Chapter 5

Howard's dreams were haunted by a dark shadowed figure, all muscle and smoke, dangling a rope out of one hand and a stanley in the other. Waking up at about two in the morning, Howard tried to spend his time until school strumming away on his guitar, which he'd fetched from downstairs. He couldn't work out a tune, however, just pointless notes, not at all flowing together, but coming out a garbled mess. Huffing, he tossed it to the floor and simply laid back, staring at nothing. Staring at the mental image of Vince in the hospital bed. Vince in his arms as he sweated and practically jogged through the streets at night. Vince laying below a hedge looking up at him. Vince outside his school, smiling and waving his hands animatedly whilst spinning another one of his tales.

By the time Howard was showered and dressed for school, he felt half mad. All he could think about was the kid. Fuck school, he wanted to go dashing down the street toward the hospital. He wanted to make sure Vince was okay. That he hadn't gotten worse. That he wasn't dead. He wanted to comfort him. He wanted to interrogate the hell outta the little creep so he'd spill about who the hell had put him in the hospital in the first place!

All these spiraling thoughts and emotions were so foreign to Howard that he honestly didn't know what to do, aside from commit himself. He blamed it on never having been around younger children. Even in his old neighborhood, the few people Howard could loosely call his 'friends' had all been either his age or older. He'd simply never given any of the younger years a thought whilst in school. He didn't have any cousins to speak of, either. All his uncles never had kids. He was the only child of the family. So this was what it felt like, then? Howard marveled at how older siblings didn't simply go mad from the stress. How parents could sleep at night knowing their child was in another room away from them, possibly having nightmares, possibly crying or hurt or missing them or being suffocated by their duvet or maybe that thug had come to the hospital to finish the job! Heart hammering in his chest, Howard strode toward the school, pointedly not looking over at the second building, and tried to shut his mind off.

School passed by in a blur for Howard. He'd succeeded, mostly, in shutting his brain off. Problem was, he did it backwards. He couldn't focus on anything. Not on the other students, not on his subjects. He couldn't even hear what the teacher was saying. It was just a noise. The only thing he could focus on was...guess. Vince? Yep. You win. Howard slouched down in his chair, wallowing in self-pity at what this child had done to his brain. He could almost say he hated the kid for it. Almost.

The final bell was like the sound of a starter pistol to Howard. He was out the classroom, down the hall, round the corner and through the front doors so fast he practically made the floor tiles spin. The only stop he made was at his house, to toss his bag in the door and then shut it loudly, not caring if it disturbed anyone. Sod them. Sod them all! He had a hospital room to leg it to!

Panting as he made his way to the receptionist desk, the woman behind the counter almost had a doctor called for him, thinking he was having an asthma attack. He waved her down and simply stated that he was there for Vince Noir. Not waiting to hear her reply he fast-walked down the hallways, and by memory made it to Vince's room. Opening the door, he was greeted by the sight of Vince laying in pretty much the same position as he'd last seen him. The blankets covered him fully yet again, and there was something else. Something off. Oh. The kids was crying. Well, he had been. Or was at least trying really really hard not to. There were no tears, but his eyes were red and his face flushed slightly.

Howard stood poised halfway in the room, arm frozen uncomfortably behind him where he had been closing the door. After a second of utter stillness between the two of them, Howard closed the door the rest of the way with a soft click and came to sit in the chair near Vince.

"What's wrong? Are you hurting? You can always ask the doctors if you need more painkillers. I'm sure they'd give you more."

Vince simply shook his head at Howard, not looking him in the face, but watching his hands as they fumbled about in his lap.

"Did you have a nightmare? Did someone scare you? Was someone in here who scared you?"

'Easy, Moon. Don't let the kid know how stark raving mad you are just yet.'

"Yeah, there was." Came the small reply.

'Fuck. Fuck, I knew it. I fucking knew it. I'll kill 'em. That cockney prick thinks he can just waltze right in here and hurt Vince? Well Howard Moon's here now! Watch out you slimey git! Where's he gone? I bet he'll be back. Well, I'm not leaving this spot, no sir! I'll be ready and waiting to pounce soon as he shows his ugly mug back through that door.'

Howard stood from his chair, feeling less like the pathetic weakling he was and more like a momma lioness about to kick some ass.

"Where is he then? Did he hurt you? Have you told the doctors?"

Vince's eyebrows drew downward in confusion.

"The doctors sent him in. And no, he didn't hurt me. Just had a lot of stupid questions."

"...Pardon?" Now they both were confused.

"The officer. He was just here, 'bout ten minutes ago. He was here forever, prattlin' on and on about how it was bad to lie about this kinda thing, and how I could be in big trouble for not tellin' the truth. Only I am! I am tellin' the truth but he wouldn't 'ave it, he just kept on asking questions and tellin' me off for being uncop-uncoop'rative!"

Vince let out a shaky breath as he vented his obvious anger, seeming to want to cross his arms but not doing so, as that would jolt his ribs. His jaw was clenched once more, and Howard mentally cringed at how he must be grinding his teeth.

Bravado now lost, Howard deflated back down into his chair, feeling sort of like a momma hen now. Fussing and worrying over her chick, but powerless to actually do much in case some big fucking wolf decided to have a snack.

So a police officer had come by earlier, while Howard was in school. And Vince had told him his farce about the crocodile. And he had even gotten upset that his words weren't believed. That was it then. The kid wasn't lying. He wasn't making it up. The kid was insane.

Howard had never known anyone truly insane before. Except for maybe his distant uncle Pedro, whom he'd heard stories of since he was a little boy. And now here he was, sitting next to a delusional seven-year-old. Who swore up and down that it was a moviestar crocodile who'd hung him and left him to die.

There are very few moments in one's life when they reach a crossroads, and are able to see both choices laid out plainly before them. The road to the left meant simply sticking around and enjoying the ride. The right road entailed flinging open the door and sprinting down the hall, preferably screaming; forever washing his hands of this future psychopath.

As Howard stood before these two roads, attempting to stare down them and see the future that lay ahead of each, the choice was made for him. Vince let out a small sniffle, which he immediately tried to muffle by putting his hand over his nose and mouth. Howard was suddenly back in the room, with Vince laying before him with his eyes clamped shut, trying visibly not to cry, face scrunched up in a grimace.

Mouth open but no words able to come out, Howard sought desperately for a way of keeping the kid from crying. He sure as hell wasn't ready for a sobbing child just yet. Leaning forward, he rested his hand lightly over Vince's.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. You'll not go to prison, if that's what you're afraid of. They can't lock you up simply because they don't like your story. C'mon, it'll all be better. Little Man." He purposely tacked that on at the end. Not really certain why, but wanting to gauge a reaction from the kid. He got one.

Red-rimmed eyes flew open to meet his own. He'd definitely heard him that time. Only Howard's plan to keep Vince from crying backfired spectacularly. At the nickname, the kid clamped his right hand harder over his mouth, muffling sobs as best he could while screwing his eyes shut once more, tears now falling freely down his pale cheeks. Ready or not, Howard was in a room with a sobbing child.

Howard felt terrible and confused. Had he upset him? Dammit! He'd meant the nickname to be soothing, not send the boy into a fit! He couldn't be in the room. He was no good with emotion, especially strong ones that radiated off of other people. But as he drew his hand away he was surprised to find it trapped in a vice grip. Feeling slightly like a fox caught in a claw trap, Howard once again leaned forward against the bed and stared at the sheets while the child cried himself out. He still had so many questions for this kid. First and foremost along the lines of where the hell his family was! He supposed that to get those answers he'd just have to tough it out and wait for the tears to stop.

They did stop, after about two hours straight. Once the kid started it was like Pandora's box. He just couldn't stop. Howard could see that he was making the effort to control himself, but even as the outright sobs abated, he went on hiccuping and whimpering for a good solid thirty minutes. If Howard didn't feel so much like chewing his arm off, he'd say that he was impressed. He'd certainly never cried that long. In fact, Howard supposed he hadn't shed an actual tear since he was nine, with the whole tree-leg-break incident.

Just as Howard pulled himself from his happy place where'd he'd been camping for about an hour now to begin his long list of questions for the kid, he found that Vince was already half-asleep. Eyes drooping downward, making a weak attempt to wipe his nose on his wrist. Howard pulled his hand slowly from the kid's, who no longer had the energy to keep hold, and went into the room's toilet to fetch paper and offer them silently to Vince. Taking them, he blew his nose repeatedly, setting the soiled towels on the bedside table and looking over to Howard once more. Eyes now very red and puffy, and closing every few seconds, only to be forced back open again.

Howard smiled down at the kid, both to reassure Vince (and himself) that he wasn't about to take the right road, not anymore, and because he couldn't help but feel a sort of fond amusement at watching the child struggle against sleep.

Howard marveled at how south everything had gone in such a short amount of time. The injuries, the hospital, the monster roving the streets freely, the massive fit just a minute ago. And yet, things must not have fallen that far, since Howard could still see a long way down; a lot of alternate possibilities, ones he shuddered at. A dead child. A monster come to finish what he started. And yet Howard could also see the top of the mountain peak above them. He was going to get to that peak, and he was going to drag this child along with him. Howard reaffirmed his earlier vow to get his own car. He also promised himself then and there to get a job, to finish school with passing grades, and to keep watch over this little bundle of mayhem under a blond wig.

The child was now fast asleep, and Howard practically guffawed at the sounds of snoring coming from the kid. Far too loud and obnoxious to be coming out of that small adorable heap. Wait, did he just say adorable? Now he was insane. Maybe he and the kid could get a joined padded cell when they were sent down river.

Howard suddenly recalled his red jacket he had left on this very chair yesterday. Where was it? Had a nurse nicked it? More than a little annoyed (he loved that jacket!) Howard looked about the room for the first time since he'd entered it. His roving eyes came to a halt when they landed on the tiniest strip of red fabric showing beneath Vince's duvet. Careful not to wake the child, Howard lifted a corner to see his jacket. The kid had draped it over himself like another blanket, hiding it away from prying eyes under the hospital blankets. Not wanting to wake the boy with any attempts to retrieve the clothing, Howard simply resolved to get it back the next day, and tucked the duvet back around Vince. He very quietly exited the room, being sure to close the door with barely a sound.

That night he had a dream where Vince was an adult patient in a mental asylum, surrounded by various people telling jokes and shelling out punchlines. Vince himself was obsessing over his artwork, forever mourning the loss of his puppet-making tools.

(alright, I think I may have painted Howard a bit too strongly in this. But I'm gonna stand by it, cause Howard is a very passionate person, and he doesn't do anything half-assed. He may think of himself as calculated and even-minded, but he's actually driven by emotion more so than Vince.)