Answering Machine
“Do you have to go, Dad?” Peter watched Tony as he haphazardly rolled up jeans and neatly folded dress pants before laying them out in a suitcase.
“Yep, its part of the job description buddy.” Tony slowed his movements and smiled apologetically in Peter’s direction. “I’m sorry, kiddo. It’s only three days and I’ll call whenever I can, okay?” He dropped one of the ties he was rolling up onto the bed and crossed the room to lay a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’ll probably want me gone again as soon as I’m home,” he joked lightly. “But seriously, I left a spare card on the bench beside your wallet. I expect to see you ordering takeout or something, don’t forget to eat proper dinner unlike last time.” Peter rolled his eyes as he tilted his head up to watch his father finish packing.
“I’ll miss you though,” Peter mumbled with sincerity. Tony zipped up his suitcase and turned to face his son with a softer expression on his face.
“I know, kid. I’ll miss you too. It’s only a few days, and don’t forget Harley’s coming in two, so you’re not going to be bored the whole time.” Peter perked up at his Dad’s words, he had forgotten his brother was visiting after his last exam. “Yeah,” Tony grumbled without heat at the excitable look on Peter’s face. “You two better not set the house on fire while I’m gone,” he sighed with a fond smile. “Lord knows what you two get up to when I’m not around.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, we’ll only set things on fire in the workshop.” Peter smiled widely and ducked under the hand Tony reached out to ruffle through his hair with a laugh.
“You’re hilarious,” Tony said sarcastically. He clicked the handle of his suitcase up and dragged it towards the door with Peter trailing him to the driveway. Happy was leaning against the passenger door and looking at his watch, unimpressed.
“Let’s get moving!” He called, adjusting his sunglasses and shaking his head tiredly when Tony called for a few more minutes to say goodbye.
“You’re going to be fine on your own for a night or two, Harley will no doubt keep you entertained and then we can all relax once I’m back. Love you, kiddie.” Tony pushed a patch of Peter’s curls down and pressed a quick kiss against his forehead before tapping his chin with a smile. “Head up, buddy. You’ll be okay, call Rhodes if you’re bored – but no prank calling the armed forces like me, do as I say, not as I do.”
Peter scoffed quietly and let his Dad pull him into a one-armed hug. He lifted his arms to wrap them around Tony’s and leaned into the embrace without hesitation. “Be safe, no parties, stranger danger and all that other stuff parents are supposed to enforce.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter groaned, a half smile on his lips as he pulled back from the hug. “I’ll be okay, I’m fifteen now. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“See ya, bud,” Tony stepped back towards the car, leaving Peter in the driveway beside the front door.
“Bye,” Peter waved as Tony and Happy got into the car. His oversized top hung over his fingertips as he said goodbye. He curled his arms around himself and watched the car backing up and turning around. He could hear as his Dad hit the horn in two friendly beeps and also saw the silhouette of Happy smacking his hands away from the wheel as he drove. He smiled to himself and gently closed the door on the way back inside.
It was early Tuesday afternoon, Harley was supposed to arrive sometime tomorrow, and then their Dad would get back late Thursday evening.
I can entertain myself until then.
Peter wandered around the kitchen for a few minutes until he found a half-finished packet of chips, which he snatched up quite happily and took into the dining room with him. A scattered collection of school work and practice tests were spread out across the table.
The chair scraped across the wooden floor as Peter sat and picked up a pen. He figured if he finished off the last of what little homework he had, the less time he would have to waste doing it when Harley was home. He didn’t have much to do, considering it was school break, but he did have things he needed to get done before school. Like a haircut. He needed one, badly.
His hair had surpassed his ears, so much so that the ends were furling up into a small thatch of curls at the nape of his neck. When he leaned forward, what had used to be a fringe fell in front of his face, reaching down past his lips at some points, and irritating him to no end.
Peter quickly brushed a section of curls back to tuck them behind his ear as he settled in to get the remainder of his work finished before he needed to call and order food.
The work was easy enough, he just needed to fill in a sheet of physics he hadn’t done during the school term and answer a small group of questions on a book he had to review for English.
It only took him two hours, minus the amount of times he stood up to rummage around in the kitchen or got distracted on his phone. By the time he was putting his pen down, he felt about ready to eat an entire pizza all to himself.
Tony had always taught him and Harley to use the landline for everything except personal calls. He didn’t want either of his boys to have their phones traced, meaning anyone could track them at any time, including when they were on their own, away from the protection of the house. It was a simple rule, but Peter always followed it, so when he stood up and made his way over to the phone and saw the red light blinking, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity.
Nobody called the home phone, everyone Tony, Harley and Peter knew would just call their mobile phones directly, so seeing the red light indicating a voicemail had been left was… odd… to say the least. He yawned slowly and disregarded the message for the time being – a shower sounded more appealing than listening to what was probably just a telemarketer.
----
The water was hot, enough so that it left Peter’s chest and arms red and tingly. His hair stood up on its end when he stepped out onto the bathmat. The mirror was fogged over from the steam, but he could see the outline of his dripping mop of hair, which needed to be towel dried.
In the corner of the mirror he could barely make out the small fingerprints he and Harley had left as children. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold back an impromptu smile – he couldn’t wait to see his brother. It had been almost three entire months since the last time Harley had flown over from college to visit. A flight from Massachusetts to Los Angeles Airport, plus the drive home to Malibu would probably take Harley about seven hours in total.
Peter rubbed some of the condensation off the mirror and roughly rubbed a towel over his head until his hair was almost completely dry. After his mess of curls had been tackled, he padded back across the hall and into his room. He pulled a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt over his head and stepped into the comfiest pair of grey jeans he owned, not even bothering with a belt seeing as all he’d be doing was going to bed after dinner.
He checked that the card was where his Dad had said it would be, before pushing the entire wallet into his pocket and resting against the wall beside the phone again.
The red light was still blinking. For some reason, Peter hadn’t really given much thought to it, half expecting the thing to just go away on its own during his shower. But of course, that wasn’t the case.
Peter ran one hand through his hair and pushed off the wall, leaning forward instead to press the play button. The answering machine crackled slightly from disuse before a man’s voice, which Peter had never heard before, played through the speaker.
“Tony! Tony,” Peter heard a puff of air and a car moving in the background. It sounded like whoever was calling had dialled from inside a car, considering the bang of a door closing followed. There was an exhale and then the sound of a shoe scuffing against gravel – the caller had just stomped out a cigarette. “It’s Ronny, how are ya?”
Peter frowned, the name had never been mentioned before, as far as he knew, Tony had never met a Ronny before. “Are you there?” He had a Texan accent, it was a drawn-out drawl and for some reason it made Peter shiver. He tucked his hands up into the sleeves of his shirt. “Can you pick up?” Peter checked the timestamp on the message, it was from forty-two minutes ago. He hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Look, I’m sorry we – we ah, haven’t talked in a while… I don’ know, you helped me out so much before, I – I guess I was embarrassed ‘bout it.”
Helped me out? There was one thing Peter knew about his Dad and his policy on lending it to people – he didn’t. Not unless they were trustworthy, or practically part of the family, and there was nobody that close to Tony who went by the name Ronny. Peter knew his Dad donated money, and bought people things on the occasion, he was well off, but he never really… shelled out cash to random people. “I hate to say it, but… I really need your help again. Uhm, don’t wire anything into that account like ya did last month, it uh, it don’t work no more."
Who the hell was Ronny and why was he so deadest on his Dad wiring him money?
There was a long pause, some rustling in the background, and then the man spoke again. “Look, I’m sorry I missed ya, but I can see the lights are on –”
Peter froze up, his entire body tensing as every hair stood on end. “Listen, I’m in a real tight bind right now, I – I still need a lot more, like two grand.” Shit… this guy wanted two thousand dollars from Tony – well that was the least of Peter’s problem, considering what the man had just said. I can see the lights are on.
It was almost beginning to get dark, he was alone with someone on the phone claiming they could see the lights were on… Peter felt an icy mass of worry bubbling in his chest, he shuddered and stepped back from the answering machine. “You just need to give me a cheque made out to cash, okay?”
He jolted when two knocks came from the front door around the corner.
He was alone, with no protection, and someone was at the door as the message beeped to signify its finish. “Tony?” The voice wasn’t coming from in front of Peter, it was too clear, too crisp. “I – it’s Ronny.” The man was on the doorstep, wrapping his knuckles against the glass. “You there?”
Peter could see the outline of his figure through the frosted window pane. The man was about a head or so taller than him, not bulky but not scrawny like he was. The man leaned forward, trying to make something out through the glass.
Peter opened his mouth and stepped back in fright. He was defenceless. He put a hand over his lips to stifle the rapid increase of his breathing. He felt like a cornered rabbit. “Hello? Tony, man, look I’m not gonna do anything. I’m just in a real tight place here and you’re the only one who can help.”
He could hear the clear desperation in the man’s voice. He sounded anxious… maybe Peter was being paranoid. Tony had gone to MIT just like where Harley was now, he probably had heaps of old friends that Peter had never met. It made sense for Tony to help someone out, he wasn’t selfish, he knew how lucky he was to have the amount of wealth he did. It was rare for him to not give someone money, so maybe Peter was just on edge after the whole comment about Ronny knowing the lights were on.
He hesitantly took a step out from behind the wall dividing the front entranceway from the hall. Peter knew the levels of paranoia and suspicion were always higher when he was alone – so he tried to force his heart out from where it felt lodged in his throat.
The teen shuffled forwards, feeling less skittish now that the adrenaline had faded somewhat. The knocking died down as soon as his own form became visible in the tinted glass. He wasn’t acting under fight or flight instincts, but he still swallowed nervously as he twisted the handle and pulled the door inwards.
He was met with the sight of a man, not surprisingly, he had never seen before in his life. Ronny had too-sharp, angled cheekbones, bony hands and dirty blonde hair. He was wearing a button up shirt and jeans with a belt, unlike Peter.
The boy suddenly felt out of place, standing in the doorway in an oversized and baggy shirt which swallowed his hands whole and old, grey jeans with his unbrushed curls dangling in his face. He self-consciously tucked his hair behind his ears and ignored the way he could feel the sides curling up into two perfect half-coils. He knew he looked younger than he was, especially in such a large shirt.
The man had dark blue eyes, they looked almost yellow in the odd lighting. He was staring directly at Peter, putting him on edge. “Well,” Ronny laughed, “you’re not Tony, are ya?” His eyes raked up and down Peter’s body, making him tense again. His teeth were almost too long, his smile too large, eyes too alight with desperation. There were so many bad vibes and Peter wished he had just turned off the lights and called Rhodey when he had the option.
He blinked, suddenly realising Ronny was still staring at him expectantly, intense eyes locked onto his face.
“Uhm… n – no,” Peter managed to force out. “He uh – he had to run out,” he lied. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew not to tell strangers who showed up at your doorstep that your parents were out – it just gave them all the more encouragement to snatch you, or whatever bad thing adults thought would happen if they left their kids alone.
Ronny nodded, swaying on his heels and peeking past Peter slightly to look down the hallway, as if he didn’t believe him. “But he told me t – to tell you that he’d be back in an hour? Or probably about an hour and a half.” He felt like he was lying through his teeth but hopefully the fact that he looked so young would play up his innocence.
He licked his lips and shifted his weight to another foot, looking up at the man in front of him wearily.
“He told you to tell me?” Ronny repeated with a wider grin. He wouldn’t stop smiling and Peter felt like shrinking into an even more oversized shirt and hiding amongst the fabric to get away from those piercingly focused blue eyes.
“Y – yeah, yeah… you – you’re Ronny, right?” Peter kept one hand on the doorframe, one lone curl slipped out from behind his ear as he turned to lift his chin a little higher, cautiously looking up at the man to hear his reply.
“Yeah, yeah that’s me, Ronny.” A silence hung between them for a moment, Peter nodded timidly and looked from the floor back up to the man’s face. “So, we know that I’m Ronny and Tony’s out, so who are you?” Peter opened his mouth to reply, faltering for a moment before answering.
“Peter… I’m Peter. I uh, I just – I help him to do stuff…” Ronny smiled wider, if that was possible, closing his eyes and nodding as if he understood perfectly.
“Ahh, yeah, like home intern, huh?” His teeth flashed in the afternoon light, the reflection of the sun off the water caught his eyes in the same way, making him seem a lot larger than life. Scarier, less of a person and more of a threat. “I don’ know how you stand to do all that coffee fetchin’ and paper signing.”
Peter nodded along, simply because Ronny seemed to be doing the same, but he frowned slightly at the man’s derogatory job description and looked back down to the floor with slightly redder cheeks. “So, uh, lemme get this straight, you want me to leave and return to this spot in exactly an hour and a half from now?” Peter looked up from the floor, taking a breath and ignoring the additional loose curls which fell into his face as he shifted.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly, his head somewhat devoid of any other statements. All his mind was conjuring in the moment was the mantra of please go away, please go away, please go away.
“Could I just… wait here for him?” The smile was back, and so were the chills running across Peter’s skin and crawling over the back of his neck.
“Ahhugh… n – no, he uh, he doesn’t let people in the house. You should go an – and come back.” Ronny nodded in understanding, although his smile dropped, and he pinched his lips together. Peter could tell the man’s desperation was festering.
“Okay, sounds good… so, uh, just go and come back, right?”
The teen blinked twice, his lashes bobbing up and down much like his head as he answered with a wordless nod. His hazel eyes caught the porch light and he looked so painfully oblivious and trusting… Ronny couldn’t see himself walking away without a stack of bills in one hand, whether the boy handed it over willingly or not.
The man licked his lower lip, his teeth glinting as his tongue slithered back past his lips. There was a thick and heavy tension as he remained on the doorstep, the younger boy looking across at him with wide eyes.
Peter’s heart was pounding in his chest and all he wanted was for the man to walk away, back to his car, so that he could close the door and get someone to come over before Ronny realised Tony wasn’t coming back in an hour because he was in an entirely different state.
The man’s lips weren’t hanging in a toothy grin anymore, it was tilted lopsidedly into a heavy smirk. “Alright,” he drawled, his accent thick.
Peter couldn’t describe the relief as he realised Ronny was hopefully going to turn on his heel and leave the doorstep. He started closing the door almost as soon as the last syllable left the man’s lips.
“Great,” he said as a summation of the conversation, his shirt slipping off to one side as he reached out and began closing the door. The breeze from the sea hit his exposed collarbone but he couldn’t care less, soon enough that car and the man that came along with it would be out of the driveway and Peter wouldn’t feel like he was some PSA special on what to do when a stranger shows up on your doorstep at five in the evening.
Peter jolted as the door hit resistance without warning, a loud thud had his head snapping up from the floor as he saw Ronny’s demeanour had completely flipped. There was no smile on his face as his ossified hand smacked into the door, stopping him from closing it. There was a dark look of determination, no doubt driven by his utter desperation.
Peter let go of the door completely, turning away from it and yelping as he realised the man behind him was giving chase. The door slammed into the side table behind it, drowning out Peter’s shocked cry as his footfalls were joined by the heavy smacks of the man’s boots against the floorboards only inches away.
He barely made it two steps when hands were wrapping around his arms and his body was being grappled as he ran. He tried to slap one of the arms away, but Ronny was fully grown, and he only gripped tighter, another arm slung forward to encase the boy’s chest.
Peter yelled, the breath screaming from his lungs as he realised Ronny had both arms completely wound around his chest. The man’s entire torso pressed into Peter’s back, throwing him forward at a dangerous velocity.
His terrified wail stretched out as Ronny threw himself and the smaller teen forward, their feet tangling as Peter’s head and ribcage slammed into the floor hard enough to force a pitiful wheezy groan out from his lips.
There was a sharp pain against his left ribs which cut through the hazed ache throughout his chest and lungs. The man dug a hand into Peter’s side, roughly hauling the boy from his chest onto his back.
Peter gasped, his body jerking in reaction to a heavy weight pressing down from above him. He peeled his eyes open with a pained gargle, watching as Ronny lifted himself overtop the younger boy, straddling his legs and subsequently pinning him against the hard wood as his fist raised above his head.
Peter had never been punched in the face before – not really. He had been shoved around at school by Flash, pushed into a locker or tripped up in class, but never had anyone truly held him down and rained blows into his face before.
He was completely unprepared as the fist connected with his cheek. He was stunned into silence as a raging crack of anguish throttled through him. He felt like his skull was crumpling inward, his skin splitting as more pain added to the cocktail of raw, flaming agony. He cried out again, weaker than when he had begun to run, more distressed, as if the pain had buried itself into his throat along with the hot and heavy copper which stung his lips and bled into his taste buds.
Another hit slammed down against his lower lip, separating the skin and leaving a bloody mess behind. A third blow crashed into his eye, leaving a throbbing ache behind which was so apparent, Peter almost thought he could feel his pulse in his eye socket. He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of nausea wrenched his stomach and he gagged, thick and heavy like the blood which sprayed as knuckles met with his jawline.
He coughed, gargling on more tangy blood, leaving red stains across the wood beneath him, two lines of the crimson dripped out of the corner of his mouth to dribble across his cheek and down his neck. Peter could hear the grunting and short-winded panting from above him while Ronny continued to throw his fists down over the helpless teen.
“G – uuhhg, ah… ah ha ahh!” There was blood roaring in Peter’s ears and his chest felt like it was about to implode as more and more pressure slammed down into his face. His hands were limp at his sides, his head thrown to the left each time a new blow knocked into him. There was blood sprayed across the floor – his blood – and Peter was vaguely aware that the sounds he was choking out are noises he had never heard before.
He never knew being beaten could hurt this much. His skull felt like it was going to cave in from the pure agony, but he knew he had only been on the ground for less than a minute. He felt like he couldn’t pull in air, his waist and upper thighs were screaming from the weight of the man on top of him and blood pounded behind his eyelids.
Peter was gasping after each hit, his lungs begging for air and his bones pleading release from the pain. A choked-off whimper escaped between his pained grunts. Somewhere through his foggy, agony-soaked head, he felt nausea, hot and thick against his frantic gasping.
This couldn’t be happening to him, it couldn’t. His Dad had only pulled out of the driveway several hours ago, the man on top of him had only pounded on the door minutes ago, and now Peter found himself succumbing to the most excruciating pain he’s felt in his entire life.
And it occurs to the boy then, that as he’s being beaten within an inch of unconsciousness, one wrong hit and he could merely slip away. Harley could come home to find the front door still wide open with the bloody corpse of his younger brother laid across the floor. Tony could get back from his business trip and see his youngest son being wheeled out across the gravel in the driveway on a stretcher, tucked away into a black body bag.
But that’s not what happens, because eventually, one hit becomes the last hit. Peter tenses in accordance, waiting for the next collision of knuckles against flesh, but it never comes. Ronny’s heavy breathing stays the same, uneven and wild with adrenaline that comes from the power rush of pinning someone to the floor and bruising your own knuckles against their jaw.
Peter breaks the relative quiet with a cough. His throat bounces as his neck convulses while the last of his blood trickles from his lips to the floor. His eyes are shut, involuntary tears coat his lashes and cause them to stick together like dewy grass in the morning. Peter’s eyebrows are hunched in distress, his mouth peeled into a grimace which is mostly overshadowed by the amount of blood splatters across his light skin.
His cough dissolves into broken sobs as the weight of the man finally gave way while he climbed off the boy. A hand slaps Peter’s chest, the same way a father would encouragingly pat his child on the back after a baseball game. The teen still choked on fractured sobs, even as Ronny stood up and melted into the corners of Peter’s vision which were still black and murky. He hears the front door slamming shut.
Peter’s cries out as a fist tangled in his overgrown hair. His skull is lifted from the floor and then his back, his hair taking all the weight. He could hear his shoes scuffing against the floor as he’s dragged backwards by his hair, but the angle his head was tilted at sent a mouthful of blood down his throat, and for a moment, he was drowning.
“Keep crying, boy!” The man hollered, yanking at the hair follicles while Peter gagged as he suffocated in his own blood. “See what happens!”
The teen gargled helplessly, somehow finding the strength to reach up and grasp at the hand in his hair, his body jerking as he’s tugged out of the entrance way, down the hall and gracelessly dropped against the kitchen floor. His head smacks the tile and he quickly rolls his neck to the side and throws up all the blood and crusted chunks from where he bit the skin off the inside of his cheek and lips.
There was a small, red puddle forming beside his cheek, and as Peter watched it spreading out across the white floor, he distantly became aware of Ronny dragging a chair across the floor beside his body. “Let’s go, boy,” he declared, reaching down, ignoring Peter’s violent flinch, and grabbing his shirt for leverage. “Get your ass up,” he grunted, tearing Peter off the ground and spinning him around to face him before roughly shoving him back downwards into a chair. His body immediately folds in on itself, Peter is far too consumed in the barely receding pain from Ronny’s beating that he can’t find the strength to support his own weight.
Ronny grips both of Peter’s shoulders and forces them against the back support of the chair. He pushes the boy’s chest until he stays upright on his own. With one final slap to the teen’s chest, the older man storms across the kitchen, ripping something out of the wall as Peter’s coughs up more blood now that he’s sitting upright.
The boy is breathing heavily, his chest expanding inwards and outwards at a speed teetering on the boarder of hyperventilation. Ronny doesn’t seem to pay any attention to Peter’s panic, he focuses on unwinding the power cord he just tore out of the wall.
Peter feels something cold, skinny and tight being thrown around his midsection, pinning one arm to his side, and the other between his legs in his lap. It pulls taught and makes the teen jerk in the chair, but the cord holds him in place, secured to the chair keeping him upright.
Ronny rips a dishcloth in half, dropping one to the floor and rounding on Peter with the other hanging from his fist.
Peter’s head is bowed, he’s staring directly into his lap, still heaving and trying to catch one steady breath in the midst of his panic. His hair dangles freely in front of his face, the light catching his brown locks until they almost look golden. Through his curls, he doesn’t see Ronny moving behind his chair, but he does feel as the cloth is lifted in front of his face and jerked backwards into his mouth. “Come here!” The man shouts gruffly, the force of his tugging wrenches Peter’s head backwards, his neck cracks painfully.
Peter wails through the gag, his panic spiking as he feels the power cable constricting him to the confines of the chair as the man roughly angles his head around like a doll’s. Ronny nudges the back of Peter’s neck, forcing his head forward, so he can trap the boy’s head against his hip with an elbow. The cries and hiccupping sobs grow tenfold as Peter struggles. “Come here,” Ronny repeats with more anger in his tone.
The boy’s legs kick out and he fights against the power cord. His panic grows to its highest point as his chest stutters and air stops flowing through to his lungs. Ronny completes the knot and tightens it harder than necessary, it catches in Peter’s long curls and he screams in pain.
The noise is loud enough to worry the man, and he is quick to shove the boy back against the chair. “Shut up!” He hisses, growing impatient as the cries continue. “Shut. Up.” He growls, deeper this time, more authority ringing clear in his voice as he slaps the teen beneath him, hard.
If anything, the slap pulls Peter even deeper into his panicked hysteria.
Ronny slams a hand over the gag pulled between the boy’s lips. “Shut the fuck up, boy.” He leers over the teen, their faces only inches away. Peter’s eyes open in fright when the hand clamps down over his face, and he finds himself staring straight up into dark, cold blue eyes.
Stunningly, Peter finds himself nodding hurriedly, tears burning in his own eyes. It’s hard to breathe from the angle Ronny has his neck at. “Alright, Peter?” The man spits. The boy continues to nod, his heart thundering in his chest. He hiccups on a smaller, quieter sob, but it sets Ronny off again. “Peter!” He snaps angrily.
Peter moans, his eyes squeezing back shut in terror.
Please don’t hurt me anymore. Don’t hit me again. Let me out of the chair… please.
Ronny’s face breaks into a wild grin. He shoves himself off Peter’s face, letting the boy suck in a huge breath of relief. “S’ real nice to meet you,” he enunciations with a toothy smile. The poor kid looked absolutely traumatised. His face is beginning to swell, it’s smeared with blood and his eyes are wide and shell-shocked. “You got a face like ten miles of bad road, you know that?” He stalks backward, leaning against the counter across from where Peter was secured in the chair.
He glanced at a card stuck to the fridge, the armed forces logo catching his eye. “Why’ve you got a military business card, Peter?” He looks over his shoulder at the boy. Peter was fidgeting in his place, twisting his neck and head around to try and dislodge the gag, but only succeeding in pulling more strands of his hair out as he did so. “Huh? Why is that?” He demanded, crossing the kitchen and standing before the boy again.
Peter’s chest was beginning to heave again, but Ronny couldn’t care any less. “Huh, what’s the plan here? What? I leave, you call your military friend. I come back, and they get me?! Huh? Is that it?!” Peter goes still, silent, his chest barely moving as he stares up at the man. The gag is already red from his bloody split lip, his shirt hangs loose from his shoulder, exposing a few scarlet hand marks fading into bruises.
Ronny narrowed his eyes, stepping forward slightly as he asked the most important question. “Is anybody else comin’?” Brown eyes darted up from the floor to meet his before flicking away again.
Harley, Harley, Harley. Harley’s coming, I’ll be okay.
“I don’t think so,” the man thought aloud. “If there were, you probably would’a let me in… would’a let me stay.” Peter averts his eyes as much as possible, there is no way he’s letting the man think his older brother could become another victim. “Maybe,” Ronny murmurs. “Right, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you and me are the only guests at this here party.”
Some fucking party. What’s the theme, kidnapping? Peter thought bitterly.
“I don’t think you called anybody. I don’t think anybody else is comin’.” Ronny eyed the teen once more, surveying the way his stomach didn’t fully expand as he took a breath, because of the power cable, watching him wince each time he blinked his slowly swelling eye. “Now,” he began, “I’m gonna take that gag out’cha mouth –”
Peter looked up wearily, his teeth clenching down instinctively on the cloth shoved in his mouth.
“You’re gonna be perfectly quiet, alright?” Ronny approached the teen as one would approach a wounded animal, as if Peter could skitter off when he was scared, instead of struggle against the chair he was bound to. The man crouched in front of him, so that he could see the teen’s face through the dangling curls which had been blocking his view from above. “You’re gonna answer my questions at a reasonable volume and all,” he instructed.
His voice dropped lower, it was almost a whisper as he leaned in close enough for his breath to send Peter’s curls swaying from side to side. “Now, the moment you start screaming and yelling… I’m gonna hit you again.” The grin flowed back onto the man’s face, he looked almost excited, although Peter guessed that was the point, to make him believe the threat wouldn’t be a hassle to carry out. “And I’m gonna hit it hard. And I’m gonna hit it over and over again, till eventually, your body’s just gonna give up. It’s gonna get real hard to breathe, real hard to eat.”
He tilted his chin up, looking at Peter menacingly through his curls. “But you’re probably gonna be dead soon, so none of that will matter.” The psychotic smile stretched back across his lips, scaring Peter to no end. “That don’t sound too good then, does it?” He stood once more, backing up and watching the boy’s eyes follow him around this time. “We good?” He asked implicitly.
Peter’s head nodded several times, timidly. His curls bounced as he did so, a few more falling into his face but not yet covering his wide, brown eyes. “No noise, right?” He smiled, knowing he had scared the boy into silence when he shook his head obediently. “Alright then,” he said quietly, moving around behind the chair and taking his time to undo the knot.
When he pulled the fabric out of the teen’s mouth, a few strings of bloody saliva followed, but Peter kept his mouth wide open like a trained animal. Not crying, not struggling, not making any noise whatsoever.
Ronny smiled proudly, stepping back to admire the compliant boy. Peter closed his lips, his tongue moving inside his mouth before he slowly leaned to one side, tilting his head and spitting a bloodied glob back into the puddle of drying crimson on the tile. “Jeez,” he exclaimed, “you’re bleedin’ inside and out, aren’t you?”
Peter straightened himself up in the chair, his curls still hanging loosely in front of his face. “Okay, first things first, where’s Tony?” The man asked curtly. Peter licks his cracked and split lips, exhaling softly before he answers.
“Business trip,” he says quietly. Ronny arches an eyebrow and nods.
“How long till he gets back?” He presses, watching Peter’s face fall.
“Three days,” the boy croaks out. Ronny laughs breathily, the noise loud in the silent kitchen.
“Three days,” he repeats, looking down at Peter. “You’re not having a very good week, are ya, buddy?” Ronny bends to pick up the other half of the cloth, wrapping it over his slightly bruised knuckles and sighing. “Okay, lemme explain what’s goin’ on here,” he said. “I’m in a bit of a bind, and I might need some cash… So, is there any cash in the house?” Peter takes a shaky breath, his mouth opening and closing a few times.
“I don’t think so… no. I – I don’t know.”
“Ah, anything valuable? Any… jewellery, or special watches?” Peter shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip inside his mouth and running his tongue along it gently. “Now, not that I don’t trust you, I’m just gonna take a look around myself, alright?” Ronny smiles again as he loops the power cable once more around Peter’s midsection and hands, making it slightly tighter, slightly harder to breathe right.
Peter didn’t move, he stayed placid, his face devoid of anything except despondent. Ronny crouched before him, exhaling on an even wider smile. “I am gonna have to gag ya again,” he admitted, reaching up to press the bloodied rag back between Peter’s lips. He leaned in closer than before, his face almost close enough to touch. Peter held his breath as the man tightened the gag again, holding back a wince as the curls at the nape of his neck were yanked painfully.
Ronny dragged his hands back from behind the teen’s head, his knuckles grazing over Peter’s cheeks. “S’ nothin’ personal,” he whispered. His hands flattened out, so his palms and fingers cupped the boy’s cheeks. He stood, pressing his forehead flush against Peter’s as he did. “It’s gonna be alright,” he murmured softly, his voice airy and non-threatening even as he brushed a few curls back off Peter’s face for him. “I’m gonna be right back,” he promised, the hand that finished tightening the gag dropped down to slap Peter’s knee in a mockery of a friendly gesture.
He pushed Peter’s head down, so he was facing his lap again, even more golden curls falling in front of his face. Ronny’s footsteps receded from the tiled kitchen, sinking much deeper into the house. “Don’t go anywhere, ya hear?” He laughed from another room, now fully out of range from where he had left Peter secured to the chair, gagged like a disobedient animal.
Peter took the chance to drop his shoulders, slumping further in the chair, letting the power cord take all his weight as he stared at the ever-spreading pool of blood beneath him, stark against the white tile.
He let out a gentle, hopeless sob, his eyes shutting once more. He could feel small bubbles popping around the cloth as he cried softly. With Peter’s attacker busy ransacking his home for valuables, and nobody else around to hear the boy cry – did he even make a sound?