FIC: 1977

AUTHOR: Elise

RATING: pg13 for language and graphics

GENRE : adventure/case based as well as a historical period piece. charlie/larry towards the end.

NOTES: responses quite necessary. I write more because you all exist out there.

SUMMARY : Larry remembers his worst summer ever... and its coming back to haunt him.

Late July, 1977. Between New York City and Philadelphia. Somewhere.

Larry scratched his full head of hair, before replacing his yankees cap back on. He turned to the driver of the beat up pinto, his friend Marcus McClintock. Larry said, "Aren't you in the least bit excited that a new particle was discovered? I mean, this Upsilon Particle has lead to some very important discoveries!"

Marcus raised his eyebrows, "You know, Whereas I studied physics in undergrad, I'm not terribly excited about some atom that disappears before we can even view it. What's the point of that?"

"It's not an atom-" Larry countered.

"Whatever it is, I'd rather be reading." Marcus pointed out, "Which you should do more often, Curly-cue. I mean, this road trip is an adventure. You've been stuck in the lab for days now."

"I hate that nick name. As for the lab? Weeks, actually, and that's why I agreed. Maybe a hike, or we could visit a museum. I heard there's a park in Philadelphia. Interesting point," Larry said, tapping his index fingers together, a trait he had picked up from his dissertation advisor, "Philadelphia comes from the words-"

Marcus had turned the radio up very loudly. Larry frowned and listened to the report. Son of Sam had struck again. Two people shot in the face. Larry shuddered and turned it off. "Thank goodness we're getting out of the city."

"What? You think good ole Sammy is going to get you?" Marcus said, chuckling.

Larry raised an eyebrow, "No, but it'll be a relief to not be in a town where some psycho is appearing out of no where and taking people's lives. Life is the most fascinating and valuable thing we have."

MArcus shrugged, "I'd rather draw pictures of trees and mountains. Frankly, if it weren't for humans, we'd have a lot more forests. Think of all the polution? And with the elections coming up, it's only going to get worse."

"I like Cuomo." Larry countered, "I met an ex girlfriend of his. Really fascinating girl."

"So fascinating, Mario dumped the girl." Marcus blinked a few times, indicating that he was getting tired. He turned the radio on again and Fleetwood Mac came on.

Larry shrugged, "You know, I bet if you spent some time interacting with people and listening to their points of view, you'd like them a whole lot more."

"Why, so they can get shot by Sam?"

"That's just illogical."

"You've always been an optimist. Besides, I kinda respect this guy. He's a genius." Marcus said, humming softly to Nicks' voice.

"I like to think genius is reserved for those who work in peace, and not murderers."

Marcus shrugged, "He's been running from a squadron of cops for a year now. Who knows when he'll get caught. I doubt he will. Maybe he's a ghost."

"Or perhaps has grasped the transdimensional matter transfer that I've been fiddling around with."

"Of course you're a Feynman fan."

"Hey - He's been helping me with my thesis, and is one of the most incredible men to have walked the planet. Of course, I'm a fan." Larry said, laughing, "although he and my advisor don't get along very well."

Marcus spied a rest stop up ahead. A small diner and some pumps. Perfect. The song changed to Debbie Boone's 'You light up my life' came on. Larry grinned and put it up, bopping his mess of red curls to the song. Marcus, making gagging noises, got a disgusted look on his face. "What're you, a fag?"

Larry's eyebrows knit together. "A what?"

"A fag. I heard it the other day at the show I went to. Means a gay person. I bet you've got that gay cancer... singing along to Debbie Boone. She blows, man."

"You're a real ass sometimes, Marcus. Why're you picking on me?" Larry pointed out.

Marcus pulled over, "Why, you insulted?"

Larry blinked, "What does it matter my sexuality or someone elses? I mean, I like girls and all. We're we talking about Feynman? Who cares if I like Debbie Boone."

Marcus laughed, "That was about eight different thoughts at once, man. Forget it, I was kidding. I just don't want to hang out with fags. You're already a dork."

"I. like. girls." Larry said.

"Want something?" Marcus said, "I'm grabbing some smokes."

Larry shook his head. He was bewildered at how Marcus in one breath could tease him and be making fun of groups of people, and then switch over to something as trivial as drinks. He waited, watching the heat create waves above the ground. He smiled, thinking of why the air seemed to morph. Larry frowned again. He should stick up for himself more often. He was terrified of the world surrounding him currently. Murders happening every day. There was this strange illness that was killing gay men... cancers that chose people based on their sexuality. It was mind boggling, and it didn't really make any sense. There was no genetic basis for it. They recently had the blackout, where Marcus had proudly looted a few stores. Larry had spent the night with candles out, marvelling at a blackened New York City.

He had moved there a year ago to start an internship that would take the place of an entire year in his PhD program. He was working with many physicists. He just happened to be living near Marcus and they struck up a friendship. Larry sighed. Marcus had definitely changed. Larry's mother had said once that the City will change you, for better or worse. Larry had hoped he was changed for better. He met that incredible physicist Feynman. His advisor, Jeremy Burgold, was very helpful. Larry was sad to leave behind his NYC family to return to Stanford. He would miss the East Coast, but home was inviting. Besides, he'd be back with California wines soon. Larry grinned at the thought.

Marcus had opened the door of the car, leaping inside. He jerked his car into reverse and floored it out of the gas station/diner. Larry gripped the car door, "Watch where you're going!"

Marcus ducked down, "Just shut up. Shut up."

Larry raised an eyebrow, "What did you do?"

"Nothing. Nothing that wasn't right. Just... shut up."

Larry noted Marcus' obviously agitated state. He began to worry and stiffened in his seat, "Marcus. Marcus tell me now."

"I..." Marcus gulped, "You tell no one, got it?"

Larry nodded, "Ok, I got it... just calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down." Marcus said, keeping an eye on the back window.

"OK. freak out then, if that's more optimal." Larry sarcastically noted.

"There were two fags there. I kinda... i didn't mean to." Marcus said, his voice shaking.

"Marcus... what did you do?" Larry said horrified. He was in a car with possible murderer.

"I... I threw a bottle at one of them, and I didn't realize how hard, and he started to bleed. A lot. I just... I just turned and ran. Fuck... I mean, he had a boyfriend with him. I know we're after the sexual revolution bullshit, but come on! I don't need to see that!" Marcus yelled, "It's there goddamn fault, you know."

Larry shrank into his seat. He was terrified. It was a long way to Philadelphia. He blinked back tears. Marcus had killed someone. "Are you... are you Son of Sam?"

Marcus blinked. "What? fuck... no! I've never killed anyone. That guy was just bleeding, I promise. Nothing worse than what he'd get in a bar fight. Son of Sam... you're an idiot, Larry, you really are."

Larry shrugged, "Sorry... just, I'm a little shocked. You beat up some dude... and the murders, and the looting... I feel like the world is falling apart."

Marcus cracked his back, the song switching to Dancing Queen by Abba. For such a cheery song, it made the entire situation highly ironic and disturbing. Marcus looked back in the rear view mirror again. "You'll tell no one, got it?"

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance or something? Maybe tell the police?" Larry said, "I mean, that was assault."

Marcus pulled the car to the side of the road and grabbed Larry by the collar of his shirt. He brought Larry close to his face, breathing heavily, most likely still rushing from the adrenaline. "You," He said, "Will say nothing, or I will kill you. Got it? I'm driving you to this stupid lecture on your epsilon-"

"Upsilon."

"Shut up, Larry. Just... just be normal. Act cool. We're fine. Nothing happened. If you rat on me, I'll find you. You know I can run from cops."

Larry nodded, "Ok. Ok... I'll keep quiet, I promise."

Marcus threw LArry back and smiled, "Good. Good. Let's go. We're almost there. Just a few more hours."

The car moved back onto the road, driving off in the distance. Marcus was not caught. Larry kept his silence. He believed that Marcus would find him.

August 9th, 2005 - Los Angeles

"Hey Larry, this is the third nightmare you've had this week, are you alright?" Charlie asked, moving closer to the physicist, concerned.

Larry turned over in bed and nestled his head into Charlie's shoulder. "Just... thinking back to the worst summer of my life."

"Wanna talk about it?" Charlie said, gently stroking Larry's back and kissing the top of his head.

Larry immediately tensed up. Charlie whispered soothing words. Larry gulped, "I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" Charlie said, lifting up onto one arm.

Larry looked into Charlie's face, his curls messy from sleep. Larry sighed, "It was the summer of Sam... and the black out... my friend was kinda messed up, and I went on a horrible road trip. It's also the time I found out about my father's condition. It was just a crappy summer."

Charlie gently ran a hand through Larry's hair. He knew that when Larry was in his early twenties, his father had died of some type of cancer. His mother stuck around for a few years after that, but eventually dying of natural causes. Larry had always said she died of heart break. "Summer of Sam? Like the Spike Lee movie? Son of Sam stuff?"

Larry nodded, "David Berkowitz. I lived in New York city at that time, thesis work. The man absolutely terrified me. Thank God he was caught. I mean, the entire city was in an uproar. That whole dog talking thing... it sounds silly now, but then... we really thought Satan was killing people."

Charlie let out a deep breath, "I can't imagine."

"Good. You shouldn't have to imagine. You're not supposed to. You're supposed to remain in your classroom and never have to deal with that stuff."

Charlie lied down, his jaw clenching, "Larry. Don't do that."

"Oh Charlie, I don't mean it as if you couldn't handle it. You just shouldn't deal with

such fear in your life. Ever." Larry said.

Charlie noted that the tension wasn't leaving Larry's shoulders. Charlie leaned over and kissed Larry's shoulder. "Larry - I've seen a lot already. You don't have to protect me."

"Yeah. I do." Larry said, his eyes taking a hazy look on as if he were remembering a sad memory.

Charlie gently shook him. "OK. We're making some tea and talking. Come on, get up."

"I can't talk about it, Charlie. I'm sorry."

"You can trust me."

"Trust isn't the issue. Just forget it. Please." Larry plead. "Just hold me tonight, tell me everything is fine, and things will be infinitely better in the morning."

Charlie's eyes seemed to pierce him and LArry ducked his head. Charlie did as he was asked, "Everything is fine, Larry. Just go to sleep. Things will be infinitely better in the morning."

Larry smiled and relaxed. He knew it was a lie, and that Charlie was worried, but there's nothing he could do.

The next morning, Charlie sighed in frustration as he printed out more sheets of data. Don had been faxing things to Charlie now, since it was easier for both parties. Charlie stormed into the kitchen. "This guy is nuts. The legends make no sense. It's a collection of references, according to Don, of vintage references to the seventies. It just makes no sense. There are references to things centered near or in New York City, and then the rest are literally randomly spread through America... the seventies are the only connection. Who murders people based on the seventies?"

Larry shrugged, keeping his face down. "I don't know. Why LA? Why now? There are an infinite number of possibilities. Better let this one go."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, "You're acting strange this morning, Larry... nightmare still?"

Larry waved his hands, "No, No. I'm fine. Let me look at the cards he leaves behind. Maybe I can piece something together."

"Larry. You know, I was born in the seventies." Charlie said, "I know a bit about-"

"You don't know a thing about the seventies. Come let me look." Larry had poured himself some orange juice.

Charlie relented and brought the printed sheets over. "Tell me if you don't want to see the Crime scene photos."

"Charlie, how long have we been together?"

Charlie grinned, "A year and a half."

"And how often have I seen your crime scene photos?"

"Ok, Ok. Just warning you." Charlie handed the papers over.

They were all young college aged men. There were brief descriptions next to each identified body. Most were out gay men, or percieved gay men. Larry sighed. He began to look at the evidence, the cards. Each card had an image, a phrase... something attached to it. There were five cards, five victims. The first card had a black dog on it named Sam. The second had "A Star is Born" written on it. There was a picture of Annie Hall on the third card, with "the bronx is burning" written on another. The last card had a picture of the Star Wars poster. Larry sighed, "1977."

Charlie looked up, "What?"

"The cards. They're all from 1977. Apparently your murderer is recreating something from 1977." Larry said, "These are gruesome pictures, Charlie."

"Yeah, especially since they were done with bottles. Beaten to death by glass bottles. Such a strange weapon for a serial killer." Charlie shuddered.

His phone suddenly rang and Charlie smiled. It was Don. He put it on speaker phone, "Hey Don."

"Hey Charlie. You alone?"

"No, Larry is here." Charlie said.

"Hi Don." Larry said.

Don continued, "That's fine. We've got a new body, but I haven't gotten the pictures back. So i'll just tell you the facts for now before I can get those pictures to you. Sixth male. red hair, straight. Around age 23. His name is Jacob Reilly. He's same height and weight as the others. Died from a blunt object to the head. This one is different though. No card... per se."

Charlie cleared his throat, "No card? There's usually a card on the victims belly."

"I know," Don said, "There is, but carved with glass. It says 'Perfect except for Curly cue.' I don't know what it means, but hopefully you can come up with some sense of this."

Don's voice was tense. The murders were getting more and more brutal as they progressed. The community was in an outrage, especially the gay community. "Sound good? I'll fax over everything as soon as I can."

Charlie nodded, slightly disturbed by the latest murder. Charlie responded, "Got it. Bye Don."

"See you later, Charlie." Don said, hanging up.

Charlie looked up at Larry and rushed to him. Larry's face had lost all color, and he was stiff, shaking. Charlie tried to pull him into his arms, but Larry squirmed away. He turned, grabbed his jacket and raced from the house. Charlie ran, calling after Larry. Larry was already driving away in his car. Charlie called Don in concern.