Richard groggily looked at the alarm clock beside him and grumbled at seeing the early morning hour. It took a second for him to fully process his thoughts, and once he had he wondered to himself why he had woken up. His thought was answered when he saw the shivering form of his wife beside him.
Richard sighed. Layla's been having nightmares most of her life, and these past few months had been particularly bad. She had them almost every few days. The worst part of these nightmares was that there was no waking you the happy-go-lucky woman during them. He could only wait for it to play out, then be there when she woke up.
And wait he did. Richard watched despairingly as his wife whimpered, sweat, and tossed around in her disturbed sleep. Not ten minutes later the girl shot up with a gasp, tears gathering at her wide eyes.
Layla quickly rubbed at her face with the sleeves of her nightmare, trying to erase all evidence of it ever taking place. Richard wanted to comfort his significant other, but knew better than to touch her when she woke from a nightmare. He had to give her some time and space, or it would end badly.
As Layla composed herself, Richard, who had also sat up, questioned softly,"Which was it this time?"
Layla rubbed her head, "I-I've never had this dream before."
The man sighed again, "So we have another to add to the list? Damnit, why now? These dreams haven't plagued you for years, and they suddenly come back when we're on holiday? What was it about, Layla?"
"That's the weird part," Layla met her husbands eyes, "It was something that never happened to me. I wasn't even in it, I was just watching... it was someone else, he was hurting, crying. I was trying to get to him, but the closer I came the further he got. I never even saw him clearly. Dick... I-I have a really bad feeling... I need to see Peter! I don't feel good. I'm worried." Layla jumped off the bed and started towards the bedroom door.
"Layla, W-Wait! Peter? The kid you've been investigating? Slow down!" Richard jumped off the bed a quickly blocked Layla from leaving the room.
"Get outta my way." She growled.
"No! Have you gone crazy!? What are you planning on doing? Just busting into his house on the slightest whim that he might be in trouble that you got from a dream?" He asked sarcastically.
"If that's what it takes!"
"And what if you're wrong? And then SHEILD catches wind of your recklessness? You'll lose credibility!"
"I don't care." Layla glared at her husband.
Richard sighed, seeing that there was no way he was gonna change her mind. "Layla, do you even where this kid lives?"
This silenced the irritated woman.
Richard rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I figured as much."
Layla visibly deflated, staring solemnly at the floor.
Seeing his wife's depression, Richard rubbed the back of his head and grimaced slightly at what he was about to say, "Hmmm... tell ya what, how about we just go back to sleep now and if Peter isn't in school tomorrow, I'll use some resources to find where he lives. Then we can go there together to ask about him. Deal?"
Layla smiled and nodded enthusiastically.
"Good." Richard yawned, "Now let's get back to sleep. I'm beat."
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
When Peter woke up the next morning, he felt dirty, so, being wary not to run into his aunt, he took a shower. He turned the settings as hot as it would go and scrubbed until his skin turned a raw red. The scalding water didn't help much either. Peter turned the water off not 20 minutes later and wrapped a towel around his waist before racing back to his room and locking the door behind him.
Peter plopped down into his desk chair and sighed before putting his head in his hands. The back of his eyes stung, and he choked down a sob. He refused to cry. Peter had to be strong. He needed to figure out what to do next.
The teenager inspected his burned skin closely. It wasn't any worse than a sunburn, and it would heal by the end of the day, but it still hurt. Peter decided he would just leave it be, rather then use anything to soothe the burn. He didn't want to go looking for anything right now. He couldn't cross his aunt.
Aunt Alexandra. Peter scowled. How dare she allow this to happen? All Peter ever did was try to appease her. He would always try to make up for Uncle Ben's absence. But one little slip in the schedule, and he was reprimanded harshly; illegally. Peter didn't understand what he did wrong. Why his aunt couldn't just love him.
Because you killed Ben. Her misery is your fault. You deserve to be treated like the beast you are.
Peter shook the evil thoughts from his mind. He knew he didn't deserve the love of his aunt after what he did, even if he wished it. That doesn't mean he deserved... that.
Peter glanced at his bed, but immediately looked away again. He didn't want to remember. He didn't was to be near it. Near the place where-
Peter abruptly stood. He was late for school, but that didn't matter. He didn't plan on going today. Maybe not even for the rest of the week. He had to get away. He had to cool down, to think. Until Peter had some alone time, he couldn't confront his aunt.
The boy quickly slipped on his costume, the one the public dubbed 'Phantom'. He dumped his school supplies onto his desk and packed a few changes of clothes into it, enough to last a few days. He went to his closet and pulled out a shoebox on the top shelf, where he had hidden all the leftover money from his 'jobs'. Peter had been doing that work for a little more then a year now, and had a new task every few days or so. He estimated he had done about 150 of his little assignments. Subtracting what his aunt took, Peter had anywhere between 100-200 dollars left over from each pay, depending on the difficulty of what he had did. He had about 1000 dollars stashed away in his room, and adding that to the approximate 20,000 he had hidden in a broken down and undisturbed house next to the city public park. Peter know he would be able to survive off of the money for awhile, thus had no qualms with his leaving home. The teen still didn't know how long he would hide out for, but at least he wouldn't be starving in the streets.
Peter grabbed his phone, its charger, toiletries, and a few other necessities, shoved them in his bag, and opened his window. He looked around before climbing out and leaping onto a tree limb that was placed just outside the window.
Making sure not to be seen by anybody, Peter made his way out of Queens and throughs the city, hiding on buildings and moving through alleyways to get to the Central Park. Once safely inside his new hideout, he was able to relax his tensed body. Not that the boy was comfortable. The burns from earlier were still stung, and while he was no longer any tearing, he was still... sore.
Peter hid his extra 1000 with the rest of his money on the top floor of the house. The house was has 2 stories, a basement, and an attic. It was extremely old fashioned and was a dirty and chipped white color. Uncontrolled vegetation and vines had climbed up the side of the house, giving it a majestic appearance. The small neighborhood it was in was full of other similar old houses, where only the extremely elderly still lived. The only reason this neighborhood even existed in the city was because a bunch of rich people who grew old decided they wanted to stay in their childhood homes. Back then, the houses would be mansions compared to what common people lived in. The people around here considered the dwellings architectural masterpieces that were valued as "historical treasures." That fact was the only reason the place Peter was in now wasn't torn down years ago. After all, the building was something of a safety hazard. Nobody had lived in the place for almost 30 years, at least that's what the ownership history said. It was likely a hideout for the homeless before Peter had found it. It was probably abandoned even by the desperate because the rotting wooden floors creaked with every step and there was already a few areas within the house that had caved. A normal person would surely get hurt in such a place. It was a good thing Peter was anything but normal. He was able to use his spidey sense to avoid structurally unstable areas and could tread gracefully enough to make minimal amounts of noises. Peter was glad he was so prepared, of course, he never expected this to happen, but it's a good thing he was ready.
Peter sighed.
What do I do now?
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
"He wasn't at school today."
Layla clutched tightly to the phone in her hand. Her husband on the other line hesitated before answering.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" Layla said irritably,"I even went to the main office asking about him, spouting some excuse on needing to talk to him, and they said he had an unexcused absence in all of his classes. Nobody called him in and he didn't attend any classes."
"Could he be skipping?"
"He doesn't skip school. He's a good kid."
There was a sigh on the other line,"Yeah, I'll agree with you on that one in the least. Fine. We'll stop by his house to check on him. Give some excuse on needing to talk about his grades or something. But Layla, if he is okay, please, lay off on the kid a bit. Please. From what I've seen, your practically smothering the poor boy. Your getting to obsessed. It's honestly unhealthy and I'm worried about you. So if Peter is fine, if you are really just paranoid, promise me you'll give it a break. Even if only for a little bit."
"Fine. I promise. But, if I'm the one who's right here, you have to swear to help me. You have to dedicate yourself to helping as much as I have. Deal?"
"Layla, if your right about this, you won't need to hold me to a promise to make me help. I would do all I can if that's the case. Just because I'm skeptical of his abuse in the first place, that doesn't mean I'll allow it upon being confirmed of its presence. I hate domestic abuse just as much as you. I'm just more realistic in the approach than you are. It's a deal."
"Thank you." Layla's tense shoulders visibly relaxed at her husbands confirmation of assistance.
"The kid lives in Queens. It's XXX street and the house number is XXX. Wait for me to get there."
"Okay, see you there. Goodbye."
"See ya"
That is how the two adults later found themselves outside of Peter's house, knocking on the front door. They waited a few minutes and knocked again. Layla almost knocked a third time when the door was thrown open.
"Whadda ya want?"
The woman in front of them was a mess. Her makeup looked like it was done by a 3 year old and her hair wasn't brushed. She must have just woken up.
The initial shock of the display in front of the couple passed and Layla cleared her throat. "Hello, we're from Peter's school, are you his guardian?"
The woman glared at Layla, "yeah... wat of it?"
"Well, he wasn't at school today and also wasn't called in. Do you know where he is?"
"Tha lil' brat... darin' ta skip out on school. I don' know where he is. All the shit's been doin' lately is causin' me trouble. Now go away." The woman's voice was an angry grumble, and she slammed the door in their face as soon as she finished her rant.
The two simultaneously blinked.
"Well, wasn't she just a ray of sunshine..." Richard rolled his eyes.
"And not to mention completely hungover. There is no way you can't believe this is a domestic abuse case after seeing... that." Layla motioned pointedly to the door.
"While that couldn't prove anything, I'll admit I'm more susceptible to the idea." Richard partially agreed.
Layla gave a large, shit-eating grin, "That's good enough for me! Now let's go!" Layla practically marched away from him.
"Uhhh... Dearest, the car's that way." He pointed the opposite direction of where she was headed.
Layla snorted. "Who said I was going back to the car? I'm not finished here yet!" Layla stopped to quickly glance around before dashing behind the house.
Richard's eyes widened in a comically horrified manner before he also glanced around and ran after his wife. When he caught up to her she was already halfway up a tree in the backyard.
"Layla! What the hell do you think your doing!?" He whisper-yelled up to her.
"That woman is hiding something! I'm gonna find Peter." She spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and pointed up to an open window on the second floor. "Now are ya coming or what?"
Richard groaned in an almost whiny manner before glancing indecisively between the tree and the street where the car was parked. He made his decision and began climbing the tree. "We are so getting fired..." he complained.
"Shut your trap, I'm already level with the window. Look, there's even a tree limb that goes right up it. It this isn't a sign, I don't know what is." With that, she climbed into the window and disappeared from sight.
Richard was level with the window when his spouse poked her head back out, "Hey, I think this is Peter's room! Help me look around!"
Richard climbed in. "Look for what? The passage to a secret torture chamber? Blood splattered on walls? A body?"
"Nobody likes sarcastic negativity, Dick." Layla rolled her eyes.
"Well, what do you expect to find? This is just his bedroom. He's not even here." Richard leaned against the wall between the bed and the desk, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"I don't know, just look around. Maybe there's something that could tell us where he is, like an open webpage for bus schedules or a train ticket receipt." Layla looked on the desk for a computer but only saw a messy and haphazard pile of notebooks, folders, and paper. Layla opened one of the folders on top of the pile and looked at the top paper. "Hey Richard, this is an assignment due to be turned in today! This stuff must be all his recent school supplies! It looks like it was all just dumped onto his desk, but why..." Layla gave a gasp, "He was emptying his backpack! He must have needed room it it to pack stuff! I bet he was running away. But why now? And why so suddenly? He could have done this anytime, and at a better day, like the weekend where he would have more time to get away before being noticed. Plus there's the fact that it looks like this room was left in a rush. What would make him spring into action so suddenly? I've known Peter long enough to know that he thinks through things carefully before acting on them. He isn't a spontaneous person."
"Your getting an awful lot of ideas based on a pile of notebooks and folders." Richard stated dryly.
"Shut up. I don't see you helping out any." She snapped back.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it."
Although Richard could agree with his love on one thing. It did look like Peter had left in a hurry. The pile on the desk most certainly looked like it had been just dumped out of a backpack. Not only that, but the rest of the room was in a hurried disarray. Random articles of half folded laundry lay at the foot of a dresser where a drawer was half open. The closet door was ajar, an empty shoebox sitting in the threshold. The bed wasn't made, the comforter lay in a crumpled heap in the middle and part of it was strewn on the floor. The pillow lay almost a yard away on the ground next to the foot of the bed. The disorganized and rather chaotic room almost made Richard grimace. But, this was a teenager they were dealing with after all. It was to be expected.
Richard glanced back at his wife. The woman was still shifting through the mess on the desk, mumbling to herself about how a teenager could have such neat handwriting without trying. I huffed softly in laughter. Layla's handwriting resembled hieroglyphics, and only became legible when she had to write on an official document. When that happened, it took her forever to write even the simplest thing.
Richard glanced at the window, seeing that the sun was sinking and it was getting late. They would have to leave soon, whether Layla liked it or not.
Then something caught the man's eye in his peripheral vision. It was minuscule, and he had glanced over it before, but now it stood out like a turd in a punch bowl.
On the light blue and white stripped sheets, under the similarly colored comforter, a little rust colored stain poked out. Cocking his head, Dick pushed off of the wall and walked over to the bed. He paused in front of it and pulled his hands out of his pockets before lifting the blanket to inspect the bed.
What he saw had him taking a shuddering gasp, his eyes dilating and his body tensing up. His fist clenched as he pulled the blanket away more and lay down the folded over part.
"Layla..."
"What is it this time?" She didn't take her eyes off what she was doing, nor did she turn around.
"Call protective services. And while your at it, the police too." The voice Richard spoke in was serious and dull.
"What...?" Layla turned around, and when she saw the bed, she practically growled, clenching her teeth to prevent the sound. A cold aura practically radiated from the women.
"She's going down. I'll bring her to justice."
Richard agreed, and would fully support and assist his spouse in her objective. The decision didn't take any time. It was made for him the moment he processed the large mess of burgundy and white stains spread over the sheet, painting a horrific image of abstract crime.
Hi! I hope to update a lot more now that summer has started. I was waiting until now to update. This is unbetad, so excuse the mistakes. I'm way to lazy to go look for a beta reader, so if anyone is interested, please PM me. Hope you enjoyed! Comments give me inspiration!
~Sayonara
