Author Note: Huge thanks for the reviews from let's point out the obvious, NotebookChen (hope you're enjoying Germany!) and Dretastic! I'm so glad you all enjoyed it and I hope you like this chapter too. While I was preparing to write this story I did a whole load of research into American Football, which in my country is regarded with deep scorn. If I've made any mistakes regarding the game and it's players, feel free to point out to me and I'll rectify them as soon as I can. I actually appreciate what the players go through during their training now, even though it's never gonna be up to par with real football, lol.
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Whatever happened to all this seasons losers of the year?
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When Ike awakens and reaches for his phone to kill its insistent bleeping, telling him it is half past seven and time he was up and showering, he supposes he should be mildly ashamed of himself. He certainly should be more awkward when he rolls over and meets Keiran's eyes, the other must think the worst of him. But then, surely that would work both ways and Ike does not think anything less of Keiran at all, he admires the man's honesty. And he does not feel particularly shamed by his actions either.
It is not characteristic for him to fall into bed after a first date though and he does not know how he should behave. They have no future together, they both know this. But the present is good enough.
Keiran solves this problem by giving him no time to speak, merely leaning forward to kiss him lightly and sitting up. "Morning," he says with a smile, Ike notices that he has a slight blush to his cheeks. That Keiran is not entirely certain of protocol either somehow reassures him. "You have a breakfast date, right?"
Ike nods, remembering the trouble Bebe went through to get Clyde to speak with him and Keiran continues. "Why don't you grab the shower first? You can hit me with the towel if I fall back asleep again."
With a smile of his own, Ike gets out of bed and heads for the bathroom, turning on the shower and refreshing himself under the water. It washes away his tiredness although it will doubtless catch up to him later, hopefully it also washes away the lingering traces of beer and tobacco that cling to his skin. It is not something that Ike minds right then, however, he is conscious that he will appear more professional without it.
Keiran is not asleep when he emerges, instead the tattooed man is sitting on the bed, smoking. He gives Ike a grin and raises his eyebrows at the sight of Ike in a towel, Ike colours a little and laughs at the blatant display of attraction, it puts him even more at his ease. When Keiran disappears into the bathroom it occurs to Ike that he has never had a morning after that was quite so casual and ordinary, perhaps it is the lack of expectations that makes it that way or maybe that lack is just the kicker in a bad cosmic joke. Whatever the reason, he wishes they had more time. He has examined every one of Keiran's tattoos in detail, he would like to do so again, commit them to memory. Commit him to memory.
He dresses in dark jeans and long sleeves, another casual advertisement of success. The look is wholly calculated, partly for Kyle's memory and that of his parents, partly because he suspects it will have more of an effect on Clyde's willingness to speak than were he entirely casual. He read a study on it once and has never had reason to disbelieve it, it can only help after all.
His agenda for the day is clear. First, he will speak to Clyde and see what he can learn. Then he will find Kenny. And he will find Kenny McCormick, even if he has to search every single house in this hick mountain town. He cannot learn what was really going on with only those who were on the outside to speak about it.
Keiran emerges while Ike finishes dressing, whipping off the towel without apparent embarrassment and grabbing his jeans. Ike tries to find another direction to look in, not wanting to seem perverted, but there is very good reason to stare at Keiran, he will never be a magazine model but Ike finds him far more appealing than anyone more conventionally handsome.
Keiran looks over and Ike flushes as he realises he has been caught staring. But Keiran just smirks and drags on his jeans, fastening the button and then speaking. "Um, I know you're busy and all and I gotta go to work today anyway. But if you're free, maybe we can meet up for a while later? Like say, sixish? You can tell me what else you found out and uh, if you're gonna need to stay around longer. Or something."
The grin is firmly on Ike's face before he can stop it. "Yeah, that'd be great. But can I take your number, just in case I get caught up with something?
They finish dressing, exchange numbers. Keiran offers to walk Ike to the café and he readily agrees, aware that he is going to be pushing it to be on time. He is also aware that he is nervous again, not of what is happening between him and Keiran, but of what Clyde might tell him or refuse to tell him. For once his brother has not been on his mind, now Kyle's memory is catching up to him once more.
Henrietta is fortunately not on the desk, Ike is not sure he could take her knowing look even if she would not comment on them leaving at such an early hour together. They walk to the café, which is not far away, deciding their best meeting place later on would be the bar where they drank the night before. Ike is aware that the alcohol the previous evening may have lowered his inhibitions somewhat but he was not drunk and he is not hungover that morning and anyway, he does not feel that what happened between them was in any way a bad thing.
There is a slightly awkward moment upon arriving outside when Ike is not sure of how he should best say goodbye. Once again, Keiran solves the problem for him, more forward and apparently far more relaxed about the situation – although Ike sees the mild trepidation before he acts, as if he is going on instinct but not intellectually convinced he is doing the right thing. Keiran leans in to kiss his cheek quickly, gives him a strange buddy-buddy arm squeeze and heads down the road. Ike looks after him for a second, then tries to focus his attention entirely on the business that brought him here in the first place and walks into the building.
Ike is not sure what Clyde Donovan looks like – the boy was not one of Kyle's friends and high school football was not exactly a passion of his. The funding difference between sports and academics in most state schools is enough to depress him and remind him that no matter what good he can achieve through his brains, he will never be as revered as some knuckle-dragger who can smash through a defensive line-up and throw a ball onto a painted line. An unfair generalisation certainly, but one he feels he is entitled to. He will not recognise the man and he hopes that he is not lost in some sea of returnees from good old Park County High, or Ike could easily be horribly embarrassed trying to work out whom he is meeting.
But the café is quiet, four people there aside from the staff and Ike himself. An elderly couple in one corner, working over toast and eggs in a grim silence that suggests habit. A much younger person, perhaps a teenager in jeans and a hood, finishing up a coffee. But they are put into shadow by the man at a table near the door, the person whom Ike immediately focuses on. He looks to be about thirty, with closely-cut light brown hair. He's overweight if not quite yet obese, the fingers tapping at the menu as he reads are meaty and slightly long. There's a wedding ring on the left hand that is beginning to vanish into the flesh, as if it were originally placed on a much younger, much slimmer version of this man.
Ike pauses at the table. "Clyde Donovan?"
Clyde looks up, nods. There is no hint of a smile on his face, he clearly has not wanted this meeting and is not planning to make finding the answers easy. "Ike Broflovski? Hi. Take a seat. I'm gonna have breakfast. Stayed up some with my old man last night, y'know?"
Ike slides into the seat opposite, nods as if he understands, although he doesn't. Gerald Broflovski has indeed spent some nights with Ike on his visits home, which are not as frequent as they probably should be for no reason other than Ike finds it more painful to go than it is to stay away. They have stayed up with a couple of beers, shooting the shit as men are supposed to do with their adult sons. But Ike is always conscious that there is someone missing, that there are some topics that are simply out of bounds. Gerald will talk all day about some dry case at work, or reminisce about college – but he does not mention South Park if he can help it, nor the years spent raising the children there. He will speak of Kyle if the conversation demands it, but it makes him sad and Ike tries to avoid it. No, he does not understand how it is to be able to talk to ones father without having to pretend Kyle should not be there too.
The waitress approaches; Clyde orders bacon, eggs, sausage, toast. Ike considers breakfast, but the very thought makes him slightly queasy, the good feeling that was with him earlier when he was alone with Keiran is wearing off in the face of his brothers past and he sticks to tea, a glass of orange on the side.
There is a moments awkward pause as the waitress leaves, then they both start to speak at once. Ike is the one to shut up and let Clyde continue, more interested in what the other has to say than in questions he will hopefully have time to ask soon.
Clyde starts again. "I don't know why you need to rake up what happened back then." His expression goes from almost neutral to mildly sulky. "I don't know anything about what happened to Kyle. I saw him in the distance at the game Saturday and that was it."
"I didn't come back to find out how he died," replies Ike. "I was looking to find out more about what he was like when he was alive. And Bebe said you might know something about what happened that weekend."
Clyde shakes his head, seeming almost angry. "That weekend, I played in the game, went back to Mitchell's house after, stayed there the whole night."
"No. That's not the whole truth." Ike is starting to get angry too, raising a hand to mark of the relevant points on his fingers. "One, Kyle, Stan and Kenny wake up just fine Saturday. Two, Stan gets busted up at the game. Three, Kenny gets the shit kicked out of him between leaving the hospital and Sunday morning. Four, Kyle ends up dead at some time late Saturday night. And you guys are the only ones who happen to know they the three of them had a relationship going on."
His half-whispered rant is interrupted by the waitress, who puts their drinks in front of them and informs them that Clyde's breakfast will be another ten minutes or so. She doesn't seem to recognise either of them, for which Ike is profoundly grateful, leaving without seeming interested in their conversation.
"Bebe said you could help me," says Ike, feeling slightly helpless. If Clyde chooses to stubbornly insist he knows nothing at all, then Ike will be at a dead end and he doesn't know how to force the issue.
"Bebe." Clyde pours sugar into his coffee. "I'm only here because she conned me into it, made me promise to do her a favour before she told me it was meeting you. I wouldn't have met you at all, only she seems to think it'll help her somehow and she's always been a good friend of mine. She changed totally after that weekend. Blamed herself. She always thought Kyle killed himself over that stupid picture."
"You and I both know Kyle wasn't that much of a coward." Ike leans over the table. "Come on Clyde. I know how Bebe got the picture, I know she showed it to Mitchell and all his football buddies and I know that Stan got hurt by you guys on the field the next day. But I don't know what happened to Kenny, I can't find him to ask him and Bebe's certain you know something about that. She overheard you!"
Clyde directs an uncomfortable look at Ike, his face reflecting shame and defiance, looking almost trapped. Ike does not believe that Kyle and Kenny were involved in some kind of fight that evening and that leaves the question of just where Kenny received the bruises that everyone remembers from the day after. He suspects that it is not only Clyde who knows the answer, but Clyde is the one in front of him and he knows of no one else to ask.
"What happened?" His voice is almost a hiss. "I deserve to know. I deserve to know what happened to my brother! And you know something, I know you do. What happened to Kenny that night?"
Clyde looks away and for a moment, Ike is not certain that he will talk. Whatever Clyde knows, he has obviously never shared the information with anyone else. When he unexpectedly does start speaking, in rapid bursts with pauses in odd places, it is clear that Clyde has never before let the words into the air and seems dully surprised that he is doing so now.
"You probably don't know what it's like to be just another kid in High School. I mean, you're some kinda genius, right? You probably were finished with it all when you were fifteen, taking a degree in advanced something-or-other. The rest of us, we were studying and worrying about the future and trying to get by. Out in the real world, it's almost admirable to be different, though you're never going to be really popular. In High school, it's suicide. You can't stand out from the crowd, there's a huge list of rules that no one talks about but everyone knows and you have to stick to. If you want to fit in."
Clyde sighs. "Some people know they'll never fit in, so they go out of their way to be different. Some of them struggle their whole lives to be one of the crowd, anything for a little acceptance. And some make it look fucking easy."
He snorts, a small frown coming over his face. "I was one of those who struggled. I followed every fad, wore the right clothes, thought the right thoughts. I hung out with the right people and mocked the unpopular kids. And that made me a part of the group... but I knew, even then that I wasn't an important part of it. Just another hanger-on. I put so much effort into it, and then there were the guys like Stan Marsh who never even had to try."
Ike blinks. He was not expecting this at all, mostly because he has put so much thought into what happened to Kyle and Kenny that he has started to see Stan on the edge of things, not a part of his suppositions. "Stan?"
Clyde shakes his head. "Stan was a good guy. He was genuinely nice, he was handsome, he was smart, he was the one guy on the team who had a shot of going pro, he could have had his pick of any girl in school and they would have fucked him senseless in a heartbeat and been proud to be a notch on the bedpost. And he didn't even seem to care that much about being mister popularity. And even if we all liked him, secretly we all hated him too. We were all jealous as hell. I know I was. He had all that and it didn't even matter that much to him. His best friends were Kyle and Kenny and it was like being popular didn't matter to them either. But they added to Stan's aura too, we kinda saw Kyle as helping him in school and Kenny as being someone he could get to hook him up with dope. Stan Marsh and his perfect life and his faithful friends. And I hated him so much because I wanted to be just like him."
Clyde runs a hand through his hair. "It all sounds so petty now," he says, laughing hollowly. "It wasn't even as if he went looking to be the most popular guy in school. It just happened. And he didn't try, didn't hang around with the cool crowd. His friends were real and they weren't looking for popularity by association and he wasn't hanging around with them because they'd help his status. Everything about Stan was real."
He smiles, but it is small and bitter. "And so when it all came crashing down, it was so much sweeter, at first anyway. No one thought Stan could make a mistake but when he did... whoa. That was a mistake, it was huge. Scandal, gossip. Stan was gonna be a social outcast. And when you fall like that in High school, you don't just get ignored. You get attacked. He had all that to look forward to, Kenny and Kyle too. Not that we cared that much about Kenny and Kyle you understand. I mean, we'd have ripped the shit outta them too, but they weren't the main part of it, for the football team at least. It was Stan Marsh, mister big-shot himself about to take a fall. Only Kyle died and all of a sudden, it didn't seem to matter about anything we could do to him. Kenny either."
Ike does not want to understand, but he thinks he does. High school is a place of conformity and those who are not the same face the sharks. His brother had been about to come up against that – only he had died before it could get too bad. But something had happened to Stan and Kenny... and had it not, would they have been able to stop Kyle from dying?
"Please." he says, giving Clyde a pleading look. "I need to know. I want to find out what happened, now more than ever."
Staring down, Clyde starts to talk, haltingly, as if the memory is painful.
Clyde has always had to work at popularity. As he entered High school, his reputation was that of a Nobody, an okay guy but no stand out. Liked well enough by the girls, although he's aware of their materialism. The guys see him as a bit of a wimp and though they don't tease him unmercifully, they do make comments and jokes about his sensitivity. He works hard when he gets into High school to become one of the guys and by the age of seventeen he believes he has accomplished this. He is on the football team, he has left behind his childhood crowd and spends evenings and weekends with his new friends. They fill him with emotions of both acceptance and unease, he knows that it will take only one mistake for that acceptance to be taken from him and cast him back into the role of Nobody once more. Worse than a Nobody, because he used to be Somebody.
So when he is shown the picture of Stan Marsh – Stan Marsh, the star quarterback, the most popular boy in the entire school – in a clearly sexual embrace with not one but two other guys, he reacts predictably, as expectations demand. He is outwardly disgusted, shocked and incredulous. He calls Stan a pervert and a queer and a deviant. And although he truly is startled, he is not as horrified by the revelation as he pretends to be. If anything, mostly he feels relief. It is Stan that has fallen, Stan that has screwed up, not him. The crowd is never so united as when they have someone else to ostracise.
He doesn't know if Stan senses the change in atmosphere as he walks into the changing room before the game. Certainly there are a lot of stares at the black-haired boy, sneers, nudges between the players. Stan doesn't seem to see it. He is focused, as he always is before a game, but he seems happy. Dreamy almost. Clyde has seen this expression on Stan's face quite a bit recently and it makes him wonder if the picture he has seen represents some group moment of madness or if there is actually something serious between the three of them. But that's impossible, right?
Mitchell Curtis, the biggest, nastiest player on the team looks over at Stan as he pulls on his shirt – they have all avoided looking at him while he was changing, in case the gay was catching. There is a flat smirk on his face, the expression of someone mean preparing to tease. "Hey Marsh. You're putting on weight. Been eating too much kosher lately?"
This is actually a pretty standard comment, the typical exchange between teenage boys looking to score points by accusing their peers of being gay, easily ignored. Stan has been hearing things like this his whole life, Clyde knows. But things are different now and he sees his chance to secure his own position and let Stan know that his time in the sun is over.
"Don't be stupid," he says in a slightly bored voice, although there is a small smirk playing on his lips. Stan gives him an inquisitive look, not expecting any assistance from Clyde, or any hassle for that matter, since they are peripherally friends.
"Stan and Kyle are more into Cajun," he says sneakily, feeling both thrilled to have this opportunity to score points and mildly sick, barely recognising his own need to be cruel. "Y'know, jambalaya, crayfish – po' boy sandwiches..."
The locker room immediately erupts with mocking, harsh laughter and Clyde joins in, although he can see through Stan's expression right away. He is trying to look confused, but all his muscles are tense and the look in his eyes is fearful and trapped. Stan knows that he has been found out and a part of him already suspects what this will mean for the rest of the school year. Perhaps the rest of his life. And not just his own life.
No one chooses to expand on the topic, for now the sly jokes tell their own story. Better to let Stan wait in misery for the worst to happen, let him stew. Or so Clyde honestly believes.
Stan's leg is shattered and his future along with it half an hour into play. Although it will never be proven it was anything but an accident, Clyde can see from his position the looks that pass between the players in the moments before the tackle, when three members of his own team drive Stan into the mud and put him in the hospital until the day they bury his best friend and beyond.
Clyde stands and watches the action with his jaw hanging, stunned as Stan is stretchered from the pitch. In the distance, he can see both Kyle and Kenny in the stands, obviously frantic. They vanish for the ambulance and Clyde loses sight of them and anyway, they have a game to play. He knows without being told that he will never breathe a word of what he saw, he will insist that it was sheer accident with every breath. There are sides here and he is not on Stan's. Stan is not The Man any longer, they do not need him. The brighter a star shines, the more satisfying it is to see it fall.
The Cows lose the game.
The team are subjected to the coach screaming at them afterwards, about Stan's injury, their stupidity in what they have done. They do not need to be told that this could be the end of Stan's hopes for going pro, that much was made clear by the odd angles his leg made as they saw him lying in the mud. The coach is red-faced and Clyde feels resentful, he was half-way across the pitch when it happened, why is he here with the rest of them? Because Stan was the star player and the coach just saw the season and the player that might have made his name vanish into the abyss in a moment of teenage punishment for daring to be different.
The coach sprays spit across the room as he screams and just as he is gearing for real anger, Kenny McCormick of all people saves them by walking into the locker room and quietly asking if he can get Stan's things. The coach breaks off and gives Kenny a sympathetic look, asking how Stan is doing. Kenny, who has been to the hospital already and returned, informs him that Stan is about to go into surgery. The coach nods and allows Kenny to get Stan's things, turning to the team.
"Do you see what you've done?"
The coaches voice is low and pained. Clearly he thinks there are worse things than a losing season. He emphasises this opinion by cutting the three players that injured Stan from the team, ignoring their cries of outrage and telling them to change and get out of his sight.
There is real anger and genuine resentment as they shower and dress, unable to believe that they are being punished for what could easily have been an accident. Kenny walks past them with a look of deep hatred and for a moment, Clyde feels ashamed of himself. Then he shakes the feeling, he has no reason to be and anyway, if Stan had not been messing around with men, he would not have been injured. It's his own fault and everything he deserves.
"McCormick doesn't know that we know about them," says one guy in a snarl as they shower. Clyde nods thoughtfully. Stan couldn't have told his lovers they had been exposed before the game and it was unlikely he considered it important while writhing in agony in an ambulance. Kenny probably has no idea what happened, only that it hurt Stan.
The majority of boys finish their showers, dress, slip away silently and shame-faced, not wanting to prolongue the event any further. There are nine of them that remain, the three boys cut, Mitchell, Clyde, four others too angry or eager to merely accept the blame and go home. As a group, they leave the locker room with their things, ready to drown their sorrows with a few beers and maybe raise some hell – it has been a bad day for the team and they need to blow off their anger and resentment somehow. Most of the crowd have already left, no need to stick around with the home team the losers and the star player crippled. The players vehicles are the only ones still in the rapidly darkening car park. All the players cars.
Stan's car is in its customary place and there is someone behind the wheel. It takes Clyde a moment to realise it is Kenny, although he doesn't know why Kenny would still be in the area rather than driving away immediately. But then, Kenny doesn't know that they have discovered his sexual deviancy and probably doesn't realise he has anything to be concerned about.
He is sadly mistaken about that.
Mitchell strides over to the car, pulls open the driver door and drags Kenny out by the scruff of his neck. Kenny is off-balance and lands on his knees by the side of the car, looking up at them in confusion. Clyde can see right away why Kenny has not driven away already and been taken by surprise, his eyes are reddened and slightly damp, he has clearly taken the moment alone in the car to cry. Mitchell sees it too and his grin widens.
"What's up faggot? Crying over your boyfriends boo-boo?"
Kenny's red-rimmed eyes narrow and a flash of understanding goes over his face. His fists clench and Clyde can see him judging his situation – on his knees, surrounded by some of the biggest guys in school, out for his blood – and not liking it one bit. But Kenny doesn't speak, maybe not knowing how to talk himself out of the situation. Kenny's actions have always spoken for him, he is quiet most of the time and not good with words.
It won't be too bad Clyde reassures himself as the circle closes around Kenny. The blonde tries to get to his feet, only to be caught off-balance with a shove from Mitchell, he falls back against the car but does not go down. We're only going to rough him up a little and it's not like we're gonna kill him and even if it did, he'll just come back. These justifications go through his head, along with memories of sharing an elementary school class with Kenny, the times that Kenny has sacrificed himself for the good of other people. But that does not stop him from joining in.
It is short, but brutal. Kenny never stands a chance, not against all of them, not when they are so filled with righteous indignation. To Clyde, it seems to go on forever and he is terrified the entire time. But he gets his licks in, oh yes he does.
It ends with Kenny lying on the floor, one arm clasped loosely around his chest where he has received several vicious kicks, blood running down his face from his busted nose and split lip. His knuckles are cut and bleeding, a lucky shot getting another player in the jaw. But it was never going to be enough.
Mitchell brings back his leg as the rest of them back away a little, kicking Kenny square in the balls. Kenny moans, too pained to even raise a good cry, writhing on the asphalt. Mitchell hawks and spits on Kenny, the glob landing on his injured cheek and sliding down. Kenny cannot raise his hand to wipe it off and Clyde feels sudden disgust, not for Kenny but for himself and the people he calls his friends. He sees them from the outside, a cruelly mocking group surrounding someone who cannot fight back.
"Don't bother coming back to school," says Mitchell, his voice gloating. "Bad enough one faggot looking at us in the shower, you find any fucking excuse to check us out. Fucking queer." He finally steps back, glancing at the others and Clyde realises dimly that they are all conspirators here, bound together by this act whether he wants to be a part of it or not. It is too late to change his mind now.
"Two down," says Mitchell with a laugh. "One to go. Next it's the Jew's turn to get fucked up..."
Kenny erupts from the ground roaring. It is as if he has shrugged off all the pain, all the injuries, and remembered the street rat he is. Perhaps, Clyde thinks, it was a mistake to threaten Kyle in front of him.
Mitchell clearly was not expecting retaliation, as he turns back to Kenny, the boy headbutts him directly on the bridge of his nose. Mitchell howls in pain, staggering backward and then Kenny is attacking all of them at once, a whirling dervish in their centre. The move scares them all and for a few confused moments, they are trying to retreat rather than fight.
Clyde is struck by a fist that catches him glancingly on the temple, stars going off behind his eyes. He lashes out instinctively, gripping Kenny's ratty coat and shoving him hard. Kenny falls back, his legs not able to support him after the beating he has taken and he stumbles. His head hits the side of Stan's car and he crashes to the ground, unmoving.
"Fuck." Mitchell gives Clyde a glance that is both amused and grudgingly admiring. "You killed Kenny."
"Bastard," pipes up another player and they all burst into laughter. Clyde joins in, slightly shakily. He does not want to be a part of this any more. He wants to take it all back.
"Leave him there," says Mitchell dismissively and the entire team disregards the boy, making for their cars and leaving him where he is. Clyde included. They never look back and that is why they do not realise Kenny is not dead and they do not realise it until Kenny arrives at the funeral still bearing the marks of the savage beating.
Ike tries to keep his expression impassive, but he is not sure that Clyde falls for it, the man takes a small glance at him and promptly looks away. Hearing how Clyde was swept up in the mob mentality sickens him, but hearing about who was next on their hit list is worse. Because they had gotten to Stan already and it sounds as if Kenny belonged in the hospital right next to him. Which left only Kyle... and later on that night, something even worse had happened to him.
"So you left Kenny for dead," he says and he can hear the scorn in his voice, the utter disgust. "Where to next? A little game of hunt-the-Jew?"
"No!" Clyde tightens his grip around the bottle. "Nothing like that. We knew Kyle would still be at the hospital, wouldn't be out for hours. There was no point going looking for him. Most of the guys had worked off their anger on Kenny anyway. We took off as fast as we could, went to Mitchell's place. Had a bit of a party, huh. It was the weirdest party I ever went to, no one knew if we should be happy or pissed, what with half the team cut all at once. We all got wasted. By the time ten rolled around, no one was capable of driving to South Park, snatching Kyle, driving him to the observation deck, hauling him the walk and throwing him off the edge. Most of us weren't capable of crossing the room without clinging to the walls."
"So you don't know what happened to Kyle?"
"We didn't happen to him. We weren't capable and anyway..." Clyde snorts slightly. "There was time. Kyle wasn't like Kenny. We could get away with beating the shit outta Kenny, call what happened to Stan an accident and maybe even believe it, but we couldn't get away with that shit with Kyle. We kick the crap outta him then, there'd be comeback. But if we spread that picture around, we could get away with it, might even get beaten to it. No comeback for us, a shitload for him and his boyfriends not even around to stop it. We could just sit there and watch that smug look get wiped right off his face."
Ike wants to remind Clyde that it is his brother they are talking about, but does not. Clyde might speak less freely if he is monitoring his words out of some fucked-up deference to Ike. His fists are clenched but he has no illusions about using them, even now Clyde could beat him without breaking a sweat and Ike has never in his life been in a real fight.
"You didn't see Kyle after Stan got taken away?"
"Nope. That was the last time any of us laid eyes on him, while he was panicking around the ambulance."
Ike nods. "One thing I don't get. The picture Bebe took, the one you all had. It never got out. Even though any number of people knew about it, no one ever let it go public, so to speak. Why not?"
"You're joking, right?" Clyde shakes his head, looking amused at disbelieving. "After all that shit? Look, we were gonna add it to the school website that night, hack the system but none of us were that good and we were pretty wasted when we started. We were gonna get one of the nerds to do it the next day, only the next day Kyle turned up dead. What happened to Stan could have been an accident and probably no one would take what had happened to Kenny seriously, just school scraps and who gives a shit about them? But you throw in a body – a real body, not the kid who comes back all the time – and that picture, what happened to the other two in it... we didn't have anything to do with what happened, but who'd believe us? It was a hell of a coincidence, might have been classed as a motive. We'd be under suspicion, even if we could prove we weren't there. There'd always be that suspicion."
"You covered it up." Ike feels as if there is a vein on his forehead, pulsing angrily. "You hid what was going on between them to save your own asses."
"Yeah." Clyde gives him a stare that dares Ike to comment further. "We covered it up. And it wasn't like Stan and Kenny came forward either. Look, it wasn't us. And it worked out better for everyone. No slur to Kyle's memory, no one in town knows about it with everyone who saw the picture scattered. We deleted it that very day. From Bebe's and Mitchell's phones, from the computer. It doesn't exist any more."
"And if a few people talked about Kenny, how his best friend ended up dead and he looked like he'd been in a fight, it didn't matter. If he lived the rest of his life in this town under that suspicion, it didn't matter. Because it wasn't you." Ike does not care if he is being cruel. This whole thing is so bigoted and petty and if he had the chance, he would grab every one of the people involved and force them to see themselves for what they are, what damage they caused. For all the good it would do, he is not sure they would be capable of realising it.
"Right. It wasn't me." Clyde scowls. "And Kyle dying had nothing to do with us. We just – hid any reason we might have had. And really, we did all three of them a favour by doing it."