Title: It's Not Who You Were Born To, Part Six: Domestic Tragedy

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Pairing:

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Status: WIP

Sequel/Series: The Nontraditional Families Series

Archive: Yes, but tell me where.

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Websites: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Summary: Dwayne is freed from his domestic situation, but at a cost.

Warnings: Yes, this has a MAJOR cliffhanger. Sorry about that, but this was the natural stopping place, the booger would have run on WAY too long if I'd come to a less suspenseful stopping point, and I COULD have made you wait for THIS, but I'm not that evil. :D I'll try not to go too long before the next chapter.

Rating: NC17

It was mid-afternoon when Dwayne woke up, feeling stiff and groggy. He dressed in last night's sweats, then wandered out into the house. There was another door across from his that he figured was probably Max's bedroom. He hesitated, studying it. He didn't hear anyone moving around in the rest of the house, didn't hear a radio, or television. Max had said he'd probably be gone, but he might be in his room.

He reached out and touched the knob. It was locked. "Leave what's locked alone," he murmured. "Why the fuck do I feel like Bluebeard's wife?" He went into the living room, then quickly checked the rest of the house. Empty. There was a note stuck to the refrigerator with a tiny smiley face magnet. "Dwayne--food in the fridge. Make yourself at home. We'll be back around sunset. Max"

Dwayne spent some time eating, then watched some television. As the day wore on he began to feel restless. He didn't really like wearing Max's clothes, but the ones he'd left home in were kind of nasty. *I'm going to need my own things. I wonder... Jake was supposed to go on another trip soon. Maybe he's already left? If he has, I can go home safely enough. She can't keep me there. I'll call. If anyone is home, they'll answer. Jake isn't about to risk missing a business call, no matter how much it annoys him. If no one answers, I'll zip over and make a surgical strike--in and out.*

Dwayne dialed, and waited. The phone range five times, ten times... He let it ring twenty times before he was satisfied, then called a taxi. He was broke, but he had some money stashed in his room, and he'd leave his wallet with the driver for security while he went in.

He waited till the taxi showed up before going out, not wanting to be out in plain sight any longer than he had to. Thorn was curled up on the porch. He stood when Dwayne came out, and the boy hurried past him, the hair prickling at the back of his neck, but the animal only watched him, then lay back down. Dwayne decided that he'd probably have to wait around outside to get back in if he came back before Max did. That was all right by him--he didn't feel at home in that place at all.

**

David and Paul decided to stop by the video store first, in case Max had gone in to work. He was behind the counter when they entered. Max frowned at them. "Dwayne isn't with you?"

The boys stopped. Paul looked concerned. "No, we were just on our way to your place to check up on him."

"He was gone when I got up."

David shook his head. "No. How could he go anywhere? That wallet was pretty flat last night."

"Some taxis don't ask for payment till they reach their destination," Paul said. "But I don't think he wanted to go wandering around. I can think of only one place he might go. He wants his things, and his bike."

"Shit!" David swore. "He's going to walk back into that hellhole?" He looked at Max. "We need to get over there--now."

Max hesitated, but he saw the hard, determined look in the boys' eyes, and finally he nodded. "Yes. It isn't safe for him there. Get him and bring him back..." The boys started for the door, "BUT don't do any more than you have to." They paused, glaring back. "I mean it! Don't do anything you don't have to." They stared for a moment more. Finally David nodded grudgingly, and the boys left.

As they got on their bikes, Paul said, "David, if that asshole hurt Dwayne again..."

"Chill, bro." David revved his engine. "I'm senior when we're away from Mister Max." He smiled, but it was more of a baring of the teeth. "And I'll decide what we do and do NOT have to do." Paul answered him with an equally feral smile, and they roared off toward the house on Lorimar Drive.

**

The neighborhood was always quiet, but the few blocks around the house seemed deserted. *Well, it IS kind of late for the kids to be out playing, I guess, even in suburbia. You don't want the little ones tear assing around in the dark these days, because there IS no safe ground anymore.*

He had the cab slowly past the house, and he peered at it closely. No cars--they must both be out. He sighed with relief and had him pull to the curb. "Look, I don't have the money with me..." when the man started to curse he cut him off. "I'm not stiffing you, okay? I have the money in the house. I'm just grabbing some of my stuff--ten, twelve minutes as the most, and you won't even have to ride me back. I'll take my bike. Here," he offered his wallet. "You can keep this as security."

"Fuck that." The driver, a pugnacious middle-aged man, got out of the car. "I'm comin' in with you. You ain't gettin' out of my sight till I get paid, an' that's the LAST time any of our cabs are givin' you a ride without cash up front." As they walked up the sidewalk, he kept muttering about damned deadbeat kids. Dwayne ignored him. Just a few more minutes, and this would all be over.

Dwayne found the spare key on the ledge over the door and opened it cautiously. He peered inside, then whispered, "Fuck."

"What?"

"Jake went ballistic. He trashed the TV. He loves that damn thing, even more'n Mom, I think. And he broke the glass coffee table, too--and the lamp. I guess that's where Mom is--out buying replacements." He snorted. "That'll give her damp panties."

The cabbie looked slightly scandalized. "Kind of harsh, kid."

Dwayne gave him a jaundiced look. "You don't know my life, man. Wait here--I won't be long."

"Hell with that. I toldya--you're not getting out of my sight."

"All right. Just don't get between me and the door if Jake shows up drunk, okay?"

Dwayne went into the kitchen--and found himself walking on broken glass and crockery. "Oh, man, AGAIN? I don't BELIEVE this. The fucking wrappings must still be in the can. Mom couldn't have had this new lot more than a few hours before he smashed it all."

The driver looked around the room, wide eyed. The sink was full of broken glass and various liquids and foods. It looked like the refrigerator and cabinets had been just emptied. There was a strange, tangy smell--a combination of barbeque sauce, mustard, olives, wine, vinegar, and a dozen different spices. "Shit, kid, your dad needs therapy if he did this."

"He isn't my dad, and therapy would only piss him off even more." Dwayne opened the cabinet under the sink, peering inside. "I'm surprised that Mom hasn't started cleaning up already."

"She must've gone to a hotel to wait out his temper tantrum."

Dwayne gave him a doubtful look, "More likely he thumped her real good, and she's either at the emergency room, or upstairs with a cold compress and a few tranquilizers. Where the hell did she put the trash bags?"

He went to the pantry, opening the door and reaching for the light switch. He blinked in the sudden light, but his eyes fixed on the bright orange box on the shelf on the opposite wall. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and tripped. He cursed, wondering why Mom had left a sack of potatoes laying in the walkway, and looked down as he began to reach for it.

The driver had been pushing some of the broken glass around with his toe, wondering if he was going to get paid or not. How could the kid expect to find money in a place this fucked up? Then he heard the boy make a quiet, questioning sound. "What?" No reply. He was crouching down in the doorway to the pantry, and the cabbie walked over. "What did you say, kid?"

"Mom..."

The older man looked over the boy's shoulder. Suddenly his stomach dropped, while his balls tried to crawl up his ass crack. The woman lying on the floor might have been pretty at one time--it was hard to tell. What hair that wasn't soaked with blood was ash blond. He couldn't tell what color her eyes had been. One of them was half open, set in a pattern of mushy looking bruises, but the eye itself was clouded, milky.

"Holy shit," the driver whispered.

"Call an ambulance," the boy's voice was faint. "Maybe... maybe they can help her."

"I'll call the cops, and THEY can call an ambulance, but don't get your hopes up. That blood isn't all that fresh, kid. She hasn't been bleeding for awhile."

The boy turned back to him. "But that's good, right? It's good if the bleeding stops."

The man stared at him, noting the rigid expression, the blank look in the eyes, and said gently, "Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's good. C'mon, let's go to my cab, and we can call from there."

Dwayne shook his head. "I'll stay with her. If she wakes up, she's going to be scared. I'll tell her that help is coming."

The cabbie left, and Dwayne turned back to his mother. *She's so still.* "Mom? It's all right. We're getting you help, and you're going to be okay. Shit, Mom, you should have come with me." He reached out gingerly to touch her gore-matted hair, stroking it as she had done for him when he was little. It... didn't feel right. It was like touching a bag filled with the broken crockery. "You... you're hair is awful. I know you hate that. I'll get something and fix it for you before the paramedics get here, okay?" He stood, mumbling, "A cloth, yeah, a good wet one. Get you cleaned up..." He turned, stepping back into the kitchen, and froze.

Jake was standing in the doorway, staring at him. He was wearing the same clothes that he had the last time Dwayne had seen him, but now they were streaked with blood. A stink rolled off of him, compounded of vomit, urine, alcohol, sour sweat, and something else... something that Dwayne, in later musings, decided had to be the smell of insanity. "Well, well, well."

"You're car isn't here." It was stupid, but for some reason that was all Dwayne could think of to say. Weirdly enough, he felt betrayed. Jake was supposed to be gone, but here he was.

"Left it downtown. I get up this morning and you've flown the coop. I went lookin' for you and stopped and had a few drinks. Fuckin bartender took my keys, and I had to get a taxi home." Jake had a whiskey bottle in his hand, one with only an inch or two of liquor left in it. As they exchanged silent stares, he lifted it and drained it, never taking his eyes off the boy. Then he threw it at the sink, where it smashed into the rest of the debris. He pointed at Dwayne, and his voice was very precise. "I never gave you permission to leave, boy."

Dwayne held up his hands. "Look, I'm sorry, but we don't have time for this right now. Mom's hurt, and I have to get her to the hospital."

Jake grunted. "She was here unpackin' all this shit when I got back. This is all your fault, y'know."

"My fault? I didn't touch her. Jake, she's hurt bad. There's no way they're just gonna ignore this. If you..."

"Stupid fuckin' bitch wouldn't tell me where you went. I told her all she had to do was tell me, and I'd quit beating on her." He laughed, a gravelly chuckle that made Dwayne's scalp tighten. "Cunt picked a fine time t' decide to try to face me down."

"She didn't KNOW where I was."

"Yeah, right. She kept sayin' that. She said didn't I know she'd tell me if she could?" The grief that had been creeping up on Dwayne receded, shocked rage flooding in to replace it. Jake was still rambling, "I think I hit her harder than I meant to, but she tried to run away. I hate it when people run away from me." He gave Dwayne a slow, chilling smile. "You remember that, don't you, punk?" Jake reached behind him. Dwayne had to bite back a scream when the man pulled a gun out of his waistband.

*Oh, God, he's finally gone crazy. I have to try to keep him calm till the police arrive.* "But I came back, Jake."

"Yeah." He looked puzzled. "I wasn't expectin' that. I figured once you broke loose, that was the last I'd see of you." He half raised the gun. It wasn't really pointing at Dwayne, but it was too damn close for comfort. "WHY'D you come back?"

Dwayne forced himself to dip his head, then peer at Jake through his lashes, and smile seductively. "Can't you guess?" Dwayne casually rubbed a hand across his belly, pushing up the loose sweatshirt to show a pale strip of skin. Jake's jaw went slack. Dwayne tugged lightly at his waistband, till the upper arch of his hip was exposed. "I just couldn't stay away."

Jake's voice was husky. "So help me, kid, if you're teasing me..." His expression hardened. "You won't be so pretty when I get through with you."

"Jake," Dwayne made his voice soft and submissive. "I wouldn't do that to you." He took a step toward the older man. The gun wavered up another inch, and Dwayne said quickly, "I NEED you, Jake. Mom's going to be sick for a long time after this. Who else will take care of me?"

Jake crooked the fingers of his free hand. "C'mere, boy."

Dwayne walked to him slowly. *Please God, please God, please God. Let them get here soon.* Dwayne stopped in front of his stepfather and forced himself to look up at him with soft, pleading eyes.

James studied him, unconsciously running his tongue over chapped lips. "You ready to be a good little bitch?" Dwayne fought down the urge to grit his teeth or spit in Jake's face and nodded instead. Jake reached up and touched Dwayne's face, tracing the outline of the purple-blue bruise that marred his cheek. "I fucked you up pretty good, didn't I?"

There was no apology in his voice--instead there was a perverse sort of pride. "No more than I deserved, sir."

"Fuckin' right." Jake twined his fingers in Dwayne's hair, his grip painful, and pulled him forward, pressing his mouth hard to Dwayne's, crushing the soft lips, his tongue probing roughly. Dwayne's moan was of disgust, but a man like Jake could only interpret it as passion, and he increased the force of the kiss, bending the boy's head back.

*I'm going to gag, and he's going to kill me,* Dwayne thought. *But maybe while he's distracted...* He put his hands on Jake's arms, massaging sensually.

Jake chuckled. "I knew you'd like it, kid. You can't help it, a little slut like you."

"Can't help it," Dwayne whispered, letting his hands slide down. He moved quickly. His hand clamped down on Jake's wrist, and he jerked the man's hand between them, shoving the barrel against Jake's belly, his finger reaching for the trigger.

"What the fuck?" Jake tensed, trying to jerk his hand away, but the boy had the strength born of desperation. He couldn't tear his hand away, but he jerked it down just as Dwayne managed to get to the trigger. There was an explosion, and Jake screamed, falling back with a ragged hole in his pants--one that quickly began to seep blood. Dwayne took advantage of his momentary shock and shoved him aside, running for the front door. "Cocksucker!" Jake screamed. He was in agony, but he managed to lunge after the fleeing boy.

The cabbie was standing on the other side of his cab, speaking to a 911 operator on his cell phone. "Holy shit! That was a gunshot! Tell 'em to hurry up!"

"They're on their way, sir," the voice on the other end of the line assured him. The driver heard sirens coming closer, and the operator said, "I hear them now. Just hang on. Don't go back in the house, stay where it's safe."

"Fuck, lady, you don't gotta tell me that! I ain't... FUCK!"

The cabbie screamed as the dark-haired boy he'd brought there burst from the house, running as if the devil himself were in pursuit. Maybe that analogy wasn't too far off--the man who followed him out didn't look quite human, his face twisted in rage and hate. Before the boy could get half way to the street, the crazy bastard shot him twice.

Dwayne felt like someone had slammed him in the back with a baseball bat. He needed to keep running, he knew that, but somehow all the strength went out of his legs, and he collapsed. There seemed to be an iron band tightening around his chest, and he tried to crawl toward the street. He was thinking vaguely that if he could reach the taxi, maybe he could lock himself inside.

Jake stalked the crawling boy. "YOU DON'T RUN FROM ME, WHORE! I TOLD YOU, YOU DON'T RUN FROM ME!"

There was the screech of tires as the first police car rounded the corner and headed for the house. Night had fallen while Dwayne had been in the house, and the spotlight on the roof of the car hit the lawn, lighting the tablue like a stage scene. The officer driving swore as he saw the weaving, bloodstained man standing over the body on the ground. The man blinked stupidly in the light, then grimaced and looked down at the boy again, raising the gun. "Shit! We're not going to be in time!" Just as he said this, though, something extraordinary happened. There was a flash of light off to the side, and the man suddenly crumpled, falling on top of his intended victim. "What the hell was that?"

"Someone shot the fucker and saved us the trouble," said his partner.

When they parked in front of the scene and got out, a light went on in front of the next door house. A woman was standing there, pale faced, a shotgun cradled in her arms, and an even paler man was just coming up behind her. When the officers drew their guns he called, "It's all right, officers!"

"Have her put the weapon down, mister."

"Sure, sure. She's no criminal, officers. She's been going crazy the last few minutes, ever since that kid came home. She kept going on that the stepfather was home, and the kid would be in trouble. Then when the cabbie came flying out and used his phone she wanted to go over, but I stopped her..."

"Mister, PLEASE make her put it down!"

"Honey, please! They can't go help that boy till they're sure you aren't a threat."

The woman quickly put the shotgun on the grass and stepped back from it. Her husband embraced her, pulling her over to sit on the steps, saying, "I was calling you guys, but we keep the shotgun in the front closet, and she grabbed it when she heard the shot. I didn't have time to stop her."

Other sirens were approaching, and an ambulance turned into the street, heading toward them. Charles Clusky hugged his trembling wife, thinking that he'd have to get one of the paramedics to look at her once they took care of the wounded, because he was pretty sure that she was going into shock. She kept muttering, "I should have told. I should have told. I should have told..."

END