Chapter 5

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A/N: Any ideas for a ship name for Rhys and Riley?

A reminder: four days left to enter my winter-themed contest. Maybe not enough to write a short story but let’s see if you could still manage a one-shot ;)

*****

“I’m kissing my black fiancé; got a problem with that?” Winona shouted and the couple who sat two tables away – a white male and a white female in their forties – turned their attention back to each other. A victorious smile spread on Winnie’s face and she pecked Tim one more time before arming herself with a fork and stabbing a fry. Tim chuckled – a throaty sound – and shook his head at his soon-to-be-wife.

Being an interracial couple meant they had to put up with occasional disapproving or downright disgusted stares. Well, it was Tim who mostly put up with it, ignoring the haters unless they actually insulted him or Winnie. My thirty-one year old female colleague was less tolerant with such narrow-minded people. She would mock and argue with them; amongst her favorite things to do if they happened to be a couple, would be to make gagging noises each time they’d kiss or hold hands. Tim found that going a bit too far, but I could understand Winnie’s perspective; even though I haven’t been judged for dating a person of another race, I’d been condemned for going out with people from the same gender. I knew how discrimination could bring you down and I respected Tim’s patience with such straitlaced characters, but I admired Winnie’s unwavering persistence in opposing those who disapproved of her choice of a fiancé.

The toddler in Shannon’s hands awoke and tried to climb on the table we sat around.

“No, sweetie, you can’t go there,” Shan forbid, pulling her daughter back but the little girl spread her small arms in an attempt to push herself away from mommy and get closer to the table.

“Maybe she just wants to snuggle with her auntie, sis,” Winnie – who sat opposite Shan – cooed.

“Or maybe we should’ve hired a babysitter for tonight,” John put in, his fingers drumming over the wooden surface of the table.

“So nice to know you love spending time with our daughter,” Shan sneered. By now little Minnie – yes, like the mouse – had knitted her eyebrows, a frown on her face. It wasn’t long before her tiny lips parted and she cried out her discontent at being kept away from the table or whichever item on it – dishes filled with fries, glasses with beer, a ketchup bottle – had taken her fancy.

“Oh, don’t be like that, honey, don’t be like that,” Shan hushed her softly, attempting to quiet Minnie by rocketing her back and forth.

“May I try?” I asked, extending my arms towards the sniveling toddler. Shan nodded and passed her daughter to John who in turn handed Minnie to me.

“Hello, beautiful,” I turned to the child in my arms with a baby voice. “What is it that upsets you, huh? What is it, Minnie?” I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue at her. By the time my face was back to normal, she was smiling. “That’s better,” I concluded, using my regular tone and the corners of my lips turned up. I held the girl firmly enough for her not to squirm – thankfully she had already forgotten about her desire to climb on the table – but gently enough not to make her uncomfortable.

It felt amazing having a toddler in your arms. Their big eyes were full of wonder; even the most common objects could provoke a reaction from them. Their lips would pucker or form an ‘o’, they would squeal, or – sadly – sometimes they would cry. But the tantrums and crying were worth enduring because once they were over, the child would go back to smiling and there was nothing purer than a child’s smile.

“I can’t wait to have kids of my own,” I said aloud, rubbing my nose against Minnie’s, making the girl giggle and jump up.

“Oh, you will be singing a different song, my friend, once that happens!” John laughed somewhat dryly and took a sip of his beer. “Babies cry for no reason, you’ll have to change their diapers, clean their poo…”

“Babies don’t cry without a reason,” I cut him off, beating Winnie to it; she was glaring at her brother-in-law, her mouth open as if she was about to speak. “They cry when they are hungry or ill, or lonely and scared; it’s just how they express themselves.” It was ridiculous I had to explain that to a man who was not only my senior by about a decade, but had also been a father for the past two years.

“Okay, okay,” he raised his hands up, relenting. “Maybe kids have a reason, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have to deal with their tantrums. The moment a child is born, you can say goodbye to sleep, social life and a large part of your paycheck.”

Shannon’s jaw clenched as she turned away from her husband, her arms folded before her chest.  Ever since I’d been introduced to them, I wondered why she put up with John; he was a complete jackass. I’d only met them a few times when Winnie had invited her sister to hang out with us after work – usually at the very same diner we now ate in – and each time John would whine about something: politicians, taxes, coworkers, waiters, rude cab drivers… Tonight, when they’d brought their daughter along for the first time, apparently he targeted children. Shannon was such a cheerful, easy-going woman; what was she doing with a man like that?

“Actually,” he continued after another gulp of the golden beverage, “it starts before the children are born. Just wait for your wife to get pregnant and for her hormones to kick in.”

“You realize Riley is gay, right?” Shan turned towards him, her eyes a fierce warning. I could almost hear her thinking ‘Don’t you dare say something stupid, John; don’t you dare!’

Silence hung heavy in the air about us. Minnie – the blissfully ignorant young soul that she was – did not pick up on the tension between us adults and stood up in my lap, her head tilted towards the blinking light of a dying bulb as soft sucking sound came from her lips – two curved pink lines, wrapped around a tiny thumb.

“Well…” John cleared his throat. “Well, that’s cool. I mean, I have nothing against it,” he murmured, pulling his daughter away from me. “Come here, Minnie, come to daddy. You know, Riley, you are young; it could be just a phase. Maybe you haven’t found the right girl yet,” he said in a voice with which he probably meant to reassure me that my defect – as he no doubt perceived it – could be fixed. Minnie struggled against his grip, her arms outstretched towards me, but the father pulled her even further from me, handing her to her mother.

“You are such a jerk, John,” Winnie uttered coolly, her head slowly shaking. Her voice rose as she added. “It’s not like Riley is sick or one day he woke up and though ‘hmm, why not be gay from now on?’ In the same fashion, I could tell you that you are with my sister because you haven’t met the right guy yet…”

I tuned her out. It wouldn’t be the first time she stood up for me – she’d done so with rude costumers at the Milk & Cream – and I knew that when she was this pissed off, I’d better let her rant it off. I wasn’t in a mood to argue with John tonight and she would do a better job at putting him in his place anyway.

I looked away from our table and towards the other people in the diner. Two children – both preteens – were throwing food at each other whenever their parents were distracted by one of the three large TV-s that were placed on the walls. As the girl ducked to avoid a piece of food, the boy stole one of her fries. She pouted, arms over chest, and her brother grinned, the mischievous glint in his eyes reminding me of Kennedy. Thoughts of that boy brought me back to last Friday and my I-still-don’t-know-if-it-was-a-date with Rhys.

“We should totally go for ice cream,” Kennedy insisted once the movie was over and we – just like the other spectators – were making our way out of the projection room and into the lobby. “Rhys’ treat, right, big bro?”

“He’s already paid the tickets, Kennedy…” I began to protest but the older of the brothers interrupted:

“I don’t mind,” he said with one of his kind smiles and I no longer found the strength to protest. “Excuse me for a second,” he added as his phone rang and he took the device out of his jeans. “Hello?” Rhys asked into the receiver, moving away from us, one hand pressing his mobile to the right of his head, the other covering his left ear.

“He looks good, doesn’t he? My brother?” Kennedy asked and when my gaze fell to the ground, he laughed; I hadn’t noticed before that the light grey tiles in the lobby had white specks in them.

“Come on, Riley, I’m not a total kid; I saw how you kept sneaking glances towards him during the movie and I know you like him. As you should,” he added when I stayed quiet. “I know you think our family is a gang but…”

“Rhys said you weren’t,” my head had shot up at his words. Should I even be discussing this with him? He was only thirteen after all; how much could he know about the Silver Bullets?

“And we are not,” the boy went on, rearranging the black cap so that it stood more firmly over the messy brown locks. “I know you’d think I’m biased, but my brother is a nice guy. He’s a bit shy about these things… I mean, he rarely hesitates about family matters, but yeah… about this,” he waived his hand, pointing at nothing in particular. By this time, I felt as if his ramblings were actually him thinking aloud, trying to make a decision, but about what? Was he about to share a family secret? Or was this concerning only Rhys?

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, Riley…”

“You haven’t actually told me anything yet,” I murmured, but he ignored it and beckoned me with his finger to lean down so that our eyes were on the same level. Boring brown stared into bright orbs as the boy hesitated for another few seconds before concluding:

“Oh, what the heck; Rhys is taking too long with this! He likes you, Riley,” Kennedy announced, placing a hand over my shoulder. “Like really likes you.”

“Oh, my God, tell me there hasn’t been another one!” Shan’s horrified exclamation chased away the memory. All was quiet now in the diner; all but the three large TV-s. Turned on the same locally-stationed channel, you could hear the anchorman explaining how they were interrupting our scheduled program for important news before switching to a female reporter on site.

“Police officials have confirmed that the murder which took place in the house behind me,” the lady on the TV was just saying, her mouth hidden behind a large microphone, “is indeed the work of the same person or people whose actions first shocked our townsmen two months ago. The newest victims have sustained the same fatal injuries as on the previous two occasions. As of now, we are…”

“They are coming out!” Someone shouted and the reporter on location darted towards the front door of a middle-class house, followed by her camera man. You could barely see anything but people’s napes in the throng, there were so many news crews gathered there. Regardless, each camera man seemed to do their best to film the police officers coming out of the crime scene and each reporter shouted their inquiries with full force, hoping to be heard over their colleagues and rivals.

“Is it true that the victims were newlyweds?” One was screaming.

“Do the victims have anything in common with the previous ones?” A man’s voice rose.

“Have you built a psychological profile of the killers?” The female reporter from the local TV station had somehow managed to squeeze between the crowds and walked right behind the cops – two uniformed ones and one in civilian clothing – all of whom seemed determined not to give a statement.

“Detective Callum, what are your thoughts on the theory that the killer brings along a trained animal to rip and claw into the victims, thus leaving the marks which are present on all of the bodies? After all, the wounds look identical to those of people attacked by wild animals such as bears and wolves…”

The man who walked at the front halted, the male uniform officer almost colliding with his back. He turned around, brown worn-our coat swishing just below his knees, an annoyed look to a tired face. All reporters went silent.

“I’d say,” the man began in a dangerously low voice, “that the theory is almost as ridiculous as the last month’s story about a wild yeti running rampage in our town and wiping off people.”

“Yetis do not exist, but killer dogs do,” the same reporter – a pushy young woman - sneered.

“You are just looking for a way to make even more money out of this story,” the detective spat out in disgust and his voice rose. “Isn’t a human serial killer spicy enough for you?”

“Obviously not,” the reporter murmured just as the female uniformed officer stepped in between her and the detective. The young bright-eyed woman – probably fresh out of the academy – spoke firmly:

“Need I remind you that this is an ongoing investigation?” She asked as her boss shook his head and took the few steps necessary to get into his car. The reporters, seeing as they were not going to get anything more from him, had formed a circle around the uniformed woman.

“Some details pertaining to the case will be available only to the police. They are not to be discussed with the general public as that might hinder our investigation. We advise all citizens to take precautions, to make sure they lock their doors and windows, and we encourage them to contact us if they see any suspicious individuals around their homes…”

“I can’t keep listening to this anymore,” Shannon noted, her hands pressing her daughter to her chest, covering the little girl’s ears. “It’s just so horrible…” her voice broke. “And this time they attacked a family…”

Winona placed a hand in reassurance over the other woman’s shoulder.

“You live in an apartment building, Shan, with an alarm and everything; you’ll be fine,” she tried to reassure her sister.

“They say that this Detective Callum is one of the best they got; he’ll catch them,” Tim joined in with a soothing baritone.

“I just…” Shan sobbed and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry. John, take me home; I just want to go home.”

Her husband nodded and waved for the waitress to bring us the bill. I noticed other costumers – the family with the two preteens included – were getting up as well; the grim news had brought us all down. And how could it not?

Some pictures of the two previous victims – single white males, aged between thirty and forty – had leaked out; pictures of them before and after their death; pictures, taken from the crime scenes. There’d been so much blood, the flesh sliced open… I closed my eyes and shook my head to chase away the gruesome images, bile rising up to my throat.

“Do you need a ride home, Riley?” Tim offered as he put on his jacket.

“No, thanks,” I replied quietly. “You are heading the other way.”

“Are you sure?” His fiancée asked, helping her sister put a bright pink jacket on Minnie; the little girl was smiling, oblivious to the cruelty that existed in the world.

“Yes, Winnie, I live just a few blocks away.”

We said our goodbyes, all of us adults long-faced, and we went our separate ways: the two couples to their respective cars and me down the street and to the left after the corner grocery store. The streets were darker than usual; or was that just my thoughts?

I hadn’t, of course, forgotten about the murders – and how could I when they were committed in my own town? – but it’s been almost two weeks with no mention of them in the news, other than the brief message that there was no developments on the case. Thus way I’d placed those, to put it mildly, unpleasant thoughts of blood and death in the back of my mind. But now they’d swum up to the front again. I shouldn’t have looked at those leaked photos; they were the stuff of nightmares. They had brought me nightmares, ones of my own body being sprawled on the floor in a red puddle, limbs torn…

I leaned on the near-by building, feeling faint and as if I were about to gag. I took a shaky breath, then another; I wanted to close my eyes, but I was afraid to. I shook my head and from the corner of my eye, I perceived a dark figure jumping into the shadow of a building I’d passed. My heart pounded so fast, I could feel its drumming in my ears. Was someone following me?

I shook my head again; I was getting paranoid. All this news of violence was making me paranoid. I stared at the spot the figure had disappeared at – no sound, no movement – as if nothing was there.

Pull yourself together, Riley, I commanded and forced my feet to move one after the other all the way to my apartment building; funny how that path seemed longer tonight. Surely there’d been nothing there, in the shadows; just a product of my nerves. But if there had been nothing there and there was no one behind me now, why did I feel as if I was being watched? Why was I terrified to look over my shoulder?

*****

A/N: Not the chapter you’d been expecting, I’d bet. So much new information and no Rhys, apart from Riley’s brief memory of him and Kennedy.

So what do you think of the new characters?

Tim was already mentioned in the chapter Rhys first came to the Milk & Cream, but barely, so I guess it is like meeting him for the first time.

What are your thoughts on the murder and the detective?

Do you think Riley was being paranoid or was someone, or something, following him?

Who/what could it be?

Have a great time wattpading everyone and I hope you’ll support the chapter with a vote :)

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