A/N: I promised I was going to include the table of contents, as it grows, at the beginning of each chapter. So much for that with the last chapter. Well, here it is, even if it's delayed. This part begins with Chapter Four: Second Nightmare: Marriage is a Blessing.
Telling Tales
Book I
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (1)
With Brainiac: Forward: The Story Behind the Story
Chapter One
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (2)
Chapter Two
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (3)
Chapter Three: First Nightmare: Klux
Part One: On the Space Station
Part Two: Graffiti
Part Three: The Hospital, and the Discovery
Interlude: Back with Brainiac (1)
Chapter Four: Second Nightmare: Marriage is a Blessing
Part One: Home
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (4)
Chapter Four: Second Nightmare: Marriage is a Blessing
If Brainiac understood anything about me, it was that Virgil was my weakness. I would jump off a cliff for V, and Brainiac knew that. He also knew that I was weak without Virg, that, without V, I would die surely as a fish out of water will suffocate. And so it was my dependence on V that Brainiac exploited.
And yet, if the psychotic supercomputer could misunderstand anything, it was how human relationships really worked. If he hadn't botched 'Virgil's' reactions, I probably would have gone on believing in that first nightmare until I was rescued. Oh, by the way, this is Richie again. I just can't stay completely out of the telling of this. I hope this writing starts to help soon. The nightmare I had last night was the worst yet. V was out "patrolling" last night, but since we hardly ever patrol in my neighborhood, I think what he was really doing was checking up on me. V worries so much about me. Have I mentioned yet that I love him? I can't speak for all of Virgil's reactions that Brainiac planted in my head, but my reactions to the imaginary V during the nightmare were my own.
I love Virg. Dad would flay every bit of flash from my bones, show his berserker heritage, but I can't deny what I feel. If Brainiac helped me in anything, he helped me to see how much I need V. I've had inklings of the depth of my need, but Brainiac brought everything into stark relief. Not that I would ever thank the mechanical bastard. I'd be too busy blasting him to pieces; there wouldn't be time for thank-yous.
Part One: Home
The pain wasn't bad, Richie decided as he struggled to open his eyes. A few bruises weren't much, compared to what could have happened. It was the weakness- more emotional than physical- that frightened him, and that sense that he wasn't alone. For a moment, Richie considered just keeping still and not advertising to the world that he was conscious. But how long can I keep that up? And if Brainiac's still here, surely he knows what I'm planning.
There is no Brainiac. There hasn't been a Brainiac in over ten years. You were just dreaming, Foley. It's not surprising you would dream about him: every time you get hurt really badly, or frightened beyond all reason, you dream of him. Nothing will ever be quite as paralyzing as Brainiac, and so, of course, you think of him when you feel helpless. Perfectly natural. Dr. Sharon Hawkins could tell you as much.
He heard a deep snore coming from his right, and dared to open his eyes. Everything was fuzzy, and Richie reached out blindly. But his hand must have known where it was going, because his fingers touched a table almost immediately, and his glasses an instant later. I've done this many times. He fumbled his glasses on.
Virgil was collapsed, fast asleep, in a chair nearby. Someone had spread a blanket over him, but otherwise he looked as if he'd just been dumped there.
He collapsed there last night, and no matter what I did, I couldn't get him to leave the chair. "You were hurt, Rich. I don't want to frighten you by being too close." That's what V said. And nothing I said could convince him that I actually needed him beside me, no matter how much I've struggled against him in the past.
Wait! I've never struggled against him, because we've never slept in the same bed! Well, not since we were nine or so, anyway.
Then where are you, Richie? This isn't your room, or Virgil's. Now, take a better look at him. He isn't the Virgil you knew when you were sixteen.
Richie turned his eyes to Virgil. One of his friend's arms hung over the side of the chair and the other was crammed between his body and the chair arm. His chin was down on his broad, bare chest, and he was snoring loud enough to beat the band.
He's different, Richie admitted. Taller. And he definitely has more muscle. He brushed aside the covers, suddenly aware that he, too, was bare-chested. And I've gained more muscle than I ever thought possible! He stared at himself for a moment, then turned his eyes back to Virgil.
That's V, muscles and all, Richie thought, somewhat shocked. Then he stopped himself. Or maybe it's not. I need to play this carefully. But how can I know what's real and what's not? I could still be sixteen and with Brainiac.
He shivered. Or I could have just had a nightmare. He groaned and closed his eyes. Maybe I should just pretend to be asleep a little longer.
But he found that he was too restless. Weakness or no, Richie longed to be up and moving. Had they destroyed Brainiac? Could Virgil have possibly freed the Justice League and returned to save his friend from Brainiac?
Yes, he did. Ten years ago. He and the Justice League rescued you. J'onn announced that there was nothing of Brainiac within your mind. Don't you remember?
Yes. No. How do I answer any of these questions once and for all? How do I know that I'm not just frittering away the hours, months and years between now and eternity in dreams?
He was reminded of an Are You Afraid of the Dark episode he and Virgil had watched together. The two of them, sitting side-by-side on the floor of Virgil's living room, staring at the TV as though hypnotized. We couldn't have been more than eight or nine. Why V's dad let us watch it in the first place is beyond me. Especially because it came on at night.
Richie smiled. But there we were, pretending not to be scared while we watched a boy running around and around inside a pinball game. I always hated that last scene of the story where the boy looks up and sees a new pinball positioned to play the next game. The whole room- the whole imaginary world of captures, escapes, love and loss- was reflected in its silvery surface. That's what this feels like. The boy would never get out of that imaginary world. Richie reached up and wiped away frightened tears. He felt small and alone again, without even Virgil, who had been small and alone, too, but who had at least been a friend, beside him to try and laugh it off. How can I know what is fact and what is fiction? Easy: I can't. If I died in one of Brainiac's little worlds, I might come back in another life to do it all over again. I wonder if the boy in that show ever felt that he just wanted to end it all?
Richie ground his teeth. I won't admit defeat like that. I won't! It's not in me, wasn't even in me when I was eight. Virg and I talked about how we would begin to spy around the game for hidden ways out. If the ball came from somewhere, we could get to where it started and jump back into the real world. I think we even went to the library the next day and looked at schematics of pinball machines to find out how they worked. Richie laughed. We wouldn't give up then, and I won't give up now.
Abruptly, Richie realized the way he could save his sanity, and he laughed again. It's so simple. I'll just treat everything like it's real, and if it isn't, instead of being dragged back to Brainiac's darkness, I'll look for an escape hatch. I'll have to be careful and make sure he doesn't understand what I'm doing, but we've already established that he can't know everything.
"Richie?"
Richie refused to jump. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at Virgil, who was struggling to get out of the chair. He's gorgeous. Richie blushed even as his body announced that it more than agreed with that assessment. "Hey, V." Whose voice was that? Was that me? My voice finally changed!
It changed when I was eighteen, later than everybody else's, and a full two years after V's, but at least it changed.
Virgil extracted himself from the chair at last, but staggered on his way over to the bed and almost fell. "Did Superman ever have his legs fall asleep?" He gimp-walked over to Richie and asked, "What's so funny, anyway? I heard you laughing. That's what woke me up."
His voice is so deep! "You mean your own snoring didn't do it?"
Virgil waved that away. "Get some new material, Rich." He sat on the edge of the bed and took Richie's hands in his. "How do you feel?" His eyes darkened with concern.
Richie's mouth answered for him. "Much better. I didn't know the Cobras could pack such a punch."
"They wouldn't be the top assassin agency in the world if they couldn't." Virgil shook his head, and Richie's attention was caught by the other man's shorter, somewhat less wild hairstyle. It was still spiky, but looked a little tamer.
Virgil leaned forward, bringing his hand up to touch Richie's face. He smiled and closed the distance, brushing his lips lightly against Richie's own.
Brainiac! Brainiac's trying-!
That stupid robot isn't trying anything. Brainiac's been gone for ten years. Virgil is almost my husband. Almost against his will, Richie leaned into the kiss. He sighed contentedly when Virgil folded him in a tight embrace. As one, they deepened the kiss, and Richie brought his hand up to touch the back of Virgil's head, feeling the new hairstyle-
-that V has had for almost two years now.
Richie closed his eyes and gave in to the present, committing himself fully to the moment. He pulled back slightly. "I love you, V."
Virgil drew him close again. "I never get tired of hearing you say that. Will you ever get tired of hearing me say that I love you, too?"
"Never." Richie smiled against Virgil's lips. "Now, let me up so I can start breakfast."
Virgil stood and stretched, wincing.
"That'll teach you to sleep in a chair. There's always the couch in the living room, you know."
"It's currently covered with presents from those who can't make it to the ceremony or reception." Virgil grinned. "You know, the out-of-towners like Superman and Batman."
Richie considered taking up the issue of Virgil sleeping in the bed with him when he'd had a bad scare, but decided that discussion could wait for another day. After all, we've got all the time in the world. He rose gracefully and padded from the bedroom into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Coffee, Coke or tea?"
Virgil laughed. "What do you think?"
Richie shook his head. "All right, Mr. Coke addict. I don't even know why we bought a coffee pot. Neither of us uses it."
"Because every time Sharon comes over she wants a cup. You make it better than Adam, and that's saying something." Virgil had followed him, and he began to rummage through the fridge. "Omelets or scrambled?"
Richie put the kettle on, then ducked into a cupboard to find a can of Coke. "Hmm?"
"Do you want an omelet or just a scrambled egg?"
Richie turned towards Virgil, and was suddenly consumed by a need to touch him. He tried to fight it. Turning away and putting the Coke down, he started looking for a glass for the soda. "Scrambled sounds fine." He shivered as the need grew stronger. He needed to do more than touch Virgil. He needed to be held.
This need has come before. Why don't you just give in to it?
Because every time I do, it frightens him to know how much I need him. I don't want to hurt him.
He hurts you by not sleeping with you after you're attacked; why can't you hurt him?
Because he's V! I won't hurt V on purpose.
But your need is out of love.
No, it's out of fear. I want to feel safe, and only V can make me feel that way. But it's not fair to put so much pressure on him. He always has to be the strong one. I want him to know I can take care of myself.
But you can't. Isn't that the point? You can't take care of yourself, Richie; you need him. You need him in a way that is almost unhealthy.
Richie shook his head violently. Leave me alone! I love V, I won't hurt V, and that's the end of it!
"Richie?" Warm arms encircled his waist. Richie set down the glass and sighed as Virgil tightened his embrace. "What is it, Rich?"
Richie gave up the idea of hiding his feelings from his fiancée. He cast these over his shoulder without so much as a look back. Virgil had always had that effect on him.
Virgil turned Richie in his arms so the two of them were facing each other. "Talk to me, Rich. I'm here for you."
I'll start with the bed dispute. After all, he's holding me now, which is what I wanted. "I want you in bed with me, V. Not just when things have been going well, but when they haven't. Especially then. I know I've flinched before when you touched me, but I don't know it's you when I flinch. In my mind, it's usually…" He swallowed.
"Brainiac." Virgil touched the side of Richie's face.
Richie put his hand over Virgil's on his cheek. "Yes. Him." He kissed the side of Virgil's mouth. "I love you, and I never want to hurt you. But I like having you beside me when I wake up." Well, I didn't mean to confess how much I need him, but it's better out than in, especially with the ceremony tomorrow.
There was a part of Richie that didn't understand what ceremony he meant. The part of Richie that still thought of itself as a sixteen year old didn't understand, but that part of Richie had taken a back seat to the one that was apparently almost twenty-seven. Be it dream or nightmare or reality, Richie was in it almost one hundred percent. Part of him didn't know what ceremony was going to happen on the morrow, but that part didn't care, either. Sixteen-year old Richie trusted twenty-six year old Richie and didn't ask.
"But, Richie, you don't trust me when you're dreaming. If I try to wake you, all I manage to do is make you fight me." Virgil smiled a little. "I don't know if I can keep explaining those black eyes. When you're really afraid, Rich, you fight like a tiger."
Richie groaned. That's right; I've hurt him. No wonder he doesn't want to sleep next to me. He considered just giving in, letting it go, but I want to fix this. I don't want anything terrible between us. He swallowed and stepped back breaking contact with Virgil. "I need you beside me, but what I do in my sleep isn't fair to you. We're both superheroes, and we're both intelligent adults. There has to be a way to make both of us happy and safe."
Virgil grinned. "I remember you're a genius when you talk like that, Doctor Richard Osgood Foley."
For some reason that the younger Richie couldn't understand, the blond man blushed at Virgil's words.
Virgil was thinking; his grin had faded a little, and his eyes were turned inward. "Well, according to Sharon's psychology books, people tend to have nightmares when something is out of sync, either mentally, emotionally or physically. That's why some people have more nightmares when they're sick than when they're well. So, if you dream after you've been hurt, that's what's causing the nightmares."
Richie resisted the urge to say, "Well, duh!" Virg was pursuing a train of thought; Richie waited on the sidelines, trying to see where his friend was going. I may be the 'genius' on this team, but V has a lot more common sense and worldly know-how than I do. He smiled to himself. And I'm quite willing to have him lead me in this.
Virgil was pacing now. "Now, since there is something directly causing your nightmares, all we have to do is counteract it to keep it from disturbing your sleep."
Since when has he become such an expert in psychology? the sixteen-year old Richie piped up.
Ever since your/my father started abusing you/me, V has been trying to make sure that you're/I'm all right, and that you/I don't harbor any feelings that would hurt you/me.
Sixteen-year old Richie got his head around that confusing explanation, then said out loud, "Maybe I would be all right if we talked about everything that happened. Maybe an informal debriefing would work. That's part of what they do for soldiers who have been in a war zone and need help."
Virgil's megawatt grin returned, and he caught Richie in his arms, spinning around with him until they were both breathless. Then he kissed Richie soundly "I love you, Richie. You really are a genius."
Richie blushed again. "I love you, too." He happened to glance at the clock over the stove, and his eyes widened behind his glasses. "V! It's almost nine! You're going to be late!"
Virgil glanced at the clock, but he didn't seem half as put-out as Richie. "I'll be all right. I'll just explain to Pops that I needed to get a few things ready for tomorrow." He smiled. "Which is true, more or less."
Richie extracted himself from his fiancée's grasp, and shook a finger at Virgil, who was laughing. "Get going."
But Virgil wouldn't condescend to go quite yet. "And what will you be doing all day?"
Richie considered that, and discovered that, surprise, surprise, all he really wanted to do was spend time at Virgil's side. "Well, I don't teach on Fridays, so…"
"So you'll come to the rec center with me and help hang posters and stuff? You know this is Kids Against Drugs month, right?"
Richie laughed. "All right, V, you twisted my arm. I'm coming. But for either of us to be able to go anywhere, we have to get dressed."
Virgil plucked at the waist band of his sweat pants. "You mean I can't just show up like this?"
"And have your pops hit the ceiling? You can show up like that if you want, V, but if you do, I think I'll just stay home."
Virgil pouted. "Guess that leaves me no choice. I'll have to dress."
Richie hugged him from behind.
Virgil spun around and captured Richie's lips. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?"
Richie's cheeks were so pink he thought he looked like he'd tried on some make-up. "Come on; now we're really late."
From The Diary of Virgil Hawkins/Static Shock
Dear Diary,June 1, 2003
I'm going to kill him. I swear it. If he touches Richie one more time, Static's going to 'accidentally' electrocute the bastard. How dare he raise a hand to Richie, let alone hit him? Yes, Richie was missing for a day or two. So what? He came home, didn't he? He's all right, isn't he?
Okay, it's out of my system, at least enough for me to write down what I'm talking about. Richie's father, the oh-so-upright Mr. Foley, hit Richie for disappearing for a few days, then hit him again because the jerk saw a picture of Rich and me in Richie's desk. Richie keeps some of the really funny pictures of our adventures. Once, the two of us were in a pie-eating contest with Pops- the two of us against my pops is what I mean- and we had pie all over our faces, hands, clothes, and hair. My pops still won. Sharon took the picture, and all three of us look like walking cream pies. Richie's glasses were so covered he had to spend almost an hour cleaning them.
Writing about the good times helps me calm down even more, but I need to explain what happened. Mr. Foley went through Richie's things when his son disappeared, hoping to find a clue as to where Richie went. Richie ran away once- long story- and so now every time Richie's two seconds late for his curfew, his father goes ballistic. I didn't know he was hitting Richie, though. That's why I'm so ticked off, I guess; I can't know if Mr. Foley has hit Richie before, and, if he did, why did Richie hide it from me?
I'm not mad at Richie. I'm not. I'm just hurt. Okay, fine, I'm a little angry that he thought he couldn't trust me, but I love him- he's my best friend- and I want to know when something's bothering him. Maybe the reason he had that nightmare yesterday night has more to do with his father than Brainiac. Not that I could see any bruises when I went to talk to him after his nightmare, but I doubt this is the first time his father hit him.
And I'm even more pissed off that if we hadn't had school today, Richie might have been able to hide the bruises from me again. As it was, the black eye couldn't be missed, and neither could the large bruise on Richie's neck. I could even see the marks his father's knuckles had left! Want to hear the fight Richie and I had? Of course you do- you're my diary.
Richie didn't walk to school with me this morning. That was when I should have heard the first alarm bell. But I just figured he was running late and didn't need to be pressured by me. I would see him at school, I decided.
He was at his locker when I walked towards mine, and so I stopped to talk to him. His back was to me, and he seemed to be digging for something. The hood of his sweatshirt was up, which is a definite no-no at good old Dakota Union High, but apparently a teacher hadn't caught him yet. As I moved closer, I heard him muttering, "Where is it? Where is it?" as he continued to rummage through his things.
"Richie? You okay, man?"
Richie turned around so fast that he hit his head on the door of his locket.
"Richie, what-" I stopped. That was when I saw his black eye. "Richie, what did you-?"
Richie lifted his bag onto his shoulder. "Hey, V, can't stop to chat. Going to be late for study hall."
I caught his arm before he could take more than a step. "Richie, what happened to your eye? That isn't from our little adventure."
"Maybe it's a delayed reaction?" Richie grinned weakly and kept trying look away from me.
"Mr. Foley, take your hood off." Mr. Kingsley was glaring at Richie from across the hall.
Richie hesitated, his hand drifting very slowly up to the hood.
"Right now, Mr. Foley. Or do you want detention?"
Richie brushed his hood back revealing the bruise high on his neck, almost hidden by his hair. He glanced at me, knew that I saw the bruise, and sighed. "Don't say anything, V. I don't want the teachers to notice."
You don't want to explain where it came from, in other words. I moved so that I was partially shielding Richie from passing students and whispered, "I won't say anything to them. What happened?"
I doubt if everybody in the world is as open as Richie and I are with each other, but I'll bet there are other people who, like us, depend on each other in almost every way, and so are more likely to confide in each other. Richie looked me right in the eye and said, "I don't want to have to lie to you, Virg. Please don't ask."
I could see how close he was to just bolting, running away from me, probably skipping school to try and figure things out. I wanted him where I could keep an eye on him, so I said, "It's okay, Richie. You don't have to tell me."
Richie relaxed slightly. "Thanks, V." His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him, and I watched him fiddle with the hem of his sweatshirt. "We should get to study hall."
It was hard not to watch Richie all this morning. He was moving more slowly than usual, and didn't have any of the right answers the teachers had come to expect from him. And he kept shifting around, fiddling with his glasses and messing with his bag. In Science, Mrs. Pettibone asked, "Do you have a problem, Mr. Foley?"
Richie had been biting his lip, pulling on his earring- did I tell you about that thing? I'll tell you later- and scuffing his feet on the floor. He looked uncomfortable. When she spoke, Richie froze as if he'd been targeted with a searchlight. Then he answered, "No, ma'am. Sorry." He held himself ramrod straight for the rest of the class, but I could see his fingers twitching under his desk.
At least after Science it was time for lunch. Richie and I walked to the cafeteria side-by-side, and Richie was walking a lot closer to me than usual. It was as if he was trying to draw strength from me. I didn't say anything until we'd gotten our food and sat down at a table. I was hoping nobody we knew would interrupt us.
I was watching Richie poke at what passed for mashed potatoes on his plate. "Richie, can I ask you something?"
He looked up, his face guarded and wary. "Sure, V."
"Are you okay?"
Richie relaxed a little. Maybe he'd expected me to ask about the bruises again. I'm too smart for that. I won't do anything that might drive him away before I figure out what's wrong with him.
He leaned forward a little. "I dreamed about Brainiac again last night. I didn't sleep well." He smiled slightly. "Maybe you and I could talk later? After patrol?"
"Or before, if you want." I was glad to hear that he was willing to talk. It still didn't explain the bruises, but it was a start. Let me start with his mental injuries, then maybe he would explain the physical ones.
"After," said Richie decisively. "I need to burn off some energy before I can settle down."
"Yeah, I saw you in class."
Richie smiled sheepishly. "I guess I've been having an off-day."
"I'm sure even Gear and Static have off days," I told him, winking, "so why can't we?"
Richie's smile stretched into a grin. "How do you know they have off-days? Maybe they're always dead-on."
I was about to answer when I heard footsteps coming in our direction. I glanced up Mr. Kingsley (he's our lunchroom monitor) was walking towards us. "Mr. Foley, here's a pass. Go to the principal's office."
The color of Richie's face instantly changed from cream to ash. He stood up hurriedly. "Mr. Kingsley, I didn't do it! Whatever it is, I swear I didn't-"
"You aren't in trouble, Mr. Foley. Collect your things." He gave Richie the pass and walked away.
Richie looked at the pass, then at me. "Why would he want to see me?" he muttered.
"Maybe you're going to be accelerated into a college-prep class or something." I was trying to make light of the situation, but I felt Richie's tension. I leaned close to him and whispered, "Where's your Shock Vox?"
"In my bag. Why?"
"Turn it on. Then it will be like I'm there. And if they show any signs of really yelling at you or something, Static can show up, declare a state of emergency at the school with a few well-placed electrical charges, and you'll be free."
"I'd still have to talk to them eventually." But Richie was grinning again, and he reached into his bag, activating his Vox. Then he straightened and shouldered his bag. "I left it on maximum sensitivity. Turn yours to the lowest volume, then you can hear it with your powers instead of your ears."
I nodded. "Will do. Good luck and Godspeed. You're treading where few students have trod before."
Richie winked, then left the room. Two seconds after he left, the bell rang, signaling the changing of classes. Richie calls it "the changing of the guard- and we need to be guarded, don't we? Just to make sure we don't cause any damage or anything."
It's a good thing we had a substitute in English, the period right after lunch. That meant I could just sit in the back of the room, close my eyes, and listen to Richie entering the office. I'll put what I heard from the Shock Vox between slashes like this.It's always amazed me how well the Voxes pick up conversation.
Richie's voice came first. "Excuse me. I'm supposed to talk to Mr. Lenning. Is he in his office?"
The secretary answered, "No, he's in the conference room. Go right in. They're expecting you."
"Who are they?" I muttered, my lips scarcely moving. "And what do they want with Richie?"
"Thank you," Richie answered. I listened to the muffled sounds of other conversations as he passed other students and a few teachers. He knocked on the conference door.
"Come in, Mr. Foley. Close the door," said our principal. Then, after a pause, "You can sit, Mr. Foley." Another pause. "Do you know why I've called you in?"
"No, sir." Richie's a smart kid; he knows when to keep his mouth shut- most of the time- and when the shortest answer possible is the right answer.
"Do you know why Ms. Pettibone is here?"
"No, sir."
Ms. Pettibone spoke then, and I've never heard her voice sound so gentle. "Richard, we want to help you. You can trust us."
"Um, I do."
"Good. Now, Richard, I know this might be difficult for you, but remember that whatever you tell us won't get you in trouble in any way."
I thought, This does not sound good.
"Mr. Foley," said Mr. Lenning, "Ms. Pettibone has noticed several bruises on you over the last few weeks. And the worst has emerged today. Mr. Kingsley told me you tend to wear your hood up often, and Mr. Vanlentine informs me that you are reluctant to change for gym."
My stomach twisted, and in my lap, I clenched my fist. Gym is one of only two classes Rich and I don't have together.
"Please tell us where these bruises are coming from, Richard," Ms. Pettibone resumed. "We only want to help you."
"I'm clumsy. Mr. Vanlentine can tell you I fall a lot when we'/re playing in gym."
This is even true, but lately Richie's clumsiness has been completely feigned. Since he became Gear, and started training with me on ways to stay upright and mobile, his clumsiness has all but disappeared. He still trips over things as Richie so no one will suspect him.
"Mr. Foley, we aren't your enemy. Please understand that we won't pressure you. But if someone is hurting you, we have ways of protecting you."
"You can trust us, Richard. We're on your side."
"I... I'm all right. It's not bad. They don't even hurt."
"Where did you get the bruises, Richie?" That was Mr. Lenning, and the concern in his voice shocked me so much I came out of my horrified daze. Richie had bruises today but, judging from what the principal and teacher had said, he'd had ones before. And I'd never noticed them.
"My father." Richie's answer was almost inaudible. "He didn't mean to hurt me. I ran away for two days, and he was angry when I got some sense knocked into me and came home."
"Does Mr. Hawkins know about this?" Mr. Lenning pursued. "Does he know you ran away?"
"V's dad? No, why would-"
"I was actually referring to Virgil."
"He… um, yeah, he knew about it. He's the one who convinced me to go back home." And then, his voice suddenly too high, "Don't drag Virg into this. He didn't know about my father. He doesn't know anything."
"He knows you are hurt, Richard. He was staying very close to you today," Ms. Pettibone said quietly. "Maybe if we asked him, we would discover that he knows more than you think. Perhaps he can help you, too."
"I don't want Virgil anywhere near this!" Richie shouted. Then, after a short pause, he whispered, "Please, don't drag him in. This is going to get messy, isn't it? IF it is, I don't want Virgil involved. He doesn't know about Dad, and I want to keep it that way."
"He doesn't have to be, Richie," Mr. Lenning said. "It was only a suggestion."
There was a long silence. "So, what are you going to do with me?" Richie asked.
"You have two choices," Mr. Lenning said. "The first one is to stay at home and wait while I get in touch with Child Protection Services. They'll come in a few days to see if you want to leave. Or, if you think the situation is too dangerous, I'll find you a place to stay until Child Protection Services can take custody of you."
"I…I can't leave. I can't. I have too much… Too much to lose. Please let me stay. And don't warn my parents that anyone's coming."
"I would never do such a thing, Richie. If you're sure you'll be safe… All right. You can go to class if you want, or, if you'd like to talk more, you could take to either Ms. Pettibone or Ms. Menga."
That's our guidance counselor- she gives me the creeps.
"I'll be okay. I'll go back to class now."
"Here's a pass. And thank you for being willing to trust us."
Richie didn't answer.
Why wouldn't he want me to know? Why wouldn't he want me to help him? Doesn't Richie trust me? Maybe he does, but he doesn't want me to know how badly he's been hurt. Richie's like that; he hides his injuries. Even when we were little, he did that.
A chill ran through me then. Was his father abusing him even then?
And the questions returned, stronger than before, demanding that I answer them.
The classroom door opened, and Richie slipped inside, leaving his pass on Mrs. Johnson's desk. The substitute watched him walk to his seat, and I could see the concern in her eyes. How could a sub know about Richie? Granted, she's a sub that comes around here often, but she isn't supposed to be privy to that kind of thing. Well, unless she'd seen one or more of Richie's bruises for herself. Did everyone suspect something except me? Did the teachers all think Richie had been abused? Had they all gotten together, wanting to confront him?
Richie walked to his desk beside mine. He sat, and when his eyes met mine, they were dull. He looked as if he'd just been told the whole world was going to explode, and there was nothing he could do about it.
I tore a piece of paper out of my notebook and wrote furiously, What the hell is wrong with you? Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped! Static could have helped! Why didn't you tell me? My pops is a social worker! Sharon's a counselor! You had help right at your fingertips! Why didn't you take it? Why didn't you tell me? If nothing else, I could have protected you a little, or helped you deal with the stress or the pain or whatever you needed. Can't you trust me? Then I folded the paper, checked to make sure no one was looking, and slipped it into Richie's lap. He took it like a sleepwalker, and didn't open it right away.
As soon as the paper was out of my hands, though, I started thinking about what I'd written. Shit. I didn't mean to say all that. I don't want to make him angry with me. I don't want him to lose it and run. Why did I accuse him? I looked at Richie, thinking to take the paper back before he could open it, but now it was too late. Helpless, I watched him read. His lips moved silently, and his hands shook.
Richie flipped the poisonous note over and began to write. I stared at him, amazed that he wanted to answer me on paper instead of deck me, but grateful for that. Now I could apologize.
Richie shoved the paper at me, not bothering to see if he was being watched. And I read his answer without bothering to conceal what I was doing, either. The dull expression in Richie's eyes had turned to rage.
I didn't want you to know. I forgot the Vox was on, or you wouldn't have heard any of it. This isn't your business. If you aren't going to help me through this, leave me alone. I don't need you or your accusations. And since I'll be moving soon- there's no way the people at Child Protection Services will let me stay anywhere near my parents, and probably not even in Dakota- you may as well forget about Gear, too. And if you're worried about my nightmares about Brainiac, you can stop. They'll probably go away faster when I'm away from everything that reminds me of him. Like Dakota. Like you.
The scraping of the chair next to me startled me, and I looked up in time to see Richie bolting for the door, his bag over his shoulder. It was too late for decorum, and at that moment I didn't care how I sounded. "Richie, I'm sorry!" I stood up so fast my chair fell over with a crash. At the door, Richie stopped. "I didn't mean it! Richie!"
"Excuse me, young man, where do you think you're going?" the substitute demanded. All traces of sympathy were gone from her face. Then she glared at me. "Sit down."
Richie ignored her. "Forget it, Virgil. It hurts less this way." He left.
The whole class stared at the closed door. Then they stared at me. I slumped into my chair, too shocked, hurt and confused to follow him. Virgil. He never calls me Virgil unless he's very angry with me.
"Shit," I whispered.
"Watch your mouth, young man, or you can go to the principal's office."
I considered getting sent to the principal's just so I could try and track down Richie, but then I realized that anything I said right now would probably be taken the wrong way.
So, here I sit, my anger still bubbling up inside me, but now it has been joined by a stronger emotion, one I am not sure I should share with Richie. I can't bear the thought of him leaving. I need him. Static needs Gear. I can't lose him. I won't. I can't. I love him too much to lose him.
Shit. Why didn't I see this coming? I mean, I thought about it before, but it makes more sense now. And I can't just ignore it or pretend that I don't feel this way. If I get a chance to talk to Richie again, I'll have to tell him. Best friends don't keep secrets. And even if it ends our friendship… Well, that's on the rocks as it is, so I can't make that any worse. Maybe confessing my love will make things better. Maybe then, even if he doesn't love me back, he'll see that all I want is to take care of him.
This isn't just a crush, or a transient infatuation brought on by the fact that Daisy doesn't want to date me. I love Richie Foley.
