A/N: Another chapter of this...so far we're going a day at a time. Anyone who was paying attention in the first chapter will therefore be able to figure about how many chapters there are likely to be to this arc. Yeah. That's a lot, isn't it?
Timeline:
1. 'In the beginning' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 13 and 14) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
2. 'Neverending Conversation' Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 15 and 16) Rusty is seven, Danny is nine.
3. 'Trick and Treat' (Chapter 34) Rusty is eight, Danny is ten.
4. 'Matilda and the Werewolf' (Chapter 23) Rusty is nine, Danny is eleven.
5. 'Something more than it should be' (Chapter 10) Rusty is ten, Danny is twelve
6. 'The humiliation of Norris Carrol' (Chapter 20) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
7. 'Four Day Interlude' (Chapter 5) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
8. 'Remember the first time' (Chapter 4) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
9. 'Sunshine, smiles and sweet, sweet words' (Chapter 17) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen.
10. 'Lie, Cheat, Steal, Play' (Chapter 24) Rusty is ten, Danny is thirteen
11. 'View from the outside' (Chapter 12) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
12. 'When we were young' Part 1, 2, 3 and 4 (Chapter 25-28) Rusty is eleven, Danny is fourteen
13. 'And we won't get it back when we die' (Chapter 29) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fourteen
14. 'Walk before you can crawl' (Chapter 2) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
15. 'Other Nightmares Parts 1 and 2 (Chapters 8 and 9) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
16. 'Unseasonal' (Chapter 36 & 37) Rusty is twelve, Danny is fifteen
17. 'The more things change' (Chapter 1) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is fifteen
18. 'Different Roads' Part 1-3 (Chapter 31-33)
19. 'Words and Silence' (Chapter 22) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen
20. 'Six months of roses' (Chapter 18) Rusty is thirteen/fourteen, Danny is sixteen
21. 'Two stories with some understanding' (Chapter 21) Rusty is thirteen, Danny is sixteen. Falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
22. 'Life Lessons' (Chapter 7) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen - falls within time of 'Six months of roses'
23. 'The lies we live' (Chapter 3) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is sixteen
24. 'If the fates allow' (Chapter 19) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
25. 'This is our decision (to live fast and die young)' (Chapter 6) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
26. 'Such a perfect day' (Chapter 11) Rusty is fourteen, Danny is seventeen
And sequels after they move away!
'Adjusting' - two months after they leave town, Rusty is 15, Danny is 17
'Time to regret' - shortly before 'Learning Curve'
'Learning Curve' - eighteen months after they leave town, Rusty is 16, Danny is 19
'All in the family' - shortly after 'Learning Curve'
'Outward Ripples' - Rusty is 18, Danny is 20
'Eye for an Eye' - Rusty is 18, Danny is 20
'Chasing Echoes' - set after O11.
'Reconstruction' - set after movies.
21/12/1978
Danny was exhausted the next morning at breakfast. He hadn't slept well. New place, he figured, but he'd been plagued by nightmares, vague and indistinct, and there was no one there to wake him up and tell him he was safe and lie beside him until he fell asleep again.
There were other guests in the hotel, of course, and Mom seemed to have found the English-speaking contingent. The Merrivales, an older couple from Houston, the Falconers from Boston and Mr Brownlie, a single man from England, who was nodding with condescending encouragement as Mrs Merrivale complained that the breakfast menu showed a disappointing lack of good, old-fashioned American home-cooking.
"I just want some hash browns and eggs, sunnyside up. Is that too much to ask?"
In another time and another place, when Mom wasn't sitting right there, Danny might have pointed out that Nice wasn't noticeably in America and there was little point in complaining about things that couldn't be changed. Particularly when there was fresh coffee and brioche on offer.
The conversation turned to plans for the day and why everyone was here, and Danny found it easy to stay respectfully silent. He took a bite of the sweet roll. Delicious. Oh, he wished he could bring some of these back for Rusty.
Transpired after breakfast that there was some sort of organised tour going on. The sights of Nice, explained for their edification. Danny dutifully tagged along in Mom's wake and concentrated on being bright and upbeat and unobjectionable, but he found himself wearying of it after an hour or so.
This just really wasn't his type of thing. All organised and hurried along, and he liked history in school just fine, but he wasn't going to marvel at something just because it was over three hundred years old. He wished they'd throw in a few more stories.
And, inevitably, as boredom set in his mind started to wander. He remembered these sorts of tours when he'd been a little kid. He'd walk near the back of the group, with Dad, scurrying to keep up while Mom was away up front, sparring with the other tourists, and sometimes, if he was in a good mood, Dad would tell him silly little jokes and play eye spy, and once, when Dad had been particularly angry with Mom, and the tour had been dragging on a little too long, Dad had snuck him away for ice cream instead. Dad had made this sort of thing fun, and Danny carefully ignored the other memories of shouting and recriminations and times when Dad had snuck away and left Danny behind.
Mom nudged him sharply. "Daniel!" she hissed. "Mrs Merrivale asked you a question. Try to pay attention, can't you?" The embarrassed frustration was obvious in Mom's voice, and Danny shot her a quick look of guilt and apology before he turned to Mrs Merrivale and smiled politely. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I was miles away."
"I was just wondering how you were enjoying the trip?" she asked again, smiling back at him. "It can't be very exciting for you to be surrounded by all us old folk with no one your own age."
"No, it's good," he answered immediately, knowing what the right answer was. "I'm enjoying myself. Nice is very pretty and the history is so interesting."
"Yes, because you were paying so much attention," Mr Brownlie joined in with a little laugh that Danny disliked immensely. "What were you thinking about so hard, mmm? A girl I'll bet."
Danny just shrugged and he could feel Mom's gaze boring down on the back of his neck.
Thankfully the conversation was interrupted by an apparently excellent example of a 17th century church, and Danny managed to remain polite and invisible for the rest of the morning.
They ended up eating lunch in a little restaurant off a square, and Danny ruthlessly quelled the part of him that was tired, the part of him that wished he didn't have to keep playing to an audience, the part of him that had been hoping that Mom wanted to spend some time with him and him alone. That was just him being selfish and ungrateful. It was perfectly reasonable for Mom to want to spend some time with other adults.
"Would you like a glass of wine, Daniel?" Mr Falconer asked with a smile.
Danny blinked. "No, thank you."
"Oh, go on," Mr Falconer urged. "It's perfectly legal here, as long as your mother doesn't mind."
Danny didn't bother glancing at Mom. Whether or not she minded very much wasn't his issue. He'd just done enough drinking lately. "No, thank you," he said again with dazzling politeness.
Mr Falconer seemed to accept this fortunately, though he favoured Danny with a couple of strange looks. Apparently turning down booze wasn't the teenage way.
"So, Daniel," Mr Merrivale said, leaning forwards as Mom and Mr Brownlie whispered together. "What do you want to do when you grow up?"
Why did everyone always ask that, he wondered. He had no idea and he'd never come up with a good answer. Not one that he could sell with enthusiasm. "I'm afraid I haven't decided yet," he said with a gracious smile. "I still have a few more years of school before I have to make up my mind."
"Of course," Mr Merrivale nodded. "But it's dangerous to leave these things too late, you know. High school is over before you know it and then you're out in the real world and that's cold and unforgiving."
Where were they exactly? Siberia? He nodded like he was giving the matter serious thought until Mr Merrivale turned his attention to the food.
Lunch was lovely, there was no denying it, and Danny felt so stupid when he found himself looking at the panna cotta and thinking that was what Dad would order, and looking at the chocolate mousse cake and thinking that Rusty would love it, and he didn't know which dessert he wanted and he couldn't decide which he should have.
He asked for the almond tart. He didn't even like almonds and he picked at it moodily until Mom whispered at him through gritted teeth, to finish what was on his plate and for god's sake, stop looking so sulky.
He made an effort for the rest of the afternoon as the tour wound interminably on. He just felt so exhausted, and when Mom eyed him critically and suggested that he might want to go and get a couple of hours sleep before dinner, he nodded gratefully and smiled warmly at her before he stumbled upstairs and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
He dreamed of Dad.
A day long ago, the sun glinting on the river, and his feet were wet.
Rusty's t-shirt was in Dad's hands, and Dad was staring and Rusty was awkwardly trying to hide his back, his chest, his self.
"I fell," Rusty whispered hoarsely, the first words he'd spoken all day. "Please. I fell."
And Danny knew how things were going to go from there.
But somehow they didn't.
When Danny turned round, Dad's expression was frozen horror and outrage, and everything that Danny felt and no one else ever did, and then Dad was looking at him.
"It's okay, Danny. I'll look after both of you. No one will ever hurt Rusty again. I swear."
And then everything was better and Rusty's Dad was far away and Rusty was safe and happy and they were sharing a room and Dad's arms were tight around Danny, protecting him, proud of him, loving him...
He woke up and there were tears on his face and for a moment he didn't know where he was, and out of habit and instinct, he reached across the bed, seeking the comfort and understanding that only Rusty ever provided.
But he was alone and Rusty was far away.
He sighed and with the ease of practice, buried the hurt and the loneliness deep inside. He couldn't talk to Rusty...and he'd never be able to talk to Dad...but Mom was here and he was supposed to be trying to get on with her and that meant not even letting the smallest hint that something might be wrong show through.
Mom wouldn't be able to help and that would make her angry and frustrated and everything would get so much worse.
Mask firmly in place, he scrubbed his face, combed his hair, dressed for dinner and headed downstairs.
Yvette was standing beside the concierge's desk, animatedly talking to the woman on duty. She half turned when she heard the elevator and she smiled when she saw him. A real smile, he thought, not just a customer service smile.
He gave her a nod of acknowledgement that was cool and collected and a smile that was anything but.
She winked at him.
Praying that he wasn't blushing, he hurried into the restaurant.
Mom was already sitting at a table and she looked happy to see him. Happy and relaxed and that always gave him pause. It was difficult to know how to treat Mom being pleased with him...it was nice but it wasn't comfortable.
"Did you get any sleep?" she asked as he sat down.
"Yes, some, thank you," he answered politely.
"Good," she said and paused for a second. "It's probably just jet lag."
He didn't think so. He'd been exhausted all the time lately, and Rusty had been encouraging him to take early nights and even grabbing a nap when they came in from school. And even then he rarely slept peacefully. But that was stuff that Mom didn't need to know and didn't want to know. He was making an effort, that wasn't the same thing as sharing vulnerability. "Probably," he agreed, smiling.
There was silence for a time and then, as the waitress brought him a glass of coke, Danny managed to break it, talking about the things they'd seen today, broadcasting interest and intelligence and quiet respect, trying to be the person Mom wanted him to be.
Seemed to work. Seemed to work for the rest of the meal, in fact, and he thought Mom was listening more to him now than she had in years.
"I heard what you said to Mr Merrivale today," she remarked casually over coffee, and Danny racked his brain trying to figure out exactly what, and if he should be worried. "You really do need to think more about what you want to do with your life, Daniel. College applications are just around the corner you know. Time is running out."
Oh. Well, it wasn't like she didn't have a point. Just that he didn't have any answers. He shrugged. "I don't know."
"Don't shrug, Daniel, it makes you look common," she told him irritably. "You can't stay a child forever, you know. Very soon you're going to have to grow up and assume some responsibilities. You need to be able to stand on your own two feet."
He stared down at the table for a long moment. "I promise I'm thinking about it, Mom," he said in a low voice.
She hesitated. "Have you ever thought about law?" she asked, her voice far more gentle.
Only when he was wondering how many they were breaking. He looked up. "Law?"
"Yes. I remember that debate you took part in last month," Mom said, actually smiling proudly at him. "You were excellent. You're far more eloquent than I'd ever have expected. Perhaps you could make a career out of it?"
He didn't know what to say. Didn't know what she wanted him to say. He settled for a look of thoughtful interest and that seemed to suffice.
"At any rate, you should stick with the debate team," she added.
He'd quit the second they got back from Chicago, much to Julian Meadows' relief. "I will," he nodded. Not like she'd remember in a month's time. Maybe not even in a week. She never did, after all.
Was at that point that Mr and Mrs Falconer came up to the table.
"Oh, Barbara," Mr Falconer began. "A bunch of us are going out to the local tavern. What do you say, do you want to join us?" He was beaming and it was obvious he was in no doubt she'd agree.
"That's very kind of you," Mom said, smiling, gracious and happy.
"Unless you want to stay with Daniel of course," Mrs Falconer cut in. "I doubt they'll allow him through the doors."
Mom hesitated and glanced over at him and it was obvious she hadn't thought of that. (Him.)
He was supposed to be making compromises. Not being selfish. This was Mom's vacation too, after all, and not everything revolved around him. Besides. He was still tired. "You go on," he urged her, with a smile. "I could do with an early night anyway." That was the truth. He wasn't a child anymore. It didn't matter if he was alone. What would happen...he'd get lonely?
To her credit Mom still hesitated. "Are you sure?" she asked, watching him intently.
He smiled and nodded and she accepted that quickly, gathering up her coat and purse. "Okay, I'll see you in the morning, alright? Goodnight, Daniel."
She was gone practically before he had time to blink. He sat there numbly for a few moments longer before he headed upstairs to his room.
He went to bed immediately. There didn't seem much else to do, and he lay awake for a long time, trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest, trying not to think.
After a while he got up and switched the TV on, turning the volume right down until all there was left was a soft hum of indistinct voices.
He lay back down and closed his eyes and eventually he slept.
It was cold and dark when Rusty woke up and that wasn't right at all.
He lay absolutely still, not daring to breathe, trying not to shiver his fingers twisted in the blanket and in his head he was already considering door over window, trying to figure out where the danger was coming from, trying to figure out which way he should run.
The light had still been on when he fell asleep. He was one hundred percent certain of that. The light had been on and now it wasn't and that meant...well, that could mean a number of things.
Best option here, it was just a burnt out bulb.
Worst option...his hands gripped the blanket impossibly tighter, his fingers spasming, holding the thin blanket like it was somehow going to protect him. Worst option meant someone had been in his room. Meant Dad had been in his room. Been in his room, watching him sleep, and he hadn't woken up. The thought brought the scream creeping up in his throat.
He held his breath another long moment. Listening desperately for anything. The sound of clinking bottles. The sound of breathing. Any sign that Dad was there. Fuck, any sign that Dad was here.
For a moment he could almost see Dad, leaning against the door, cutting off his escape routes, waiting for him to wake up, waiting to shout and to shove and slap and punch and hit and hurt, just like he always did, could feel the weight of the thick hand on the back of his neck, dragging him out of bed, his face slamming against the wall, the spittle landing on his hair, and then the hairsbreadth pause as the fist drew back, the second as he struggled and fought and no matter what he did he was pinned against the wall, and the fist pounded into the small of his back, mashed into his kidneys, and his teeth were tearing into his lip, the blood trickling down his chin, and...
No. No, that had happened before...and fuck knows it would happen again...but right now there was no sign of Dad and he couldn't hear anything in the apartment.
He crept out of bed, shivering slightly as the cold hit him, and he made his way cautiously across the floor, reaching out for the light switch, flicking it on and off.
Nothing.
Dead bulb.
He breathed a sigh of relief. And here he was, getting worked up over nothing.
Still...
He opened the living room door gingerly. Total darkness. Total silence, which was more to the point. He tried the light switch here. Nothing again. Huh. Not just a bulb then.
Could just be a powercut. Or a fuse or something. He bit his lip and pretended, just for once pretended that he was the optimist. But it was the middle of the night and his feet were frozen and he was alone.
He put on a couple of pairs of socks and went back to bed. Maybe things would look better in the morning.
(Maybe he'd wake up in a world where he wasn't going to be on his own over Christmas, in an apartment without heat or lights.)
He hoped Danny was having a good time. Wished he was in France with Danny, lying on a beach or something. That's what people did on vacation, wasn't it? Sand and sea and warmth. Closest he'd ever got was Chicago last month, and that hadn't been anything like warm.
Wasn't the warm weather he wanted though. Just Danny would do him fine.
God, he hoped Danny was okay.
He closed his eyes and burrowed deeper under the blanket, curled up as tight as he could get, fighting for the slightest scrap of warmth.
He'd like to see the ocean some day. He bet it was beautiful. Vast and blue and beautiful.
He fell asleep, dreaming of impossibly blue waves and Danny smiling.
Was light when he woke up, and that was something. But it was still unfeasibly cold. And when he tried the light switch it still didn't work. None of the light switches in the apartment did, in fact, and none of the sockets either. Not the electric fire and not the kettle, and he gave each a look of deep burning betrayal, as he wriggled into the warmest jumper he could find.
Fuse box seemed fine and, when he leaned out the window and looked round, seemed like everywhere else in the building and in the block had power.
Fantastic.
Been a while since this had happened. The last couple of years it seemed Dad had been paying the bills on time. He'd figured that maybe not having to...take care...of Mom and her habits had made it easier.
Could be a mistake, he supposed. Some kind of administrative oversight. He hadn't seen any bills, after all.
Dad wasn't here right now and Rusty had no way of knowing when he'd be back. Could be today, could be a week. But if he came back and the power was off...it would be Rusty's fault. Because he'd had the heating on, because he cost too much money to keep, because he hadn't reminded Dad to pay the bill...didn't matter what the logic was, it would be Rusty's fault and Dad would act accordingly.
Alright. Maybe he could do something about it. He could try, at least. First thing to do was to find the bill. He hadn't seen one for a while. Certainly it wasn't lying around the living room or the kitchen anywhere.
He glanced at the door to Dad's bedroom uneasily. Oh. Not somewhere he wanted to go. He'd lived in this apartment his whole life and he hadn't been in that room more than a handful of times. The last time had been when they'd been looking for his schoolbooks, and Dad had come in and they'd been trapped and cornered. He shivered and it wasn't the cold.
This was necessary. He'd be quick. In and out as fast as possible and if he even thought he heard the front door, he'd run.
Gingerly, he pushed the door open and walked inside. There was stuff strewn everywhere. Not exactly the easiest place to find anything in. Now, where would Dad have put a bill...?
He spied a piece of paper lying on the bed and looked at it hopefully. Not the bill. Just a scribbled note from Joe, telling Dad about some magical opportunity out of town. Looked like Dad would be away till after Christmas.
That...he couldn't decide if that was good or bad. Yeah, Dad not being here was always safer, but Dad paid the bills. That was the way it worked. Dad paid bills and rent and gave Rusty money towards the shopping and the laundry, and it was fucked up but it worked. Meant he had a home to go to. A roof over his head, a room that was warm, clean clothes and food in the fridge – he didn't take that shit for granted. But Dad wasn't here and the electricity hadn't been paid, and he was on his own.
He still had to find the bill.
He found it lying discarded on a pile of clothes, torn angrily into several pieces.
"Oh, real mature, Dad," he muttered, gathering it up furtively and leaving the room as quickly as he could.
Five minutes and some sellotape. That's all it took to piece it back together and he was left staring at the total in bewilderment.
Three hundred and six dollars and eighteen cents. Three hundred and six dollars and eighteen cents?
How the fuck was it that much? How the fuck...
He scanned the bill instead and closed his eyes in frustration. Right. Looked like they hadn't paid for months. No wonder they'd been cut off.
Okay. He rubbed his fingers round his mouth. There had to be something he could do about this. He didn't want to spend Christmas in the cold and the dark, after all, and he didn't want Dad to find out about this, so there had to be something he could do.
Thing was, right now, he didn't even have the eighteen cents. It had been a tough month. Not much time to go out and get some money, and his savings had evaporated, bit by bit, and then the rest had gone on the jacket for Danny. And that was...well, that was worth it. Obviously. He hadn't seen Danny smile like that in far too long.
He couldn't regret any of it, just that it did leave him somewhat lost. He picked up the bill again and studied it. There was an address here. An office in town. Maybe...maybe he needed to go talk to them? Maybe there was something he could work out with them. Safe to say they weren't gonna turn the power back on just because he asked, but maybe he didn't need to pay the whole thing right away. Maybe if he went there with some money, made a token payment, promised they'd get the rest of the money just as soon as he – or Dad – could, maybe that would be enough.
Had to be worth a try, right?
And that meant that pickpocketing was the plan for the day. Well, it already had been. Just that he'd been planning on spending the money on food and stuff to do him for the next few days. Mmm. He'd probably still have to do that. Just...less. If he ate as little as he could get away with then he'd be able to save more money.
Too bad Mabel was away visiting her sister for the next couple of weeks; she almost always gave him more than he paid for.
He frowned; oh, that wasn't right. He shouldn't think like that. Was talking advantage of Mabel's good nature and that just wasn't acceptable at all.
Didn't matter; wasn't an option anyway. Mabel had told them about her Christmas plans and she'd sounded excited. Nieces and nephews to spoil and bake for. He hoped they appreciated her.
Okay. He'd skip breakfast. There was still a little food left, and the longer he could make it last the better. Might as well just go out to their usual haunts and rustle up some cash.
He worked as hard as he could all morning and it still wasn't enough. There were several rules, when it came to lifting wallets, and Bobby had taught them a few new ones last month.
Don't make eye contact but don't look away. Don't stand out but don't look as if you're hiding. Make the lift but don't touch them. Get away fast but don't run. Was all a clever balancing act. And the marks themselves...no one who couldn't afford it. No one who was in a hurry because there was no way of getting in their way without being noticed. No one who was just looking round because they might be too observant. No one who looked too helpless and no one who looked too dangerous. And no one who looked like they deserved the money more than he did.
This time of year that was a tough order. There were a lot of people shopping. Lots of parents with bags of toys. Lots of old folks with their frozen turkeys. Lots of smiling and excitement and anticipation and laughing children and he couldn't bring himself to steal from any of them.
God, he hated this time of year.
So the holidays had gone and brought out the best in people and now he felt like he was the bad guy for even considering lifting someone's wallet, knowing that it might just be the shitty thing that ruined Christmas. Fuck.
He pulled his coat tightly around himself, still shivering slightly.
He'd managed to get a few. The cold weather didn't exactly make it easy either. People weren't exactly stopping to window gaze and even though he was keeping his hands shoved deep in his pockets as much as he could, his fingers were still a little clumsier than usual. And, even though he didn't want to admit it, not having someone to watch his back made everything that bit harder. And after four hours of careful work, he'd made fourteen dollars and seventy eight cents.
Normally that'd be enough to last him a few days at least. Maybe even a week or two, depending what was happening.
Right now it seemed like nothing. Not nearly enough. But he figured it was time to move on from this place anyway.
That was another of the rules. Don't work one place too long. If a couple of people reported losing their wallets to the cops there was a chance that someone would sit up and take notice, and even come down to take a look.
Let's see. The office was over on the other side of town. Probably it would take at least an hour to get there – he'd have to take two buses. And probably the office closed at five...if he left now he could work the neighbourhood around of the office for a couple of hours. Not like he'd get much, but he'd get a bit. Every little helped, right?
Sneaking onto buses wasn't exactly easy. When he'd been a kid he'd sometimes been fortunate enough to get a soft-hearted driver who'd let him off in exchange for some tale of parental injury or illness. But the older he got the less sympathy seemed available. Nowadays he didn't even try. Instead he found a family with a lot of kids and followed them on as the harassed mother paid, trying to vanish among the crowd.
Worked for the first bus. Unfortunately when he tried to get on the second bus at the depot, the driver spotted him. He handed over the fare with a sigh. Might only be a quarter but right now he didn't exactly have it going spare.
He got off the bus a couple of blocks from the power company offices and started work again. At least the bus ride had given his hands a chance to warm up a bit and that made everything a bit easier. If his hands shook people would notice when he slipped into their pockets.
For the rest of the afternoon he found a convenient doorway to huddle in with a good view of the street. Kept him at least a little out of the cold and meant that he could just sneak out every time he saw a likely mark.
Trouble was this wasn't a shopping district. There were fewer passers by and most of them weren't actually carrying much cash. First three wallets he got had nothing worth mentioning. Pocket change. Barely a dollar between them. The last had a ten dollar bill and that wasn't nothing certainly, most days that would do him nicely...but he was still a long way off his target.
Half four and he stood outside the power company offices.
He'd been thinking how to handle this in between making lifts. Not like he'd ever done this before and it wasn't his name on the bill. They might just refuse to talk to him. Might insist on talking to Dad. That's what had him really worried.
Polite, respectful, apologetic and above all, just the messenger. That was the best shot he had.
There was a long queue and he stood quietly and patiently while it inched forwards, painfully aware of all the puzzled, questioning looks he was getting. Eventually it was his turn and he walked up to the counter and waited.
The man behind the desk – whose badge proclaimed that Mr Lewis was happy to help – ignored him.
There were plenty of times in his life when Rusty would be delighted to be ignored. This wasn't one of them.
He cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said softly.
Mr Lewis looked up and eyed him wearily. "Yes?" he drawled.
"My Dad sent me here to talk to you," Rusty explained. "Our power's been cut off and he was wondering if we could do anything."
With an impatient sigh Mr Lewis held out his hand. "Bill."
"Here you go, sir," Rusty said, handing it over.
Mr Lewis held the sellotaped paper at arms length, eying first it then Rusty disdainfully.
Somehow Rusty felt himself flush. "It accidentally got ripped," he was compelled to explain.
"Of course it did," Mr Lewis agreed mockingly. "It was an accident."
Right. Rusty took a deep breath. "I know we owe a lot – "
" – over three hundred dollars," Mr Lewis nodded. He smirked. "Do you happen to have it on you, little boy?"
"No," Rusty said evenly. "Dad was hoping that we might make some sort of arrangement? That if we agreed to pay so much a week you would be willing to reconnect us?"
"Oh, was he?" Mr Lewis sneered. "And so he sent you down here to negotiate the best terms. Why didn't he come himself?"
"He has a bad back," Rusty said immediately. "He can't really leave the house too well."
"Uh huh," Mr Lewis nodded. "And why doesn't he call us?"
"We don't have a phone," Rusty explained evenly.
"Or write a letter?" Mr Lewis went on. "Oh, wait, let me guess – he's not too good at writing either."
"No," Rusty said innocently and he was very conscious of where the door was and he just wanted to turn tail and run. The counter between him and Mr Lewis was some comfort. He didn't think that the man could easily reach over and grab him.
As if to prove him wrong, Mr Lewis leaned over the countertop, bringing himself closer to Rusty than Rusty felt comfortable with. He wasn't going to take a step back. He wasn't going to take a step back...
He took a step back.
"You should tell your deadbeat father that he's not the first one to try and earn sympathy points by taking his snot-nosed brat along to plead his case," Mr Lewis said scornfully. "But he's the first one who's too lazy and cowardly to even bother showing up himself."
Rusty bit his lip.
"And," Mr Lewis continued. "If he really wants to make sure his poor little darling children aren't cold and hungry, maybe he should try paying what he owes us."
The words hit Rusty hard. After all, Dad didn't care, but he did. Maybe this was his fault. Maybe he should've been more on top of this whole mess. Kept an eye out for the bills. Make sure they were actually paid.
Little late for might have beens.
Pretty obvious that this Mr Lewis enjoyed the feeling of power. He lowered his eyes submissively. "I'll tell him, sir."
"Good," Mr Lewis smiled, his lips thinly. "Good boy. Now let me go check out the details on your account."
He disappeared up the stairs at the back. Rusty sagged against the counter, fighting down the feeling of humiliation. This was...this was okay. The man had a point after all. They'd owed money, the money hadn't been paid...it was a pretty simple process after all. And if it got the power back on this was all worth it.
There were still people giving him strange looks. The woman on the other desk and her customer...he'd swear they were whispering about him. He ignored them studiously. Figured that he'd be a bit younger than the people they normally got in here. Or maybe it was just they'd all heard how much he owed.
After ten minutes or so Mr Lewis reappeared and pushed the bill back into Rusty's hand. "You can tell your father that we will not be able to work out any payment arrangements he said brusquely. "It seems this was the third arrangement that you've failed to keep up with. We will not reconnect you on the basis of worthless promises."
His promises weren't worthless. He choked back the sudden flash of anger with an effort. "So you want the full three hundred and six dollars, right?" he asked.
"And the thirty dollar reconnection fee," Mr Lewis agreed. "Yes."
Thirty dollar reconnection fee?....alright. Fine. Whatever. He took a deep breath. "How about if I...if Dad...brought you, say, half the money this week? Would that make a difference?" If they had the bulk of the money there, in their hands, surely they'd be able to see that his word was good. And that would be difficult, it'd mean working flat out, but if he was good and if he was lucky it might just be possible.
Mr Lewis eyed him speculatively. "That would certainly be looked on favourably," he allowed.
Finally! Something going his way at last. He resisted the urge to smile triumphantly. "Alright," he said with confidence. "When do you finish for Christmas?"
"The 24th at noon," Mr Lewis told him.
Two and a half days to make over a hundred and fifty dollars. That was tight but doable. He smiled. "I'll be back with the money then," he promised and he turned and walked out.
Okay. This took some thinking about. For a start he was going to have to walk home. That trick with the bus failed more often than it succeeded and he needed every last coin. From here it would take maybe a couple of hours to get home. That wasn't too bad. And he could maybe grab a couple of wallets on the way.
Also he'd need to eat. He was getting hungry. Well that didn't necessarily need to involve any money either. First shop he came to he wandered in and shoplifted a couple bars of chocolate and a bag of cheetos while the owner wasn't looking, and he ate half of them as quick as possible in a doorway. There. Enough to keep him going and he'd save the rest for later.
It started snowing on the walk home. That was just...terrific. Wasn't heavy but it was persistent and it was cold.
By the time he got back to his neighbourhood he was miserable, frozen and soaked through. He didn't go home though. He'd been thinking about that. There was still more money he could get tonight.
Bars and liquor stores. He hung around outside, waiting for the absolutely drunk, and he twisted in amongst the laughing and singing crowds, dipping his hand into pocket after pocket, trying to avoid anyone who looked angry, trying to avoid anyone who looked interested.
Didn't altogether work. A kid hanging around bars at this time of night was going to draw attention, no matter how drunk people were. A few times someone spotted him and grabbed out for him, laughing or swearing and he twisted away, not wanting to hang around to find out what they wanted.
And even after the third time he ran, hearing the raucous voices behind him -
"Hey, little boy! Why don't you stick around to play!"
"Come back here and have a drink with us, why don't you?"
- even after that, he moved on to another bar, shivering as the snow kept falling. God, he was cold. As long as he was sticking close to the walls it kept off him a bit. And he was only going after the people who were too drunk to notice him anyway.
Was about one in the morning when the streets died down and he trudged back home. He'd got about another twenty five dollars. That wasn't bad.
The apartment was barely warmer than the outside and of course it was dark. Fuck. He should've picked up some candles while he was in the shop. Why hadn't he thought of that?
He sighed. Tomorrow. He'd do it tomorrow. Right now he just wanted to go to bed.
As fast as he could he stripped off his wet clothes and changed into something dry. Huh. He still felt cold. He pulled on another jumper and a second pair of pants and crawled into bed, wrapping himself up in the blanket as tight as possible and he was asleep almost immediately.
He was back living in that alley from two years ago only now it was snowing and he couldn't get warm and Mr Lewis stood over him, holding Wolfy just out of his reach, scornfully telling him that if he wasn't such a deadbeat he'd be warm and safe and he could have his precious cat back, and then somehow Mr Lewis morphed into Bossman, laughing down at him, telling him to try harder, telling him to just pick a few more pockets, and then Mack and Joe were holding him down in the snow and he was shivering and struggling and he couldn't escape...
He woke up with a start and sat up quickly, shivering and staring around his room, expecting to find himself back in the alleyway.
Nothing here but his room and the cold.
Huh. Just a nightmare.
He wondered if Danny was dreaming. There'd been so many nightmares since Danny's father died. And now Danny was far away, and Danny needed him, Rusty was sure of that.
Danny needed him and he could do nothing. His fists were clenched tight, pressing against his temples. God.
He lay back down and closed his eyes and eventually he slept.