A/N: Thank you to jenn. Many many thank yous. It's due to her that I'm reposing this chapter. I fixed the little line between Richie and the KKK member. You were right, and that line made me uncomfortable when I first wrote it. I just didn't know what was wrong with it. But I'm keeping Richie's little doodles and love confessions for two reasons. First, Richie isn't acting completely like himself; you'll see why soon enough. Second, even super geniuses fall in love and lose their common sense. About Virgil confessing his love to Richie, and speaking marriage: Virgil is so desperate to make Richie happy that he isn't thinking practically, or even remembering what Richie's been through. All Virgil wants to do is keep Richie close. Keep in mind that these two are only sixteen. Yes, they've been through so much, but they're still only sixteen.
Chapter Two: In the Middle of the Night
"Virgil?"
The teen jumped and dropped his pen. Instantly, he slammed the diary shut and looked up almost guiltily as his father came into the room. "Uh… Hi, Pops. What brings you here at this time of morning? Was I making noise?"
Robert Hawkins closed the door behind him and came to sit on Virgil's bed. "I was coming back from the bathroom and saw your light on. Want to talk?" He nodded towards the closed diary, then raised an eyebrow at his son.
"Well, um… Don't you have to work in the morning?"
"Yes, but you also have to go to school. If you can go without a night's sleep, so can I. Actually, it's closer to two nights without sleep for you isn't it?"
Virgil groaned. "I slept a little last nigh…."
"But not much."
"No, not much. Pops… if I tell you something, will you promise not to fly off the handle?" Virgil was staring at the floor and he'd taken the diary in his arms, hugging it against his chest almost like a shield.
Robert considered telling Virgil that he was always willing to listen, but decided this wasn't the time for anything more or less than a straight answer. "I promise."
Virgil smiled a little apologetically. "Okay… Well, um, you know that Richie and his father don't get along all that well, right?"
Robert kept the irony from his voice. "Yes, Virgil. Richie's father was honestly repentant when we found Richie unharmed that time he ran away. But he is a man who will never change easily."
"Yeah, well, it's worse than you think," Virgil almost snapped.
Robert took no offense. Virgil was obviously struggling with something bigger than he could deal with.
"Richie's dad doesn't just hate us, or 'our kind'. He hates Richie, too. He's been hitting Richie. I don't' know for how long, but it's been for a while, I think. I saw Richie's black eye yesterday at school, and the bruise on his neck. I could see his father's knuckle-marks on his neck!" Virgil had gotten up and was pacing now. "The teachers noticed, and the principal called Richie into his office. I think these aren't the first bruises that have been noticed, because kids with bruises aren't exactly uncommon at school. And if they saw the bruises, I don't know why I didn't. I mean, Richie's slept over here, for crying out loud. I should have seen something."
He groaned and returned to his chair, putting his head in his hands. "Sorry, Pops. I was almost shouting, wasn't I?"
"Almost. But it doesn't bother me. I've heard worse."
Virgil smiled a little. "I guess you do." He sighed and sat back in his chair, looking at his father. "The principal got Richie to admit that it was his father who was hitting him. So now Children Protective Services-"
"-Child Protection Services-"
"-yeah them. Well, they're going to come and take Richie away from his family. Which I guess is good. His father hitting him isn't. But you've told me the bad side of foster care, and…" Virgil shivered. Until he had spoken the words, he hadn't even thought of what might happen to Richie in foster care. "I don't want Richie to leave Dakota. I don't want him to be stuck somewhere where he doesn't know anybody. He needs me now more than ever. I want to help him, but I can't. I wish I was part of the whole foster care thing so I could-" he laughed brokenly- "adopt him. I want Richie to be all right. I want…"
His father was at his side then, and drawing him to his feet. Virgil wrapped his arms around his father's waist at once and leaned against him. He half-expected he would burst into tears, but it didn't happen. Instead, he suddenly felt exhausted. He groaned and hugged his father tighter.
Robert rocked him slightly, rubbing his back. "Virgil, nothing's set in stone. We can still help Richie; keep him from having to leave Dakota. I do have a few connections, and I promise I won't rest until we're sure Richie will be taken care of by someone that both he and we trust."
Virgil raised his head. "Really, Pops? Do you mean it?"
Robert nodded. "We'll look after Richie. Nothing will happen to him."
Virgil hugged him again. "Thanks, Pops. That really helps. I feel a lot better now. I can help Richie with the emotional stuff-" he blushed- "but the physical stuff was a little out of my league."
Robert smiled gently. "Richie's lucky to have you. And I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."
"I know, Pops." Virgil stepped back.
Robert reached out and touched Virgil's shoulder. "Also, son, keep in mind that you don't have to help Richie without getting help yourself. Sharon and I are here for both of you. Promise me you won't forget that."
"I promise, Pops." Virgil yawned. "I think all that lack of sleep is catching up with me."
Robert shook his head. "Go directly to bed. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Hear me?"
Virgil yawned once more. "Yes, sir." He started towards his bed.
Robert left the room.
Virgil climbed into bed, not even bothering to undress. He was that tired. He closed his eyes.
His Shock Vox, hidden safely under his pillow, buzzed to life. But instead of a voice coming from the walkie-talkie, it only issued a series of high beeps.
Virgil groaned and dug the Vox from under his pillow. The thing was probably having a problem or something. He was about to turn it off when he suddenly heard a rough, mechanical voice speaking… or at least trying to speak.
"V… Vir…. gil… R… Rich…ie…. hel….p Richie…."
Virgil sat up, his exhaustion forgotten. "Who is this?"
"B….. B….. Ba…k….p….."
"No way," Virgil whispered, not even realizing that he was speaking out loud. "Richie's robot can't talk."
"mmm Backp…p…pppp" A series of high clicks, then a loud beep.
Virgil recognized that beep, if nothing else. "Where are you?" then he shook his head. The thing- he wasn't convinced, even then, that it was Backpack that had contacted him- couldn't speak well. Besides, it would be easy enough to trace the Vox's signal.
But the thing was trying to speak anyway. "Ga…gasssss"
"The gas station. I'll be there."
"Sta… Stattttti….c"
Virgil thought he understood. "Static's coming. Stay put." He closed the connection and jumped up, ready to grab his costume and go. But then his eyes fell on the door to the hall. His pops might come back in to check on him. Virgil sighed, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote: Richie called. He needs to talk. I promise we won't get into any trouble. I'll call you as soon as I can. Love, Virgil
It wouldn't make his pops happy, but at least he would have an idea of why his son had left, even if he didn't know where to find him. Virgil grunted. No use for it. He put the note on his pillow, changed into his Static costume, and flew out his window, closing it behind him.
The council of elders met in the small room in the back of the meeting hall. For the occasion, they had donned their white robes and sat in a semicircle in front of the interrogation chair. Sean Foley, standing in the role of accuser, sat on a chair at to the right and in front of the interrogation chair. He was seated at right angles to the semicircle so that he could speak to the council of elders and to the accused. A man stood behind the interrogation chair. In one hand, he held a coiled, leather belt.
Richie Foley sat in the interrogation chair. His lip had been split, and he held his sprained wrist in his right hand. The blue eyes behind his glasses flashed. Having been caught, he was determined not to show any fear or subservience.
"State your name for the Council," said the elder directly in front of Richie.
"Richard Osgood." He had no last name, and would have none until he was absolved of his crime.
"Do you know why you are here?"
Richie didn't answer.
"Do you know why you are here?" The man's voice grew no harsher, but the man behind the chair rested a hand on Richie's shoulder in warning.
Richie noted the warning. Strike one. "I have a different opinion of what is wrong than you do, so, no; I don't know why I'm here."
"Do you know our laws?"
"Fluently."
"Then judge your behavior not by your own changeable mind but by our eternal doctrine."
"I drew a cartoon that made fun of you. Of all your kind."
"And?"
"I wrote jokes about your kind."
"And?"
"I am in love with an African-American."
The hand on his shoulder tightened.
Strike two, Richie thought.
"I am in love with an African-American male." He would not call Virgil a boy. In most circles, that word was not an insult. Here, it was as bad as nigger in its connotations. "That much you can read for yourselves on the paper on the desk before you."
"How long have you known this boy?"
"In which sense?" It was a necessary question, but Richie knew he might be punished for it nevertheless. Still, I won't give them more than they need to know. Richie was aware, in a vague way, that Gear had taken over, and for that he was grateful. Because this was a battle, just like the ones he fought at Static's side. Except Static isn't here. It's just me and a bunch of brainwashed monsters. At least most of the Bang Babies know why they're doing something against the law, and when.
"In a romantic sense."
"Two days."
"In the Biblical sense."
"Never."
"In an acquaintance sense."
I'm going to get it for this, if not for the others. "Almost nine years."
"Mr. Foley, how long have you known about this boy?"
"Two years."
"Did you tell Richard he could not socialize with this boy?"
"Yes."
"Were you firm from the beginning?"
"Yes."
"I object." Richie's voice was flat, as if he were on a debate team instead of at his own trial. "I submit that Mr. Foley did not overtly state his dislike of this particular boy until two days after he met him."
"But I did-"
"Mr. Foley, be silent. Did Mr. Foley tell you that you were not to socialize with blacks before you brought this boy home?"
"Yes."
"Why did you bring the boy home, then?"
"I didn't think my f- Mr. Foley was going to be home. He was supposed to be working the late shift."
Too close, Richie; too close, Gear thought. He isn't your father right now.
I wish he wasn't my father ever.
Be strong, and be careful what you say.
"So you planned to bring the boy into your house against Mr. Foley's wishes."
"Yes."
"Had you done so before?"
"Never."
"Why?"
"Because I was afraid of Mr. Foley."
"How would he punish you?"
"In the tradition of your people."
I shouldn't tell them about the abuse, right? Richie asked.
No. Gear's mental voice was firm. It would be your word against his, and they will believe him. Then you would be accused of lying about an upstanding member of the community.
And that, ladies and germs, is an excellent way to get beaten.
"Why do you separate yourself from us?" the same elder asked. Richie wondered idly if any of the others were going to speak. And he wondered when his father would get to act in the role of accuser.
"Because I am not one of you. I belong to myself and to the young man I love."
"You are his slave?"
"In the Bible it states that-"
"Do not quote the Holy Bible! You pollute it with your filth!"
Richie waited for the hand to tighten once more on his shoulder, followed by the order to stand, take off his shirt and face his punishment like a man. It didn't happen.
"I am not his slave. He belongs to me and I belong to him."
"Is that fact or your belief?"
Richie suppressed a sigh. "My belief." He was afraid, yes, but exhausted, too. After all, he hadn't slept well the night before, and the terrible strain of the day's events had claimed much of his strength. And to think, I was worried about Dad yelling at me because I got stuck in detention.
"Mr. Foley, tell us about this boy."
"His name is Virgil Hawkins. He's Richard's age. They are in the same classes at school. He listens to rap and hip hop and dresses like a hood."
"Did you know that your son loved him until tonight?"
"No."
"Did you know your son was still spending time with him before tonight?"
"No."
"What do you wish us to do?"
"I want what is best for my son."
Eat shit! Richie thought. Gear kept the blond's mouth shut.
"I wish him to be treated at one of our facilities. His behavior is too much for me to handle. I cannot be there to watch him twenty-four hours a day, which is clearly what he needs."
"Perhaps that will happen. But first, we must determine if Richard is repentant." A pause, then the elder continued, "Richard, answer these questions without hesitation or you will be punished."
The elder to Richie's far left spoke. "Are you Mr. Foley's biological son?"
"Yes."
The elder immediately to the first one's right (as Richie looked at them) asked, "How long have you been attending these meetings?"
"Almost nine years."
On to the next elder. This would continue until each had asked a question. "Have you studied the literature?"
"Yes."
"Have you passed the test for the first rite of manhood?"
"Yes." You know I have- why are you bothering to ask? Yes, I passed it. I was shamed, but I passed it. I had no choice but to pass it.
The chief elder- the one who had been speaking most of the time- declined the opportunity to ask a question. He would pass judgment on Richie.
The next elder spoke. "Will you repent of loving this boy?"
"Never."
"Will you undergo purification?"
"Not willingly."
"Will you help us punish this boy?"
"Never." Virgil! V! I won't let them-
Be quiet, said Gear, his voice fell, hard and dangerous. They won't hurt Virgil. I swear it. Keep calm.
"Will you see this boy again?"
"Every chance I get."
I wish I could lie, say I've repented and just let them think they're brainwashing me.
You can't, Gear answered. The time for that camouflage is past. If you tried, the words would get stuck in your throat and they would know you lied.
In other words, Richie thought, I'm too old to lie to them.
The chief elder stood. "I will meditate on these questions and answers. Mr. Foley, Vernon, take Richard to the holding room. For now, give him but ten lashes." So saying, he marched from the room. The other robed figures followed.
Richie, who had been hit with a belt many times before this, knew he could endure the pain. But he hated himself, because he knew he would probably cry out. Forget that; I'm sure I'll scream. I wish my body was as strong as my mind.
Gear wasn't afraid of pain. We'll get through this. I'll help you.
Backpack wondered if a computer could be impatient. I want to see Richie. I want Richie to be all right. He's been gone for too long. And even if his father was in a good mood when they left the house doesn't mean he's in a good mood now.
Yes, I'm impatient. I could have gone to the meeting hall alone, but I'll almost surely need backup. The robot shuffled over to the computer Richie had built from scratch. Quickly, he opened a typing program and plugged himself in. Now, when I want to project my words, they'll show up on the screen. Trying to speak takes too long. If I'd had longer to develop some speech technology- But he hadn't. The little box that allowed him to speak had been rapidly put together using spare parts and following a partially-finished diagram Richie had drawn up. Backpack had started to get worried as eleven o'clock gave way to midnight. Richie was never this late. And, unable to connect to his boy's thoughts, the robot had decided to contact the only other person he trusted.
Computers shouldn't forget anything, but it has always been so easy to just 'talk' to Richie without making a sound. I need to explain some things to Virgil before we go, and beeping just won't cut it. Backpack felt his mental lips- ones that he always imagined looked like Richie's- quirking up in a smile. As his thoughts became more advanced, he found himself picking up little sayings from the world around him. Just won't cut it was one that Richie thought often.
Backpack turned his sensor-eye towards the gas station door just before it opened. He watched Static walk in, his eyes moving everywhere and his hands crackling with energy. He's being cautious, not trusting to just what he heard. That characteristic is one reason Richie trusts him.
Backpack beeped, drawing Static's attention. The superhero approached.
"I'm not going to ask a lot of pointless questions because I can see it's you now." He looked at the connection between the robot and the computer. "But what's that for?"
Backpack transmitted his thoughts over the link. They popped up on the screen.
"It's too hard for me to talk. I was using a very rudimentary voice synthesizer when I called you, but this is much faster."
Static frowned, then nodded. "Tell me what's wrong." He had taken a seat in front of the computer. His eyes moved from the screen to Backpack then back.
"Richie's father is a member of the KKK. He takes Richie-"
"Whoa! Wait! How long has he…? I didn't even know they worked here in Dakota!"
"Did you read the document Richie wrote?"
"Yes, I…"
Backpack could almost see the connection forming in Virgil's mind. "That's why her name was Klux… and why those guys who attacked" he grimaced "us were wearing white robes. Brainiac took what Richie was most afraid of and tormented him with it."
"Yes." Backpack waited to see if Virgil had other questions.
"Go on," the teen murmured, his eyes fixed on the computer screen. "I won't interrupt."
Part of your nature is to interrupt, Virgil. I won't hold it against you. "Richie and his mother attend every meeting because Richie's father does. The meetings are like being in school: lessons are taught, the 'students' have to write papers, and once a month each student has to give a speech on a particular topic. Richie's last speech was about how Rosa Parks should have been lynched instead of tolerated." Backpack watched Static's hands ball into fists. "Richie hated it, and the two of us spent a good few hours making fun of the speech afterwards so Richie could relax about it, then forget about it. We make jokes about most of the meetings."
"What did Richie do before you came along?" Static asked.
"He drew cartoons. He wrote disks and disks full of angry words. He imagined you coming and blowing up the meeting hall. It was hard for him."
Static opened his mouth but Backpack 'said' quickly, "He didn't tell you because he was afraid you would hate him, and because he was afraid the meetings would start to influence his thinking. He didn't want to become a racist; he fought against it all the time, sometimes even in his dreams. But he didn't want to ever lose your friendship, so he kept the meetings to himself, just as he kept the abuse to himself. And before you get angry at him, realize that Richie was going to tell you about both the length of the abuse and about the meetings. He and I talked about it today, before he left for the meeting. He decided that he wanted you to know everything so that the two of you could be as close as possible. He loves you, and hated lying to you. Please don't be angry with him. This isn't the time."
Static took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not angry, just shocked. I didn't know his father's hatred had such deep roots. I guess it's true that hatred that strong feeds on itself."
"Who told you that?" Backpack was interested. It sounded like something Richie might have said, at least Richie as he was now: independent, strong and determined to succeed.
"My pops."
"Richie says he is a very intelligent and loving man."
"Yeah, I guess he is."
Backpack turned back to the matter at hand. "Tonight, Richie went with his parents to the meeting hall. It was going to be a long meeting, because this week is the week of the monthly community supper, but Richie should have been back by eleven at the latest. I started to get worried when Richie wasn't home at midnight and came down here to see if there was any way I could reach you. I want to find Richie, and I need your help." Backpack paused. "And I know I can trust you. You love Richie as much as I do."
Static paled slightly. "Backpack… do you love Richie? Like love love?"
"Not in a romantic sense. I see Richie as a cross between my friend, my brother and my son."
Static nodded, obviously trying to hide how relieved he was.
"Richie has feelings only for you," Backpack 'said'.
Static stood. "It's too bad I can't connect to you like Richie does."
"Take the remote control. It's easy enough to figure out. I can't talk to you, but you can issue silent commands through it." Backpack disconnected himself from the computer and scuttled under the desk. He came out a moment later with the remote.
In spite of himself, Static laughed. "He'll never win any awards for organizational skills." He slipped the remote into the holster beside his Shock Vox. "Should we take Richie's costume?"
Backpack moved his sensor-eye up and down in a gesture Virgil took to mean It can't hurt. He collected Richie's costume; Backpack rolled it up impossibly small and stored it inside himself.
"Okay," said Static, flipping out his saucer. "Lead the way."
They had stripped Richie to the waist. His wrists were tied together, and the end of the rope was threaded through a ring high on the wall. These are men who know and enjoy what they're doing, Richie thought. He wondered how many beatings were administered each year. Enough so that everyone knows his place. The council knew their roles, and so did the guy standing behind me.
"Richard Osgood, are you ready to face your punishment?"
Up yours and Kiss my ass weren't the right things to say, but they still flitted through Richie's mind. And even if he wasn't ready- would never be ready- he wouldn't let them think he was afraid. "Yes."
The first strike came with no more warning, and Richie flinched. A grunt, made of surprise as well as pain, escaped his lips. I'm a moron. I shouldn't have been drawing and writing. But I've gotten away with it before. More fool me for thinking I would always be able to hide what I believe. Eventually the odds had to tip in the KKK's favor.
The second blow forced all the air from Richie's lungs in a loud hiss. The third, fourth and fifth cut at his shoulders, but Richie was able to keep his pain to himself.
The sixth struck him on the back of the neck, and Richie cried out.
There was a pause. Richie, his legs weak, hung in his bonds, his head down, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Then the seventh blow fell, and Richie arched up as a scream was torn from his throat. That wasn't leather that had touched his skin, but the rip of the metal buckle.
The eighth and ninth blows fell in quick succession and now Richie was crying hard enough to blur his vision. He kept twisting from side to side, trying to escape the pain.
The tenth blow fell and Richie screamed again. But he had been counting the blows, and he felt fresh tears, these of relief instead of pain, filling his eyes.
Then another blow fell, and Richie cried out in shock and agony. But… but I counted ten! I did! Didn't I?
As the buckle cut at his back, making stripes of red appear, Richie stopped counting and gave himself over to despair. Maybe they decided this would be my punishment. They're going to kill me.
Talon circled twice over the plain, brick building, barely flexing her wings. Her sensitive ears had picked up the distinct sound of screams coming from inside.
After the meeting with Ebon, each member of his gang had sought out a place to wait. Some of them hoped Ebon would give the go-ahead soon. Others liked being about to relax without worrying about carrying out Ebon's latest scheme. Talon was one of these, but she hated sitting still. Ebon had ordered all of them to stay out of sight, and so Talon decided she would stretch her wings at night. And she was no fool. Static patrolled certain areas more often than others, and he usually wasn't out at three or four A.M. If she had to travel halfway across town with her wings hidden under a big, long coat, and she was only able to fly for two or three hours, so be it.
Better that than lose my mind from boredom.
She flew down to the roof the building. Screams had never attracted her; hearing someone suffering didn't excite her like it did Shiv. But a very small part of her- the part that thought of herself as Teresa Munoz, the part that thought of herself as still human, wanted to help whoever was suffering.
Are you trippin', girl? Whoever it is either deserves it or is screaming in pleasure. Whichever it is, it's none of your business. Besides, if you go in there to investigate, Ebon will clip your wings and you'll be stranded.
A sound reached her sensitive ears then, and Talon immediately slipped into a nearby shadow. She searched the sky, her sharp eyes narrowed. When she spotted the source of the sound, she was doubly glad she'd found a good hiding place.
Static cruised over the rooftops. Talon stared at him. His costume was different… No. It was what he wore over his costume, on his back… Was that the little robot-thing Gear usually carried? Talon nodded to herself. Yes, it surely was. What was Static doing with it? And where was Gear?
I think Shiv and Kangor are right. Looks like Gear's completely out of the picture. Why else would Static be carrying his little robot-thing? He must have decided that Gear isn't coming back and wants to use the technology.
But Carmen Munoz was a wise woman, and Teresa's mama hadn't raised no fools. Maybe Gear's the one in the building. Maybe he's been trapped in there all this time. She shook her head as she watched Static fly around the building, scouting it out. Apparently he didn't hear the screaming. Well, so his ears weren't quite as good as hers. No, he can't have been here all this time. Static has been fighting us just like always. If Gear was missing, Static wouldn't waste time on us.
Static had returned to the front of the building. He seemed to be considering something. The robot-thing on his back beeped shrilly and he glanced over his shoulder at it.
I might be able to get the drop on him. In fact, I probably could. But Ebon had said to wait, so she waited.
Static turned back to the building. He floated to the ground, then ran up the front steps, taking them two at a time. Talon leaned over the edge of the roof and watched the superhero use his powers to unlock the door. He disappeared inside, the door swinging shut behind him.
Talon considered leaving- she didn't want Static to catch her. But she was curious about what was going on inside the building. Maybe Static knew the person inside who was being hurt. And even if he didn't, maybe he'd been told that someone was being hurt. (None of Ebon's gang knew how Static and Gear knew where they were needed; they just showed up at the worst times.)
I think I'll just wait here for a bit. It's either that or go back, and I don't want to fly away if Static's going to just come soaring out of there. Can't let him see me. Talon ruffled her feathers, arranged her ochre-on-orange wings around her like a blanket, and set herself to wait.
Backpack could hear Richie screaming, but he couldn't make Virgil understand what he was hearing. He also detected the meta-human hiding nearby, knew her to be Talon, but didn't warn Virgil. Again, he wouldn't have been able to explain what he was trying to warn the teen about. And besides, I don't care about her. She isn't doing anything; she isn't attacking, at any rate. She's just hiding. Richie needs us.
Static made a complete circuit of the building. Backpack decided that, yes, robots, or at least he, could become impatient. He beeped shrilly, hoping to alert Virgil. At last Virgil headed for the front door. We're coming, Richie, Backpack thought. Hold on.
When the door opened, Static was confronted by a hallway so wide it was almost a foyer. Doors opened off of the marble-floored corridor at irregular intervals. Each was lit from above by a small, artfully disguised light bulb. Static registered all this without really acknowledging it. His attention was taken up by the sound of voices speaking behind one of the closed doors.
He started to move in that direction, but Backpack tapped him on the shoulder. Static almost jumped a foot. He'd forgotten the robot was there. Backpack was pointing across the almost-foyer at a door marked STAIRS.
Static opened his mouth to ask if Backpack thought Richie might be there, but then simply turned towards the stairs. Backpack almost surely knew this place better than he, Static, did. Richie had a photographic memory, so Backpack probably had the entire layout memorized. Though why he thinks Richie is down there is beyond me.
Static opened the door to the stairs and slipped into the stairwell, letting the door close behind him. He might have worried about the loud bang the door made when it closed… except that suddenly he heard what Backpack must have been hearing all along. True, the sounds were little more than strangled cries, but Static didn't doubt that Backpack had heard them, maybe even from outside.
Richie! Richie!
Backpack tightened his "arms" on Static's shoulders and the superhero took it for the warning and reminder it was: be careful. He floated down the stairs on his saucer, watching ahead of him for the first sign of danger. But it was hard to concentrate on anything but Richie's cries of pain and the anger that bloomed in the African-American's own mind.
There was a bend at the end of the stairs, and when Static reached it he peered cautiously around the corner. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and his hands balled into fists.
A short distance away, a half-circle of men had their backs to him. Static took in the white robes and his fists glowed with electricity. If Backpack warned him to be careful, Static didn't feel it. Beyond the men, his hands tied above his head, his back raw and bleeding, was Richie. His head was down, and in the pause between blows, Static could hear how he breathed: as if a sob threatened to escape his lips on every exhalation.
You're dead. Static flew around the corner, his fists on fire with energy. He hit two of the white-robes with one blast, then hit another two. His eyes flashed and he was screaming, though he couldn't hear himself. All he cared about was Richie… Richie, bleeding and trapped and releasing breaths that trembled like sobs.
Those that had surrounded Richie now lay on the floor. One of them had hit his head badly; blood trickled from a cut hidden beneath his hood. The others, less thoroughly hurt but stunned nonetheless, watched the vengeful, electrical demon untie the boy they had been punishing. The demon lifted the boy into his arms and cradled him against his chest. The boy was crying, and he clung to the demon's clothes.
The door above them banged open and a half-dozen pairs of feet thundered down the steps. These men, too, wore white robes, but many of their hoods were thrown back. Some carried knives. Two carried guns. Those that had been handily beaten by Static found their backbone as the reinforcements arrived.
Static snarled and turned to face them, leaving Richie huddled on the floor, shivering.
Static isn't thinking clearly. Backpack wanted to slap the superhero. It wouldn't do any good. And I cannot talk to him! Unable to speak, the robot did the only thing he could think of: he let go of Static and scuttled over to where Richie lay. Stretching himself over Richie, he tried to shelter the blond as much as possible. Richie, I'm here. Virgil's here. We're going to help you.
V…
Backpack sensed Richie trying to calm himself enough to think clearly. I know it's hard, Richie. Tell me what you can and I'll do my best to explain things to Virgil.
Tell him to watch out. He's black. They'll…Richie shivered and Backpack hated the sudden tensing of the teen's body. Please protect him, BP, if he needs it. They know about us… they know I love V. If they take his mask off, they'll kill him.
Backpack was about to reassure him when a bubble of electricity engulfed both he and Richie, lifting them into the air. Backpack looked at Static, and was grateful to see that the superhero was reining in his anger, though his eyes smoldered and his knuckles were white as he fought not to attack but only to defend. I think Virgil has chosen to flee with us instead of fight, Backpack told Richie.
Tell V I'm tired, please… Richie passed out.
Virgil wondered if he would ever be able to forget the sight of his Richie, beaten and suffering, coupled with the sight of Mr. Foley rushing down the stairs, his eyes narrowed and a knife raised in his hand.
But I have to forget it, he realized, at least for now. Richie needs me. He'd been sorely tempted to blast every white-robed man in the entire building, but when Backpack left him, Static had been reminded of Richie.
So, instead of fighting, we run. Static wondered how thick the walls were around him. Then he shook his head and blasted a hole through the ceiling, knowing that it couldn't be too thick. He could hear the sound of more running feet above. Well, here's hoping I don't blast anyone too badly who doesn't deserve it. He made himself a very wide exit, dust from the ceiling falling into the shocked faces of the white-robes.
Static carried Richie up through the hole.
Outside, still perched among the shadows, Talon was in a perfect place to see Static leave. He blasted the door open this time, and she shrank a little deeper into the shadows when she saw his anger. The robot Gear wore was still fitted firmly on Static's back, but Talon's attention was caught and held by the figure Static carried in his arms.
Static had stopped just outside the doors. He seemed to be checking the boy in his arms. Talon narrowed her eyes, trying to see if she could recognize the victim. She caught her breath.
Foley! Foley, again! Ebon was right; almost every time Static was there, so was Foley. At least, that's how it was until a few months ago. Then Foley disappeared and Gear showed up. Talon gazed at the injured teen. Is he Gear? Could he possibly be? She shook her head. It's too easy. And there's no evi-
The robot- Gear's robot- reached out with one of its arms and brushed hair out of Richie's face. The gesture, even though made by a machine, was gentle, almost intimate.
He can't be Gear. He just can't be. It's too easy.
Then why has he been missing?
Like I said before, if he'd been missing, Static would have been looking for him instead of fighting us. Talon wished she could get a good look at Static's face. Maybe she could see if he was desperately worried or just helping a random victim.
At that moment, Static took off, heading uptown. He didn't look back.
He's headed for the hospital. Well, that's natural. Talon waited until the superhero was out of sight, then set off for Ebon's hideout. She wondered idly when Ebon would spring his trap. Maybe I should tell him to do it soon while Static is distracted… Unless, of course, Static is just helping a civilian and doesn't care a thing for him. She sighed. Her mama had another saying: Never tell what you don't know for sure. So she would wait. Maybe something new would happen and all her speculations wouldn't make sense anymore. I'll wait, she decided. It isn't as if I owe something to Ebon. I don't have to give him every piece of information I collect.
But as Talon flew she decided she wanted to share her speculations and observations with someone. Shiv? She laughed. He'd giggle and laugh, then tell Ebon. What about Kangor? No. Just… no. She frowned. Aquamria? The two of them didn't exactly get along. Hotstreak? Maybe, just maybe. Hotstreak, at least, wouldn't tell Ebon. And he knew so much about Static; more than Ebon gave him credit for, it seemed.
I'll tell him about the robot-thing, what it did. He'll probably tell me I'm just inventing things and then I can forget about it.
