A.N: The reason this one is longer is because the chapter proper still needed to be twenty pages in keeping with my promise to make all the chapters close to the same length. But all these little things kept clamoring to be written first.
By the way, now that Backpack has a log and Virgil has a diary, when will Richie get his own journal or whatever? Or maybe he did all the writing he wanted to in "With Brainiac."
Warning #1: Lots of racist stuff here. We all know Sean Foley…
Warning #2: dum dum dum dum: It's Christianity!
Enjoy!
Book III
Backpack's Personal Log (1)
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (3)
A Short Conversation
Backpack's Personal Log (2)
Backpack's Personal Log (3)
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins (4)
Chapter One: Happy Birthday, Richie
Book III
Backpack's Personal Log
Personal Log:
Date: 6-29-03
Subject: Introduction
I am borrowing the idea of a personal log from the television shows Richie likes to watch. There is a set of four separate shows, all inspired by one man, that Richie enjoys. The title of the shows as a whole is Star Trek. I believe a personal log will suit me better than a "journal" or "diary." I am a machine and think in stricter terms. Besides, a journal or diary implies writing things down and keeping them secret. These Personal Logs will be private, though their existence is not a secret. Richie suggested them.
"You're alive, BP," he said to me this morning while the smells of coffee and cinnamon toast drifted up from downstairs where John was making breakfast. "Part of being alive is having the ability to keep things to yourself. Secrets, but not necessarily bad ones."
I was sitting on his desk, watching him as he tied his sneakers. "But, Richie, most secrets are dangerous or they would not be kept secret."
"Not true. If I was planning a surprise birthday party for V, I would want to keep it secret. And I might keep a secret if I was trying to figure something out. Sometimes it's good to keep your own counsel until you decide how you feel about something and how you will react to it."
I considered that. "Is that analogous to keeping information from Virgil so that he would evaluate me without biases?"
"Exactly." Richie smiled. "You don't have to keep secrets, but I want you to know that the option is open to you. Just as I need alone time, you may need a place where you can store personal information."
"I cannot imagine wanting to hide something from you."
Richie lifted me on to his lap and hugged me. "I love you." Again, he smiled. "And it doesn't have to be kept secret forever. If you want to think about something, figure it out, then tell me, that's good, too."
I have no intention of hiding anything from Richie, but I have started this personal log just to be able to say I have taken his suggestion. And since he was the instigator of the conversation in the first place, none of this is secret.
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins/Static Shock
Dear Diary,June 30, 2003
I'm not even going to get into this. I'm just going to paste the letter of explanation in here. It's just not worth commenting on. I mean, after all… It's in the past, right? And Richie apologized, right? So there's no need for comment. I just want to paste it in here before I call Richie to tell him everything's okay.
Dear Virg,
You're not going to like this, but you've already figured it out, so it's time for me to confess. Hotstreak knew that I was Gear a long time ago. Well, three weeks ago, anyway.
The night the KKK attacked the hospital, Backpack sensed someone else approaching from below: two metahumans. He didn't know who they were, but I knew I didn't want to meet hem in a hospital gown. Backpack helped me get dressed, Gear helped me walk and I got a bucket of water ready in case it was Hotstreak who showed up.
You're probably going to ask, "Why didn't you come find me, Rich?"
And the only answer I can give is that I was more frightened of meeting my father or any of the other KKK members than I was facing a Bang Baby. I'm still more scared of my father than I am of anyone else, and that includes Ebon, though that probably doesn't make much sense. Actually, that includes Brainiac, too, so I think I won't have any more nightmares about him.
Hotstreak showed up, I couldn't pick up the bucket of water by myself, so Backpack helped me. I know it was dangerous to have BP where anyone could see him, but what else was I going to do? When Hotstreak started to get his wind back, I threw the empty bucket at him, hitting him in the face. Then I opened the door, thinking that maybe I would take my chances of finding you before the K found me.
But two of them were standing right there. V, I've only been that scared once in my life: when Brainiac followed Backpack's connection into my mind.
I tried to shut the door, but they pushed it open. Backpack put himself between us. They didn't even look at him. When they talked about taking me somewhere for my own good, I panicked and backed up even more- right into Hotstreak's arms.
He said something then that was so strange I felt like I was on The Twilight Zone. He said, "Hold up, little buddy. It's just me."
The K members took me for Hotstreak's whore. They spat at me.
Hotstreak drew me against him and held a flame with one hand. Only then did I realize that he'd taken off his shirt, which had probably taken the brunt of the water attack. He told the K men that he'd burned hundreds of people before and didn't mind burning two more to make his street credit even better. Now, you and I know he's never actually killed anyone, but these guys didn't know it. They backed away from him, but didn't leave the room. I think their orders were probably somewhere along the line of "Take him at all costs."
Hotstreak said, "Let's play fire in the hole." That was enough for my dad's hired kidnappers; they bolted.
When they were gone, Hotstreak extinguished the flame. Then he made me promise I wouldn't run away. He said he wanted to talk to me. I told him I had nowhere to run to because the men were still out there.
He demanded the answer to one question in return for saving me. Hotstreak wanted to know if I was really dating a black teenager because that was what the KKK members said. He asked if it was you, saying that was the only question he had and he would consider my debt paid. So I told him yes.
Then he asked if I was Gear, then said he guessed I probably was. He also guessed that you were Static, but he didn't ask. He didn't need to.
I said, "Now you're going to want something from me in exchange for not telling my secret."
Hotstreak moved closer to me until he was so close I could smell his sweat. He said that if I didn't tell that he saved me he wouldn't tell what he knew. I promised. I mean, what choice did I have? Besides, why would I want to give Ebon any reason to doubt Hotstreak? I don't care what those two think of each other.
Then Hotstreak told me something that I should have taken more seriously. Just like I should have taken your dreams and feelings seriously. I know I've apologized for that, but I'm apologizing again.
Hotstreak said Ebon liked "delicate blondes" and that he'd been watching Gear, and that he dreamed about the two times he'd touched me, Richie.
Gear took over my mouth for a minute and told Hotstreak that I would tell Virgil, but that was the only person I'd tell. And Gear also said that if Hotstreak told Ebon, I'd be ready to fight.
Gear was a pain in the ass who sometimes didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. I'm so glad we're one again. I would never want to go down that road again, even under the most desperate of circumstances.
I know I should have told you all of this before. I'm sorry I forgot about it. It would pop into my head from time to time, but either it wasn't a good time or I just didn't want to talk about it then, probably ruin whatever relaxed, loving moment we were having right then.
Please forgive me, Virg.
Love,
Richie
Okay, I just reread the letter. I guess I'll make two comments. First, I'm a jerk. How could I think Richie would ever willingly give away our secret and just as willingly keep what he did from me without a good reason? And comment two: I nee to call him.
A Short Conversation
"Corbett's residence, Bernadette speaking."
"Hi. This is Virgil." Well, even if Pops couldn't win custody of Richie in court at least Richie gets to stay with Bernadette and John until he's eighteen. He's happy and safe, and it's only a ten minute flight from his house to the gas station.
Virgil could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll get Richie. Hang on a second."
A moment later, Richie said, "Hey, V." He sounded nervous.
I must really be a bastard for him to be worried about my answer to his letter. Virgil sneered at himself. I almost was a bastard. Good thing I read the letter again. "I love you, Richie."
He didn't answer right away. When he spoke, much of the nervousness was gone. "You're not angry with me?"
"No. I thought I was, but then I… Well, let's just say I actually paid attention to what you wrote the second time I read it."
Richie's smile was also evident in his voice. "I love you, too, V."
They talked for another hour, as they did every night, Richie filling Virgil in on his progress with the mental link to Backpack.
"I'll see you on patrol at ten?" Richie asked as the conversation wound down.
"If you don't, I'll send Static to find you." Virgil snorted. "And you know how ticked off he can be."
"Yeah… Love you, V."
"Love you, too, Rich. See you in an hour."
Backpack's Personal Log
Personal Log
Date: 7-5-03
Subject: Richie's Nightmares
He does not have what he calls a screaming-dream every night. For that I am grateful. I do not know if Richie could sleep if he knew he would have one each night.
Screaming-dream definition (def): a nightmare that either makes Richie scream in his sleep or wakes him up with a scream "caught in his throat" (Richie's words).
Last night's nightmare was a screaming-dream, however, and it was bad enough to bring Bernadette and John from their bedroom. Usually, I can ease Richie out of his terror before his foster parents. But at 1:34 this morning I could not wake Richie, even though I tried to enter his dream and ease him through it. I could barely understand his dream. Most of Richie's dreams are like movies: they have clearly-defined beginning, middle and end, with a plot. In most of his exciting dreams, Richie discovers a problem in Dakota, he and Static go to solve it, beat the Bang Babies and come home.
Exciting dream def: a non-threatening dream that will make Richie's heart beat a little fast, but which he will enjoy and usually write down as the possible plot for a comic book.
Even many of his nightmares are movie-like; they just don't have happy endings. But his dream this morning was a series of images. Perhaps the reason I could not wake him up is because I could not put myself into the dream. The situation and setting changed at least three times each minute.
Or perhaps it was not the speed of the images, but their savagery that kept me out.
I stored his nightmare for future analysis, but I do not wish to do that now. All that is important to me is that I could not wake Richie. Bernadette had to do it, and it took her nearly fifteen minutes. I stayed at Richie's side and monitored his pulse, fearing that he might have a heart attack.
What confuses me is this: when Richie woke up, he could not remember what he had dreamed. I considered sharing the images with him, but decided he didn't need to remember them.
I am worried about Richie, if such a thing is not obvious in the above narrative. I must find a way to help him. Perhaps I will talk to Batman. He helped Richie and me through our earlier problems.
Backpack's Personal Log
Personal Log
Date: 7-13-03
Subject: Richie's anger as it relates to his series-nightmare
I analyzed the images from Richie's nightmare on the morning of July fifth. It has taken me a while because Richie and I have been so busy building the new, long-distance connection. It is not perfect yet, but it is closer to being completed. Also, Richie is attempting to build a technological version of the mental link J'onn created between Richie and Virgil. As yet, Richie hasn't told Virgil about his attempts. He doesn't' want to give his boyfriend false hope that they might be able to hear each other wherever they are.
I have developed a hypothesis regarding my inability to enter Richie's nightmare on July fifth. It is only a working hypothesis, and perhaps I will never have a chance to test it.
Hypothesis: I could not enter Richie's nightmare because Richie didn't want me there.
Facts in agreement with this hypothesis:
1. Richie was dreaming about killing Bang Babies, and even though he was screaming in revulsion and fear a part of him was enjoying killing them.
a. Support for this fact: Richie wanted to kill Slipstream, if only for a moment, when Slipstream advanced on Virgil, meaning to rape him.
2. I was able to hear Richie's thoughts during the dream. One of them was this: If I kill him, he'll never threaten anyone again. That Richie could even think such a thing, even in passing, argues that he wanted to keep killing.
I understand that killing in a dream isn't like killing in real life. Still, I fear for Richie, for his innocence, his purity and his sanity.
From the Diary of Virgil Hawkins/Static Shock
Dear Diary,July 15, 2003
After everything we've been through, I can't believe Richie and I almost blew it all by being jealous (Richie) and pig-headed (me). We fought Brainiac, we fell in love, we stayed together through Mr. Foley's attempts to pull us apart. And we worked through all the pain Ebon caused. (Though Richie still has the occasional nightmare.) So how could one annoying T.V. producer come so close to tearing us apart? Simple: we're still teenagers and aren't the most mature at times.
Bernie Rast. Just the man's name makes me want to strangle something. He created a show called Heroes and announced it was starring Static Shock- without asking me if I wanted to do it. I would have never gone to Rast if Richie hadn't noticed the billboard with my picture on it. Rast convinced me to do the show, and when I said my partner would be there, Rast's answer was typical of him: "Just try not to get between the hero and the cameras," he told Gear.
I should have put a stop to the whole thing right then and there, but I'd been bitten by the Hollywood bug and told myself the man just didn't know how Gear and I worked, that he would warm up to Gear. I mean, who couldn't like Richie, assuming they weren't out-and-out crooks? He just had a way about him that put people at ease.
Our first battle with Starburst (who showed up every time we were filming, think of that!) started with Gear and I working together and ended with me acting on my own and being thrown into a bunch of garbage. That was enough for Richie. He got mad at the whole idea of a T.V. show because he said it broke us up. Then I said the worst thing I think I've ever said to him: "I was a solo act long before you came along." Richie left.
I didn't try to stop him.
The next day, I fought Starburst on my own. Richie and I hadn't talked yet, which put me on edge. I lost again, after trying to use high-tension wires (like phone lines) to boost my strength. I ended up tangled in them.
The day after my second defeat (Richie and I still hadn't talked, and I'd stopped talking to my family) I was up in my room, staring at my picture in the newspaper. The headline read "Static Clings!" and "City in Shock!" I was tied up in that bunch of high-tension wires courtesy of Starburst. I was moping and grouching and basically acting like an ass. I was embarrassed, angry at Bernie Rast, shocked that I couldn't conquer one Bang Baby and hurt that Richie had walked off the set, refusing to work with me.
Then he knocked on my door.
/Flashback/
I'm staring at the ridiculous picture, thinking what an idiot I was to try to face Starburst alone. Richie can always put a new spin on a situation. But he walked out on me because Bernie Rast couldn't get his name right, disregarded him and told him to stay out of the way of the cameras. Okay, so maybe I was showing off for the cameras a bit… or a lot. But that didn't give Richie the right to just walk away from me! Hadn't we been through too much to be pulling that kind of shit? Weren't we closer than that, tighter than that, more in love than that?
Guess not, I thought as I reread the story for the twentieth time, each repeat making me feel worse. But I couldn't stop.
Someone knocked on my door.
"Go away, Sharon. I'm not hungry."
The door opened anyway and a voice I both hated and wanted to hear answered, "That's not what they told me downstairs."
"What do you want?" I said as Richie closed the door behind him. One of his hands was behind his back, but I didn't really pay attention to that. All my embarrassed anger was directed at him, and yet Richie didn't flinch.
Richie smiled. "Hey, man, I just wanted stop by and say I'm sorry." He lowered his gaze, his smile disappearing. His hand was still behind his back, and I looked at the unnatural position for a moment.
I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too." I smiled to make him smile, and he did, crossing the room to sink into my desk chair.
"You were right," Richie went on. He set down whatever he'd brought behind his foot so I couldn't see it, then sat forward. "I was a little jealous."
I raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling.
He colored, but his smile broadened and his eyes asked me to forgive him. "Okay, I was a whole lot jealous." He was using his hands while he talked, and I was caught by how gracefully he moved. All my anger evaporated, at least for the moment, and my frustration went with it. Richie said, "But I shouldn't have let it come between us."
"You? I was the one acting the fool for the cameras. You were right." I closed my eyes again, not wanting, at least for the moment, to meet my partner's, my boyfriend's, gaze.
Richie reached out and took my left hand. "I guess we were both right. Or wrong or whatever." He smiled again, that teasing, warm smile that can bring me out of almost anything.
I grinned at him, relieved that we were cool again. Then I glanced at the newspaper again, glaring at the humiliating picture. "Stupid me thought high-tension wires would give me an edge."
Richie's eyes narrowed as he grabbed the paper. Jumping out of his seat, he stared at the picture. "That's not stupid." He sounded annoyed, like he gets when one of his inventions backfires. "It should have worked. Starburst should have been star-busted."
"Nothing works. Everything I throw at him he throws back, but stronger. It's almost as though he's feeding off me." Wait a minute… If electricity can be transferred from a power station to people's homes, then maybe… "Hey, maybe he's not a metahuman."
Richie closed his eyes, pondering in that lightning-fast way of his. Then he opened his eyes and brought his hand up to his chin in a classic deductive pose. "Pinky, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
I grinned and stood. "Let's go. We'll just stop at the station and-"
But Richie was turning back to my desk chair. He bent so I couldn't see what he was doing, then turned, holding a single daisy. "I thought I might need this," he explained, blushing again. "When Bernadette drove me here, I was so nervous that I told her we had to stop somewhere so I could find something to apologize with. She was already delivering a bouquet to a friend of hers and she gave me the daisy." He was looking down at the delicate flower, one finger tracing the edge of a white petal. "She said that if I apologized I probably wouldn't need anything, but to take this just in case."
"Oh, Rich-" I took the daisy and put in on my bed. I couldn't think of anything else to say, afraid that I would open my mouth and something entirely corny and meaningless would pop out.
Richie looked up at me through his lashes.
I put gentle pressure under his chin and he raised his head until our lips met.
End Flashback
So we came close to breaking up for good, but avoided it. I know fights are natural and healthy, and sometimes they're how people grow. And I know I'm not alone in hating fights. But being away from Richie is like being without my powers; I'm different, and everybody can tell.
Chapter One: Happy Birthday, Richie
As the sun set, Hotstreak settled himself on the rooftop beside Talon.
"Well?" she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun as she peered west.
"They'll be on lock-down for a good month. That's if somebody doesn't break them out." Hotstreak laughed and bounced a ball of fire from one hand to the other.
"Maybe you should put that out," Talon said, still gazing west. She had learned long ago that Hotstreak saw most eye-to-eye contact as a challenge. "Static might see it and come to investigate."
"I'm ready for Static."
"I know you are," she said, unconsciously adopting the attitude that had once been reserved for her cute, intelligent, younger cousins. "But I want to show you what I found, and I'm not hanging around if Static shows up?"
"Scared?"
"Smart. I like my freedom."
Hotstreak grunted at that but blew the fireball out. "So, what did you find?"
"Remember your promise," she said. "If I tell you what I found out, you'll tell me why you want to know."
"Yeah, yeah, I didn't forget. Now let's see what you found."
Talon unfolded a roadmap. "Here we are," she said, pointing. "And here's the line we're going to follow." She guided his eyes out of town and into the small suburb to Dakota's west. "This is where Gear flies after each patrol." She unfolded another map, this one of the tiny suburb. "Here's the road leading into the city and here's the community he lives in." She paused, then pointed again, very proud of herself. "And there's his house."
Talon glanced at Hotstreak to make sure he was as excited as she was. When she saw the small smile on his lips, it was enough for her. "His parents live there, of course. The woman's name is Bernadette and the man's John. Last name Corbett."
"They're not his parents," Hotstreak said. "He was taken away from his father because he was being physically abused."
She blinked. "How do you know that?"
"It was in the papers. Foley's a genius; he's important to Dakota Union High. They want to show the city that they can produce at least one good student."
"But they don't put court results in the paper unless it's a celebrity. And they don't know he's Gear, right?"
"Yeah, that's true. But Static and Gear showed up at the trial to defend Richie Foley, so it made the papers. A chunk of Gear's testimony is even printed in one article."
"But he's Richie! How could they both be there at the same time?"
"Who knows how he pulled it off? And who cares? Nobody noticed that Foley disappeared before Gear showed up and then came back in after Gear left." He shrugged. "People are stupid for the most part. Unless they've lived their lives out on the streets, they don't notice anything."
She nodded. There was some truth to that, all right. Handing over the two refolded maps, Talon asked, "So, why do you want to follow Foley anyway?"
Hotstreak briefly considered lying to her, saying that he just wanted to know where all of his enemies were. But she had been almost a friend from the beginning. He wouldn't do that to her. Lies were for associates, police and judges. And superheroes, of course. "He's interesting. I've been following him and Virgil around for weeks now. There's something about them… Something I don't quite understand."
"Like what? Maybe my woman's intuition can help."
"Or your bird-sense?"
She glared at him, but he was only teasing; she could see it in his eyes. "At least all my brains haven't been fried. Now tell me."
"Foley has guts. He lived with his father beating him for God knows how long and nobody- not even Virgil- guessed it. That was in the paper, too, the fact that Richie managed to keep it all hidden for so long. I want to know how he can do that." He looked at her to see if she was going to mock him. But she seemed interested, so he added, "And… There's something about Virgil. He- Well, he fascinates me. Nothing short. I can't figure him out or why he makes me…" He blushed.
"You're attracted to him."
Hotstreak searched her reply for any trace of mockery or disdain and found none. "I don't know, but I can't stop watching him. He's…" can't believe I'm going to say this "awe-inspiring. He sort of reminds me of me, except more controlled. And Foley… Well, Foley just reminds me of someone I knew once. Maybe I just want to see how close he is to her…" He cleared his throat. "To this person."
Talon nodded. "I guess I can't really help you. You've figured it all out already." She didn't touch him or even look at him, but her words were honestly meant. He could sense that. "If you find what you're looking for in Static and Gear, take it. There's too much pain in this world as there is without adding hidden heartache."
Before he could answer her, if he could have thought of anything to say, she spread her wings and glided into the rose-colored western sky.
He watched her until she had disappeared, then climbed down from the rooftop. The papers had mentioned a few other things, among them Richie's age and birth date. Hotstreak decided to get the blonde a present.
Sharon piled the gifts in the back seat next to Virgil. For once, her younger brother wasn't fussing about not being allowed to ride shotgun. He was staring off into the distance; his expression reminded Sharon of a moon-struck calf. She laughed at the thought as she straightened up.
Once she was settled in the passenger seat, her father guided the car out of the driveway. He turned on the radio, playing songs Sharon thought of as older-than-oldies, a rare station that featured music from the thirties and forties. Most of the music was being performed by living artists since the recordings from those days were many times scratched or completely destroyed, but the singers still sounded a hundred years old to Sharon.
They drove in silence for ten minutes or so. Suddenly, though, Virgil sat up from his formerly slumped, window-gazing position. "Hey! Turn that up!"
"I am a man of constant sorrow
I have seen trouble all my days…"
"That's actually a song that was revived in the sixties," Robert said. "It was a civil rights protest song." He glanced up in the mirror. "Where did you hear it, Virgil?"
"It just…" Virgil felt his face get hot. "It reminds me of Richie," he mumbled.
Sharon snorted. "Oh, Daddy, he's got if bad. Everything reminds of Richie. Maybe we should just get rid of the presents in the back and wrap up Virgil."
Virgil didn't answer.
"Do you want to talk about it, son?"
"No, I…" Virgil shrugged. "It's stupid. And I'm too young, anyway."
"He wants to marry him! I knew it! I-"
"Sharon, not now please." Robert was quiet for a moment as they listened to the music. "You're still worried about Richie?"
"No," Virgil said. He was staring at his hands. "I just…" He bit his lip. "I guess Sharon's right." He looked up quickly to see if his sister was gloating, but all he could see was the back of her head. He looked down again, grateful that she hadn't said anything. "I know we're only sixteen and it's not like I'm going to encourage him to run away with me…"
"But you'd like to have him to yourself, safe under a roof the both of you put there."
"Well, yeah." When had his father gotten so good at reading him?
As if he was reading Virgil's mind, Robert said, "When I met your mother in college, I wanted to quit school right then, find a job, any job, and ask her to marry me. I knew it would be hard on us if we got married while we were still both in school, and so I thought if I got rid of that hurdle there wouldn't be anything stopping us from getting married." He chuckled. "But a college-dropout would have had a hard time supporting a wife and children back then, and an even harder time now. Love doesn't have to take a back seat to reality, Virgil, but you have to understand something. Your urge is completely natural. Richie might feel the same way. But, hard as it is to believe, your love can survive just as well even if you're not living together." He smiled ruefully. "In fact, it may be even better because it may be based more on your growing understanding instead of your physical love."
He stopped at a traffic light. "Someday you'll both be ready to live together. And you'll both know when the right time is. But until then, enjoy what you have. This time in your life- where you can only see Richie every once in a while- won't last forever. And I know you've heard this and will think I'm old-fashioned, but absence can make the heart grow fonder if you truly love one another." He reached back and took Virgil's hands, smiling at him in the rearview mirror. "And I believe that you and Richie truly love each other."
"Daddy, the light," Sharon prompted just someone honked at them.
"I'm going, I'm going," Robert said.
The song was almost over- It's really long, isn't it? Sharon thought.
"All thro' this Earth I'm bound to ramble…. Thro' storm and wind… thro' sleet and rain…. I'm bound to ride that Northern railroad…
"Oh deep in my heart… I do believe…
"I am a man of constant sorrow
"I have seen trouble all my days…"
The rest was swallowed up in a guitar's purr and Virgil closed his eyes.
Thinking of Ebon. Thinking of Brainiac. Thinking of last year when he'd been grounded for running away from a policewoman, his father's girlfriend, no less. He'd been ordered to go to school and straight home, only. I explained that to Richie and he said:
/Flashback/
"Oh man! Doesn't he know we have talent show practice?"
"Not the extracurricular activity I was thinking of, Rich. My other late-night gig. The Bang Babies are going to run wild."
"Oh, yeah. I guess that could be bad, too."
And later…
Richie, talking as they walked home from school later that same day: "Daisy and Frieda are doing karaoke to Destiny's Child."
"Really?" Virgil asked. He wasn't sure, but for some reason he couldn't quite imagine Frieda singing. "Who are they getting for the third singer?"
Richie put his hand on his chest like a great star who has somehow managed to keep the just-us touch. "Me me me me," he sang.
/End Flashback/
Virgil could imagine Richie singing "Man of Constant Sorrow." Because, even though he didn't use it much, Richie had a pretty good voice. I guess we both do, but Richie really gets into it. I'm never heard anybody sing with such abandon. He completely forgot that the rest of the school was watching him, listening to him. He was caught up in the music.
As the song faded, Virgil admitted, And the other reason that song reminds me of Richie is because he's been through so much. But as to why it made me think of wanting to marry him? Who knows?
Shaking his head, not wanting to answer such questions (they made him feel older than he wanted to be just then) Virgil looked out the window. They would be at Richie's house in another minute.
Sean shut off the computer after his fourth all-nighter. Nothing he tried seemed to work. How hard could it be to find one missing teenager? His search of foster homes in this state hadn't gone anywhere; there was no list of the children that had been placed in each family. And he knew not all the families were on the database.
I wish I'd paid more attention in court. I'm sure they said the names of Richie's foster parents at least once. He had then tried to get a copy of the notes from the trial, thinking that the stenographer would have written down the names of the people that were holding his son. No luck there, either.
Next, he'd logged onto the local Community Center's website and emailed its head, Virgil's damned father, Robert. He'd kept his real identity and secret, of course, and had only said that he was a friend of Richie's from school and wanted to know where he was staying. Robert Hawkins' reply? "Come on down to the center and we can talk about it. I can't give information over the Internet, especially something like that." Now maybe the man was just following policy, but Sean thought he was probably suspicious and was just making excuses.
So he tried emailing Robert as a member of Children Protection Services. That email was answered in a similar way.
So he tried one last thing. "Dear Dad," he wrote, "I was hoping you'd send me Richie's address. I can't remember it and I want to send him a letter. Love, Virgil."
Robert's answer came back less than five minutes later. "Since Virgil is at Richie's right now, and since all these emails have come from the same address, I only have three words for you: Back off, Foley."
But I thought I programmed the email not to show my address! Sean felt like chewing glass. He'd chew it, then spit it right in Robert Hawkins' face. How dare you keep me from my son, you self-righteous bastard! Who are you to say that I don't have Richie's best interests at heart? How can you think that you know him better than his own father does?
Except, he had to admit, Robert probably had known about Richie and Virgil before he, Sean, had discovered the truth.
But that's not the point! I know Richie; I know what he really needs, and it isn't some nigger boy for a boyfriend! He had jumped up from his computer then and had screamed at it, "He's not even gay!"
Now all Sean felt was helplessness. I'm no closer to finding my son and it's been over a month. What the hell am I going to do?
He raised his head and raised his hands. "Damn you, God, help me! All I want is to help my son! Please let me help him!" He was crying without realizing it. "It's his goddamned birthday, God, and I can't give him a hug, let alone a present. Can't you help me?"
There was no answer.
Sean stormed out of the room. He was going to take a drive to calm himself down. But when he shoved the door between the kitchen and the garage open, his eyes fell on a can of red paint. All the strength seemed to go out of his legs and he sat on the top step, staring at the can.
Red is a good color. It's the color of love. I love Richie. It's also the color of warning. Stop signs are red. I want to warn Robert Hawkins away from my boy. I want to warn Virgil away from him, too. Red is also the color of hate. I want them to understand that I hate them both, that I won't tolerate anything they do to my son.
He sat forward, his elbows on his knees. Blood is also red. I'll exact blood as payment for every little lie they've planted in Richie's head.
He was grinning now. And of course red is the color of sin. White is it's opposite, the symbol of purity. That's why we wear white robes. We are washed clean of sin in the blood of the Lamb. Jesus' blood was red, too, but it cleanses. Most blood coils, but some blood, blood from a pure source, can cleanse.
I can cleanse. First I will warn them, then I will cleanse them. First I will find Richie and cleanse him, but I can still warn the niggers that I'm going to cleanse them, too.
He stood and crossed the garage to the bucket of paint. As he hunted for a paintbrush, he thought, Did I think God wouldn't answer? Who else could have left this paint here for me to find?
Finding two brushes, one with a fine tip, the other with blunt bristles, he picked up the unopened can and got into his car, putting his things on the seat. The can was unopened, and that's as it should be. The paint, too, must be pure.
But when he pulled out of the garage, he saw that it was still daylight, though the sun was riding low in the west. I'll have to wait until after nightfall. Some purification can only happen at night. And warnings are best appreciated in the dark.
Richie spread the icing on the cooled cake while Bernadette stirred the soup and tossed together her famous salad.
"I don't think the birthday boy is supposed to make his own cake," John noted from where he stood in the kitchen doorway.
Richie shook his head. "What can I say? Mom knew how to make the most amazing icing and I couldn't let that knowledge go waste." He froze in what he was doing, then shook his head. "Sorry. I was just thinking about her."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Bernadette said, keeping her tone light. "She would have wanted to you."
"We'll go see her next week?" Richie asked.
"If the hospital still gives the all-clear, we'll go after I get home from work," Bernadette answered.
Richie glanced over his shoulder at her, ant both them, and smiled. "Okay. Then I'll think about her after the party." He went back to spreading the icing, making little swirls and ruffles in it. He even scalloped the edges to the best of his ability, though the spoon he held wasn't exactly made for the task. I'll have to buy some better baking tools. Once I get a job. Or sell my inventions. Whichever comes first. As it is, nobody will accept an invention from a fifteen- he grinned- I mean sixteen-year old. I'll have to wait until I'm eighteen. His thoughts turned to college, but he pushed that away. I don't have anything saved. I'm not really a Foley anymore, so I probably won't get the money Mom and Dad were saving in a college fund.
He felt a pang as he thought of his father, but turned his mind away from the man just as he had stopped thinking about his mother.
Later I can do all that. For tonight, we celebrate and I get to see Virg. Besides on patrol, I mean.
He thought of the birthday kisses he would get and both of his parents vanished from his mind.
With dexterous fingers, he wrote, "Happy Birthday, Richie" on the cake, made a few more small decorations around the letters and stepped back. It would almost be a shame to ruin the cake by cutting it. "What time is it?"
"Five-thirty."
They'll be here at six. Richie closed his eyes. BP?
I'm here, Richie. I have uncovered another step on the way to connecting you and Virgil. Would you like to see it?
That's great! But can I look later tonight? I was hoping you'd come put a picture of this cake in your memory.
Of course. I will be up in a minuet.
John turned his head an instant later as they all heard the sound of the basement door opening. "Do you think it's safe, Richie? What if the Hawkins' arrive early?"
"Backpack is a master at hiding," Richie answered, grinning. He was so glad to be able to give Backpack the run of the house. It made him feel less lonely And safer. Not just because the robot was nearby, but because it was another sign that Richie could completely trust the people he lived with.
Backpack entered the kitchen. "Hello, John. Hello, Bernadette."
Bernadette, quick adapter that she was, had taken to Backpack immediately. And as to the fact he sounded like Richie… Well, when I was little, I always wanted to sound like my big sister. "Come to see the progress we've made?"
"Yes. And to look at Richie's cake."
Richie picked up the pan and held it so Backpack could look.
"It is beautiful, Richie. Do you remember the one you made for Virgil's birthday? The one you gave him in the gas station?"
Richie laughed as he put the cake on the counter. "Yeah, I do. Do you have an image of it?"
John and Bernadette gazed at the holographic projection of a cake decorated with ten different shades of colored icing. The cake read: "For Static, who will be young forever Happy Birthday"
"You should get a job in a bakery," John said.
"Forget that!" Bernadette exclaimed. "You should open your own cake-designing business!"
Richie blushed. "Thanks."
Backpack made the image disappear. He gazed expectantly up at Richie.
The blonde dropped to one knee. Come on, BP, I want to give you something. He stood and the two of them left the kitchen.
Upstairs, Richie closed his door and went to his closet. He dug something from the back and held it out to Backpack, who had hopped up onto the bed. "This is four your four-mouth birthday."
Backpack stared. "Richie, you did not need-"
"Yes I did. Open it." Richie sat on the bed beside the robot. "Please."
Backpack pulled the paper off. A bag rested inside. It was a backpack (no pun intended) that looked handmade. He touched it, wondering at it. Richie, what-?
"It's so I can carry you. It defies gravity, so I'll be able to have you with me all the time, even at school."
"Did you make this?"
Richie knew Backpack meant the bag, not the invention inside it that made it feather-light. "My sewing skills aren't that good, BP. It was all I could do to sew the antigrav unit into the same." He picked it up. "Want to try it on?"
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Richie ignored it. "Come on; let me see how it fits."
"Go let the rest of your family in, Richie. This can wait."
Richie bit his lip. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'll find a way to put it on." Backpack touched Richie's hand. "Go on. I'll see you in a few hours." As Richie stood, smiling, Backpack added, And I'm always here.
Richie bent and hugged the robot. I know. He left, closing the door behind him.
Hotstreak looked at the tiny statue of the phoenix he'd swiped. It took me all day to find this thing. I'd better send it. He thought of what his Aunt Sue would think of her only nephew stealing so he could give someone a present. She'd be furious at me for stealing, then tell me my heart was n the place but that if I couldn't' buy Richie anything to just go tell him how I feel. Except I don't know how I feel.
He wrapped the phoenix, thinking too that his Aunt Sue was the one to tell him about the fiery bird, how it was born in fire, died in fire and rose again. She used to tease me about my red hair, saying maybe I was a phoenix and just managed to leave my nest without my wings.
He wondered if Richie would make the connection.
He's a genius. He should. But even if he doesn't, it's okay. I can wait. For now, I just want to make him smile. Maybe make him a little confused, too. I wish I could see his expression when he opens the box. Oh well, like Mom said a lot before she left: Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up first.
It was the only memory of his mother he could genuinely smile at, so he let himself smile.
"Is it done?" Talon walked over to him. "I want to get it over there before it gets too late. If someone doesn't see it tonight, somebody else might steal it."
Hotstreak shook his head. "Not in a nice, safe suburb they won't." But he finished the wrapping with a string tied around it to make it easy for Talon to carry in her back claws, and handed it over. "Careful. It's ceramic."
She snorted. "Don't you think I've carried things this delicate before?" She took the parcel and flew off.
Hotstreak watched her until she was out of sight. Happy birthday, F- Richie
As the party wound down (not that it had gotten all that rowdy) Virgil took Richie by the hand and the two of them sought the darkness and privacy of the tree house. Above them, the stars sang one to another and Virgil's thoughts of asking Richie to marry him returned. He pushed it away and concentrated on the way Richie gazed up at the sky. Virgil drew Richie back against him, sitting as they had before with Virgil wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's waist from behind.
Richie took Virgil's clasped hands in his. "I love you, Virg." Shaking his head, he added, "I can't stop saying that. I'm so lucky you've been here for me. In every way." He relaxed against Virgil and closed his eyes as Virgil kissed his cheek softly, then nuzzled his shoulder and neck.
"But you know things are going to be different now, right?" Richie went on.
Virgil tensed. "Different how?"
Richie felt the strain his words had caused and regretted speaking. But now that it was out... "Everything's going to be different. I won't be attending Dakota Union High in the fall, for one thing. For another, Slipstream at least knows who I am, and why wouldn't he tell Ebon? Hotstreak doesn't owe Ebon anything, but I think underneath all that hot air Slipstream is a boot-licker. He'll want to get in good with Ebon."
Virgil didn't answer, and so Richie went on. "When they get out of prison- and you can't tell me that won't be pretty soon, or at least too soon for our liking- Slipstream will have a new target. He likes you, V, or rather, Static. He was going for you. That's why I… misjudged the Zap Caps I threw. I wasn't thinking."
That last lie hung between them. Virgil cleared his throat.
"Okay, that's why I let a water Cap and an electricity Cap fly. I didn't want to kill him, but I wanted to get him away from you. And I don't have an anti-Slipstream invention. Yet." He sighed, frustrated that Virgil still wasn't talking. "I've said I'm sorry already, Virg. What more do you want?"
"Are you really sorry?"
Richie blinked, stung. "How can…?" He groaned and drew away from Virgil, turning to face him. "How can you ask me that?" But he saw the answer in Virgil's eyes: Virgil had seen the fury on Richie's face. "Okay, stupid question. But yes, I am sorry. I wasn't sorry at first- for about a minute or so- but I'm sorry now. Though I don't know what else I could have done. And if I couldn't think of another way to keep him off of you, I would do it again."
"I've just never seen you lose it like that before," Virgil said. "And where did you get that thing you said? It would have been funny if you weren't so…"
"Out of control?" Richie shrugged, blushing a little. "I read it in a book once. I never thought it would pop out of my mouth, though I remember liking it when I read it. I even wrote in on the underside of my desk at… back at my old house because it made me feel strong when I needed to be strong." He shrugged again. "It won't happen again, either me saying those words or me losing it. I love you, but I don't want to end up as one of Batman's supervillian crazies." He drew his knees up and rested his chin on them. "I don't want to ever give you a reason to have to bring me in."
Virgil stared at him, his jaw slack. "Richie, I would never…"
"If you had to, you would. I know it." Richie's smile was without warmth. "If you had to, you would. Not because you ever wanted to, but because you wouldn't want the police doing it. And, well, because you know what it's like to lose control like that." They both knew it was Daisy's injury during a battle that Richie was talking about and Virgil's resulting rage. True, that had been when Virgil had a crush on her, but how much more did he love Richie?
"Yeah, I know what it's like." Virgil sighed, then reached out and took one of Richie's hands. "I guess I just never thought I'd see that side of you. I didn't think you ever had any hateful thoughts."
"I don't know if I was hateful or just desperate and scared out of my ever-lovin' tree." Richie's lips curved up a little, some humor creeping back in. He sobered at once. "But if it was hatred, you can bet I'll be keeping an eye on what I think about. Because now I have more than just you and me and Dakota to worry about."
Virgil blinked. "Like what?"
"Like God." Richie blushed. "You and I never talk religion, do we, V?"
Virgil scratched his head. "No. You've been to our church sometimes, but…" Then he got it. "But you were also attending those meetings. And the KKK teaches that what they say comes right from the mouth of God. Oh, Richie…" He smacked himself on the side of the head. "You must think Christians are a bunch of back-stabbing, faithless idiots."
"Actually, no." Richie fought against the desire to laugh. "What I thought was that Christianity was just like any other religion- groundless and not helpful, only sometimes destructive. Though I'll admit I prayed to God a lot. But most of my prayers were right up my father's alley: Please, God, burn down the meeting hall so I don't have to go tonight. Please, God, tell Virg to come set fire to the building. Things like that. And also some like this: Please give me the courage to tell V how I feel before I go totally crazy. And since I believed those prayers were being heard (not to mention that they'd probably get me sent to Hell) I didn't completely discount Christianity. Just the KKK form. And I never thought I could have the real connection with God you hear about on Touched By An Angel."
Shifting position, Richie sat cross-legged in front of his boyfriend. "But when I was with the Edmann's, I met this really interesting pastor. His name was Reverend Ovid." He saw Virgil's eyebrows shoot up and Richie snickered. "Yeah, it was actually his name that got me to chill out for two seconds and listen to him. I know I shouldn't have been fooled by his name, but I was missing you so badly that I didn't mind any connection that I could have to you, even if it was in my head." Swiftly, he told Virgil what had happened that day, and then how he'd given his life to Christ shortly after. "It's something I think about, but it's not something I, well, advertise. I figure we're targets enough being gay and being superheroes. I didn't want to add another label to that."
Virgil said then what he had always believed: "It doesn't matter what you tell people about yourself, but what you do for them. How you help them. Then if they ask why you're helping, you can say something like "because Jesus helped and I want to be like him." But most people will know you by what you do, Richie." He reached out, silently asking Richie to come sit in front of him again. Richie complied. "I always knew without having to ask that you talked to God and were trying to do your best. Or that you had some sort of faith," he added, "because love comes from everywhere, not just from religion." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I sound like an after-school special."
"We seem to do that often enough," Richie noted. "Maybe everybody sounds like that sometimes and we're just now hearing it. I mean, how many times has your pops told you to treat others as you want to be treated?"
"More times than the sky has stars." Virgil chuckled. "I guess you're right." He leaned forward and kissed Richie's neck. "I guess we should go in. I have to go home soon. Will I see you on patrol?"
Richie hesitated. "Well, actually, I promised I'd help BP with something."
"Okay." Virgil got to his feet and lifted Richie with him. "Maybe I'll skip tonight, anyway. There really hasn't been any action. With Ebon and ninety-five percent of his crew in jail, there really isn't much for two superheroes to do." He started climbing down the ladder and Richie followed. "Besides," Virgil added, half-musing. I think I want to do a sketch of your ass for my next comic. I just can never get Gear's ass right I think you two are pretty close in shape and-" he reached up, pinching Richie lightly- "size."
Richie glanced over his shoulder, scowling. He aimed a kick at Virgil's head.
"Hey, I was just kidding!" Virgil dropped the last three feet to the ground, closely pursued by Richie. The two of them took off through the woods, Virgil having to go slower than he would have liked because he didn't know where all the trees were.
But Richie had spent more than a few hours playing in the woods with the next door neighbors' black Labrador, Fantasia. He caught Virgil around the middle and crowed, "Got you! What're you gonna do now, V Man? Call for your posse. I think they're all in Dakota, though. No, wait-" he continued as Virgil laughed and struggled to break free- "I know! I'm your posse. Oh, you've really got a problem now, Virg."
"Yeah, don't I know it." Virgil reached back and tickled Richie, making him squeak and let go. Turning, Virgil grabbed Richie's hands, dragged him close and kissed him hard, forcing him to open his mouth.
Richie stilled for an instant (not long enough for Virgil to think anything of it) then attacked the tongue inside his mouth with his own. Moaning, he thrust his hips against Virgil's, silently egging him on. My mouth is yours, that movement said. And more than that, if you want it.
Virgil responded by wrapping his arms around Richie and leaving off Richie's mouth to attack his neck.
Gasping, Richie clung to Virgil's shoulders and continued to thrust against him. "Please, V…" He could feel his legs shaking, his knees giving way. "Please, Virg, I'm going to fall."
Virgil put one arm around Richie's back, supporting him as he continued to kiss his way from Richie's pulse point up to his ear and back down to the gap between his neck and shoulder. He pushed Richie's t-shirt back, exposing as much of Richie's soft skin. Using that arm, he drew Richie closer still as Richie began to tremble all over.
"V… Virg… V…"
Virgil stopped Richie's mouth with his own. Drawing back slightly, he whispered, "Say it again, Richie."
"V…" Richie arched up, throwing his head back. "Please…"
He'll have a mark on his neck when I'm done. Virgil grinned. Good. Let everyone know that he's taken, that he belongs to someone. He found that he wanted a similar mark on his neck. Maybe I can encourage Richie to do that.
"Virgil!" called Sharon from the back porch. "It's time to go! Come on, lazy butt!"
She can't us from where she is, Virgil thought as he returned to the assault on Richie's neck.
But the blonde pushed him back. "Come on, Virg; they were nice enough to drive you out here." He snickered. "Besides, do you want her to come out here and start looking for us? Or worse, tell your pops what she thinks we might be doing out here and why we didn't come when she called?"
Virgil's face got hot and he straightened up. "You really know how to put a lid a situation you know that, Rich?"
"It's what I do best." He started to guide Virgil towards the house, skirting nearly-invisible trees without so much as a second thought. "It's how Gear diffuses his partner, right?"
"Yeah, maybe, but right now you're frustrating him."
"Not my fault. Duty calls. Or at least your sister." They emerged from the woods and Richie waved to Sharon on the porch. "Caught him!" he called. "He was trying to-"
Virgil covered Richie's mouth with his hand. "Pay no attention to the crazy man in the t-shirt," he declared. "He's on his way to the funny farm."
"Just hurry up," Sharon said before she turned around and stalked back inside.
"I think she was laughing," Richie noted after freeing his mouth from Virgil's hand. They had reached the back steps. Turning, Richie smiled shyly.
The change was so different from the person he'd just been kissing that Virgil would have suspected body snatchers if he wasn't used to Richie's two sides, his bold side that wanted Virgil's tongue in his mouth and wasn't afraid to take it, and the side of him that wanted Virgil's tongue but would ask. Virgil leaned forward and kissed Richie chastely before heading up the stairs, his fingers interlaced with his boyfriend's.
They entered the house as one. The kitchen was deserted. Virgil frowned, thinking how quiet the house was. Richie just shrugged and opened the door between the kitchen and the living room.
Bernadette and John were sitting on the couch cushions and Sharon was sitting on one arm. Robert was leaning forward in the rocking chair. All of them were staring at the small box on the coffee table.
"Pops, what's that?" Virgil asked, moving to stand beside his father.
Richie went to the other side of the coffee table and knelt there. He turned up the card that was taped to the top of the box. To: Richie Foley. Happy Birthday, Richie!
The exclamation point was huge. And there was nothing written next to the word from.
"Where did it come from?" Virgil asked.
"It was out on the porch," John said. "Any idea who it's from, Richie?"
"I don't recognize the handwriting. I could see if it matches any of the ones in my computer, though." He took the card off.
"Worry about it later," said Sharon. "Maybe if you open it you'll figure it out."
Virgil left his pops' side and knelt beside Richie. He shared a meaningful look with his partner, then watched as Richie untied the string around the box and pulled off the tape, releasing the lid.
Richie opened the box and gasped. "It's beautiful," he whispered, removing the ceramic phoenix. The tiny, exquisitely-carved bird-in-flight seemed to glow with its own life. Richie noted the decorative flames below it and nodded to himself, confirming it was indeed a phoenix. Carefully, he lifted it out of the box and handed it to Virgil, who gazed at it for a moment before passing it to his pops.
Richie reached into the box, looking for any note of explanation. There was none. Sitting back on his heels, he frowned. Who do I know who would send me a phoenix? Who knows I'm here, for one thing besides the people in this room? He watched as John traced the flames beneath the graceful bird. Flames… No, couldn't be. Why would he send me anything? Just because we've declared a temporary truce doesn't mean we're friends, or even allies. And how did he figure out my birth date, anyway? But that one he could answer, at least: the newspaper, The Dakota Sun, had printed it. And Hotstreak's no idiot. If he wanted to know, he'd find a way.
Then he shivered. But what if it isn't from him? What if it's from Dad?
His skin felt as if it was going to crawl right off his back. No. He shook his head. No. He'd never send me a magical, make-believe creature. A Bible with the pages covered in swastikas, maybe, but not this.
He took in a steadying breath. It had to come from Hotstreak. Glancing at Virgil, he thought he swathe same knowledge in the other teen's eyes. I'll call him on the Shock Vox tonight to make sure. For now… He smiled and looked at everyone in turn. "It's probably from Reverend Ovid or something. He loves birds. I'll email him in the morning."
"Well, it's very nice whoever it came from," Bernadette said, rising. The others imitated her. "When will you be visiting again, Virgil?"
"In a few days, I hope." Virgil hugged Richie when they reached the front door but didn't kiss him.
"That's a very interesting mark on your neck, Richie," Sharon said. "Did you fall?"
"Back off, Barky," Virgil said just as his father said, "Sharon…"
Richie was red as a tomato. But he was also trying very hard not to laugh. "Good night, V. Bye, Sharon, Mr. H. Thanks for coming. And thank you for the presents."
He and his foster parents stood on the porch and waved until the car was out of sight. Then Bernadette turned to Richie and said, "It's not from the reverend, is it?"
Richie waited until they were back in the house with the door closed. "No. I think it's from a sort of friend of Static's and mine."
"A sort-of friend?" John asked.
"Somebody who used to be an enemy but has been acting very, very strange lately." He smiled at them, reassuring them. "Don't worry. There's no bomb or anything dangerous in it. Backpack would have sensed it the minute it came in the house. It's just a statue." He moved towards the kitchen. "I'll help clean up, then I promised I'd look at Backpack's breakthrough." He glanced over his shoulder when he realized they weren't following him. They stood holding hands and looking at him. "What?" Richie grinned, then saw they weren't joking; they were really worried. He came back into the living room. "Virg and I deal with this stuff all the time; it's okay. Really."
"We've just never had a superhero for a son before," Bernadette said. "It's going to take some getting used to."
Richie blinked several times. "Do you really think of me as your son?"
"Of course, Richie. How could we not?" John approached and put his arm around Richie's shoulders. Bernadette also walked forward and hugged him.
Richie hugged them back, swallowing the lump in his throat, but his voice still came out scratchy. "I love you."
Bernadette was shedding silent tears. "We love you too, Richie."
They broke apart after a moment and John cleared his throat and rubbed at his face. "Those dishes aren't going to wash themselves."
The family of three walked into the kitchen.
Sharon quit ribbing Virgil about the mark on Richie's neck only after her father announced she would be washing dishes for the next month if she didn't stop. Glancing at Virgil in the rearview mirror, Sharon said, "You're getting off easy."
Virgil stuck his tongue out and her, but he was thinking, If that's easy, I don't want to see hard. And I thought having everybody see that I love Richie would make me feel good. He slouched down in his seat. If Richie's getting even half this much abuse, I won't leave any more marks where people can see them. I'll just suck on his nipples or the inside of his arm or- He stopped when body protested the tightness of his pants. Blushing, Virgil was glad he was wearing a long shirt. He sat up and pulled it down. Or maybe I should just think about something else.
At once, his mind turned to the present that had been left on Richie's porch. Virgil balled his hands into fists. It can't be from Hotstreak. Why would he want to send Richie something anyway? Why? It can't be from him. It's totally out of character.
Except, hadn't so many things Hotstreak had done lately been out of character? From protecting Richie in the face of the KKK members to leading Virgil, Batman and J'onn to Ebon's hideout, Hotstreak hadn't been acting like himself. Virgil searched his memory to see when he could last remember Hotstreak setting anything on fire. Bewildered, he decided at last that he hadn't seen the pyro light up since the ambush. And that was over a month ago! What the hell is wrong with Hotstreak? Maybe he found out he only had a month to live or something.
Which would mean he's dead by now. Virgil snorted at his own thoughts. No, Hotstreak's not dead. He's out there. He left the present for Richie. But why didn't Backpack send Richie a warning? Or, a better question: how'd he find Richie in the first place, and what is he going to do now that he knows where Richie lives?
He realized his nails were biting into his palms and he forced his hands to relax. Hotstreak has known where I live for a lot longer, and he's known who my secret identity as long as he's known Richie's.
Yeah, but he didn't send you a birthday present.
But he didn't know who we were when I turned sixteen.
Confused and more than a little angry, Virgil admitted, I don't want him concentrating on Richie. It was always good before when we were in school because even if Hotstreak picked on me, beat me up, he hardly noticed Richie. It was like Richie had an invisibility cloak around him, or a shield of ice that made Hotstreak's eyes skate right over him.
But now…
Yes, now. Now Hotstreak was stalking Richie.
He just left him a birthday present! What's wrong with that?
He's my Richie, that's what's wrong with that. Virgil scowled.
"Your face will get stuck like that," Sharon said from the front seat, her eyes focused on the sign with their street name on it. The car turned.
Virgil's face cleared. Her words weren't Richie's, but they were close enough. People said you looked like what you thought about. Do I really want to look angry all the time? Not when Richie doesn't want me to be angry. He took several deep breaths and forced himself calm.
"Virgil, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Sharon said, staring straight ahead. "I'm happy for you and Richie. You're-" She let out a breathless scream just as her father slammed on the breaks.
Virgil looked up quickly, somehow expecting Hotstreak to be standing in front of their car without flames bouncing in his hands. Maybe even for Richie to be at his feet.
At first, when Virgil saw the front of their house, he couldn't credit it. It's too dark for me to see anything, he thought as a sense of unreality washed over him. But a moment later, he remembered that were was a bright street light near their house and that, what was more, his pops had left the porch light on before they left.
Robert Hawkins drove the car to the curb and parked. "Stay in the car," he ordered. "Keep the doors locked." He got out.
"Daddy!" Sharon cried. "You shouldn't-"
"Whoever did it might still be there," Virgil finished, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the area.
"Stay here," Robert snapped and he slammed the door.
Damn it, where's a nice distraction when I need one? Virgil thought, tugging at his shirt. The tank top of his Static costume was concealed underneath and his light-weight, protective, black pants were hidden under his jeans. True, he wouldn't have the right shoes, but who cared? No one ever looked at his feet anyway, right?
The door was decorated with a tree painted in bright red; all of the marks standing forth in that screaming red. Hanging from the tree was a rope with a noose at the end of it. Beneath this was written: Lynching has a place when the dog won't listen.
But the larger image was painted across the door and onto the side of the house. Beneath a rude cross was written: Happy Birthday, Richie I'll bring you home soon
"Foley," Virgil whispered. "Sean… fucking… Foley."
"Don't swear," ordered Sharon in a shaky, distant voice.
"The police have to believe the son of a bitch is a danger to Richie now," Virgil went on, scarcely realizing that he was speaking out loud. "They have to. They can't ignore this." But something Richie had written in his long story/confession came back to Virgil and he wondered how much truth there was to it: The Ku Klux Klan had always had an underground foothold in Dakota. Maybe it was because so many of the organization's dispossessed members had moved to the city in the late eighties, or maybe it was just that Dakota's police seemed not to take notice of hate crimes in general, but the KKK had thrived in this one city even though it had diminished in so many others.
It's just that Dakota's police seemed not to take notice of hate crimes in general. Virgil felt his temper flare. If they won't take him in after this, I'll pick him up myself and ask Batman to look after him. Maybe a few decades in Arckem will straighten him out. Or break him. Whichever.
Robert had approached the front door. He didn't touch anything, but looked around carefully before returning to the car. Without a word, he unlocked his door, climbed in and started the engine. As he pulled away from the curb, Virgil turned his eyes back to the house. And there, in the shadows, he swore he saw something move. He opened his mouth to say something, but a minute later, as his father swung the car that way, the headlights flooded that area Virgil had been looking at. It was empty.
I'm just jumpy. Virgil scowled again and didn't get any warnings about the state of his face from his sister.
At the police station, Robert marched in with his son and daughter following in his wake. Neither of his children had seen him this angry in a long time. Robert stalked up to the desk and demanded to see the on-duty sergeant.
"What is the nature of your complaint, sir?" the officer behind the desk asked. She looked both startled and prepared to help.
"My house was just sprayed with hate messages threatening both my family and my son's friend, Richie."
She picked up the phone on her desk, hit three buttons and spoke into it.
Robert glanced at Virgil and Sharon as they came to stand beside him. Digging in his pocket, he tossed Virgil some change. "Call Richie. Warn him."
Virgil nodded and strode away as the officer at the desk announced, "Captain Tsakatos will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat."
When Robert and Sharon were seated, the woman brought them a form on a clipboard. "Fill this out, please. Can I get you some coffee or tea?"
Sharon said, "I'll have coffee, please." Her hands were shaking. "Not a fully cup," she added, glancing down at her hands. She clasped them together, but still they trembled.
Virgil was standing with his back to his family. His face was set and he was determined not to lose his temper on the phone. That wouldn't help Richie. He dropped in the money and dialed the number.
"Corbett's residence, Richie-"
"Rich, it's Virgil. Listen. Somebody wrote "Happy Birthday Richie I'll bring you home soon on our front door." He took in a quick breath. "I think it was your dad, but it could be the same person who sent you the present."
"But you don't think so." Richie's voice was flat.
"No. I don't. He also drew a tree and a noose and said something about dogs dying. Hot- that guy- isn't racist."
"Where are you?" Now Richie's voice had a note of tension in it.
"At the police station. Sharon, Pops and me. We're safe."
"I can fly out there in ten minutes."
"I won't be able to get away. And I don't want you there alone.
"Virg-"
Even if he doesn't recognize you, he could still be there and could attack you. He has a grudge against you now, G. You kicked his ass in court."
The memory of what had happened the last time Virgil was nervous and Richie didn't listen hung thick between them.
"I'll stay here," Richie promised. "I'll call the JL, though."
"Okay." Virgil was biting his lip and twisting the phone cord. "Richie… Do you think he knows where you live?"
Richie was silent for a moment, then he said, "My new address was in the papers. I think that's how Franny found me. I'll tell the JL to come here before they go to Dakota."
It was all he could do, and Virgil realized that. "Pops is going to tell the police here that you're in danger. We won't let anything happen to you, Rich. I promise."
"It'll be okay, V," Richie said, his voice low. "I'll set up a protection system here until the JL comes." He paused, then said, "Don't go back to your house, okay?"
"We won't." Virgil glanced over his shoulder when he heard a door open. A man was shaking hands with his father. "Gotta go, Richie. I love you."
"Love you, too, V. Be careful."
Tension was crawling up Virgil's back and settling in his shoulders, hardening them, turning them to painful-tight springs. "Back atcha. Bye."
"Bye. Love you." Richie hung up.
Virgil looked at the receiver for a moment, then put it back. His hands shaking as badly as Sharon's had been, he went to join his family. God, don't let him hurt. Don't let him figure out where Richie lives. Don't let anything happen to my Richie.
A/N #2: I must be losing my touch. Only one review? Who did I annoy?
Moonjava: Here's book three's beginning. Trouble just doesn't know how to take a hike, does it? Poor Richie.