A/N: Eighth piece of advent fic! Can I have an 'oooh'?
A/N2: This chapter is for ParisAmy, for translating the French for me. Much thanks!
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, 38, 39 & 40) 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.
24th December 1978
Danny woke up early again after another series of nightmares left him on edge and uneasy. He couldn't remember the details, only the feelings. Loss and loneliness, vulnerability and fear.
He was awake from five and he got up and dug through his case until he found his history book and settled himself down at the table to write an essay. If he was going to be awake anyway he might as well use his time productively. It was due the week he got back, and he might not care so much about deadlines, but the teachers were losing patience with homework not being handed in, and he was well past the point of letting Rusty do both their homework.
No, he'd do something. Just that he didn't care if it wasn't his best work, and he leafed through the book moodily until it was well and truly morning, and noise started filtering through from outside.
He was listening for it and it was around eight that he heard the door of the room next door open, heard Mom's footsteps in the corridor. She stopped outside his door, just for a second. Then she kept walking. He honestly couldn't say if he was relieved or disappointed.
When she was angry with him, after the initial outpouring of rage and vitriol, she tended to ignore him. In fact, she tended to want him as far away as possible. Out of sight, out of mind, and in his more cynical moments he might question just how different that really was from the way she thought of him the rest of the time.
Still it suited him just fine. Not like he had any particular desire to see that look of contempt and disappointment again. If she wanted to ignore him for the rest of the holiday, that was okay with him.
Tomorrow was Christmas...
So what if tomorrow was Christmas? What did he expect? That she'd hug him and tell him she was proud of him, that he was a good son? That just wasn't gonna happen.
This whole vacation was a waste of time. All his thoughts of making an effort, of trying to be the kid she wanted, of trying to form some kind of connection...he must've been crazy. She wasn't interested. She didn't think he deserved it. She didn't think he was worth it.
(She made him feel so small.)
Really, he'd be a hundred times better off if he just cut his losses. Accepted that he would never win her over.
In his head, he saw Rusty smile. If he could do that, he'd be a different person.
Still, for today, he'd forget all about Mom.
He couldn't wait to see Yvette.
Really, he wasn't sure just where this was going, but it seemed to be heading there fast. He'd never felt this way about a girl before.
Oh, he'd dated before, naturally. A few kisses at the movies, a little bit of fumbling around under the bleachers with Ruth, and everyone's clothes stayed on, and no one considered taking it further.
This...this felt like it might just be heading somewhere altogether different. And he didn't know whether to be excited or terrified, and he wanted to tell Rusty everything that had happened, wanted to know what Rusty thought.
Do you think you're too dependent on Robert? Mom's voice echoed in his mind, and he scowled and shoved the thought away.
Wasn't true. It wasn't dependency, it was need. Trust. Above all else, it was mutual. He trusted Rusty like he trusted himself, and when he needed answers, when something mattered, he wanted to see it through Rusty's eyes.
Only that wasn't a possibility right now. Right now he was on his own.
He sighed and turned back to his homework and scribbled nonsense about the industrial revolution until it was time to leave.
The cafe was nearly empty and he nodded to the waitress and ordered an espresso while he waited and sat down and tried to concentrate on being awake.
She walked in a few moments later, wearing a red dress under his leather jacket.
"It looks good on me, n'est-ce pas?" she asked, after they were done kissing their hellos.
"It does," he said honestly. "I'm gonna need it back though."
"Really?" She pouted slightly, fingering the collar lightly. "But it is so nice."
"Sorry," he said, and he was, but Rusty had given him the jacket and he couldn't just give it away. Not even to her.
She grinned. "Ah, well. Perhaps you can buy me something pretty to replace it, yes?"
"Perhaps I will," he smiled dazzlingly. "For a start, I'm going to buy you brunch."
"Ooh," she said obligingly, her smile wide.
Grandly he ordered a selection of coffee, pastries and fruit, and they stayed in the cafe for the rest of the morning, talking and giggling, and kissing like lovesick teenagers.
"So what would you like to do today?" Danny asked presently, looking at her over his third cup of coffee.
"I do not know," she said with an elegant shrug. "Ma mere wished me to work this afternoon."
"Oh," he said disappointed.
She looked at him fixedly. "I told her I would not. I told her I had other plans."
"Oh," he said again, his tone entirely different, and the smile burst out of him.
"She was not pleased," Yvette added, scowling slightly. "She asks too much of me. This is my time off and I wish to enjoy it. She called me selfish and ungrateful. Do you think that I am?"
She looked quietly worried, and with the memory of all the times that he'd heard Mom throw those same words at him playing through his mind, he gave the same answer that Rusty gave him each time he silently asked the same question. "No, of course you're not," he said firmly.
"Good," she said softly. "She keeps telling me that now that Dad has gone I have to be more responsible. But I want to have fun."
"Just because you're having fun doesn't mean you're not being responsible in other ways," Danny pointed out. "Your Mom should remember that."
After all they had plenty of fun, but as far as Danny could see, they had responsibilities that no one else ever seemed to notice.
"Exactly," Yvette nodded triumphantly. "I do my school work. I go to class on time...usually, anyway. And I do work for her all the time and I never complain. Why won't she see that?"
"Adults aren't very good at noticing things," Danny told her truthfully.
She sighed and reached a hand out across the table. "I am sorry. You did not come here to listen to me complaining."
"I don't mind at all," he said softly. "I just want to spend time with you."
"Me as well," she said, squeezing his hand gently, and for a few more moments they sat in comfortable, wonderful silence. "Let's go into town," Yvette suggested suddenly. "I'll show you around some more. We can go to the shops and you can buy me something pretty."
"Of course," he grinned gallantly. "I'll just take care of the bill first."
She shot him a look that was bright with mischief. "Or we could just sneak out," she suggested.
He blinked, genuinely surprised. "I've got the cash," he told her.
"That isn't the point though," she answered impishly. "Come on. You might be a bad boy but I've never done anything like this before." The intrigue and the excitement rippled through her voice and Danny felt the heat suffusing through him.
Still he hesitated. "Thing is," he said. "When you stiff places on the bill, often they take it out of the waitresses pay check. And that's not right."
She frowned. "That bothers you?"
"Yes," he said simply. "It's not fair. They need money too."
The smile was soft and thoughtful. "You are a strange boy, Danny. I have never met anyone like you before."
He shrugged. "Just makes sense, that's all," he said signalling for the bill.
When it came he paid it and left a generous tip and Yvette's eyes were on him the whole time.
"But stealing does not bother you," she said slowly as they walked away. "What is the difference?"
"There's a difference," he said at once. "If we're picking pockets we only go after people who look like they can afford it. People who won't be carrying their whole life savings, or all the money they have for rent or food that month."
She stole a glance sideways at him. "People really struggle like that in your country?"
He sighed and thought of Rusty, living hand to mouth. "I think people live like that everywhere."
They headed into town and she showed him around. A whole other kind of sight seeing, and they took in the shops, the little street market, the Christmas lights and the nativity scene in the square, and she was holding his hand all the time. It felt wonderful. It felt like the last few days – all Mom's poison – was just fading away.
When they finally got back to the hotel, it was late afternoon and they hid out in Danny's room, Yvette not wanting to risk her mother spotting her. He lay on the bed and watched as she tried on the dove grey hat he'd bought her.
"C'est tres jolie!" she exclaimed happily. "Thank you, Danny."
"It looks good on you," he said warmly, carefully laying the tissue wrapped package to the side. A silk scarf, a narcissus neatly painted on the corner. He'd seen it and buying it had been an easy impulse. Mom liked narcissi. An extra Christmas present, and he thought she'd like it. Perhaps it would make a difference. Maybe.
He set it down on the nightstand and stood, walking over to the mirror, and Yvette's reflected eyes smiled warmly at him.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured, lightly kissing her neck. "I've had the best day today. Thank you."
"Oh, Danny." She reached up and ran her hand through his hair, watching him in the mirror all the time, and his kisses grew more urgent. The room was growing warmer and he unconsciously moved his hand, brushing lightly over her breast. It felt amazing, but uncertain, he immediately pulled back.
She laughed softly and grabbed his wrist quickly, putting his hand firmly back on her body. "I want to," she breathed, turning to face him, her lips inches from his. "I want you."
Just her voice was heady and inviting. He'd never felt like this before. He leaned forwards and kissed her.
Somehow, kissing didn't stop, and an uncertain time later, they were lying on the bed together, their mouths pressed together, and Danny had lost his shirt at some point, and Yvette's dress was pulled up around her thighs, her legs soft beneath Danny's hand. Right now, there might as well not be a world outside this bed. Right now, nothing else mattered.
It wasn't until Yvette's hands were on his pants, urgently struggling to remove them, that some sense of nagging reality intruded.
"Wait," he said. "Do you have anything we could use?"
She stared at him blankly for a second, before leaning forwards and planting kisses across his chest, her mouth everywhere at once, while her hands still fumbled at his waist.
It was difficult to think. More difficult still to move away. "Condoms," he emphasised, knowing it was the same in French as English. It had been one of the words that Doug Fletcher had looked up the first day of class and told everyone.
"No," she said, her voice husky with desire. "It does not matter."
Danny disagreed. Even though right now he wanted nothing more than to hold and touch and kiss and take this feeling as far as it could possibly go, Danny disagreed. With an effort, he sat up, away from her. "We need to get condoms."
She pouted. "It is my concern, Danny. I am the one who can get pregnant."
He grinned. "Takes two for that."
Her fingers danced across his shoulders. "Always so responsible. Can't you just - "
" - you said your Mom had you working as a maid," he interrupted. "So you've been in the other rooms." He met her eyes and smiled. "Someone must have condoms, right?"
For a second she looked shocked, then the smile dawned wickedly. "Yes...yes..." She frowned, evidently thinking. "I saw some in Monsieur Brownlie's chambre."
Danny's nose wrinkled. "No," he said decidedly. "Not while he and Mom are..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
She stared at him blankly for a moment before she seemed to catch on. "Dieu, vraiment? Tu crois qu'ils sont dorment ensemble? "
"Yeah," he said with a shrug. He'd thought that was obvious.
"But...but you said ton pere only died last month!" she exclaimed, sounding horrified at the thought.
"Yeah," he said again evenly.
Tentatively, she reached out and grasped his hand. "I am sorry, Danny."
He flashed her another smile. "You see condoms in any other room?"
The room furthest from the elevator on the floor above. They ran up the stairs together, and stood giggling in front of the door.
"What if someone is inside?" Yvette hissed.
He shrugged and knocked loudly on the door.
She grabbed his arm tightly. "Danny!"
"If anyone answers, I'll say we got the wrong room," he explained, and she giggled again.
"I have never done anything like this before," she murmured, excitement and nervousness warring in her voice.
"There's a first time for everything," he rejoined breathlessly. Because there were things he'd never done before. But it seemed as though that was about to change, and he was far more terrified of that than of breaking into any hotel room.
He still couldn't exactly believe that this was really happening. It was like some fantastic dream that he wasn't waking up from. And he didn't know exactly what he should be doing, didn't know exactly what to do. Oh, he knew the basics, Dad had sat him down three years back and awkwardly blundered through the mechanics of it all, while Mom stood behind him and glared and made snide comments, and then later there had been talks in school, but none of that had covered what he should be saying, doing, feeling.
He couldn't tell her that he was a virgin. He just couldn't.
All he had right now were instincts and anticipation and he longed to check both with Rusty.
But Yvette was beautiful and fun and she was here, standing beside him, holding his hand tightly, and it seemed like she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
They waited, staring at the door for a long, long moment but no one answered.
"Okay," he said at last. "Keep a look out."
She nodded, and he crouched in front of the door, working on the lock. Didn't take long.
"Our locks are that easy to undo?" she asked, as the door swung open. "Perhaps I should mention this to ma mere."
He grinned and walked inside, Yvette a half step behind him, and they both jumped when the door swung shut behind him.
"Okay," he said, looking around quickly. "Where were they?"
"On the little table," she said, pointing to the nightstand. Sure enough, there was a carton of condoms there.
He picked it up and looked at her quizzically. "How many, ah..." He trailed off and told himself fiercely that he wasn't blushing.
Yvette giggled. "Perhaps we had better just take them all?" she suggested. "Just in case."
"Just in case," he agreed and he took a step towards her, made to kiss her lightly, but she grabbed him and pulled him in close, and there was so much heat between them.
"We should go back to your room," she said after a few moments, breathing hard.
"Let's go," he agreed, trailing kisses down the side of her neck, and she moaned. His breath caught in his throat. Suddenly getting back to his room, seemed like the most important thing in the world.
Later, and they lay together in bed, her head resting on his chest. He was tingling all over. He'd never felt anything like this before. The way she made him feel...he didn't want this to ever end.
She glanced over at the clock and sighed. "I need to go soon," she said sleepily. "Ma mere will be expecting me to have dinner with her."
He stroked his hand through her hair. "I wish you could stay."
"Me also," she said, nuzzling in closer to him. "I would far rather be with you than with my mother, listening to her complain about me. She is terrible to me, you know. Ever since father has been gone, nothing I do is good enough."
"I'm sorry," he said, kissing her gently. "Your mother doesn't deserve you."
"She has me working day and night," Yvette told him. "She does not like it when I go out with my friends. She will not buy me the clothes I want." She looked deep into his eyes. "She is very cruel. She even sold the jewellery my father gave me."
"She what?" Danny demanded, a deep sense of outrage rushing through him. That didn't sit right with him at all. He had precious little to remind him of Dad, and even Mom surely wouldn't do that. "That's not right. Not right at all."
"She did!" Yvette insisted. "She said I should forget about him and sold it all. She said I did not deserve such pretty things. I told you. She is very cruel to me."
"Who did she sell it to?" he asked, his mind racing.
She hesitated briefly, looking at him strangely. "Why do you ask?"
"Maybe I can get it back," he said with a determined smile.
Her eyes shone. "You would do that, Danny? For me?"
"Of course!" he said fiercely. Right now, he'd do anything for her.
"Oh." She pressed her face against his arm. "It was the pawnbroker down the road," she said. "He has it still. And you will break in and steal my jewellery back?"
He reached down and placed his fingers on her chin, gently bringing her up to look at him. "I'd do far more than that," he vowed tenderly.
"My hero," she said softly, and she kissed him passionately, before starting to trail further fervent kisses down his chest, moving purposefully lower. "Perhaps ma mere will wait a little longer..."
"I understand how it feels, you know," he said later, as she was getting dressed. "My Mom doesn't want me. She's told me so. I'm not good enough for her. And when she notices me at all, she picks at every little thing that I do until I feel...small. And worthless."
"Your mother does not deserve you," she said with a sigh.
"Maybe," he said, leaning back and regarding the ceiling. "Sometimes, though, I think that I could try harder to please her. That's what I was supposed to be doing now. I wanted to try and be what she wants me to be. Only then she started in on Rusty, and I guess I'm never gonna be able to let that go."
"Rusty?" she asked, puzzled. "Your friend?"
"Yeah," he said heavily. He sat up and looked at her. "Rusty's father beats him. And my Mom knows. And she doesn't care." He'd never said it out loud like that before. Never wanted to admit that it wasn't just that Mom didn't act she didn't care. "I suppose it doesn't matter what else she does, or how hard I try to please her. Truth be told, I'm never going to be able to forgive her for that anyway."
"What would you have her do?" Yvette asked.
He shrugged. "Something. Anything. Not just watch and send Rusty back to that bastard like nothing's wrong. Anyone else did that, I'd hate them." He took a deep breath. "Sometimes, I wish I hate her. Sometimes I think I do."
"I am sorry, Danny," Yvette said after a fraction of a second, and she crossed the room and wrapped her arms tightly around him, and he clung to her, taking the comfort she offered. "I wish that there was something I could do for you."
"You already have," he told her softly. He sighed and pulled back, running his hand through his hair. "You'd best get going."
She glanced at the clock again with a grimace. "Yes," she agreed. "I will not be able to see you tomorrow, but perhaps the next day?"
He smiled. Christmas with Mom would be much easier, knowing that Yvette was waiting on the other side. "The next day," he agreed. "I can't wait."
"Au revoir," she said, kissing him lightly on the lips.
The room felt much colder after she was gone.
He wondered what Rusty was doing right now. Hoped that he was managing to stay out of his Dad's reach. Hoped that he was having as good a Christmas as he could.
And he wondered where Mom was. She hadn't said where she was going. Could be anywhere. Though she had to come back tonight, surely. And he'd guess she'd want to see him. Right now, he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to see her.
Feeling restless, he headed outside. Might as well go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Find any pawnbrokers that might be in the neighbourhood.
It was maybe a mile or so from the hotel. A small shop, looked relatively prosperous, and the steel shutters on the windows were heavy and intimidating. But he could see the edge of a skylight on the roof, and by the looks of things it would lead into an attic, and that tree there hung over it. All in all, it looked possible. If he was quick, and clever and daring, and he was all those things.
There was a sign in the window that said it would be reopening on the 26th. He could go in and scope the place out then.
Felt good to have a purpose. Felt righteous, and as he headed back to the hotel, he was smiling.
For the rest of the evening, he sat at the table in his room and did his best to sketch plans for the pawnbrokers, trying to figure out all the variables, trying to imagine what it would be like inside. Now he wished that Rusty was here for a whole other reason. This sort of plan would be so much easier if it was the two of them. Not to mention that this wasn't like breaking into the school. If he got caught doing this, no amount of explaining would get him out of trouble.
He thought of Yvette. It was worth it.
Eventually he dozed off still sitting at the table.
Christmas arrived and he didn't even know it.
Reluctantly, he got out of bed at first light. Way he figured it the power company would open about nine, and the sooner they got the money the sooner they'd be able to get the power back on. Didn't make it easy. The cold gnawed right through him and he moved stiffly, his teeth chattering, his bones cracking.
First things first and he sat on the living room floor, the blanket draped over his shoulders and counted out the money. One hundred and seventy nine dollars and eighty three cents. More than half. That had to be enough, and cheered he stuffed it into a paper bag before he wandered into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water and a tin of cold beans. Tonight he'd be able to fix himself something hot. The heating would be on, he'd get hot food, hot chocolate and a hot shower.
He shivered violently. God, he couldn't wait.
Soon as he was finished his meal, he headed out, spending some of the change to catch the bus across town. Even if time wasn't an issue, he was too tired to think about walking and his back ached from sleeping on the lumpy sofa. He sat with his head pressed against the window and shivered, trying not to fall asleep.
There was a queue when he got to the power company and he waited patiently, revelling in the warmth. Enough that he actually took Brady's gloves off and rubbed his hands together, watching fascinated as his fingers changed from white to bright red.
"Next!" a voice called impatiently, and he looked up and groaned to see Mr Lewis waiting for him. Well, he supposed the man did know the situation already. Just he'd kind of been hoping to talk to someone else.
He walked up to the counter, broadcasting charm and confidence and innocence, and all that was only slightly dented when he saw Mr Lewis wrinkle his nose on recognising him. "Can I help you?"
"Hi," Rusty started brightly. "I'm here to pay some of what I...what my Dad owes. Got the money and the bill here." He passed over the paper bag.
Mr Lewis shook it out over the counter with a sneer. Bills and coins spilled everywhere, and Rusty had to quickly stoop to retrieve a couple of nickels that rolled straight off the edge.
"What did you do? Look down the back of the sofa?" Mr Lewis asked, laughing at his own sofa.
"Something like that," Rusty said evenly, and he watched patiently as Mr Lewis counted out the money, retrieved the file, scribbled a couple of notes, and then painstakingly wrote out a receipt and stamped it.
"There you go," he said, holding out the receipt.
Rusty took it and waited expectantly. "When will the power go on?" he asked after an awkward couple of moments silence.
Mr Lewis leaned over the counter and spoke loudly and slowly, like he thought Rusty was hard-of-thinking. "When you pay the bill."
He stilled. "But you said," he protested at once, panic and disbelief racing through him. "You agreed if I paid half, then you'd reconnect us."
"No I didn't," Mr Lewis told him smugly. "I said we would look on it favourably. He gathered the money together and smirked down at Rusty. "We do look on it favourably."
With a dull shudder of realisation, Rusty played the conversation back through in his head. Yeah. Mr Lewis hadn't said. He'd assumed. He'd been led to assume like a naïve little idiot. Forcing all thoughts of fairness away, he regarded Mr Lewis steadily. "So you're not going to do anything for me until the bill is completely paid?"
"Yes," Mr Lewis said, starting to sound bored. "So run along and tell your father to start selling the silverware or whatever."
Right. Right. He'd never be able to raise the rest of the money today. "When do you open after Christmas?" he asked, resignation in his voice.
In response, Mr Lewis jabbed a thumb towards a sign on the opposite wall. 'This office will be closed from noon on the 24th till 10am on the 27th'
The twenty seventh. That was three more days. God. He swallowed hard and looked back at Mr Lewis. Obvious that arguing would be useless. Seemed like he'd never had any intention of turning the power back on. "Can I get some of my money back then?" he asked softly. "Just ten dollars, so I can get hot food until I can get this bill paid."
Mr Lewis closed the folder with a snap. "That's not the way it works. Once you've given us the money it becomes our property. It's all perfectly legitimate. You have a receipt. So no. You may not have our money back. Now scram. I have real customers waiting."
Rusty nodded numbly and walked away a few steps. He was trembling and it wasn't the cold any more. All that work. All that effort. All for nothing.
He ducked behind a large rubber plant and crouched on the floor out of general view, the heels of his hands pressed into his face.
No heat. No money. No way of doing anything about it for the next few days at least. More than that, really because tomorrow was Christmas day and he had a feeling there wasn't going to be too many opportunities to pick pockets. Weren't going to be too many places open either. He'd be stuck home.
His fists were clenched tight. If he'd known three days ago that he wasn't going to be able to get the power back on before Christmas, maybe he could have done something. Found a bigger score to go after, maybe. If nothing else he wouldn't have bothered giving all his money to Mr Lewis. He'd have spent it on warmer clothes instead. More blankets. Hot food. Maybe a camping stove or something. Things that would really made a difference.
Someone came down the stairs to his left and he flattened himself against the wall quickly, afraid of being seen.
As he watched, a woman holding a lockbox walked behind the counter up to Mr Lewis. "Edgar, weren't you going to take the petty cash to the bank today?"
"Didn't have time," Mr Lewis said irritably, after looking round to make sure no one was in earshot. "It'll be fine over the holidays. Just lock it in my filing cabinet as usual."
"How much is in there, Sheena?" the woman behind the next counter piped up.
"Over two hundred dollars," Sheena said, her voice hushed.
The other woman laughed. "We should take it to the Christmas party tonight. We could get a lot of cocktails with that."
"That money is my personal responsibility," Mr Lewis said severely. "It's going to stay safely upstairs until I can take it to the bank next week."
"Of course, Edgar," the woman agreed, humour fading. "I was only joking."
Mr Lewis glared at both of them. "Sheena, take that back upstairs, then come back down here and give us a hand clearing the queue."
It wasn't really a conscious decision. It wasn't even a coherent plan, he just stepped out into the doorway and waited; and when Sheena came back downstairs empty-handed, he stood in her way, swaying slightly. "'scuse me, ma'am," he said softly. "I don't feel well. I'm sorry, but do you have a restroom?" He looked up at her imploringly, his hand pressed against his mouth like he was fighting not to throw up.
"Oh, dear," she said sympathetically. "Come on upstairs quickly."
He followed her up the stairs into the staff area, and she showed him the restroom and he stepped inside and closed the door, making a couple of realistic retching noises. All the time, his mind was racing.
Three doors, not including this one. Three offices, if he had to guess, and one of them had Mr Lewis' name on. That's where the money would be. And he'd seen the window at the end of the corridor, and it was the same kind they had in school. Easy enough to open from the outside, if you slid something flat along where the latch would be.
He splashed some cold water on his face. Right. He could do this. He needed the money to pay them and they had money just sitting there. Was an elegant solution.
He made sure to stumble as he left the bathroom. As he'd expected, Sheena was waiting for him. Not like he'd thought he'd be left alone up here. All he'd wanted was a good look around.
"Are you feeling any better?" she asked him.
He nodded, wiping at his mouth. ""A little, ma'am. I'm really sorry. Thank you, ma'am."
"It's no trouble," she said, and then she reached out towards him.
He wasn't expecting it, and he barely managed to suppress the flinch. "Ma'am?" he said uncertainly, as she laid her hand flat against his forehead.
"Gracious, child, you're freezing," she told him, like it was news. "Run home quick and get warmed up."
Yeah. Originally that had been his plan. But her employer had sort of scrapped that idea. "I will, ma'am," he promised as he walked towards the stairs, taking another long look around, memorising everything he could see.
He managed to get outside without incident, and for the next half hour he walked around the building, taking a note of all the entrances, the windows, anything that he could see. That had to be the window to Mr Lewis' office there, overlooking the flat roof of the next building. Didn't look like there was any way in there, but one of the other office windows had a sturdy looking drainpipe right next to it, and that looked eminently climbable. Least it would if it wasn't for the snow. He guessed he should be hoping for a thaw.
That was enough looking around. He lingered too long, someone might notice him. Remember him. And that was to be avoided at all costs.
No, he'd leave for now. Head somewhere warm for a few hours while he could. Then he'd go home and plan a break in.
The department store was even more crowded than it had been yesterday, although on the plus side there was no sign of that store detective. Though, really, in this crowd it would be easy to miss anyone. He gritted his teeth as people shoved past him, pushed against him. Too many people. He hated crowds like this. There was no way to tell where the threat was coming from, and all the people touching him...it left him dangerously close to panic.
Danny was always good at steering him away from the crush of people. Mind you, when Danny was there it was never so bad anyway. He knew there was someone watching his back and that made all the difference in the world.
Danny. God, he wished Danny was here now. This whole mess would be a thousand times easier to deal with if he didn't feel so alone.
He closed his eyes, dizzy for a moment and he remembered the scorn in Mr Lewis' eyes, the moment when everything he'd worked for just slipped away, and suddenly he really needed some air.
Finding his way to a fire escape, he stumbled outside and the cold air hit him and the moment of panic faded.
He sank down onto the cold stone step, thankful it had been cleared of snow.
What was he going to do? He didn't even know...
He sighed and lit a cigarette, and this at least made him feel better.
The door behind him lurched open and he turned his head quickly to be confronted by Santa Claus, a packet of smokes in his hand.
For a moment they stared at each other, frozen, until Rusty grinned. "I won't say anything if you don't."
Santa looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and made himself comfortable on the step above Rusty. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and patted at his suit, drawing out a matchbook and shaking it mournfully. "Uh, you got a light, kid?"
"Sure," Rusty said, passing up some matches and surreptitiously looking round, making sure that he knew which way to run if he had to.
"Thanks," Santa said, briefly pulling his fake beard away and lighting the cigarette with a sigh of relief. He glanced down at Rusty ironically. "So what do you want for Christmas, little boy?"
"Three hundred and thirty six dollars and eighteen cents," Rusty said wearily.
"Right," Santa said, sounding resigned. "Wouldn't we all?"
For a moment or so they sat smoking in silence.
"Tell me if you hear anyone coming, okay kid?" Santa said presently.
"Not supposed to be smoking, huh?" he asked with a quirk of his lips.
"Right," Santa sighed. "Boss says if he catches me once more I'm out. No bonus, no paycheck. But I swear, I can't deal with another minute without a smoke."
"They'd sack Santa on Christmas Eve?" Rusty said, shaking his head. "Man, that's low."
Santa snorted. "Yeah. Only time to do it really."
Rusty grinned. "Can you imagine the look on the kids faces if they did it in front of everyone?"
"Believe me, it wouldn't make some of them any more miserable," Santa told him. "And the parents... If I didn't need the cash I'd be out of here so fast." He shook his head. "But they're cutting back hours at the factory. Gotta find extra cash where you can, you know? That's the sacrifice to make the Christmas magic happen. You be grateful to your parents, you hear me, kid?"
Grateful. The word fell right through him. He looked down at his cigarette and told himself the shiver was just the cold.
"My kids don't know they're born," Santa went on moodily. "Here I am, working fourteen hour shifts every night and spending my days playing Santa for a bunch of spoilt brats, just so I can get their presents out of lay away, and they're asking for more stuff. Some Sunday school party tonight. Costs five dollars a head. Five dollars! Do I look like I'm made of money? And tomorrow they're gonna be up at the crack of dawn, fighting over every little thing, and my wife will be cooking all day. So I'll have to keep the kids distracted and out from under her feet, and not killing each other. And Marco wanted a drum kit, so we're all gonna be deaf by lunchtime. If I get the damned money to get the presents, that is. God only knows what it'll be like if I don't. I tell you, sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."
Rusty looked at him. "Do you?"
"Yeah," he said , sounding tired and frustrated. "Sometimes."
He nodded slowly. "Do you love your kids?" he asked abruptly, absently lighting another cigarette.
Santa blinked. "What? Yes, of course."
He nodded again. "Your wife a good cook? What's she making?"
"Ham," Santa said, bewildered. "And the trimmings. Just the usual Christmas stuff. And yeah, she's the best. What are you - "
" - so your kids are going to be safe at home this Christmas, in a warm house with people who care about them, good food to eat, and presents? You love them? They got it good." For some reason, he was almost angry.
Santa stared at him. "What did you want that three hundred dollars for," he asked quietly.
"Power bill," Rusty answered shortly, and somehow, with Santa looking at him like that, he was compelled to keep talking. "We got cut off a few days ago. They won't reconnect us until I've paid. And now they're shut till after Christmas."
"Until you've paid?" Santa demanded. "Jesus, kid, how old are you?"
"Twelve," Rusty answered, blinking. "You know, angry Santa looks kind of strange."
Didn't seem like Santa was listening. "Twelve? Where the fuck are your parents at?"
He shrugged. "Mom took off a few years back. Dad's out of town at the moment. Guess he won't be back till next week at least." There was something strangely liberating about saying this stuff out loud to a stranger. Someone who didn't know and wouldn't care.
"He just left you alone?" Santa asked aghast. "Over Christmas? With no heat and no money? You need to tell someone, kid."
Rusty frowned. "Tell someone? 's not that bad." If Dad was here, after all it could be so much worse.
If anything that only made Santa look more upset.
This whole conversation had got off track. He sighed. "Look, I'm just saying be glad your kids are safe and warm, that's all. There's a lot worse than to have all that family Christmas shit going on, you know?" A Christmas tree, and people smiling, and a hot dinner...with an effort, he could just about picture it.
"Come home with me," Santa said suddenly.
What? Rusty stared.
"I mean, it kid," he went on earnestly. "I don't have much, but you'd be warm and safe at least. Trish always makes too much food anyway. You could sleep on the sofa, at least till after Christmas, then we'll see what can be done."
The picture burned just a little bit clearer in his mind, before he shoved it away. After Christmas we'll see. Yeah. He knew what that meant. Back to Miss Stevens', or somewhere like it. Locked up and away from Danny. And Danny needed him. And still, the temptation to go with Santa. To stay for a little while, and leave before he wore out his welcome...yeah. He forced himself to forget it. No one was gonna just take him in out of the goodness of their hearts, not even for a few days. He knew better than to expect that sort of kindness.
He grinned. "Uh huh. And what would your wife say when you brought some random kid home the day before Christmas?"
Santa hesitated. "She'd be fine with it," he said, sounding less than convinced.
"Right. Another mouth to feed and a piece of worthless white trash to corrupt your kids." He grinned some more. "I'm gonna say no. And don't pretend you're not relieved." He stood up, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with a twist of his heel. "Nice talking to you, Santa."
"Wait!" Santa said desperately, reaching up as though to grab his arm, and instinctively he jumped backwards, stumbling down the steps, and he stood watching Santa warily. "Take this at least," Santa said, fumbling in his suit and coming up with a couple of crumpled bills.
Rusty smiled and shook his head. "Keep it, man. Go get your kids' presents. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Santa said, in a low voice, as he walked away.
Didn't seem a good idea to go back in the department store. All too possible that Santa would get it into his head to go looking for him out of some misguided charitable impulse, or worse he might go to store security or the cops or something. Just what he didn't need; to spend Christmas dodging questions. Though he supposed he didn't have too many bruises at the moments. Maybe they wouldn't feel like they needed to make a fuss anyway. All the same though, there was no way he was taking the risk if he could help it. Better to head round to the other department store, the one they usually went to and work there.
It was every bit as loud and crowded and unpleasant here, but he gritted his teeth and got on with it, finding the least busy nooks and crannies, trying to restrict himself to going after pocket change. There wasn't such a burning need for cash now, after all, and once he'd scraped together ten dollars or so, he called it a day, and went and sat in the little cafeteria upstairs, moving from table to table to escape notice, and making a kids mug of hot chocolate and a Boston Cream doughnut last for hours.
Eventually though, the announcement came that the store was closing and he sighed and made his way downstairs, gloomily walking into the cold. Though it did look like more of the snow had melted away, and that was something. Should make whatever he was planning easier.
It was still cold though, and his breath hung in the air in front of him as he trudged home. He stopped off at the shop on the corner on the way home. Stocked up on chocolate, potato chips, a large bottle of coca cola, more candles, a loaf of bread and a jar of jelly. Christmas dinner. He'd eat what he wanted.
He dropped his shopping on the counter and stood as the man rang it all up, staring vacantly at the pile of candy bars. Just like Christmas used to be. When Mom would take him down here and pick out a whole lot of chocolate and stuff. He remembered her smiling at him one time. Smiling and saying happy Christmas, and he remembered thinking that this must be how regular kids feel all the time.
"That everything?" the guy asked.
He considered. "Pack of Marlboro Lights, too."
The guy looked at him doubtfully.
Rusty rolled his eyes. "For Dad," he lied, and he kept his face blank and uninterested as they guy looked at him a moment longer, then picked the cigarettes off the shelf and added them to the pile. "Thanks," Rusty said, handing money over. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't. Worked more here because the guy knew Dad and wouldn't want to cross him. Course, the downside to that was, if he mentioned to Dad then Dad would know Rusty had been lying. And that would be right about the time he'd reduce Rusty to hamburger meat.
Food and cigarettes. That should see him through the next couple of days. And he still had just about enough money left to get something hot to eat, if he wasn't too fussy. He went into Dino's pizza place down the road. What they served was greasy and not exactly fresh, and he didn't even want to know what went in the sauce, but it was cheap and it was hot and there'd been plenty times when that was all that mattered. He was the only customer and they cleaned around him, barely glancing at him in fact, as he sat at the counter and ate his pizza as slowly as possible, trying to delay going home.
Eventually though he kind of ran out of other options. The apartment was dark and cold and unwelcoming. Not that there was really anything unusual there, he supposed. With a sigh, he picked up a candle and lit it and wandered through the apartment. Was warmest in the kitchen, he thought. And that made sense because there was no windows in here, and only one door. Kinda funny that the exact reasons he'd normally try to avoid the room were what was making it so attractive.
He hesitated for a long moment, staring at the door, remembering the last time he'd been caught here. The night Danny had...the night Danny hadn't. There was still a dot of blood on the door frame.
Dad wasn't here, he reminded himself fiercely. Dad wasn't going to be here. He'd be safe, and he could keep warm best in here. So he might as well get on with it.
He started by bringing through the rest of the candles and setting them up on the table and the kitchen counter. Enough light to see by. Next he gathered together the blanket and pillows, all the clothes he had and the cushions from the sofa, and he dumped them all in the corner of the kitchen, wedged between two cupboards. There. He stayed in the middle of that, it should keep him warmer. Now he just needed to fetch pencil and paper a couple of books, his tapes and tape player, and stuff some of the clothes under the door to keep the draught out...and that was it. Apart from trips to the bathroom, he wouldn't have to leave the room until after Christmas.
With a grin, he burrowed down into the pile and curled up contentedly. Huh. This was more comfortable than his bed. And if he didn't move around too much, he was sure he'd soon warm up.
Now all he needed to do was work on the more long term solution. The petty cash in the office. He pulled the paper towards himself and started to think. Not Christmas day. Wouldn't be many people out; he'd be too conspicuous. The 26th though. In the middle of the night. Oh, that was workable. Now he just needed to figure out how.
After a moment or two he stuck some music on the tape player, and opened a bag of Reeses pieces.
Wasn't just candy that Mom had got him. There had been that jigsaw, when he was four. Few days before Christmas, and he'd been sitting in the corner, playing with Reindeera and keeping a wary eye on Dad, who'd been standing in the kitchen, arguing with Lance, while Mom lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, the shoe lace still tight around her arm. Eventually Lance had sworn grumpily and thrust a handful of money at Dad, and Dad had grunted and hauled Mom off the sofa and thrust her towards the bedroom, Lance following her. The door closed behind both of them and Rusty remembered how much the sound had hurt.
"What are you looking at, you little shit?" Dad snarled, and Rusty had looked away quickly. Couple of minutes later, Lance had ran out the room, pulling his pants up as he sprinted towards the front door. Dad had stared after him for a long moment before he went into the bedroom to see. "Shit," he'd said, and Rusty remembered the disgust in his voice. A moment later, he'd come stumbling out of the room, carrying Mom, and she was shaking violently, and her face was chalk white, her mouth covered with pink-tinged foam and defying the habits of a lifetime, Rusty had ran towards them, reaching out to touch Mom's hand, dangling limply, and he'd been begging her to open her eyes. Dad didn't even look at him. He just shoved past, knocking Rusty to the ground, before he kicked the door open and ran out. Rusty was left alone, desperately calling after Mom, not understanding what had happened, not knowing if he'd ever see her again.
It had been Christmas when they came back, and Mom had the battered jigsaw in her hands, and she gave it to him with a smile, and later she sat down and helped him with it. There'd been a couple of pieces missing. Now he guessed she must have stolen it from the hospital. But the point was, she'd stolen it for him.
Of course, a week later she'd sold it along with his shoes and the sheet from his bed, in order to pay off Charlie. And she'd called him a filthy piece of trash, when he'd asked where his shoes were, before shoving him out the door and locking it behind him. He'd had to sit on the doorstep, using his sleeve to mop up the blood until Dad came home, and then he'd really got it.
Still. He wondered where Mom was spending Christmas. Wondered if she was safe. Sober. Wondered if she ever thought of him, if she even remembered him.
He still wished he could tell her how sorry he was for driving her away.
Eyes burning, he gazed down at the paper in front of him. Enough thinking about the past. He should focus on one fuck-up at a time.
The candles burned lower. David Bowie wondered if there was life on Mars. He was feeling warmer at least.
He should have been drawing the plans to the office. Should've been looking at exits and entrances,and obstacles and chances. Instead, somehow, he found himself sketching a Christmas tree, just like the one he'd seen at Brady's. Lights and decorations and candy canes, and presents underneath.
He stared at it for a second and then he stood up, and without thinking too much, he found a bit of tape and fixed it to the wall.
He stood back and regarded it for a long moment. By the candlelight, and if he squinted, it looked almost...almost...
With a sigh he ripped the tree off the wall, crumpled it up and hurled it in the trash.
In the distance bells rang out, proclaiming midnight.
It was Christmas day. And he didn't even care.