Hey guys,
It's been quite a long time hasn't it? Two years or so. Sorry about that. Didn't feel like writing for the longest time. Every time I sat down the only thing that would come out was my utter lack of talent.
Moving on. There was a specific comment that got me to stop writing this to see what I could do about fixing so much that is wrong with it. That was what led to my absence. Well, I'm back and I've decided that I'm not actually going to do much in the way of fixing the plot and stuff right now. I need to get it done and come back to fix it when I have more time on my hands.
For now, here's a peek into the event that made Double D into the mess he is today.
I don't really know how to go about warning people of things. For me it's not overly graphic, but don't take that to heart because I'm not really the best person to base any decision off of. It can most definitely be seen as a graphic depiction of violence, so, please, if that's an issue, don't read it. It's not really important and I'll put a summary of important things in the note at the top of the next chapter (whenever i get that out), please take care of yourselves.
~SevenSneakyFoxes
P.S. I don't know if all of this has been beta'd … you know the drill.
A harsh wind rattles the boards covering the window wells. The darkness is shattered only by the moonlight that shines in through the cracks between the wood. His breathing is labored and loud against the backdrop of silence. A basement is not the most comfortable place to be, though he doubts his captor considered that before shoving him down the stone stairs.
Originally he'd kept track of the passing days by scraping a chunk of cement against a wall; the cement was all but dust now, and the days passed uncharted (Good Game right there). He'd been here at least 13 days; how had no one found him yet? Was anyone even searching? Had his parents even been home to notice that he hadn't been getting the notes they left for him?
The basement door slams open, followed closely by the noise of heavy footfalls on the stairs. "Grub time, ." The footsteps stop at the bottom of the stairs, probably so light eyes can scan the area, before the steps cross the room. A cafeteria tray lands on the floor in front of him, and most of the contents settle onto the floor. He cringes at the sight of stale bread and moldy cheese. His captor stoops to throw the food back onto the tray. "Eat up. You're no good to me dead." I'm no good to you any which way, he thinks, no one cares about me. "Didn't you hear me? Eat the damn food." The man shoves the tray closer to him.
He's hungry, but reluctant to eat. The puddle of vomit from the last time he had any food has dried up in the corner. He stares at the food just a second too long; should have taken it when it was offered. The man grabs hold of him by the hair. His head is yanked back by the handful of raven hair in a pale fist. He opens his mouth to cry out and some of the bread is shoved into it.
Fingers pinch his nose and press his lower jaw shut.
He can still get air in past his teeth, but if he wants the man to let go he has to swallow the bread as is.
The not-quite-saliva-soaked food scratches against his throat.
He is released and the man smiles softly. Pale fingers comb through his hair to smooth it back into place. "Good. Now, is that all you want?" He nods dumbly, not willing to be forced through that again. The man sighs, and carries the tray with him when he leaves…
"Pup, we've got a problem. You see, no one's come for you yet, and the police aren't letting your parents contact me. It's already been six months, so, I think they need a little incentive." Hazel eyes stare mercilessly into his. The man is holding a knife. "Fingers are a little cliche, and if I take an ear you'll have an excuse not to listen as well… we're stuck aren't we? What do you propose, pup?" He doesn't answer; most times the questions are rhetorical and answering means punishment. "Well?" The knife is held to his jaw. He mumbles, his face turned away. "What was that?"
"Hair." He repeats, this time loud enough to be heard.
"What. A good. Idea. Who said you weren't smart?" The man praises as he steps behind him. "Well, I guess I did. You know? I don't think taking just the hair will be good enough." Fingers thread through his hair and pull it tight. The cold steel of the knife presses against his scalp. "Just a little patch will do."
There is no resistance when he starts cutting. The skin splits from itself as if it wishes to be removed. It's comically easy. The blood doesn't even well, just starts pouring down the side of his head. Head wounds always bleed far too much, but it's less blood than it ever looks like there is. He doesn't even scream until the knife is halfway through an oddly-shaped circle. He pulls away from his captor, tearing the rest of the flesh in the process, and snakes away.
"Now, pup, don't be like that. We need to patch you up, yeah?" The man crouches over him staring down with shining eyes. "Don't want you bleedin' all over my floor. A rough hand grabs him and lifts him enough to get at his shirt. "Bit o' gauze. Didn't have any bandages, so your little rags will have to do. The man cuts a line into the front of the shirt and uses it to tear a bandage-like strip. A square of gauze is slapped harshly over the wound and secured with the dirty strip of fabric. "Let's hope your folks respond to this… otherwise, I'll be back for more. G'night pup."
Waking up from nightmares isn't a big thing anymore. Too many people make it out to be a startling experience, but after years of having them… You get used to it. He rolls over to look at his clock.
It's too early.
He gets up anyway.
He turns on his bedroom light and glances around at everything, checking for dust and making sure things are where they're supposed to be. He breathes deeply for a minute or two before he crosses to the window.
Across the street, Kevin's bedroom light is also on. What could he possibly be doing up this early? Edd sighs, and, heavy with regret, starts getting dressed to go down to the street. The night air is thick with water. The humidity makes Edd damp within seconds. He trudges across the street and stares at the other teen's window. He grabs a piece of gravel from the road and lobs it at Kevin's window, then waits for a response. After seconds of nothing he repeats the act. It takes two more tries to draw the redhead to the window.
"Double D?" He stage whispers. Another wave of regret washes over Edd as he stands on Kevin's driveway at 3 am in the morning.
"Come on." He gestures for Kevin to come down to the street. The redhead disappears after closing his window, and reappears from the side of the house a few minutes later in a hoodie and basketball shorts.
"Dude, what's up?" He asks. Edd shrugs him off and starts to walk toward the end of the street.
"Let's go." He calls. Kevin jogs to catch up, then falls into step beside Edd.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"The park, the factory, a walk? I don't really know. I guess the park for now."