Don't take that attitude with me!" He hit him in the back of the head. "And make your stupid mutt stop whining."
"Max, hush!"
"Amy had to leave early and I am not in the mood to deal with you. So just get your chores done and get in bed." He grabbed a six pack of beer out of the refrigerator and started toward the living room. "And I better not have to come in here," he barked over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir," Richie mumbled.
He did have every intention of finishing the dishes and hiding in his room for the rest of the night. But it seemed that it was not his week. It was a total accident. Sure, he was mad. And it wasn't as if he had never thought of doing it. But he knew better. It would have been crazy. It would be insane. It was suicide. But it was an accident.
His hands were wet and his fingertips were wrinkled. He had been doing dishes all night. He had no grip left. It slipped.
And in slow motion...
it hit the linoleum floor...
and shattered...
Loudly.
Very loudly.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
And then the shit hit the fan.
&&&&&
Richie immediately dropped to his hands and knees. "It was an accident! I'll clean it up!"
"Do you have any idea how much those bowls cost?" Jonathan yelled, shoving Richie aside. "You'll pay for this, you hear me?"
"I'll pay for it," Richie rushed to assure him, moving back into position to pick up the shards.
"Damn right you will. With your hide!"
"No...no... Jonathan, please," Richie begged. He knew this look. Last time his foster father had had this look Richie had missed nearly a month of school because he was so bruised Jonathan wouldn't let him out of the apartment. "I'll take care of it. I'll clean it all up and get you the money...please."
Jonathan grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him to his feet. He was drunk. Not smashed, but just drunk enough to not care what Richie said or promised. He wanted a fight and all he had was a skinny, short seventeen-year-old.
"Stay put." He held Richie with one hand and opened a drawer with the other. He grabbed the first thing his hand closed around... a large metal serving spoon. "This looks like it could be a down payment." He pushed Richie up against the counter and began swinging.
Richie felt swat after swat land on his backside. Tears stung at his eyes as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The only sound in the apartment besides metal on cotton was Max growling, barking and threatening Jonathan.
"Shut up, you worthless flea bag!" Jonathan shouted kicking out with a steal toed boot.
"Hey!" Richie protested before thinking. He pushed away from the counter, but Jonathan was too strong and kept him in position. "Kennel, Max!"
"You better listen to him, mutt," Jonathan sneered. "I've had it with you." Another well placed kick sent the dog sliding across the floor and into the wall. Satisfied that the dog would leave him alone, he spun Richie around and closed his large hand around Richie's arm. "I've told you a thousand times to keep the dog locked up!"
"He's just mad because you're...scaring him," Richie explained.
"Is he scared of the loud noises?" Jonathan cooed. "Well, he better get over it because I'm not done yet."
"I'll give you the money. Please, just leave me alone," Richie begged.
"Are you trying to tell me what to do?" Jonathan asked, tightening his grip on Richie's arm. "Because you know that it is my job to tell you what to do." He grabbed Richie's other arm and shook him. "Not the other way 'round."
"Yeah."
"Yes, sir!" Jonathan barked slapping Richie so hard the teen slumped in his grip. Max had regained his bearings and jumped to his feet when he saw Jonathan hit Richie. He clamped his jaw around Jonathan's ankle. "Agh!"
"Max, let go!" Richie shouted dropping to the floor as Jonathan's grip broke.
"Get this mutt off me!" Jonathan shouted shaking his leg.
"Max, let go!" Richie grabbed the dog's rear haunches and tried to pull him off. The dog held fast for over five minutes until, finally a hard kick made the dog's jaws open.
"God damn dog!" he roared, picking up the dog by the scruff of his neck. Max yelped.
"No! You're hurting him!" Richie yelled jumping up. "Let him go!" He reached to take the dog.
"Get off me!" Jonathan yelled back handing so hard Richie fell. "You stay down there!" He took up the spoon he had dropped on the counter. "Shut up," he groaned at the dog. "Get up," he ordered. Richie scrambled to his feet. Jonathan slapped him with the spoon. "Move it." He herded the teen to the hallway closet. He opened the door and shoved Richie inside. "I'll be back for you later." He closed the door.
"Leave him alone!" Richie yelled banging on the locked door. "Jonathan! Leave him alone! Don't hurt him!" He heard another door open and close. Then the apartment was silent. Richie stood staring at the line of lighting coming in under the door. He dreaded the moment he saw movement. That meant Jonathan was back. And Richie knew what was going to happen when Jonathan got back. "Help!" Richie suddenly yelled. "Someone help!" He started banging and kicking on the door. "Help me! Someone! Get me out of here!"
"Hey!" Jonathan's voice yelled. Richie froze. Suddenly trying to escape didn't seem like a good idea. The closet door opened and before Richie's eyes could adjust to the light, a large hand reached in a grabbed him. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I-I-I..."
"Trying to get the police here?"
"N-n-no..." Richie was shaking so hard he could was almost seeing double.
"I think you were."
"No...no..."
Jonathan shoved his towards his bedroom. "You know the drill."
"Please," Richie begged. "I won't do it again. I'll shut up I swear!"
"Damn right you will, you little piece of shit." Jonathan rolled up his sleeves. "Get moving."
"Please," Richie continued to beg even as he walked to the closet to get a belt. "I won't...I-I I'll do anything."
"You'll do anything?"
Seeing his way out, Richie hastily nodded. "Anything... anything you say."
"Then hand me that belt and take your shirt off." Richie's face screwed up and he choked out a loud sob as he did as he was told. "Stop crying and take your punishment like a man."
&&&&&
Richie couldn't really remember what happened next. It was a blur. All he knew was that at some point, Jonathan had stopped using the belt. He must have fainted because when he woke up he was huddled on the floor and Jonathan was passed out snoring loudly on the bed. Richie wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know if he should just stay put or crawl into bed and hope to die in peace. Then suddenly it hit him.
Max. He had to find Max. Slowly, he pushed himself up. He could feel scores of welts, bruises and cuts all protesting as he moved. He had to bite his already cut lip to keep from groaning. Finally, he got up on his knees and crawled into the hall. He found his shirt on the floor and put it on before gathering the courage to open the front door and walk out.
He knocked on the neighbor's door. He could hear people inside, but no one answered. He tried the next door and the next, but no one would answer. Richie knew what had happened. They had heard Jonathan yelling. That was the problem with living in this neighborhood; everyone looked out for themselves. No one ever saw or heard anything. Right now, no one could hear him.
Richie kept knocking on doors hoping someone hadn't heard. "I just wanna find my dog," he mumbled finally giving up. He left the building and decided the best place to look was in the park. He circled back and started calling. "Here, Max! Here, boy! Come 'ere, Max!" He searched the park with no luck. "Maa-aaax!"
"Mommy, what's wrong with that doggy?" Richie heard a little boy ask his mom.
"Max?" Richie went to where the boy and mother were. The mother took one look at his bruised and bloody face and hurried her child away. "Max?" Richie saw something hiding behind the dumpster. "Come here, boy."
##PRESENT 1994##
Richie woke up. He was breathing heavy and his shirt was sweaty.
"Damn it," he groaned. He looked at the clock, it was nearly six. He decided to go down to the dojo and work out.
"Rich?" Duncan mumbled sitting up.
"Don't tell me you weren't up yet," Richie joked.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Join the club."
"Bad dreams?"
Richie polished an apple on his shirt. "Naw...just things on my mind."
"Want to talk about it?" Duncan got up and joined Richie in the kitchen.
"No. I'm cool."
Duncan looked at Richie. "You aren't really going through with this are you?"
"With what?"
"Why do you want to meet him? What can that possibly accomplish?"
Richie shook his head. "Mac, you wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"Look, stuff like this didn't happen to you. And until it does, you can't understand."
"Rich..."
"Mac. This is something I have to do."
"Why?"
"Because this is my chance. Finally, I get a chance to stand up to him. I get to tell him how I feel. I get to tell him to get lost. I've dreamed of this day for two years."
"Why would you put yourself through this, Richie? Can't you tell him over the phone?"
"See? You don't understand!"
"Then explain it to me."
"Don't you get it, Mac? I can't!" Richie shouted. "I can't explain it! I just know I have to do this!"
"Richie, calm down. I'm just trying to see why you would do this. It's obvious he still scares you."
"No, he doesn't, Mac. I'm a little nervous, yeah. But I'm not scared. Besides, it's not like he can hurt me anymore."
"Yes, he can, Richie. It just won't last as long."
"It sounds to me like you're the one who's scared."
"I'm sorry if I don't want you to show up tonight looking like you did two years ago."
"You're not listening to me, Mac. That's not going to happen this time. I'm bigger, older and stronger. I can take care of myself. He's not going to touch me."
Duncan sighed. "Do you at least want some company?"
"Mac, thanks. But I don't need a bodyguard. I'm gonna go get in a work out."
"Richie," Duncan called after him. "Just think about it. He beat you up and he killed you dog. Do you really want to waste your time?"
##PAST 1992##
The lights were out. But both cars were in the alley. That had to mean that they were home. Richie staggered the last few steps to the back door. He was so tired he could fall asleep standing up. He was so sore, someone could shove a gun in his face and he would offer to pull the trigger.
"Mac!" he yelled, awkwardly knocking on the door. "Mac! Let me in! Please!"
The door opened and Tessa stood on the other side. "Richie?"
"Look, I know I said I'd leave you guys alone...but I didn't know where else to go," he voice broke.
"You look horrible. Come in. Duncan!" she called ushering Richie into the loft.
"What's wrong, Tess...Richie? What are you doing here? What happened to you?"
"It's Max...he's hurt."
Duncan paused. How could Richie be worried about his dog? There was more blue and purple on his face than normal skin tones. "Okay...put him on the table, we'll give him a look."
Richie put the dog on the table and Duncan's first instinct was that the dog was already dead. But for the sake of the teen, he bent over the dog to check his injuries. He jumped when the dog growled softly.
"Shh, Max," Richie soothed petting the dog's head. "Mac is one of the good guys."
Duncan gently prodded the dog and examined the skin under his fur. The dog whined and moaned every time Duncan touched him.
"Richie, this doesn't look good."
"But you can help him, right?" Richie asked, tears pooling in his eyes.
One look at his face and Duncan had to try something more. "Tessa, get a blanket. Richie, get that phone book and look up the animal clinics. We'll see if we can find one still open."
"What's wrong with him?"
"He needs help, Rich. But we'll do everything we can for him."
It took Richie a couple minutes but he found an ad for an emergency animal clinic.
"Great. Tessa, I'll call them and tell them you're on your way."
Richie wrapped Max up in the blanket and picked him up. "You're gonna be okay," he promised the dog.
"Um, no, Rich. Tessa will take Max. You're going to stay here so I can get a look at you."
"I wanna go with Max."
"All you're going to do is sit in a waiting room."
"I don't care. He's my best friend. I'm not leaving him."
"Richie, I'm putting my foot down. You're not leaving this building until I say you can. And you're not leaving tonight. You're in no condition to be out of bed much less gallivanting about town."
"Richie," Tessa said gently. "You can't help, Max. That's for the doctor to do. But you can take care of yourself. Stay with Duncan." Numbly, Richie nodded. "I promise I will make sure they do everything they can for him." She took the dog from Richie.
"You be good," Richie whispered kissing Max's head. "She'll take good care of you. You'll be good as new." Max whined and licked Richie's bloody chin. "Everything will be okay."
Duncan gestured Richie into the spare bedroom as Tessa left with Max. Deep down Duncan knew there was no hope for the dog. He was pretty sure there were some broken ribs and the dog wasn't breathing well. Tessa was going to come home empty handed. But for Richie's sake he kept that to himself. He would figure out what to do later.
"Okay, first things first. You sit on the bed and I will get what I need to clean you up." Without a word, Richie complied. Duncan got the first aid kit and some extra cotton, some towels and an eye dropper and set to work washing Richie's face. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked as he examined the cut under Richie's bottom lip. The teen didn't answer. "Well, whatever happened, it looks pretty painful. This is going to sting a bit, but it will help prevent infection." He tilted Richie's head back and used the eye dropper to clean the cut out with hydrogen peroxide. Richie flinched, but didn't make a sound. "Alright, now your neck." He got behind the boy on the bed.
The bruises on Richie's neck told a story of their own. Four dots on one side and a single one on the other and two disconnected bands across the top and bottom. Duncan had seen it often enough to know what that was. A handprint. He gently washed the area with antiseptic. He dreaded what he had to do next. He had a good enough idea what was waiting for him.
"Richie, I'm going to lift up your shirt and look at your back, okay?" Richie once again nodded. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Duncan lifted the worn cloth. "Oh my God..." He could see the welts rising under Richie's skin. He had bruises stripping and spotting his back. There were little spots where the skin had broken, but they were either abrasions or had already scabbed over. "Stand up for me." The bruising went down below his waist band. "Are you wearing underwear?" Richie nodded. "Take off your pants for me." Richie hesitated. "I know it's embarrassing, Rich. But I need to see all the damage." Slowly Richie unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his ankles. He had bruises stripping his legs to his knees. "Lay down on your stomach. I'm going to clean you up. If you get uncomfortable tell me and we'll take a break."
Richie allowed Duncan to clean and treat his wounds uninterrupted. Richie even let Duncan clean the abrasions on his bottom without protest. Duncan didn't know whether to be glad Richie was so comfortable with him or worried that he let him do whatever he wanted.
"Okay, all done." Duncan eased the elastic of Richie's briefs back to his waist. "I'm going to go get you a shirt to sleep in." Richie didn't move. "I'll get you something to drink and some aspirin, too." Still no response. "I'll be right back."
He went into his room and found the biggest t-shirt he could. He dropped it off for Richie to put on before going to get him a glass of juice. He went back into the spare room.
"Take these. They'll prevent anymore swelling and help with the stiffness."
Richie struggled up and took the juice and pills. "Thanks."
"Richie, I know you're worried about Max. We both are. But I'm really worried about you. Why won't you tell me what happened?" Richie shook his head and looked away.
Duncan sighed. He knew what had happened, but he really needed Richie to admit it to him.
"Richie, look at me. Sometimes, bad things happen to innocent people. And they get embarrassed by it. They can even believe it's their fault. And so they don't tell anyone about it...sometimes they lie so no one will find out. They think they're protecting themselves. But the truth is, to protect themselves, they have to tell someone so that they can get the help they need to make whatever's happening stop." He took a deep breath. "I think you're trying to protect yourself from someone. And I'm asking you to tell me who it is, so I can stop them."
Richie looked at him, inwardly debating with himself. Slowly he shook his head.
"Richie, please. You're only hurting yourself." He started to put his hand on Richie's shoulder, but stopped as he remembered why they were having this conversation. "Is it your father?"
Richie shook his head. "He's not my father," he said softly. "Not my real one."
"Are you adopted?"
Richie snorted. "You don't get paid when you adopt."
"What do you mean?"
"He's my foster dad." He sniffled and his bottom lip shook. "Please don't send me back. He's gonna kill me. I ran away. I wasn't supposed to leave."
"I'm not sending you back, Rich." He gently wiped the tear off Richie's cheeks. "No crying. This is good. You did the right thing. Now we can fix it and make it right. There's no reason to cry."
Richie snorted and nodded. "Okay."
"You'll be okay. But I do think you should go to the hospital to get checked out."
"I thought you said I was okay?"
"You are. But I'm not a doctor, Richie."
"I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't need to. Its just some bruises. Nothing's broken or anything. Don't make me go."
Duncan thought it over. Richie was right, he had no broken bones and none of the damage looked bad enough to cause internal injury. They would probably just put him in bed to get some rest. "Alright. No hospital... for now. But I want you to promise me that if you start to feel any worse, or I notice anything wrong you'll go." Richie nodded. "Good. And now, I think its time for you to get some sleep. So you just lay down and get some rest. If you need anything, I'll be right down the hall."
Duncan pulled back the blankets for Richie to get under. "What about Max?"
"You won't do him any good if you're too tired to function." Richie nodded, too tired to argue. Duncan helped him into a comfortable position and tucked him in.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"You just get some sleep." Duncan smoothed back Richie's hair. "Good night, Rich." He turned off the light and closed the door.
Also, many thanks to Bev, Beth, Aimless, MP and of course my Professor Loribelle for helping me with random details and letting me complaine and ask stupid questions and get opinions.
##PRESENT 1994##
Richie lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe what he had done. It was like one of those dreams. One that was so real it takes you a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream when you wake up. Richie was waiting to wake up and realize that it had all been a dream. Jonathan had never sent him the letter. He had never gotten out of jail. He was still sitting there in his cell chastising himself for being such an unbelievable jerk to an innocent kid.
Sighing, Richie rolled over and looked at his clock. Big, bright red numbers told him it was three twenty seven in the morning.
"This is ridiculous," he groaned as he flopped over. He closed his eyes and decided to try to force himself to relax. He took slow, steady, deep breaths. In...and out. In...and out. In...and out. In...and...out...
##PAST 1992##
"Hush, Max," Richie hissed, looking over at the dog whining behind him. "I know you gotta go out, but I have to do this first." He went back to the dishes. Amy had come over and made dinner for them. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
"Aren't you done, yet?" Jonathan snapped coming into the kitchen.
"There are a lot of dishes," Richie said.
"Don't take that attitude with me!" He hit him in the back of the head. "And make your stupid mutt stop whining."
"Max, hush!"
"Amy had to leave early and I am not in the mood to deal with you. So just get your chores done and get in bed." He grabbed a six pack of beer out of the refrigerator and started toward the living room. "And I better not have to come in here," he barked over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir," Richie mumbled.
He did have every intention of finishing the dishes and hiding in his room for the rest of the night. But it seemed that it was not his week. It was a total accident. Sure, he was mad. And it wasn't as if he had never thought of doing it. But he knew better. It would have been crazy. It would be insane. It was suicide. But it was an accident.
His hands were wet and his fingertips were wrinkled. He had been doing dishes all night. He had no grip left. It slipped.
And in slow motion...
it hit the linoleum floor...
and shattered...
Loudly.
Very loudly.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
And then the shit hit the fan.
&&&&&
Richie immediately dropped to his hands and knees. "It was an accident! I'll clean it up!"
"Do you have any idea how much those bowls cost?" Jonathan yelled, shoving Richie aside. "You'll pay for this, you hear me?"
"I'll pay for it," Richie rushed to assure him, moving back into position to pick up the shards.
"Damn right you will. With your hide!"
"No...no... Jonathan, please," Richie begged. He knew this look. Last time his foster father had had this look Richie had missed nearly a month of school because he was so bruised Jonathan wouldn't let him out of the apartment. "I'll take care of it. I'll clean it all up and get you the money...please."
Jonathan grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him to his feet. He was drunk. Not smashed, but just drunk enough to not care what Richie said or promised. He wanted a fight and all he had was a skinny, short seventeen-year-old.
"Stay put." He held Richie with one hand and opened a drawer with the other. He grabbed the first thing his hand closed around... a large metal serving spoon. "This looks like it could be a down payment." He pushed Richie up against the counter and began swinging.
Richie felt swat after swat land on his backside. Tears stung at his eyes as he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The only sound in the apartment besides metal on cotton was Max growling, barking and threatening Jonathan.
"Shut up, you worthless flea bag!" Jonathan shouted kicking out with a steal toed boot.
"Hey!" Richie protested before thinking. He pushed away from the counter, but Jonathan was too strong and kept him in position. "Kennel, Max!"
"You better listen to him, mutt," Jonathan sneered. "I've had it with you." Another well placed kick sent the dog sliding across the floor and into the wall. Satisfied that the dog would leave him alone, he spun Richie around and closed his large hand around Richie's arm. "I've told you a thousand times to keep the dog locked up!"
"He's just mad because you're...scaring him," Richie explained.
"Is he scared of the loud noises?" Jonathan cooed. "Well, he better get over it because I'm not done yet."
"I'll give you the money. Please, just leave me alone," Richie begged.
"Are you trying to tell me what to do?" Jonathan asked, tightening his grip on Richie's arm. "Because you know that it is my job to tell you what to do." He grabbed Richie's other arm and shook him. "Not the other way 'round."
"Yeah."
"Yes, sir!" Jonathan barked slapping Richie so hard the teen slumped in his grip. Max had regained his bearings and jumped to his feet when he saw Jonathan hit Richie. He clamped his jaw around Jonathan's ankle. "Agh!"
"Max, let go!" Richie shouted dropping to the floor as Jonathan's grip broke.
"Get this mutt off me!" Jonathan shouted shaking his leg.
"Max, let go!" Richie grabbed the dog's rear haunches and tried to pull him off. The dog held fast for over five minutes until, finally a hard kick made the dog's jaws open.
"God damn dog!" he roared, picking up the dog by the scruff of his neck. Max yelped.
"No! You're hurting him!" Richie yelled jumping up. "Let him go!" He reached to take the dog.
"Get off me!" Jonathan yelled back handing so hard Richie fell. "You stay down there!" He took up the spoon he had dropped on the counter. "Shut up," he groaned at the dog. "Get up," he ordered. Richie scrambled to his feet. Jonathan slapped him with the spoon. "Move it." He herded the teen to the hallway closet. He opened the door and shoved Richie inside. "I'll be back for you later." He closed the door.
"Leave him alone!" Richie yelled banging on the locked door. "Jonathan! Leave him alone! Don't hurt him!" He heard another door open and close. Then the apartment was silent. Richie stood staring at the line of lighting coming in under the door. He dreaded the moment he saw movement. That meant Jonathan was back. And Richie knew what was going to happen when Jonathan got back. "Help!" Richie suddenly yelled. "Someone help!" He started banging and kicking on the door. "Help me! Someone! Get me out of here!"
"Hey!" Jonathan's voice yelled. Richie froze. Suddenly trying to escape didn't seem like a good idea. The closet door opened and before Richie's eyes could adjust to the light, a large hand reached in a grabbed him. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I-I-I..."
"Trying to get the police here?"
"N-n-no..." Richie was shaking so hard he could was almost seeing double.
"I think you were."
"No...no..."
Jonathan shoved his towards his bedroom. "You know the drill."
"Please," Richie begged. "I won't do it again. I'll shut up I swear!"
"Damn right you will, you little piece of shit." Jonathan rolled up his sleeves. "Get moving."
"Please," Richie continued to beg even as he walked to the closet to get a belt. "I won't...I-I I'll do anything."
"You'll do anything?"
Seeing his way out, Richie hastily nodded. "Anything... anything you say."
"Then hand me that belt and take your shirt off." Richie's face screwed up and he choked out a loud sob as he did as he was told. "Stop crying and take your punishment like a man."
&&&&&
Richie couldn't really remember what happened next. It was a blur. All he knew was that at some point, Jonathan had stopped using the belt. He must have fainted because when he woke up he was huddled on the floor and Jonathan was passed out snoring loudly on the bed. Richie wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know if he should just stay put or crawl into bed and hope to die in peace. Then suddenly it hit him.
Max. He had to find Max. Slowly, he pushed himself up. He could feel scores of welts, bruises and cuts all protesting as he moved. He had to bite his already cut lip to keep from groaning. Finally, he got up on his knees and crawled into the hall. He found his shirt on the floor and put it on before gathering the courage to open the front door and walk out.
He knocked on the neighbor's door. He could hear people inside, but no one answered. He tried the next door and the next, but no one would answer. Richie knew what had happened. They had heard Jonathan yelling. That was the problem with living in this neighborhood; everyone looked out for themselves. No one ever saw or heard anything. Right now, no one could hear him.
Richie kept knocking on doors hoping someone hadn't heard. "I just wanna find my dog," he mumbled finally giving up. He left the building and decided the best place to look was in the park. He circled back and started calling. "Here, Max! Here, boy! Come 'ere, Max!" He searched the park with no luck. "Maa-aaax!"
"Mommy, what's wrong with that doggy?" Richie heard a little boy ask his mom.
"Max?" Richie went to where the boy and mother were. The mother took one look at his bruised and bloody face and hurried her child away. "Max?" Richie saw something hiding behind the dumpster. "Come here, boy."
##PRESENT 1994##
Richie woke up. He was breathing heavy and his shirt was sweaty.
"Damn it," he groaned. He looked at the clock, it was nearly six. He decided to go down to the dojo and work out.
"Rich?" Duncan mumbled sitting up.
"Don't tell me you weren't up yet," Richie joked.
"Couldn't sleep."
"Join the club."
"Bad dreams?"
Richie polished an apple on his shirt. "Naw...just things on my mind."
"Want to talk about it?" Duncan got up and joined Richie in the kitchen.
"No. I'm cool."
Duncan looked at Richie. "You aren't really going through with this are you?"
"With what?"
"Why do you want to meet him? What can that possibly accomplish?"
Richie shook his head. "Mac, you wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"Look, stuff like this didn't happen to you. And until it does, you can't understand."
"Rich..."
"Mac. This is something I have to do."
"Why?"
"Because this is my chance. Finally, I get a chance to stand up to him. I get to tell him how I feel. I get to tell him to get lost. I've dreamed of this day for two years."
"Why would you put yourself through this, Richie? Can't you tell him over the phone?"
"See? You don't understand!"
"Then explain it to me."
"Don't you get it, Mac? I can't!" Richie shouted. "I can't explain it! I just know I have to do this!"
"Richie, calm down. I'm just trying to see why you would do this. It's obvious he still scares you."
"No, he doesn't, Mac. I'm a little nervous, yeah. But I'm not scared. Besides, it's not like he can hurt me anymore."
"Yes, he can, Richie. It just won't last as long."
"It sounds to me like you're the one who's scared."
"I'm sorry if I don't want you to show up tonight looking like you did two years ago."
"You're not listening to me, Mac. That's not going to happen this time. I'm bigger, older and stronger. I can take care of myself. He's not going to touch me."
Duncan sighed. "Do you at least want some company?"
"Mac, thanks. But I don't need a bodyguard. I'm gonna go get in a work out."
"Richie," Duncan called after him. "Just think about it. He beat you up and he killed you dog. Do you really want to waste your time?"
##PAST 1992##
The lights were out. But both cars were in the alley. That had to mean that they were home. Richie staggered the last few steps to the back door. He was so tired he could fall asleep standing up. He was so sore, someone could shove a gun in his face and he would offer to pull the trigger.
"Mac!" he yelled, awkwardly knocking on the door. "Mac! Let me in! Please!"
The door opened and Tessa stood on the other side. "Richie?"
"Look, I know I said I'd leave you guys alone...but I didn't know where else to go," he voice broke.
"You look horrible. Come in. Duncan!" she called ushering Richie into the loft.
"What's wrong, Tess...Richie? What are you doing here? What happened to you?"
"It's Max...he's hurt."
Duncan paused. How could Richie be worried about his dog? There was more blue and purple on his face than normal skin tones. "Okay...put him on the table, we'll give him a look."
Richie put the dog on the table and Duncan's first instinct was that the dog was already dead. But for the sake of the teen, he bent over the dog to check his injuries. He jumped when the dog growled softly.
"Shh, Max," Richie soothed petting the dog's head. "Mac is one of the good guys."
Duncan gently prodded the dog and examined the skin under his fur. The dog whined and moaned every time Duncan touched him.
"Richie, this doesn't look good."
"But you can help him, right?" Richie asked, tears pooling in his eyes.
One look at his face and Duncan had to try something more. "Tessa, get a blanket. Richie, get that phone book and look up the animal clinics. We'll see if we can find one still open."
"What's wrong with him?"
"He needs help, Rich. But we'll do everything we can for him."
It took Richie a couple minutes but he found an ad for an emergency animal clinic.
"Great. Tessa, I'll call them and tell them you're on your way."
Richie wrapped Max up in the blanket and picked him up. "You're gonna be okay," he promised the dog.
"Um, no, Rich. Tessa will take Max. You're going to stay here so I can get a look at you."
"I wanna go with Max."
"All you're going to do is sit in a waiting room."
"I don't care. He's my best friend. I'm not leaving him."
"Richie, I'm putting my foot down. You're not leaving this building until I say you can. And you're not leaving tonight. You're in no condition to be out of bed much less gallivanting about town."
"Richie," Tessa said gently. "You can't help, Max. That's for the doctor to do. But you can take care of yourself. Stay with Duncan." Numbly, Richie nodded. "I promise I will make sure they do everything they can for him." She took the dog from Richie.
"You be good," Richie whispered kissing Max's head. "She'll take good care of you. You'll be good as new." Max whined and licked Richie's bloody chin. "Everything will be okay."
Duncan gestured Richie into the spare bedroom as Tessa left with Max. Deep down Duncan knew there was no hope for the dog. He was pretty sure there were some broken ribs and the dog wasn't breathing well. Tessa was going to come home empty handed. But for Richie's sake he kept that to himself. He would figure out what to do later.
"Okay, first things first. You sit on the bed and I will get what I need to clean you up." Without a word, Richie complied. Duncan got the first aid kit and some extra cotton, some towels and an eye dropper and set to work washing Richie's face. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked as he examined the cut under Richie's bottom lip. The teen didn't answer. "Well, whatever happened, it looks pretty painful. This is going to sting a bit, but it will help prevent infection." He tilted Richie's head back and used the eye dropper to clean the cut out with hydrogen peroxide. Richie flinched, but didn't make a sound. "Alright, now your neck." He got behind the boy on the bed.
The bruises on Richie's neck told a story of their own. Four dots on one side and a single one on the other and two disconnected bands across the top and bottom. Duncan had seen it often enough to know what that was. A handprint. He gently washed the area with antiseptic. He dreaded what he had to do next. He had a good enough idea what was waiting for him.
"Richie, I'm going to lift up your shirt and look at your back, okay?" Richie once again nodded. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Duncan lifted the worn cloth. "Oh my God..." He could see the welts rising under Richie's skin. He had bruises stripping and spotting his back. There were little spots where the skin had broken, but they were either abrasions or had already scabbed over. "Stand up for me." The bruising went down below his waist band. "Are you wearing underwear?" Richie nodded. "Take off your pants for me." Richie hesitated. "I know it's embarrassing, Rich. But I need to see all the damage." Slowly Richie unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his ankles. He had bruises stripping his legs to his knees. "Lay down on your stomach. I'm going to clean you up. If you get uncomfortable tell me and we'll take a break."
Richie allowed Duncan to clean and treat his wounds uninterrupted. Richie even let Duncan clean the abrasions on his bottom without protest. Duncan didn't know whether to be glad Richie was so comfortable with him or worried that he let him do whatever he wanted.
"Okay, all done." Duncan eased the elastic of Richie's briefs back to his waist. "I'm going to go get you a shirt to sleep in." Richie didn't move. "I'll get you something to drink and some aspirin, too." Still no response. "I'll be right back."
He went into his room and found the biggest t-shirt he could. He dropped it off for Richie to put on before going to get him a glass of juice. He went back into the spare room.
"Take these. They'll prevent anymore swelling and help with the stiffness."
Richie struggled up and took the juice and pills. "Thanks."
"Richie, I know you're worried about Max. We both are. But I'm really worried about you. Why won't you tell me what happened?" Richie shook his head and looked away.
Duncan sighed. He knew what had happened, but he really needed Richie to admit it to him.
"Richie, look at me. Sometimes, bad things happen to innocent people. And they get embarrassed by it. They can even believe it's their fault. And so they don't tell anyone about it...sometimes they lie so no one will find out. They think they're protecting themselves. But the truth is, to protect themselves, they have to tell someone so that they can get the help they need to make whatever's happening stop." He took a deep breath. "I think you're trying to protect yourself from someone. And I'm asking you to tell me who it is, so I can stop them."
Richie looked at him, inwardly debating with himself. Slowly he shook his head.
"Richie, please. You're only hurting yourself." He started to put his hand on Richie's shoulder, but stopped as he remembered why they were having this conversation. "Is it your father?"
Richie shook his head. "He's not my father," he said softly. "Not my real one."
"Are you adopted?"
Richie snorted. "You don't get paid when you adopt."
"What do you mean?"
"He's my foster dad." He sniffled and his bottom lip shook. "Please don't send me back. He's gonna kill me. I ran away. I wasn't supposed to leave."
"I'm not sending you back, Rich." He gently wiped the tear off Richie's cheeks. "No crying. This is good. You did the right thing. Now we can fix it and make it right. There's no reason to cry."
Richie snorted and nodded. "Okay."
"You'll be okay. But I do think you should go to the hospital to get checked out."
"I thought you said I was okay?"
"You are. But I'm not a doctor, Richie."
"I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't need to. Its just some bruises. Nothing's broken or anything. Don't make me go."
Duncan thought it over. Richie was right, he had no broken bones and none of the damage looked bad enough to cause internal injury. They would probably just put him in bed to get some rest. "Alright. No hospital... for now. But I want you to promise me that if you start to feel any worse, or I notice anything wrong you'll go." Richie nodded. "Good. And now, I think its time for you to get some sleep. So you just lay down and get some rest. If you need anything, I'll be right down the hall."
Duncan pulled back the blankets for Richie to get under. "What about Max?"
"You won't do him any good if you're too tired to function." Richie nodded, too tired to argue. Duncan helped him into a comfortable position and tucked him in.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"You just get some sleep." Duncan smoothed back Richie's hair. "Good night, Rich." He turned off the light and closed the door.