Ramblings: Music is a BIG inspiration for this story, and for this song I listened to Louder Than Thunder by The Devil Wears Prada. It really fits the mood of the last half of this chapter, as well as Howard's thoughts on the future and this crazy kid he's been saddled with.

Chapter 3

Howard awoke at four that morning to the sound of his mother trudging tiredly upstairs. This was the second night she'd stayed out. Howard wasn't too surprised. It's one of the many reasons she and his father separated. She loved to be out, having a good time. Howard's father much preferred quiet nights in. Howard was just thankful she had never decided to cheat on his father on those many nights out, as far as he knew.

After that initial invite into his house, it was like some sort of switch had went off. No longer was the trek to Howard's home done in mutual silence; the kid talked so much so quickly it made Howard feel short of breath, expecting the kid to faint from lack of oxygen since he seemed to never pause in his endless prattle. He talked mainly of music, which would've made Howard feel glad, had the genres not been to Howard's distaste. He was back to being the annoying shadow, the fly that wouldn't go away. Only now the fly seemed to have gained the ability to speak.

He also followed Howard into his house every day now. That second day, he had honestly startled Howard. The young man had walked in through his front door and turned to watch the child prance back down the pavement, only to find no kid there. Looking about the yard and street, Howard almost leapt out of his shoes when he caught sight of pink out the corner of his vision. Vince seemed to find this amusing, and he laughed endlessly at the look on Howard's face as he whipped around to face the kid, standing behind him in the front hall.

Mostly they just sat around in his room, Howard spitefully putting on a jazz record every now and again. He was actually surprised that the kid never complained much beyond a withering look, or never outright got up and left, seeing as how he claimed to absolutely loath jazz and all those associated with it. Other times it would just be Vince's voice filling the room. The boy could go on and on for hours unchecked. And though Howard would never admit it, he actually wasn't frustrated by it. Mostly he just sat at his desk or on the bed with the kid and did homework. Or tried to. To be honest, the stories the kid could come up with were pretty interesting. Surreal and more than a bit barking, but Howard found himself looking forward to the end of the day when he could close himself and Vince off into his room and just sit and listen to another of the child's tall tales; watch the way he would motion enthusiastically with his hands, blue eyes bright.

Howard's room was even changing as the days turned into weeks. The kid would sometimes bring something along with him. Just small things, like neon nailpaint when he wanted to change colors while speaking, or cassettes, which he forced Howard to sit and listen to with him on a little player that Vince also brought along with him. And everything he brought he left at Howard's house. Howard thought with some unease that it was almost like the kid was trying to sneak his way into Howard's house, into Howard's life, to settle in and remain there. To never leave.

"What's that?" Howard asked as he watched Vince tack a paper plate onto Howard's wall. The kid had recently begun 'decorating' Howard's room as he came over. There were now posters of The Who, Hendrix, Tubeway Army, and many others all along his walls. On the back of the paper plate was a painting of what appeared to be a man. A green man, in a top hat with a...mint over one eye.

Vince finished digging the tack into the wall, and stood back to admire the plate, situated above Howard's bedside table. He turned to Howard, sitting beside him on the bed, and Howard recognised the look he got just before he launched into a particularly interesting story.

"That's the Hitcher. You see, when I was about five, there was a playground not too far from here that I loved to play at after school. It was my favorite place in the whole world. I 'specially loved the swings. Anyway, that's where the Hitcher lived. Well, not in the playground, but close. There was a small bit o' forest right next to the slide, and in them trees was a pond. It were a small one; shallow too, and really gross, since people liked to dump their rubbish in it. One time a boy went in the pond on a dare, and got really really ill from it. Imagine that, just from touching the water! Hah! Were me who dared him, but don't go tellin' anyone that. His parents were furious, so I hear."

Howard lay back against his pillows, biology essay forgotten, papers falling off his lap and onto the duvet. Vince copied him, leaning against Howard's bedframe and looking down at him from his higher position, a grin at the corner of his mouth, showing white, slightly crooked teeth. Licking his lips, he continued his story, eyes filled with the images of his tale so starkly that Howard could almost see the memories play out through them as Vince's voice once again filled the space between them.

"Well, the man lived in those trees, hidden away from pryin' eyes. But during the daytimes he always hung 'round the edges of the trees, and all us kids ran to the playground after school. He was dressed in, like, these really old rags, like Victorian stuff. He had a dusty top hat, and an old scarf that he wore on his neck in the winter. He loved talking to us kids. He liked hearing about our day at school, how we was doing. Any big exams we had coming up that we forgot to study for. He also had these little mint candies. He never had anything else, just these little white mints that he offered all of us. Never seemed to run out of 'em, though I don't know where he got them all. The man was completely poor. I asked where he came from one time, and he said from all 'round. That he'd traveled the entire'y of Europe by hitch-hiking. He loved to tell stories, too, just like me. I was his favorite, ya see. Told me himself! We'd sit and tell stories back an' forth for hours, until it was so dark out all the others had gone home and the street lights came on. He always asked me to stay on, always wanted me to come over into the trees where his tent was and talk the night away. I nearly did sometimes, but to be honest he got a little scary when it was dark. Something in his face changed. He was nice, though, always loved seeing us kids every day. I didn't stay late every day, though. Some days I had to leave early. It made me sad, cause he was really fun to talk to. He was sad when I had to leave, too. "

Here Howard found himself sitting up, brow furrowed. This kid had to be dense, to not realise what he was saying. It was clear to Howard that this man Vince spoke of was after quite a bit more than friendship, and if Vince still went and spoke with this man Howard would be giving the police a nice phone call, and soon. Then cold dread wound its way into Howard's stomach. Two years ago, this had been. What could've happened in these past two years? What if the man had already done something. Something...unthinkable, to this kid? Howard was pulled from his rising terror by Vince's voice.

"Well, one day I went to the playground with the others, and we saw police cars surrounding the entire park, officers all over tha place. The Hitcher was being put into one of 'em. He spotted me just before the car drove off. He smiled at me, and waved, and I waved back, worryin' for 'im. On the telly that night, the news said that the night before two boys were found dead in them trees. You see, they were brothers, twins, and had been missing for a few weeks. The police searched everywhere, and finally found them hidden away in the park. The man went to court, and for weeks it was all anyone would talk about. The twins had only a father, who was mad with sadness, so I'd heard. I still remember his face, on the news. He was talking to a reporter or somethin'. He swore he'd see the Hitcher in prison on a death sentence for taking his boys. He was cryin' an awful lot. I don't think I'd ever seen a grown man cry until then. Didn't think they were able to."

"Vince-"

"But, there was no evidence that it was actually the man who did it. The bodies weren't by his tent or nothin', and they was all rotten by then, and there was no weapon or nothing discovered. The man even gave the police an alibi, that he was with a friend, who worked in some kind of fruit shop or something, the night the police said the boys had to've died. The friend told everyone it was true, and since there was no evidence, they couldn't send him to prison. The dad of the boys was so angry, he actually same flyin' at the man in the middle of the courtroom! Saw it live on telly and everythin'! It was amazing. Four guys had to hold him back. Anyway, I still went to the park every day, even though nearly all the other kids stopped. And those that did stayed far from the trees. I didn't mind. Just meant we could have more time to ourselves. I got all the mints then! I love those things. I miss gettin' 'em..."

Vince's smile dropped, and he seemed to fade out altogether for a moment. Before Howard could think to reach over to him, he snapped back to attention, looking Howard in the eyes and continuing his not-so-surreal-but-all-too-real story, not smiling anymore.

"One day I came to the park, and somethin' weird happened. The man wasn't there waiting for me by the slide. He was nowhere! Day after day I went to the playground, and he weren't there nomore. For a while I thought maybe he'd left. Hitched a ride 'cross the country cause of the threats he said he'd been gettin' from locals. Then, one afternoon I decided to go into the trees. I wanted to see if his tent was still up 'n all. Coming to the pond, I saw somethin' in the water. It was a big black lump. It was laid near the edge, so I could stand right next to it without getting in the water me'self. That's when I saw that it was the Hitcher's great long jacket. I crouched down and turned it over, and there was the Hitcher. He was dead, and had been for some time, from how bad he smelled. Oh god, was he a sight! The water 'ad made him go all green and weird looking. The skin 'round his face was all wrinkly, like it was really pruned up. His little white mints had gotten from his pockets and were floating all around him. He also had his left eye all messed up, like someone had popped it right out! It was well gross."

It took Howard a few minutes to realise that Vince had stopped talking, and was now just sitting there looking over at him. Raising his eyebrows at the kid, he leaned forward.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What's the rest of the story?"

The kid grinned, letting out a short laugh, "There is no rest of the story; that's it."

"That can't be it. What about the dead twins, their father? What about this man? What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes! How...what seeing that must've...what did you do? Did you go to the police? Your parents?"

"No. I just stopped going to the park."

It was the way in which the kid said those words that had Howard's spiraling thoughts coming to a complete halt. That utterly flippant way in which he closed the story, that made Howard sit back once more and just study the boy before him. He had a small inkling that this kid might be a bit insane. Or a sociopath. Or he simply didn't grasp the seriousness of everything he had just talked about. Howard decided to take a different approach to his questions, wanting to hear more of this tale even though deep down he wanted to run crying from the room and into his mommy's arms.

"Well. Um. Did it make you sad? That the man you used to talk to was dead?"

"Oh, he's not dead. Well, I mean, he is, but he's still around."

Howard was getting that horror movie sensation again. Resisting the urge to look about the room, he looked directly into Vince's eyes, now shifting closer to the boy.

"What do you mean, still around?"

"I mean still around. Out in the streets of London. He's a lot scarier now, though, so I try to avoid 'im a lot. He hasn't visited me in over a year now, so I think he's forgotten about me. But for a while after he died he'd come to see me at my house, when everyone was asleep. He insisted on waking me up almost every night, and wanted to talk for hours. I slept a lot in class. Anyway, he was a lot meaner then, too. He didn't tell me cool stories of his adventures nomore; instead it was what he'd been up to on tha' streets. Rapin' and killin' people, he said. When I told him I thought he was lying, because I never saw anythin' about it on the telly, he got real mad and said it were because he was just that good at hiding the bodies, and then he cut me with his knife. On the arm, not really big. But enough to scare me stiff. I hid the cut from teachers and stuff until it was better, since I didn't want anyone knowing he was still around. He was still me best mate, so I had to look out for 'im."

Here Vince paused to point behind him up at the painting.

"That's what he looked like after. His skin stayed all green, and he sewed those mint candies on his clothes, even though he never offered me any more to eat, and he had one great big one over his eye. The hurt one. I fin'lly told him one night I didn't wanna see him no more, and closed the window on him. He still came by a lot, bangin' on the window. I'm surprised it never woke anyone up, it was so loud! But, like I said, after a while, he just stopped showin' up. The end."

Now Vince was smiling once more, tacking on those last two words with a cheeky look over at Howard. Howard returned no such look. He was too busy worrying over whether this kid was lying, delusional, in need of quick help, that Hitcher guy really had survived his ordeal, or, hell, Howard had some kind of freakish zombie situation on his hands.

It goes without saying that Howard's sleep that night was anything but restful. He felt much like a zombie himself in school the next day, made even worse by the biology essay he had neglected to finish, which was due that very day. He was glad that Vince went back to his more bright, silly stories after that bleak nightmare. He was particularly fond of the ones about Vince's childhood. Laughing at how Vince claimed to have been raised in the jungles of India by Bryan Ferry. Vince became incredibly affronted whenever he sensed that Howard wasn't taking his words seriously, and clammed up the rest of the evening, so Howard learned to keep his skepticism to himself and simply play along.

One afternoon Howard's mother actually stayed in that night, and insisted on cooking the three of them dinner. Howard figured she just wanted to get to know Vince better, seeing as how she'd hardly spoken with the boy since his visits began over two months ago. Isabella got along swimmingly with Vince, to Howard's relief, and the teen contented himself with sitting back with his food and watching Vince and his mother talk about themselves and their likes and dislikes and anything else that came to mind as the afternoon faded into evening.

When Vince finally went home, just as darkness was settling on the horizon, Isabella called Howard into the kitchen. Looking at him with a smile as she washed the dishes, she said to him in a voice filled with approval, "I like this new friend of yours. He's a little eccentric, and a bit young to be hanging around someone ten years his senior, but I know what a good person you are, dear. I daresay you'll be good influences on one another."

With that she turned back to her task. But just as Howard reached the stairs, he heard her voice call out once more, "I've always regretted not giving you a younger sibling. Well, now I can finally put that guilt to rest."

Before Howard knew it, school was let out for winter holidays. He could breathe a sigh of relief, both that he had a break from classes, and because Howard loved the winter. It just felt so clean and fresh, and he liked seeing his breath ghost out in front of him as he trudged down the street in his long red jacket. It didn't offer as much warmth as his heavy brown coat did, but Howard much preferred this one. It was his grandfather's back in the forties. It had history. Plus he loved the color red.

Behind Howard was Vince, stuffed into his pink pillow of a coat, stepping carefully into the tracks Howard's boots made in the shallow snow and looking positively chuffed about it. If Howard were any other kind of man, he might say the sight was downright cute, looking back at the boy lagging behind him. Coming to a curb, Howard stopped to wait for Vince to catch up to him. Once he did Howard took the child by hand and crossed the street carefully. That's what you were supposed to do, right? Take a child's hand before crossing a street with them. The boy wasn't making any protest so Howard supposed he was doing it right.

When they reached the edge of the park the boy dropped Howard's hand, which he previously had refused to release, and stood there silently. Howard had expected this, and looked down at Vince, who was staring off into the distance, at the playground that could be seen near the small forest. He looked accusingly up at Howard, who was sure his mouth was drawn down in a frown, even though most of his face was covered by a cream scarf Howard had wound around him before they'd set off.

"Hold on, now. We're just going to the museum. I read that there was one in the park. It's somewhere in the middle, I think. Does this park have a map somewhere? It's bigger than I thought."

Vince visibly relaxed his arms and shoulders, and then lead the way with confidence, keeping a distance from the playground where children could be heard playing, and on to a concrete path. From here they walked deeper into the park, more and more clusters of trees surrounding them as they went. Eventually they did find a large map placed in a wooden stand.

"Never been to a museum."

That was all Vince offered as Howard scanned the map's many sites before finally recognising the name of their destination. It wasn't much further ahead, and the two arrived there in less than ten minutes. Little did Howard know that he would be learning a very valuable lesson this day. A lesson that sad to say many parents learn the hard way as well. Never bring small children to boring places.

Fifteen minutes and nine exhibits in had Vince was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Silent, but his fidgeting about in Howard's periphery was a little annoying. He tried to focus harder on the display before them. It was some sort of abstract painting that its plaque said represented the conflict and decline of modern culture in that of Europe and even the world. Howard thought it just looked like a bunch of colorful scribbles. The kind of thing he'd expect Vince to latch onto like a leech. But the boy wasn't biting. Not even close. He'd given the painting a few seconds of his time and then immediately got involved with exercising his feet muscles.

As the minutes passed and they made their slow route around the circular layout of the building, Vince went from rocking silently back and forth to shifting noisily, then came the quiet humming which evolved into quick pacing, and somewhere along the line Howard turned around to check on Vince only to see that the boy had gone and climbed onto one of the statues.

Trying not to curse out loud (the kid was bad enough!) Howard darted over to him, arms outstretched as if that would do much good from metres away. He was up quite high, nearly to the top of the thing, and Howard could just imagine the little wretch loosing his footing and cracking his head on the hard tile below.

"Come down here!" He grit out between his teeth. He didn't want to attract the guards' attention. They were lucky there was no one in this section. Yet.

Vince seemed to notice him for the first time, so wrapped up he was in whatever world the little blighter lived in. Howard could tan him alive, he could! Gah! He should've known better than to expect the chatter-box to stay obedient and out of trouble for more than three seconds with priceless pieces lying about.

Vince was making his careful way back down, and every time his polka-dotted sneakers slipped slightly or he readjusted his hold on a crevice Howard's arms twitched, still open wide directly underneath the boy, like a landing trampoline with one big hole in the middle.

When Vince was close enough Howard plucked him off the marble and carried him, hands gripping under his armpits, over to a wall. Howard felt for a moment he might give the child a few well-deserved smacks, but held himself in check. He wasn't the boy's father. But that didn't keep him from kneeling down to eye-level to give the boy a scathing look.

"Just what was that? Who said you could go traipsing on the artwork? These things are expensive, Vince! Don't do that again!"

Vince watched his shoes the entire time Howard ranted at him, trying to keep his voice low and level. He seemed quite put off when Howard got authoritive toward him, and if Howard didn't know any better, he'd say the boy wasn't sure how to handle himself, how to respond. As if the kid had never been reprimanded before. He also got quite tense any time Howard raised his voice above his normal tone, even if it wasn't in anger. His eyes would flick from the floor to Howard's hands, especially if they did anything aside from hang at Howard's sides.

Howard purposely raised a hand to slide across his mouth, testing his hypothesis. Sure enough, Vince's eyes shot up and followed the limb until Howard settled both hands on his hips, looking down at the boy, no longer in anger but curiosity. He wasn't the boy's father, but he certainly wanted to meet the man. Now more than ever.

Deciding to cut the trip short, Howard stood up again and took the boy's hand, more as a show that he wasn't angry anymore than for traffic safety, and led the way back to the entrance. The front of the museum, which Howard had practically raced through in his excitement to get inside, was a lovely little garden, filled with hedges sculptured to look like animals doing crazy little poses. Vince brightened considerably as he released Howard's hand to walk up to one, darting a quick look at Howard before slowly reaching out a hand and running it lightly through the surface leaves of one hedge shaped like an elephant. Howard sighed as he took his time catching up to Vince; the kid always did this as well. Treating Howard a bit like an alien any time he got cross with him. Howard was more curious than ever to pester the boy with questions on his home life. But any time the subject was brought up Vince either changed the subject or clammed up completely.

Standing a small distance from Vince to give him his desired space, Howard watched as he ran from hedge to hedge, petting each statue and speaking to them in low words that Howard couldn't make out. After a while, Vince seemed to have settled back to his normal self, making his way back to where Howard stood beside the elephant. Just as Howard was going to suggest they leave, Vince plopped right down in the thick grass on his back. Luckily the snow seemed to have been cleared from the front of the museum, so Howard didn't worry so much as he looked down on the boy, who smiled up at him.

"What's your favorite animal? I love elephants. I can do a right mean impression, wanna hear?"

Without waiting for Howard's replies to his questions, Vince put both hands to his face and did a rather crude impression of an elephant bellow. It was so bad and shoddy and utterly insanely adorable that Howard found himself sitting on the grass as well, holding his sides as he laughed loudly. Vince grinned back, staring up at the white sky as he moved his arms back and forth a few times, though there was no snow to make angels in. Howard finally calmed enough to answer Vince, a smile still in his voice.

"My favorite animals is...I'd have to say a cat. Or something. Not really sure, never had a pet before."

"Cats are good. There used to be a stray one that I'd feed the extra food I didn't eat, but that was a while back. It stopped showing up one day."

Howard looked down at the boy, putting to memory the image of him, scarf up over his mouth and nose, overwhelmed by pink and overshadowed by a gigantic elephant hedge. Howard Moon realised then and there that he had grown quite fond of this little pink nightmare. Aside from the endless chatter and rule disobeying, the kid was alright.

They opted to just walk aimlessly around the park for the remainder of the day, keeping an exceptional distance from the playground, which Howard felt a bit of a pang for. As appalled by the story as Howard was, he was also terribly curious. He really wanted to go into that small forest and see for himself the site of Vince's story. He imagined it would feel like stepping into a movie or a storybook. But the memory of how distressed Vince had looked when he'd thought Howard would be taking him there kept him from suggesting they go take a look. He instead pushed such thoughts away and focused on the boy behind him, once again trying to walk literally in Howard's footsteps. Howard took extra-long strides, just so he could have the amusement of watching the boy attempt to jump from imprint to imprint, missing most of the time.