Author's Note: Sorry the chapter took so long, guys! It's not quite action-packed yet, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Please leave reviews...it makes this author very happy:)

Chapter Four

Gordie was late for dinner, and was reminded of this fact when he was met by his father's glare over the evening paper. Mrs. La Chance spooned carrots on to a plate, along with a slab of pot roast and mashed potatoes drenched in gravy, and motioned for him to sit down.

"Dinner's nearly over, Gordie, so I suppose you can wash up afterwards."

Gordie began eating silently, wishing mealtime could be a little more enjoyable like it was at Teddy's place. The few times Teddy had invited them over to his house for dinner, it was always fun—Mrs. Du Champ was always working late at Castle Rock diner to make ends meet, so they were left to fend for themselves with TV dinners baked in the oven. They were allowed to eat on the couch in front of the tube instead of being forced to shovel down burnt pot roast and avoiding awkward conversation.

"So, how was your first day at school?" his mother asked. "Any interesting classes so far?"

"English is alright," he replied. Sometimes the less words he spoke, the better. Tonight was different, however.

"You're still doing that writing thing?" his Dad asked, unable to keep the distain from creeping in to his voice. "I hope you realize that I can't afford to send you to college. Can you even get scholarships for writing?"

"I don't know, Dad," he said in a small voice.

His father returned to his paper, but not before muttering the words that cut in to Gordie all too deep. "Too bad you can't get an athletic scholarship like Denny did." The table fell quiet; Gordie's mom cleared her throat, busying herself by wiping crumbs away from the corner of her lip.

Gordie could feel his dead brother's presence sitting next to him, claiming back the adjacent seat, and he could almost smell his cologne thick in his nostrils. Denny used to try and make him smile at dinnertime, especially during heated arguments their parents were having. Sometimes he'd simply give his head a nudge when he least expected it, other times he'd tell dirty jokes he knew Gordie wasn't supposed to hear. Denny always had a way of making him feel special.

"May I be excused?" he asked. His parents didn't even answer him.

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After taking his nightly bath, Gordie slipped in to clean shorts and a thermal shirt, preparing to sit at his desk and start the essay for tomorrow's class. 'Who has had a major impact on my life?' he pondered as he poised his pen over his notebook.

"Oh shit," he muttered, realizing the only pen he had was out of ink. "Mom! Mom, you got a pen I can use?" he called. He could hear the TV blaring downstairs, intermingled with soft snores from his Dad, who liked to take naps after dinner.

He sighed, getting ready to head downstairs to search for one himself, when his eyes fell on Denny's bedroom across the hall. The door was open just a crack, which most likely meant his mother had been in there again. Sometimes she would just sit at the edge of his bed and cry, other times it would be to re-arrange his knick-knacks in a certain way, a way she thought Denny would appreciate if he were watching over.

His hand grazed the door, and before he knew it, he was inside. The room appeared as un-touched as it was the fateful night Denny was killed in the car accident last spring—his sports trophies and awards gleamed from wooden shelves, and his bed was untidy like he'd just rolled out of it.

Gordie felt the familiar tightening of his chest and throat as he stepped closer to Denny's dresser. He never knew why he came in here. The last time he'd set foot in this room was the day he set out to see Ray Brower, and had spent the rest of the day under a cloud of depression. Maybe he had to be reminded of the fact that Denny had indeed once lived here, that he'd had a brother that cared for him and loved him, unlike his parents that just wanted him to disappear. Maybe he half-expected Denny to be sitting there, coal colored eyes glowing with warmth, ready to share stories about how his day had been at school. Denny never had talked down to him—he'd tell him everything he knew about girls and teachers at high school, and most of all, how to deal with their parents.

Gordie spied a silver-framed photograph perched on Denny's dresser, taken a few weeks before he'd died. It was the day of the spring formal at Castle Rock High; Denny was dressed in his best suit, his black hair slicked back with pomade as he held tight to his girlfriend Jane's delicate shoulders. Gordie ran one of his fingers over the glass, wiping dust away from Denny's face.

'I wish you were here, man,' he thought wistfully. He quickly grabbed a pen that he saw sitting on Denny's desk, and left before his emotions could consume him. Suddenly, he knew just who he would write his essay about.

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"Christopher, you going to bed?"

Chris quickly shoved the nudie magazine he'd been looking at under his pillow, and looked up at his mother, who was dressed in her pink terry cloth robe, feet clothed in matching pink slippers. Mrs. Chambers was a delicate woman who had Chris' eyes and kittenish nose—one might describe her as meek, which was a perfect fit for a domineering asshole such as Mr. Chambers.

"Yeah, Mom, don't worry about me…I'm going to bed soon."

She smiled, the Crow's feet around her eyes deepening. "Good, you know your father doesn't like the idea of you staying up on a school night. I only wish your brother would get home so he could do his school work." Mrs. Chambers had the idea in her head that her beloved Richard was actually a good kid, despite his well-known bad boy reputation.

"He'll be home any minute," Chris lied, knowing very well 'any minute' in Eyeball's world meant when the sun came up and the booze had run out.

"Ok, honey…goodnight."

"Night, Mom."

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Ace took a final swig of his beer, and then nonchalantly tossed it to the ground, leaving it shattered in a pile of brown shards in the lot at Irby's Billiards. The alcohol was creeping up on him, bringing a warm flush to his cheeks and in his gut.

Billy, Eyeball, Charlie, and a few others rushed out of the bar and in to the night air, leaving behind the arid smoke and loud rock n' roll music that piped out of Irby's.

"So, where to now?" Billy asked. "I swear, the amount of pussy in this town just gets lower and lower every day. Why ain't there any chicks out?"

"What, you didn't like that 40 year old bar hag with no teeth in there?" Vince laughed. "It looked like she was pretty sweet on you." He leaned in towards Billy, making sloppy kissing noises with his lips.

"Fuck off," Billy grumbled, pushing him away. "Come on, where we going, guys? If we're just gonna stand here and freeze our balls off, I'm heading home."

Ace lit a cigarette, the tip of it glowing orange in the velvet moonlight. "Why don't we head on down to Eyeball's house, have a little chat with that brother of his?" he slurred. Ace obviously hadn't forgotten about the incidence that happened earlier this afternoon, and the beer brewing inside of him had now stirred his rage.

"Ace, c'mon, forget it," Eyeball said quietly. "I told you I'd get him for you…there's no sense in you getting worked up over it."

"Not gettin' worked up…just settling a little unpaid debt, is all," Ace laughed bitterly. He looked Eyeball square in the eye, challenging him. "Don't worry, Eyeball…I may not get him back tonight, or even tomorrow. But those fuckers will be sorry soon enough."