The Paper Knight and the Killing Tree
Chapter Four: A First Cut
Those dumbshit movies that showed some idiot getting stabbed and bleeding out in seconds, or vomiting a Colt 45's worth of blood were FUCKING WRONG.
It could take hours. Maybe a day. Maybe fuck all would happen.
The first time Billy had gotten stabbed, in his opinion, wasn't much to write home about.
He had skipped his third consecutive day of seventh grade to meet up with Sang Hoon, Marcus, and Javier to score. The deal went south, and it could've ended up a lot worse if Baya hadn't had one of his voice-visions and showed up to and even the odds. Billy got stabbed in the shoulder by a Mexican dickbag with a gold tooth, but he definitely won the fight when he roundhouse kicked him and knocked that gold tooth out. It wasn't even that deep, but everyone give him total shit for it. Baya, Javier, and Marcus all hovered over him like mother fucking hens.
Oh, and the fourth degree he got from his own Maman…she didn't let him out of her sight for two weeks. No damn exaggeration. She dragged him to school and back, and even had the school make sure he wasn't truant. He even had to go with her to each of her jobs. Having to wait in the back room of the club while his mom danced for limp-dicked Johns definitely drove home the point: 'don't get stabbed again anytime soon'.
The second time he got stabbed was far more of a shitheel of a time even though his maman wasn't alive anymore to read him the riot act. That was that time with Mei, Max, and the whole Mexican fucking standoff.
They came out on top in the end, when Baya again showed up like fucking clockwork. Sang Hoon, Baya and himself got roughed up, but it was WORTH it hunting them down. Bayani claimed he finally got a 'usable vision' that found the goons that iced Maya and made a cripple of Jerry. Bayani made him and Sang Hoon PROMISE they wouldn't skin the three of them and fillet them like Marcus' mother's Kwanzaa roast if he told them where to find them. Bayani could be such a buzz kill (that's older brothers for you), but Maya and Jerry wouldn't have wanted him and Sang Hoon slaughter them either.
If it was any other cops, Billy wouldn't have given a damn, but they were FAMILY and he OWED them. Billy paid a debt where debt was due.
Billy's pulse fluttered weakly in his ears. He winced hard looking at the half-decent, dark red bandage Little Hickshit wrapped for him. The hole still bled sluggishly.
This would be the last fuck-up for Loga: getting skewered through like a Turkish shish kebab by some rapey tree monster from the Evil Dead.
His fucking clock was punched. KO.
His right shoulder ached like a BITCH (classic sign of hemorrhaging blood loss). He was also just too damn weak, too damn cold, too damn fucking…Irréfléchi (thoughtless). Too damn...wu neng (incompetent).
Too damn fucking DIZZY.
Billy's vision blacked around the edges and he allowed himself to fall backwards and collapse lopsided down the ashy wall of the ER. His fires had burned themselves to embers and stopped their weird dancing.
'Go die in a fire Hargrove, and leave Max, Lucas, and the rest of us alone.' Harrington would get exactly what he wanted.
Billy had already resigned himself to kicking the bucket in this festering shit hole, but that didn't mean what he knew had to die here too.
If someone had told him yesterday that'd he'd trust Sinclair's kid sister with something THIS important he would have kicked their tonsils into their lungs. Hell, if anyone had told him that he would think of her as a comrade he would have used their arm for an ashtray.
Maybe there was a god laughing at him from his high horse that the only person he actually TRUSTED in that shitcreek town was a Girl Scout half his age.
He really had lost his edge.
"Big cityshit, get up! You already napped once!" He kinda heard Erica, her voice sounded like it was bouncing and echoing in his head. She got all up in his blurred vision. He didn't get how he could be so sweaty, and so cold at the same.
He couldn't blame Little Hickshit, he'd been motoring like a man on fire, save the quick nap, for a solid…four…five hours now? She probably didn't get that he was Samang. Mourant. (dying).
Billy grimaced as lolled his head up to meet hers, she was standing over him with her hands on her hips like he decided to just fuck off and take a siesta. Her trembling gave her worry away.
Goddamnit.
"This isn't a nap. This is the long deal, Little Hickshit." Billy sighed out. At least he managed to scorch the last of those El Caimans. Billy could sort of make out the charred remains of one of those human looking Cujos on the hospital floor. His knife lay in a pool of monster goo. "Grab the knife. Salgas(leave)." He ordered but she didn't move.
"Girl Scout has the hammer and the flashlight. He Man has the knife and fire. You go get it, I'll even help you up." She could be such a stubborn little bitch when it suited her. Fine. Leave a perfectly good weapon to get dull. Stupid broad. Tanga (idiot).
Billy got that she was just trying keep him moving. It…just wasn't going to work though. He could barely catch his breath. Once your breathing got shallow like this….it was six feet under o'clock.
He tried to reply…but a hack and a bloody wheeze erupted from his mouth instead. The filter of a fully spent cigarette finally tumbled from his lips and hit the floor in front of him.
"Cooooomme on, You're gonna get up. We're gonna get Greyskull, and we are gonna get ourselves outta here because I don't trust that freak Carrie girl at all." Heh. That psychic girl with the bad makeup reminded him more of Danny from the Shining. Erica tried again, this time taking his shoulders and shaking him a bit. Billy didn't have the energy to shake her off of him, which was a really bad omen because she wasn't even trying worth a damn.
"Stop. Arrête. zhùshǒu! Fucking stop!" that made Little Hickshit stop shaking him. "Don't trust Danny from the damn Shining with your secret, being spe—"
"OUR secret. Yeah I get it, 'Being special isn't good, it's a pain-in-the-ass, so don't say shit.' You don't gotta be a broken record like my teacher Mrs. Saunders. I got it the first time." Little Hickshit mocked him. Was this really his life? Dying in a fucking three-mile-island hospital getting mocked by a Girl Scout, he was a real badass.
"You suck at impressions, and I'm nothing like your fat laoshi." He didn't have the energy to really stop her from doing what she wanted anyway. "BUT. From what you told me about your mom, and from what I know about Steve 'white knight' Harrington, if they think they can get you out of here, they will." Billy's teeth chattered together. Freezing.
"I don't know if I want them to come or not…I do know that I want you to get better and take me to see Nightmare on Elm Street. You owe me." Erica frowned and crossed her arms.
"I don't owe you shit…but, if i wound up with an extra ticket, maybe I'd take you." Billy's hand shook as he dipped his left hand in the monster goop. He already lost all feeling in his right hand, and his left was almost as fucking useless. Shakily and slowly he scrawled out a phone number he had long ago branded into his brain. Little Hickshit scrunched her face at the goop, slick combo of his own blood and the Caiman they savaged earlier. Asqueroso (nasty)!
"Wha—" she looked down at the 213-555-7448
"Listen close, Little Hickshit." He fought a shiver, though he wasn't going to show it and bitch out even more than he already had. "When you get out of here… call that number. Tell whoever picks up, girl, guy, whoever. Tell them that it was Neil who did Ant. Tell the—" Billy coughed wet and hacked up some blood. Fuck internal bleeding.
"Bill—" Erica started but he put out a hand weakly.
"Erica LISTEN. You're the only one in this shit town who has, so keep it up, please." He could barely keep his eyes open, but he saw hers widen. "Tell them Neil killed Antoine Kabore. Tell them Hawkins, Indiana. Tell them about the signs Neil almost made us wear. Jerry will do the rest, he was a cop, good one. Don't say shit to that…Chief 'Ding Dong'." Lightheaded, Billy's head bobbed a bit. Little Hickshit lifted and held his head up. He appreciated the gesture though he'd rather chew glass than show it.
"OK partner. I'll call for you, but only if you wear the bracelet I make." His drooping eyes met her watery ones. She couldn't be crying over him could she? What the most absurd fucking NONSENSE was this?
Billy almost bit out to stop, that she didn't know him so she didn't get to CRY over him… but she did know him.
"Bien, mi amiga." Dios mios, Billy, could barely wrap his head around that the closest thing he had to a friend in Hawkins was a Girl Scout in grade school.
Erica Sinclair probably saw and knew more of the sane, REAL him than anyone else in Hawkins, save Max.
Max…maybe he should tell Erica to tell her 'sorry'?
Nah.
Like Max would want to hear it, give a shit, or believe Erica. Check all of the above. He scorched that bridge to ruin. Hell, Max could even be blaming him for her mother's husband kicking the bucket, even though that was a fucking favor. She'd probably hear that he died here from Girl-Danny from the Shining, and breathe a sigh of relief.
He couldn't blame Max.
Hell, no one in Hawkins would miss a beat. 'The big bad wolf who will huff and puff and blow all our little pigshit houses down is dead! Let's have the lamest party ever, grab the damn fiddle and let's have a fucking ho-down.' Que Soso (how lame).
"You're really giving up?" Little Hickshit asked thickly. Maybe he should give her back that purple hanky.
"Fuck off. If I wanted that, I'd have let the Poltergeist have me." He snarled.
"…"
"…"
"I can change your bandages again." Little Hickshit seemed real intent on wasting her damn time on him.
"Shi gan nang bi. Waste of time." He was. He was pagod, tired. Tired of everything and what did really have left anyway? Like Susan would keep him around. Like he could go back to LA like a stray mutt with its dirty tail between its legs. "Tired of this shit. I'm good. Well, I'm not good. You know, I'm a total fucking psycho. Auténtico Psicópata. Stephen King level of fucked in the head. This… fits, Little Hickshit. Just hideout, blind and tranq those Caimans and Cujo—" he stopped when she pinched him on the cheek.
Damn brassy tart.
"You're being a stupid pendejo again. Sure, you've done bad, but you've seen worse. So what if you get angry and really like slicing monsters up? You're really smart, and you still SAVED me when you didn't have to. I'll take you over those boring, goodie-two shoes heroes my egghead brother worships." Erica actually sounded like she meant all the horseshit that she just said.
"I didn't do shit. That goodie-two shoes Steve is gonna get you—"
"Again with that Steve guy, who cares…wait do you like-like him?! And you think they're only coming here for me, don't you?" Erica grinned like she KNEW a big secret but she was WRONG. But she didn't fucking get it. She didn't get that all those hicks either hated him or lusted after him, which he liked, but Steve definitely fell in the former category. She fisted her hand in the matted curls of his hair, but he didn't really feel it.
"Don't make me…." Billy swore he was about to finish strong when he yakked bile and blood across himself. Weak.
"Guess I can't hate you for hanging on as long as you could. I'm still angry at you, Big Cityshit, we're friends now and you're leaving me here ALONE." Little Hickshit's soft voice echoed around in his head. It struck him fucking odd that he'd be kicking the bucket with someone in Hawkins who DIDN'T hate his guts. Billy never saw it going down that way.
Everything began to slow down, murky icy and cold. The tingle of feeling shrunk up his right arm. He couldn't feel anything anymore and a small, sad smile crawled across his face. Finally, he could just LET GO.
She didn't let go though. She kept holding his head up, he could still feel her sticky, warm hands on the sides of his head.
"Not for long...Tranqs, got some?" Billy's voice was a raspy shadow of what it used to be, but Little Hickshit's rescue party would be here soon. He let his eyelids flutter closed.
He fulfilled his purpose.
He protected her from the threats foreign and domestic. He earned his reward to take it FUCKING EASY. It was enough, this life. He had some good times mixed in with the shit.
Sniff.
"Yeah."
Sniff.
"knife…." Billy could barely keep his voice above a whisper.
Sniff.
"You know, Billy, my Aunt Marion would totally like you….I'm gonna sing you something. Don't say anything. She'd give me side-eye if I didn't. My Uncle Josue, taught her this song before he…well you know. I only remember one part. And don't ask me what it means, but since it's kinda close to French. Maybe you'll get it." Erica's voice bubbled in his brain a bit. she was going to sing for him? And her Uncle?….oh yeah, that whacko voodoo priest from Haiti….
"Papaloko ou sé van. Pousé-n alé. Nou sé papiyon. Na pote nouvèl bay agoué." She couldn't carry a tune if you gave her a bucket, but neither could his Maman. The song...something about butterflies? Good news? Bad news? Wind? He didn't get it, but if it made her feel better then…fuck it…
This was…nice…
It reminded him of when he and his Maman would sit on the floor of their apartment and she'd hum while she brushed tangles out of his hair, and he'd tell her stuff like how Marcus taught him how to ride a bike, or how Bayani landed his first front flip. Or on his birthday when he was young she would always read him Le Petit Prince. They'd both wear those cheesy paper party hats, and eat chocolate Easter rabbits, peeps, and jelly beans for breakfast AND lunch. For dinner, Maman would always cook his favorite French dish, Tartiflette (couldn't go wrong with cheese and potatoes Ant would say) and Maman would put those little candles in Twinkies for a birthday cake.
Billy smiled and finally exhaled one last time to see nothing but a warm, cradling white light behind his eyelids.
five-ish hours ago
"I go visit my Aunt Marion in Oakland every summer for a month. I've been going since I was little and she'd take me to these protests and stuff. I saw a lot. I guess horror movies and stuff like that just don't scare me. It's not like it's real." Little Hickshit finally explained how she got into horror flicks. It had taken Billy a lot longer than usual to hotwire the pickup. Billy guessed it was because of the fucking ass-backwards wonderland they were in. All that really mattered was he started it because he wasn't in good enough shape to walk all those miles to the hospital.
If they were going to fight these Cujos and whatever else came at them, he had to get fixed up.
He also had an idea.
"Oakland, huh. That explains your hot-shit attitude. That place is about as opposite from Hawkins as you can get." Billy furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "I bet you saw some real bad shit go down. I heard all about the shootings in South Central." Billy figured her Aunt probably protested in those Black Panther rallies.
They had been driving for a bit now, and everything was the same dingy shitty black. Like that old Stones' song, 'I see my red door and I want it painted black. No more colors anymore….I want them to turn black.' Quite a damn literal interpretation.
At least in the pickup the fluff was kept outside, aside from the busted window.
"I don't have an attitude, I just know how small Hawkins is. My mom's family is from Oakland, my dad's is from Hawkins. My mom met my dad when he was at Oakland University, he's an ophthalmologist. They moved back here so my dad could take care of my grandparents." Little Hickshit babbled on. Damn, talk about a downgrade for Mrs. Sinclair. "And yeah, I saw stuff that I swore I'd keep secret…but I guess I can tell you, since you've seen stuff too. I saw my Uncle Josue die in Oakland, two years ago. My Aunt and I told my Mom that I didn't see anything, but I did. I saw his body." Erica fucking Sinclair just dropped a bomb on him. Shocked, Billy almost tore his eyes off the hell scape road he was gunning down.
"Gotta say Little Hickshit, wasn't expecting that." Billy didn't really know what to say. Maya used to say, 'Death happens everyday, but you don't get used to it.'
"He was all bloody and beat up when he came back to their apartment. It wasn't the first time it happened, but this time he fell asleep on the sofa and never woke up again. Aunt Marion said that he was jumped because people didn't like that he was from Haiti. My aunt moved to Haiti for a while and met Josue there, then they both moved back. Uncle Josue was super weird though. He would go around saying he was a vodou priest and could heal people. He and my aunt would sing traditional songs in his Creole language a lot. Sounds sorta like French." Little Hickshit rambled on, and Billy welcomed the distraction. Listening to her talk about her whack-a-doo family gave him something to do other than get into his own fucking head.
"Creoles can take all that religious stuff to the next level. Knew a guy with a family sorta like that, not from Haiti though. New Orleans. Voodoo creeps people out, it definitely didn't do your Uncle any good blabbing his fat mouth off about it." Billy put in his two cents before he realized what he had done. Were they having an actual conversation about damn voodoo of all things?
"Knew? Was it Ant?" Her innocent question spiked his blood and he saw RED. He whipped around to her, hand up, eyes set.
She flinched a bit. FUCK. He clamped his hand back down on the filthy steering wheel and turned his head back to the road so fast he saw spots.
He had no reason to get all bent out of shape because she didn't KNOW. Antoine's face flashed onto the smudged windshield, and it didn't sit well with Billy that he had begun to forget precisely what his face looked like all together. Il se souvenait ses yeux, sa bouche, son nez…
"Oui. Il ne s'en souciait pas. Cependant, sa famille le croyait." Billy answered, she better take the fucking peace offering or so help him…wait…THE FUCK HE JUST SAY?! God, his whole head must be short circuiting. Fuck this SHITHOLE!
"Oui is French….You speak French? What's pendejo in French? And that other bullhang word you said earlier?" Damnit. He really was just too damn careless. Well, fuck like it mattered anyway.
"Damn straight. You dished your dirt, I'll dish mine." Billy spat out like he planned it that way. "I said 'he didn't believe it, but his family did'. But pendejo is Spanish for asshole, it's not French at all. Bulhaeng is Korean for 'shit luck'. I speak those too." Billy bit out. He didn't like talking about himself, but he had a feeling that she would just pester him.
"You gotta learn all that in school in Los Angeles?" Little Hickshit sounded skeptical. Fuck she wasn't going to let this go. "No way, you're playing games with me."
"Games? How 'bout this for a game Little Hickshit, 'Two truths, one lie'. Guess the lie. One, my mother was from France. Two, I also know Mandarin and Tagalog. Three, I've shot people." Billy grinned, if Little Hickshit wanted to know him, it was gonna be on his terms. He also usually won this game.
"…Easy, last one. Your weirdo last name, Loga, it was probably hers right? My mom and my aunt had my grandmother's last name before they got married. Two, I don't even know what those languages are, but you said them too quick for them to be made them up. So, number three." Erica Sinclair was a sure sharp tart. He would have bet the bug-out money under the floorboards in his bedroom that every person in Hawkins would guess three was absolutely the black and white truth.
"Not bad Little Hickshi—" Something in the woods to his left caught the periphery of Billy's vision. He could have imagined it. He was trying his best to operate on Mei's level of paranoia and harness Baya's level of 'spirit vision', so he didn't think he imagined it.
Something was out there. Something FAST. Something BIG.
"Strap in." Billy floored it. He wasn't lying to Erica earlier about being the wheelman, he could maximize the potential out of any vehicle he sat behind. Neil's rustbucket-hillbilly mobile included.
"Another Cujo?" Little Hickshit asked, putting on her seatbelt. Neil's jacket was so fucking big on her it draped all over the seat, but if they had to bail it'd protect her well.
"No, the next guy up the food-chain. They're upping the game, bring it you ugly cunts." Billy lowered the gear of the pickup to third and the rpms went through the roof as the engine growled.
Billy whipped his head around to see El Hombre Caiman, fly from the forest and ram the driver's side of the bed of the pickup. The pickup bucked to the right and Little Hickshit screamed as the pickup nearly flipped to the side. Billy jerked the wheel, trying his best to not over correct the truck.
"It's climbing in!" She yelled and pointed. No shit, he could see that from the side view.
"Hold on, and fucking hell stop screaming!" He threw the pickup into second gear, revved the engine and flicked the steering wheel towards the Ditch. As fast as he fucking could, he spun the steering wheel the opposite direction into the other lane.
If anyone could make this piece of junk pull a bootleg turn, it'd be him.
The pickup truck skidded across the tacky pavement just like Billy anticipated and the El Caiman scrabbled on the side of the pickup. Billy floored it again, throwing the truck into reverse pulling a near perfect 180. Something under the seat hit the door with a heavy 'clink'.
Jiāyóu (go go)! El Caiman screeched as he slipped off and fell, getting his fat face run over by the pickup's front tire.
"Get fucked." Billy flashed a feral smile, but it didn't last long.
"Cooool!" Little Hickshit exclaimed like he just won the NBA finals with a dunk.
Billy's breath hitched.
Asphalt in his rear view mirror started to fucking ERUPT UP. Like Jaws through that boat, the road buckled up! El Caiman twitched and slowly GOT UP too. This was just not his day.
He kept flooring the truck in reverse, dodging as best he could the mountains forming in the damn street, while watching for more El Caimans. He couldn't keep this up without Little Hickshit's help.
"I said stop screaming, not stop helping! I need you to watch the forest, see if you see any more El Caimans, and fucking tell me if the one I HIT WITH THE TRUCK comes at us again." Billy yelled, voice hoarse and a hair higher than he intended.
"You're the one screaming, not me! Don't crash us!" Erica sat up in the truck's cab, and Billy fully turned his upper body to face out the back of the pickup. Now his full attention could be on road erupting behind them like it wanted to suck them down it. He wished he could get the pickup going forward again, but pulling a J turn with the road like this was damn risky.
Wait.
Did this…wasteland learn? Was it making the road do this because it saw he could drive like a madman?
"Billy it's still coming, and another one on the right, two o'clock!" Erica didn't scream, but she wasn't fucking zen either. He was juicing the engine, but even he couldn't keep this pace and steer well for long in REVERSE. "Those Caiman pendejos are definitely chasing us!" Billy sneered, those crocodile cunts were a distraction. This wasteland was trying to make him FUCK UP and crash the truck. He had to stay fucking focused so he could figure out what they were really after.
Too bad they didn't ha….the clink. Bourbon woman. Bourbon. NEIL.
"Little Hickshit, look under the seat, quick." Billy barked out, swerving hard, almost putting the truck on two wheels again. She yelped but he heard a tall-tale clink.
"Turkey whiskey?" Little Hickshit grunted a bit, pulling it from under the bench. Billy held out his hand and she gave him a look.
"Open it."
"Uh, no!?"
"Open it. I'm not gonna fucking drink it! Ju—" He narrowly missed another fucking CRATER.
"Stop ordering me around!" She held the bottle back from him like this was the TIME for THIS.
"NOW!" He shouted, turning his eyes to her, blue eyes locking on her dark ones. "Such a brassy tart, PLEASE?"
"Was that so hard? Jeesh. We're partners, you can't just boss me around." He heard the pop of the bottle opening, and Billy's gut shifted a little acidic in guilt because well, he knew that feeling.
He wasn't going to be NEIL to ERICA.
"Alright, Camarade, together let's show them who's boss. Firestarter merit badge time, take a scrap of Neil's coat, stuff it into the bottle then get the li—fuck!" Billy hit the side of one of the peaks of pavement, bumping the truck and almost causing him to lose control. "get the lighter from my jacket pocket and light the scrap." Billy lowered his voice to his normal charming tone, biting his lip trying to keep the truck on the road and distance between them and the gaining Caimans.
"Will this actually WORK?" She asked, but he saw out of his periphery her reaching for the scraps of fabric anyway.
"Seguro, definitely, because that cock Neil, along with that whackjob Hunter H Thompson, loved Wild Turkey 101. Proof that high will do the trick." Billy grinned like mad and threw a quick wink Erica's direction. He got Antoine's reading level up with Thompson's nutso book because like Ant would've paid attention to anything normal. He felt her small hand slip into his pocket and palm the zippo.
"So…when do I do this?" He heard the 'snick' of the lighter.
"I gotta try to J-turn this big-ass rust bucket back around. Your window will face them, so throw it at the Caiman that's easier to hit, or you think is uglier." Billy clenched his jaw, the erupting asphalt was becoming increasingly harder to avoid. Also, that turn that Little Hickshit told him to take for the hospital was coming up. He had to time this JUST RIGHT.
A soft, orange light lit up next to him. She got that polyester shit fabric to light nice and bright. Good.
"This is for Jenny Baker and Molly Mitchell who wouldn't let me play dodgeball with them." She sure sounded amped. Thank fucking god she wasn't bitching like Sinclair or any of those other geekqueefs would. Billy was also glad that she wasn't lecturing him on how much of an unbalanced nut job he was, like Maxine would.
"Now!" He flicked the steering wheel to the ditch then whipped it around back into the opposing lane. Little Hickshit's window lined up perfectly with the road.
DAEBAK! (jackpot)
Wait. Did Crazy Little Hickshit unbuckle and lean her whole body was actually OUT THE WINDOW?
He had a bad feeling, one of those 'Javier' feelings. Once he got the steering wheel evened out he chanced a look at Erica. Her stupid bitch ass was gonna fall out! Without much thought he grabbed his knife from his belt and stabbed Neil's oversized jacket through the seat to keep her in. At least he hoped. He couldn't hold onto her and steer at the same time.
"YYYYaaaaahh!" She yelled as he maneuvered the swerving truck another full 180 degrees. He heard the bottle break, saw the fire in the rearview overtake one of the Caimans. A fucking deadshot this one!
It yowled like his maman's friend, Tiffany, when Simone hit her upside the head with her own vinyl platform boot.
"Holy shit! Nice shot, Camarade." Billy laughed and whooped. He heard her yelp, so he quickly yanked Erica's calf so she was back fully in the truck.
"That was…AWESOME." He could tell by Little Hickshit's voice that the adrenaline was causing her to shake as she put back on her seatbelt. He was shaking too as he threw the car into neutral to double clutch it to first. Fuck maybe they will both—
An explosion to his left. Too close. He could see now what had been erupting the damn asphalt.
Roots.
"Putain!(fuck)" A knot of gnarled roots punched up through the asphalt, bucking the driver's side wheel up. He turned the wheels, he knew it was going to flip, but if he turned in the opposite way, it may land upright again.
He twisted his face to Erica, her dark eyes wide, and jaw slack in shock. He braced himself with his left arm and shoved her head down with his right. That familiar lack of gravity feeling kicked in as his side of the truck vaulted up and with a deafening crash and shattering of glass the truck overturned and flipped.
...
...
Crunch.
Billy didn't remember passing out, but usually you fucking DON'T.
-ly! Get u-hurt-" Billy groaned. His whole body had ached like he had taken a hell of a beating from Neil, but a new flare of pain shocked through his gut. Ano Ang (What the)? Did someone gangbanger stab him again? He grimaced and opened his eyes slowly.
He blinked. Everything was fucking grey and he was…in Neil's truck? What in the…
Fuck. The wasteland! Erica Sinclair.
Well, he managed to get the truck to land upright. Not a classic Loga fuck-up. Marcus would be so proud.
He tried to move but screamed high instead. A white hot brand of pain lanced through him.
"Gae-sae-ggi (son of a bitch)." Billy lowly rasped out. Everything fucking sucked and his whole body throbbed like he had been hit by a bus. He blinked again, trying to focus and let his head loll over to glance to the passenger side of the pickup. Little Hickshit had a flashlight on him and one hand on his shoulder, eyes as big as snowglobes. She looked…okay? She had a lot of blood on her forehead, but even small head wounds bled a lot.
That stupid hammer lay in her lap. How that didn't bludgeon and kill one of them in the flip he'll never know. Maybe she held onto it the whole time.
"About time you woke up. Don't freak out, but uh, you're hurt." She gestured down and then he saw what was causing him so much fucking grief. One of the attack roots had gone through the thin door frame and speared him through. It was about as thick around and long as a pool cue. Fuck. Mierda. Putang-ina.
He tried to move, but sheer AGONY slashed through him. Was he was pinned to the back of seat by the root?
"What Bulhaeng (shit luck)." He gripped rough wood with his hands, he needed to yank it out. Oh, this was going to be fucking FUN.
"Here let—" He cut her a look. He could do this on his own. He didn't need a damn Girl Scout playing NURSE. Knuckles white, he gazed down at the damage. He hadn't bled out that much yet, but it was gonna be a back-alley abortion soon.
Yi, Er, San… Jiāyóu! (1, 2, 3 go!)
"Yaaaaaaaaaauughhh. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit." He grunted and screamed like some broad in labor. The pain was definitely top five in his life. With everything he had, he pulled the fucking SPEAR out of his stomach. Liver. Somewhere BAD.
Billy, panting and groaning, tried to hide the fact that he was bleeding like a stuck pig, but it was a lost cause. Blood ran through his fingers like that one Thanksgiving his mom cut open that cheap box wine by accident and it gushed everywhere. He and his mom cracked up about the mess for a solid half-hour because their clean (for once) apartment turned into that elevator scene from the Shining. They also had Antoine and the rest of the losers coming over in like fifteen minutes.
This was more like the time Baya ran from the cops (again) and sliced his stomach open on a barbed wire fence he could usually free-run over no problem.
"See, definitely He-Man." Little Hickshit gestured with the hammer(no, he was NOT because he was about to pass out again). His body rolled in crunching waves of scalding acid. He couldn't catch his breath. PUTA MADRE.
A shriek ripped through the air. Caiman. Where—
"Behi—" He couldn't yell it out in time. It's scorched, creepy long fingers grabbed her and yanked her through where the windshield used to be. She shrieked high and swung at it with the hammer.
It had her.
Caiman's face split open way wider than Cujo's could, bragging about its barbed, swampy, snatch.
Not this SHIT AGAIN
Actually, it snarled, as if taunting him.
Oh, it was ON.
"Put me Down! Take that! BILLY!" He could easily hear her and the scrape of the Caiman's steps over the thrum of the engine and the blood rushing in his ears.
He rocked his body forward and pain rifled through his body, he could barely sit up, much less chase that infuriating piece of shit. Javier would know…wait. Engine. The stick was in neutral from the J turn.
The truck was still running.
"I'M COMIN FOR YOU." He didn't know who he was shouting at, Erica or El Caiman, but either way he threw the stick in first and prayed when he floored it. If the God existed that Maman swore existed he'd make this truck GO.
It did.
He let loose a genuine smile and laugh of relief.
The tires bit and chirped on the asphalt and he gave chase. Allons-y! (let's go!). Billy didn't have a plan per-se, but all he had to do was hit El Caiman without hitting Erica in the process. He gunned it hard and the tach redlined.
The hunt was on!
He was El Lobo Feroz, he was far more terrifying, far more vicious than that monster could hope to be. He was going to CHEW that Caiman up. He was going to tear his muscles from his bone for taking Little Hickshit and crowing about it.
He was going fucking scalp it, shit in its skull, and get her home.
He revved it into second and caught up with the loping El Caiman. Time for a good ol' American drive by! That nail bat would be perfecto right about now. His mind flashed to Steve Harrington with his stupid soft preppy smile and his stupid soft, brown eyes (ugh, not the time or place, Loga). Billy reached over on the seat and despite the truck flipping the knife was still lodged in the seat, with a lot of Neil's old Jacket.
Oh yeah, LET'S DECAPITATE THAT UGLY CUNT.
He grabbed the knife with his right hand, flipped it to his left, and reached out the shattered window. Yeah his shoulder might get dislocated, or something, but this was SO worth it. He had never done anything this stupid before for such a RIGHT reason.
It keyed him up, and he grinned with all his teeth like a PSYCHO.
This was so opposite of what he should probably be doing (Sang Hoon would have fucking struck him by now), but FUCK SHOULD, he wanted BLOOD.
He could have only three fingers, and he could still need only one hand to count how many people he'd do something this stupid for in Hawkins, and get this stoked about it.
El Caiman had her under his left arm like a fucking football and she was kicking and flailing like crazy. She even still had the flashlight and hammer and was beating him both with them! Fucking scrapper.
He remembered what Baya taught him, keep your wrist straight, commit. He swerved to the right side of the Caiman, which was hard now because the suspension was clacking and bucking everywhere from the roll. That snatch-faced sshyang (bastard) had scratched her up SOME and he was gonna make a jacket out of him for it. He floored the whining engine and right as he got next to it he used the speed of the car, edge of the blade, angled the bowie just so.
The Caiman turned to slice at him with his free hand but missed because Billy KNEW he'd pull a move like that. These monsters were just as stupid as those Russian coke dealers back in LA. He juked, recovered…aaaannnnnnddddd
THUUUUUUUUCK.
"ENCULÉ!" He bellowed out deep and laughed as the knife bit into the neck of the Caiman. He didn't get to yell 'get assfucked' in French that often anymore.
He almost lost the grip on the knife but with a wound that deep it had to be a seungli (win).
However, Billy also knew he didn't take it clean off because otherwise he probably would have fucked his elbow all up. He slammed on the brakes and threw the truck in neutral right at the intersection they were supposed to turn at for the hospital. Billy threw up the handbrake and shoved open the door ignoring all the protests of dull and spiking pain in his body.
Like a fucking Yaoguai(Demon), he stalked out to finish the job.
Time break some bones and slurp down some marrow.
"DING DING, THAT'S THE DINNER BELL AND GATOR'S ON THE MENU!" Billy shouted at the El Caiman, sprawled out on the road. Hickshit and she had begun to alternate hopping back from his sharp fingers and wailing on him with her hammer. He still had a limp, but it didn't matter because his legs had already carried him to his prey.
"Big Cityshit! We got him!" She yelled as liquid dribbled down is left leg, blood from that damned wound. It ran into his blown out boot making it squish a little. Still didn't matter.
"Sure did, camarade." Billy flipped the knife to his right hand. El Caiman's monster goop was spewing all over the place as he squirmed on its back like a horny slut on the asphalt. Wait. Where was the first one he ran over?
Scrape.
He heard it behind him and he twisted and plunged before he knew what his mind was doing. He connected with something, but he was swatted aside like garbage across the road. His body smacked the pavement and his ribs rippled out in fresh, warm spasms of pain.
"NO! Get up!"
"Shhhhhhhhittt." Billy moaned. His temple wound reopened, blood flowed into his eye. He couldn't fuck this up right when they were so close to WINNING.
He pressed his palms against the nasty pavement and pushed up. This was HIS HOUSE. HE was KING.
He forced himself up to his knees, but his body spasmed and he collapsed to the asphalt again. His body wasn't on the same level as his mind. C'mon….
Icy, spindly fingers gripped his shoulder and ragdolled him over the road to the grass. He hit on his back hard on the frigid dirt and tumbled. He literally ate dirt. FUCK LOGA, LEVEANTATE (get up).
He had lost the knife somewhere in the last throw and everything FUCKING SUCKED.
"Fuck…you…" He let out a small cry of frustration as he got to one knee. Maman wouldn't want him to give up here, Antoine would give him that look with his eyebrows, and Mei would just tsk at him and clean her nails.
He got to his other knee, panting chest heaving. Ok. Up. He bent down and picked up his knife despite the pain in his gut begging him to just lay down and die.
"You got it, He Man!" Was Little Hickshit cheering him on?
Future Leather Jacket One, and Matching Pants Two, looked worse for the wear (yeah maybe he did too). But, if Erica could keep Jacket One busy, he could carve up Pants Two that was hissing at him. He had spent his whole life fighting dudes bigger than him, he could do this. All he had to do was use El Caiman's own momentum against him when he lunged, swing around him, and sever his carotid just like the Cujo.
Billy staggered forward when a HEINOUS screech blared through the tree line on the other side of the road. Pants Two stopped his approach and retreated back. Even Jacket One that Little Hickshit was still wailing on, rolled, knocked the hammer out of her hands kinda close to him, and limped back across the street.
"Camarade, regroup over here, Huílái (come back)." Billy's voice cracked and he sounded like he swallowed asbestos. Erica, a bit beat up, ran over to him, she had lost a Ked sneaker somewhere. She picked up the hammer on the way.
She stood beside him, not cowering behind him. That would have surprised him if he didn't know her so well by now.
"What's happening?" She asked and he remembered the pickup. That hunk of junk was still running.
"Nothing fucking good. I'm gonna distract whatever is coming, alright? Make a break for the truck and get the fuck outta dodge." Billy panted and doubled over, blood gurgled everywhere. DAMN.
"Uh, You're a real moron aren't you? We're partners, pluuuus I can't drive. Pendejo." What?
"You're the dāiguā (idiot)! I taught you how to drive last sum… Oh. Nevermind." He taught MAX, not Erica. Was this some psychology bullshit or what? Billy didn't have time to fucking PSYCHOANALYZE HIS PSYCHOTIC MIND because some spider giraffe shadow monster just grew out from the tree line.
Now, this was nightmare fuel, Hunter H. Thompson's would write a bad LSD trip like this.
Terror tingled up his spine.
"Last chance to ditch, Little Hickshit." Billy breathed out. He was in way over his head. This had to be The Kingpin and there was no way he could stab a fucking shadow. Bayani would be saying he could hear its color and to say his damn prayers. Sang Hoon would be lighting a farewell cigarette, and Marcus would be unleashing Ripley, his stupid-smart Doberman, to bolt and find Jerry.
"This isn't a drill!" He gritted out, glaring down at little Hickshit to hide his fear.
She didn't budge. She held fast to his bloody, nasty wrist with her sweaty, sticky hand.
"I toooold youuuu, partners stick together, 'sides my mama said always hold your ground when it matters." She looked at him like she was talking about standing up to a bully or a debate class. He doubted this is what her mother meant when she recited that little PSA.
"FINE. Die here with yours truly." He muttered. The spindly, creepy spider giraffe shadow crept closer and Billy took one last sidelong view of the truck. It must have read its mind because the truck LEVITATED AND FLEW INTO THE FUCKING WOODS. It stayed lodged in an oak tree like a fucking Christmas ornament.
"Poltergeist!" Little Hickshit gasped and her hand squeezed his wrist tight.
"Got the lighter?" He asked and she dropped his wrist, dug through Neil's jacket pocket and gave it to him. He tapped out a cigarette out of the battered pack that managed to stay in his pocket (again how, he had little idea). He lit the cigarette and took a few shaky steps forward. He was not about to wait for The Kingpin to come to him in his own house. Little Hickshit followed suit and he unfortunately had to use her shoulder to support his weight or his left ankle would buckle.
The Kingpin wanted to parley or some shit or they'd be in the tree along with Neil's truck.
He put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deep. HELL YEAH. He could never give smoking up.
"JUST WHO ARE YOU?!" Little Hickshit pointed with her flashlight at the Poltergiest and it shifted around. Did it not understand English? Well, it owed him some fucking answers.
"What she said. Qui es tu? Quien eres tu? Nǐ shì shéi? Sino Ka? Neo nugu ni?" He tried them all, French, Spanish, Mandarin, Tagalog, and finally Korean. He doubted the fucking thing spoke any of them, but with how superstitious all his family was, save Sang Hoon, he gave them all a shot.
He took another drag when the thing shifted all around and lifted three of its…arms? Legs?
"Naneun manh-eun ileum-eul gajigo." The poltergeist's voice sounded like sandpaper over a wet chalkboard. Billy almost coughed out the smoke of his cigarette. Big anti-superstitious Sang Hoon would be SO PISSED a supernatural bitch like this spoke Korean.
"You got many names, huh? How about one be 'my thirsty bitch'? You've sure gone through FUCK ALL trouble to get in my pants. Too fucking bad though, jib-ae ka-seo ddal-ddal-i-na cheo chuhan bo-ji (go home and masturbate, you aren't my type, ugly cunt)." Billy's eyes lit up with the taunt and blew a smoke ring at it to be a prick.
"You can understand it?" Erica asked next to him and he kinda forgot that she would want to know what talking about.
"It's speaking damn Korean. Don't ask me the why, maybe it's because it was the last language I asked it in." The Kingpin was fucking with them, it probably understood English.
The spindly bitch didn't take kindly to his suggestion. With one of its arms it plucked the truck from the oak and TOOK A FUCKING BITE OUT OF THE CAB.
It dropped the half-eaten truck on the road with a deafening crunch right between the Caimans. HOLY FUCK.
"Naneun nae geos-i mueos-inji wonhae." It scratched out. That caused Billy's blood to chill to snow. Well, what was left of it.
"…" Billy inhaled shakily, he feared EXACTLY fucking this.
"What did it say Big Cityshit?" Erica tugged his arm a bit like little kids always did. Billy choked out another drag.
"It said, it wants what belongs to him." Billy mumbled, the tone the Poltergeist used suggested it wanted THEM.
"Well, you stupid pendejo, I don't know what you think we have, but we don't have ANYTHING! What I want is for you to take us home because you ate our car!" Erica Sinclair fronted tough as nails. She reminded him so much of Mei, but with less cursing and prissiness. She kept death grip on his left wrist that he had planted on her shoulder to hold some of his weight.
The Poltergeist made a sound like two stray cats rutting, but he knew a laugh when he heard one.
Then the other two shadowy arms rose up and its body changed into something larger, bulkier, with shadowy needles all over.
"It's a poltergeist, Little Hickshit." Billy whispered. "You know those greedy fucks only want one thing." His light lit up like a beacon as he pointedly stared down at her. Her eyes got big then hard like that volcanic glass you saw in museums. She grabbed his elbow and he shifted his arm off her shoulder to grab hers. They slid their hands down to the others wrists and did the pointer fingers then grabbed hands.
It came for them before Billy could say 'ready'.
The shadow bulldozed its arm down Billy's throat despite the cigarette and Billy shrieked. His whole body burst at the seams, like the fucking shadow was trying to over-inflate his blood vessels and twist his bones around his joints.
Visions of Hawkins, the REAL Hawkins looked like a war zone. Something Neil would be right at home in.
Bodies clogged the street, blood flowed in the gutters. Cars blazed on fire, buildings crumbled to rubble. Hell on Earth. He saw Erica and him standing there, only they weren't them, at least he didn't think so because bodies ringed around them like they were the epicenter of a fucking corpse explosion.
Erica's brother, a woman, a man, her parents.
Max.
Steve hot as this hell Harrington.
All Gutted, scorched, dismembered, bent, broken, Dead as four o'clock.
The knife in NOT-BILLY'S hand had brown and long red hair stuck all over the blade. NOT-ERICA had her hammer above her head, dried blood and kinky black hair was glued to the claw.
Was this freak showing him his PLAN? The Future?! Where was Bayani when he needed him?!
Billy fought a rising tide of panic. He might have done some shit in South Central, but he never did anything that and he definitely didn't want to be A MASS MURDERER. This poltergeist wanted HAWKINS, and he wanted him to be the harbinger of the FUCKING APOCALYPSE.
Billy's brain throbbed and the pressure built up around screams. He didn't sign up for this…. He couldn't handle this alone….The hand he was holding tightened its grip.
BUT.
But Billy wasn't alone. ERICA. Billy gripped her hand like a lifeline, it may as well be. He promised Erica that they were going to topple this Kingpin and that's exactly what they were going to do.
His tendons and ligaments snapped and sparked with pain and one of his cracked ribs definitely fully broke.
AND.
And Billy was the baddest, hardest PRICK in Hawkins, not this possessive, rapist ghost trying to deep throat him. NO FUCKING WAY. He was going to BITE THIS FUCKER'S DICK OFF. Mei had done the same to some dirtbag before, he would do the same.
His lungs burned and heartrate spiked and dipped and stopped then spiked again.
SO.
Billy did what Luc William Logan did best. Billy used every muscle in his body, rolling momentum from his ankles, calves, quads, hips, abs, traps, pecks, lats, and he let loose a roar. This big bad wolf was not going to be tamed, much less brainwashed by a freakshow phantom!
Like he'd be caught dead doing TAKING ORDERS.
Static electricity, like just like before a thunderstorm, surged from his body through his left arm to Erica. Showtime partner! Before his lungs collapsed from the vice-like clamping on his chest, Billy raged back.
Erica screamed something beside him so he chorused in.
"I'M THE KING, NOW BOW TO ME!" Billy's voice was all thunder, but from his mouth spouted an inferno. A blazing, torrent of fire jettisoned from his mouth that would Kurt Russel's flamethrower in the Thing to shame. The shadow shrunk and cried, and reared back damn quick.
Beside him Little Hickshit's hands and flashlight glared brighter than a fucking lighthouse. The grey landscape lit up so bright the trees lost their color.
"AAANNNNIIII!(no!)" The shadow's bulky frame silhouetted and almost instantly vaporized through the flames and light. Billy's flames finally petered out to smoke and the flashlight flickered dim. Billy's pulse raced, but the pain…everything for the moment had subsided.
"…"
"…"
"Whoa….did you breathe FIRE?" Erica asked and that was when Billy noticed the cigarette ashed to the filter in his mouth. Cigarette. Flashlight. Did that Poltergeist accidentally give them superpowers based on what they were holding?
What the actual fuck?
"Don't look at me, you can light up the whole Hollywood sign with your HANDS." Billy wondered how his lungs didn't feel like charcoal.
"You saw what I saw right? Lucas and my ma—"
"Not gonna happen. We won't let it. That Poltergeist is more fucking delusional than your brother is about life, or Steve Harrington is about Princess Nancy Wheeler." Billy stated it with enough conviction to make Erica nod.
He heard a growl, the Caimans!
"Oh, god, SUCK ME!" Billy decided to try and breath out fire like he did before. A smaller plume of flame erupted from his mouth, barbeque time! The Caiman, probably Pants Two, yelped and retreated back into the treeline.
Little Hickshit tried the same with her flashlight. Her hands lit up like a spotlight and the other followed his slam piece back across the street into the forest.
"…"
"…"
"Ok. Hospital. You're…a mess. And I'm still thirsty." Erica finally said. He didn't really know what to say about what the FUCK just happened except now he could breathe FIRE, and she could signal planes to land. With no car, he limped through the forest, and eventually the trees thinned out and there were post-apocalyptic buildings and gross shit everywhere. Luckily, there were other cars he could potentially hot wire including his favorite, an ambulance.
Yeah, yeah there was that ONE time on a DARE from Marcus of all people….wait.
"Hey, Little Hickshit, listen up." He called out. Whatever numbing effect on all the pain he endured, waned and the pain slowly ebbed back out. The bloody footprints he left on the sidewalk as a damn obvious clue that he probably didn't have long to live even if they stitched him up.
She paused.
"Whatever that Poltergeist did to us, it's our secret. Being special isn't good, it's a pain-in-the-ass, so don't say shit to anyone. Not to your mama, not to anyone. Same about what that Poltergeist showed us, you don't want to get fucking committed." Billy cautioned seriously. If someone knew she could light stuff up, they might use her for some sort of experiments. Bayani, with his hallucinations and visions, was brought in for tests when he was a kid, and they tried to KEEP him. Maya and Jerry helped Bayani hide from the scientists trying to pick him apart like a lab rat.
He also just knew from being mixed (even though he passed white), special wasn't fun.
She zipped her lips and threw away the key.
"I can keep secrets, like I told you. No one needs to know OUR business. When I get back, I'm making you a friendship bracelet by the way, and don't worry, it will be way less tacky than your earrings." Erica fucking Sinclair might be delusional too.
"I'll be the judge of that. I'm not wearing shit if its—" Billy coughed out hard and wet. Blood. A lot of it. The root must have nicked or pierced his stomach too. He hid the blood in his palm but he was fairly certain Erica saw it.
There wasn't anything to say though.
They staggered through the gaping, broken doors of the darkened hospital.
"First thing's first. Water and drugs." Billy blurted out. It was supposed to be a joke but Little Hickshit shrugged.
"Pharmacy is that-a-way." She pointed down the hall and he hoped there weren't stairs involved.
Fate was on their side. The hospital had a pharmacy on the first floor with the ER, and they found a water fountain with drinkable water. Little Hickshit drank a gallon of it. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until he drank too.
Little Hickshit opened the door and inside were sooty, dusty, hopefully NOT expired bottles and vials.
He needed two things. Well, maybe three. He willed his hands to stop shaking.
"Alright, whatever we did against the Kingpin and his bitches won't last long. They'll be back." Billy groaned, the pain began to really hit him like a freight train. "So, we gotta fight smart, not hard. The Caimans bleed, so we can use that against them."
"How?"
"Sedatives. Ketamine. I'll get the Ketamine, you can get as many insulin syringes as you can, 28 gauge needles, bigger the better. Don't ask me how I know, it's complicated." Billy cautioned. His Maman had a…bad time when Mémère and Pépère bit it. Ant did too before he met him. It was one reason why Ant and his family moved from New Orleans to LA. Marcus, Ant's cousin, was supposed to help him on the 'straight and narrow'…which was fucking hilarious considering what a flamer Ant turned out to be.
"Jeeeez, don't be a weirdo, it's FINE. You think at this point I care if you're a druggie or know one?" Billy snorted, yeah, Erica didn't give a damn. He maneuvered around to an aisle of vials and searched for K.
Eventually he found a couple vials of Ketamine and the were fucking current. He limped down a different aisle, his ribs and stab wound were really now fucking with him.
V. Vicodin. Wánshàn (perfect). He grabbed a bottle and popped two and pocketed the rest. When he did his fingers slid and hit that baggie of coke. Good. He'd save that for the finale. It was just then Little Hickshit returned with two baggies full of syringes.
"Got twenty." Billy threw out his hand for their handshake.
"Bueno, now…" Billy hobbled over to the counter and slid down the back of it…he needed rest…badly. "We gotta fill these to last mark. The trick…" He took one of the baggies and sliced it open with the knife and took one out. He flicked the cap off and plunged it into the vial and turned it upside down, pulled the plunger to fill it.
"The trick, is to get the cunts in the neck and push down the plunger." He continued. "This isn't the movies. If you get them anywhere else, leg, back, chest, it can take like five minutes for them to slow down. Neck? Fifteen to thirty seconds flat they'll be so high they won't fight worth shit. I know from personal experience." Billy really did have to thank Max for giving him this really fucking ingenious idea even if it was at his OWN expense. A dose of K like this should slow them down or at least make them see some shit.
"OK. Got it….you ok?" He wasn't used to people asking sincerely about his wellbeing. It threw him off.
"Malaki, just great, gotta….nap. Wake me up when they come back." Billy leaned his head back against the shelf under the counter and watched Little Hickshit fiddle with the vial and one of the syringes. She gave him the same irritated look that Sang Hoon would give him when he took his last cigarette on purpose. Or the same look that Harrington gave him when he would flirt with him in the cafeteria. Hehe.
"Before you nap, you owe me a two truths one lie." He did, didn't he? She smiled a little and filled one of the syringes just like he showed her.
"Shoot."
"One, my Aunt Marion moved to Haiti for a while because she got into trouble in Oakland. Two, my favorite color is pink because it's Barbie's. Three, a lot of girls in my class think I'm a bully, and won't pick me in games." His heart twanged a little, because he knew precisely which number it was that was the lie.
"Two. If you like pink it's not because a doll likes it…." His head bobbed to the left and his eyes closed. He was really fucking tired.
"Shoot. Thought I'd get you." He heard as he finally got some sleep.
…
…
"Big Cityshit, wake up and eat something." A hand shook him a bit. Normally he'd backhand the first person who tried dared shake him awake, but he was laying on his side and one of his arms had fallen asleep. He flashed open his eyes.
The first thing he saw was right in front of his face was a Snickers bar, and a thing of Twinkies. Hǎo jíle! YES!
"Vending machine." He glanced up at Little Hickshit and the second thing he noticed was she had cleaned her face off. She looked a little less like a hot mess.
"…er clean." His voice sounded like hot garbage. He grabbed the Twinkies.
His favorite!
"Yup, Cleaned you up too, and I bandaged your wound up as best I could. I have my first aid merit badge and 'to serve God, my country, and to help people at all times' is the Girl Scout motto. Soooooo you're welcome AND you so owe me." She grinned proudly. He tore open the package of Twinkies with his teeth and chomped down on both Twinkies at the same time.
"I difnt athk you fer shiiitht. I oh nuffin." Billy's mouth was full of soft sponge cake and sweet cream. He didn't eat these really anymore, didn't fit his diet. When he looked down at his stomach, there was a gauze patch over the wound and it was already dark red. Outcome for him was not looking too sunny.
"Ew! Who eats Twinkies like that?!" She pinched her face up and he smacked his lips. "Don't chew with your mouth open, ugly cow." She sassed.
"Me u Pifg" He taunted back.
"You're the one stuffing your face and eating Twinkies WRONG! Boys are so gross and stupid." Well, he couldn't argue with that.
"uu camt eat twiniees wron!" He finished off the Twinkies and moved onto the snickers.
"Uh. Yeah you can. Everything about that was wrong. Illegal. That's probably the worst law you broke, Twinkie law." She sighed deep and plopped down next to him. He wolfed the snickers down too and rocked up to sit.
"I bet that 'Ding Dong' Chief of Hawkins police would find a way to arrest me for it too." Billy chuckled even though it rocked his ribs. He couldn't resist the pun even though it wasn't his humor. Sang Hoon loved puns. His temple itched and when he scratched it he felt a big Band-Aid. She was probably the first person to bandage him up since Ant.
"…You lost right to retain Sno-balls…" Little Hickshit laughed out and damn she could be witty.
"…any Zingers will be used against you in a court of law." He continued, laughing hard and deep and smiling wide and true. His ribs really fucking did hurt this and the bandage bled out more. Worth it. Now, he needed his post meal cigarette.
"When you aren't so angry, you can actually be funny." Little Hickshit messed with her socked foot. Never found that shoe.
"When you aren't so difficult, so can you." He admitted with a shrug and tapped another cigarette and lit it. Six left. He exhaled carefully to not flamethrower the pharmacy.
"Oh yeaaaaaah." He side eyed Little Hickshit. "Don't smoke. And don't do what I'm about to do either." Billy was about to shift to reach his little baggie of coke when that all too familiar shriek ripped through the air.
Those stupid fucks came finally back for dessert.
They eyed each other as she passed him a tranq.
"I'm gonna get out there and roast em. You strobe em next then we tranq em, ok? I'm gonna turn these putas…bitches… into gumbo." Billy winced as he stood working whatever blood he had left back into his legs. His body still ached everywhere despite the Vicodin, but he had work to do and he couldn't pop any more without feeling off.
"You can be really weird." She shook her head, but she went for their handshake anyway.
"You got no idea, sweetheart." Billy flashed a grin and snapped his jaw.
He hobbled to the door of the pharmacy and looked out the smudged window. Two of them, they probably followed his damn trail of BLOOD.
He opened the door, inhaled deep and when they spread their toothy cunts at him he exhaled deep and strong. Flames filled the hallway and he sprayed. They took the ceiling but he definitely got one good.
They screeched and shrieked when Erica came up from behind him and turned on her flashlight to blind the entire hallway in light. They curled up and screamed. Billy summoned the last bit of his energy and marched down the hall, bum leg and all, and little Hickshit sprinted past him to fucking jam one of the squirming Caimans in the neck with the syringe and press down before it backhanded her across the hall. Her head hit the wall pretty hard. DAMN. He finally got to his Caiman and stabbed that fuck right in the carotid and pressed down.
Nighty fucking Night.
The other Caiman got up and he twisted his head to exhale in Jacket One's direction while he fumbled with the knife to eviscerate Pants Two he was kneeling over. His whole chest lanced and cracked in pain but he just had to hold out. He had POWER now, he had to fucking make a STAND.
He hacked at the Caiman's throat below him. Over and over.
The walls and floor began to catch fire, good. He stabbed the Caiman below him again in the gut and carved up and over. Where was this fucker's heart? He wanted to take a BIG BITE OUT IT like the Poltergiest did the pickup. Pants two below him wasn't moving much, but he each time he tried to grapple him, Billy hacked at its fingers. Sliced three off already.
"Erica, move if you…" She rubbed her head and he could that it fucking hurt, but she was a trooper. She got up and raised her hammer.
Jacket One, the Caiman he just charbroiled began to slow down and sway from side to side. Erica blinded him again with her light and his skin started to actually bubble from the inside out. She got her hammer, and hauled ass over to him and began WAILING on him like Michel fucking Myers.
Billy used the rest of his cigarette to blow a fire ring down at his Caiman just to see if he could.
Eventually, despite the pain in his body, his Caiman stopped moving. Then Erica's. The hospital was still sort of on fire, but for whatever reason HIS fire didn't smoke or choke them out, it just sort of…danced.
"…"
"…"
Billy moved to the side of the nasty body and collapsed, eyes closed. He let the knife clatter to the goo coated floor. He had lost feeling in his feet and legs a while ago…his internal bleeding had leeched out of control for too long.
"Big Cityshit!" Erica scampered to his side, but before she could say anything else everything went silent.
"Hello." Billy opened his eyes with a start. That was NOT Erica's voice.
He was laying down in some sort of liquid room…Erica was standing in front of him, one hand fisted on her hip the other…out in front of her. Her legs were planted wide, as if protecting or shielding HIM.
"Who the hell are you?" Whoa. It was the first time he heard her curse. He struggled to get up but if he were to be honest, it probably wouldn't happen. What was going ON?
"I'm El. I'm a friend." Billy managed to get himself propped up on an elbow and saw…Danny from the Shining? No…that couldn't be right…a girl. Some girl with worse hair than Little Hickshit's.
"I don't know you. You aren't a friend of mine, and for all I know, you're with the Poltergeist and the Caimans. If you mess with me or my partner, He Man, you're gonna get it." Little hickshit had the syringes out and the hammer.
"Partner? He Man? Billy. Loga." She looked confused, but he was definitely more confused.
"How the fuck do you know that name? Did you get in my head? Fess up, freak." Billy scrabbled around for his knife. This was some sort of trap. The knife next him spun and skittered through the liquid across the room.
She did that!
"YOU ARE WITH THE POLTERGIEST! LIAR!" Erica hollered. Oh shit. Girl Scout was PISSED.
"No, friends don't Lie! Lucas and Steve are my friends. I am helping them. We will bring you back from the Upside-Down." The girl looked like she was telling the truth but there was something wrong with her. Like she was part retarded. Maybe she was like Bayani. He also didn't get how she knew his name. Only Susan and Max knew it and he would have no idea why they'd bring it up because one: it was TABOO, two: why did it matter?
"Friends with preppy, pretty White Knight, Steve Harrington, huh? Never seen you around." Billy wasn't quite buying it yet. He had never seen her around the arcade with Max or at one of the geekqueef's houses.
"I hide." So, like Baya, maybe. "Steve is worried. Scared. He will come." She turned her creepy blank gaze to Erica. "Your mama, Hop, and I are coming too. We will bring you home." She insisted. He didn't know who she was, or who 'Hop' was, but he definitely believed that Vivian Sinclair and Steve Harrington would fight tooth and nail to get Erica back home.
Wait. This was Wánshàn. Perfect!
If Little Hickshit had a rescue party coming for her, all he had to do was help her hide from the Poltergeist until Steve and his hair…and that skin…and the way the water from the shower rolled down abs to his hips and over his little, but well rounded ass…
Viens, Loga, sors ta tête du jeu. (Come on, Loga, get your head in the game)
"We don't need help. We can come back on our own. You don't even kno—" He cut Erica off. She got too defensive like Mei too.
"If Harrington wants to come for her, tell him he better show as King Steve—" Billy coughed up some black blood. Bile. Máo (Gross). "Not that pussy he is now."
"You're…not OK." The girl said. No he wasn't.
"What the FUCK do you CARE?" He snarled. Fuck her.
"I got this, Big Cityshit." Erica said to him then turned to the girl. "You, weirdo friend of my brother's, Carrie, with bad hair and worse makeup, tell my mom that Billy needs a doctor. Girl Scouts don't give out surgery merit badges. And tell her I won't eat another asparagus casserole if she doesn't let him come over." Only Erica Sinclair would demand something of a girl who can throw things with her mind. But, in what world would Vivian Sinclair let him play with her daughter?
"A compromise. I understand. I have to go, it's found me." And with she, along with the black liquid disappeared and they were back in the hospital.
"…"
"I don't like her. If she's friends with my brother then her head is probably filled with all that fantasy nerd stuff. She probably has one of those stupid walkies that chubby one blabbers on." She crossed her arms and it annoyed Billy that he knew which geekqueef she was talking about, the cabbage patch kid that latched onto Harrington like a fan boy. He crawled to a standing position. he still couldn't really feel his legs. They had to get….cover….
"Yeah, me neither. She's fucked in the head or somethi…." The floor tilted on him, he stumbled and swayed. His body shocked in pain and Billy just filled with anger and a bit of resignation. The irony of dying in a hospital wasn't lost on him.
Present Time
Billy smiled and finally exhaled one last time to see nothing but a warm, cradling white light behind his eyelids.
The warmth spread through his temples like a sunny day on the beach. The agony slipped and dimmed and the feeling came back to his legs and fingers. The stinging, lancing pain in his gut faded out finally and Billy sucked in air through his nose and filled his lungs. His ribs didn't hurt…and his ankle and the stab wound...there was hardly any pain at all.
His eyes flashed open and he saw Little Hickshit's eyes wide, and her breath blew out raggedly. Her hands were glowing, but not that crazy bright light, but a nice warm rainbow glow, like a gay pride lava lamp.
"You owe me a ticket to Nightmare on Elm Street aaaannnd a bag of peanut M&M's." Erica Fucking Sinclair smirked so bright her hands stopped glowing. Ugh, debt is a debt.
"Fine. Tu ganes, you win, Girl Scout...I think your whacko Uncle Josue was right on the money about the voodoo priest healing." Billy murmured. He lifted his shirt in amazement, his wound was gone, no scar, and the bruises that peeked out from under his bandages from Neil were faded too. He could play a two on two basketball game and still have energy to pump iron.
"I guess so. Too bad Aunt Marion couldn't wake him up like I did you." Erica yawned. "Now, I need the nap." Erica Sinclair just gave him a new lease on life. He'd actually carry her like White Knight Steve Harrington to the pharmacy and tell her the bedtime story of when he stole an ambulance for that.
Notes:
Whaaaaaaaaaat.
Ok, so this was A LOT. Again this was a lot of plot and a lot of character set up and building. Obviously we are seeing a softer side of Billy here because he doesn't really have anything to prove, he is just trying to get Erica out. (and sort of confusing her for Max, at some parts showing might be what has with Erica may have been what he originally wanted him and Max to have together)
And yes, Twinkies. Because this chapter needed some damn humor.
Also. Yes, super powers because I can. I love El, but she shouldn't have to hog all the super powers. I tried to breadcrumb this in with Will being a bit...intuition/clairvoyant, but he isn't as strong because he was alone when he went up against the Mind Flayer, and this is a different sort of Evil and Erica and Billy fought it off together.
Also, Erica being protective and defensive of Billy is cute, and I like it. This does not mean that El and Erica will never be friends.
Also, keep in mind that just because Billy is 17 years old, does not mean that Bayani, Antoine, and Marcus were all the same age as him. As the story progresses you begin to figure out the ages of his friends, and that they are also a bit protective of him because he is one of the younger people in his 'family'.
And remember, Maya and Baya are different people. You'll find out more about Jerry and Maya and what happened with Max, Mei and all of that later.
And yes, more information about mysterious Bayani! hehehe!
Also, Billy ate Easter candy on his birthday because he was born on an Easter Sunday and it became tradition. *symbolism*
Also, they mean partners like, partners in crime, not 'life partners'. Erica does not and will never have a crush on Billy. NOT EVEN SORRY.
I feel I am pretty crap at writing El. I am trying to get her vernacular down and to be honest, I am not even sure what she calls hop...so I just had her say Hop. If this is canon inaccurate I apologize. I tried to research it but I didn't really find anything. Also yes, Billy knows who Hop is, but doesn't know him by that name, or his name. This will be a joke later. Erica doesn't really address it because it's not on her mind.
Also, the song that Erica sings is a traditional Haitian song sung in Hatian Creole called Papaloko. The version sung by Toto Bissainthe is here:
/gGoLiAWJGsk
Song meaning, as best as I found is here:
Papaloko, you are the wind - That comes and goes - we are butterflies - The new features bring to Iemanjá - And whatever you say good - I expound And whatever you say bad - I expound - Papaloko, you are the mother - That comes and goes - we are butterflies - The new features bring to Iemanjá - Speak Papaloko, many words - Coming and going - we are butterflies - The new features bring to Iemanjá
Also, next chapter, rescue party arrives and they have WORK to do. Poor Steve. If you think the Caimans (demigorgons) are the biggest thing they are going to fight, you'd be WRONG! Muahahahahahaha
That's it for my rambly author's note
Hope you enjoyed it!
:)