Sorry, I thought you were a Terrorist
by Nara Occult
Summary: Note to self: Do not become private investigator. Suck at investigating. Screwed things big time. Also broke vase. Think Heath hates me now. Slash.
Disclaimers: This story is a slash story, which means boy x boy, and rated for swearing, sexual references and situations, and some things that some people may find disturbing and/or sick. Character names have been adopted from real life but people, situations, characters themselves and behaviour are entirely fictional and created by myself.
Chapter One: A Shady Character
Super secret spy agent Patrick on the trail! Not really, but it sounds cool doesn't it?
"It sounds lame, you loser!" Dan, my older brother yells. Oops, must have said that one out loud. I do that a lot. It's a really bad trait in a person, trust me.
So my name is Patrick, I'm 17 and I have the aforementioned older brother Dan. When my mum died, Dad remarried, (Stacey), so I also have a half sister Emma (dad and Stacey), two step brothers Adam and Warren (Stacey and her Ex, Vito), and some retarded cousins and step cousins and all that crap. Emma's gorgeous, she's 7 and in year two at the moment. For another few days she's away with Dad on his business trip. Warren and Adam are twins, 18, and I remember hating them with a passion. They live in England with Vito, but the one time I did meet them (when I was 14), they pushed me off the swing, spraining my ankle. It's a lovely hate-filled situation; I don't even know them and I hate them. I'd laugh if they broke their legs. Bah ha ha ha I'm so evil!
"You're such a loser." Dan drawls. Crap. Must stop talking out loud.
"You know we got a new neighbour." Dan jabs a thumb to indicate our neighbours on the left. I gave a half hearted look, not particularly interested (we never got the hot, girl-next-door types, just crazy old people like the cat lady down the street. Bitch threw a cat at my face once. Beth cried and had nightmares for weeks.) It wasn't until later, when things really began to get interesting with the neighbours.
They've had all of their stuff brought in by removal trucks. Shirtless guys with muscles I could never hope to obtain were showing off for Dad's new wife, Stacey. Stacey's such a floozy; one of those awful women with fake nails and fake hair; dyed 'Warm Red-Auburn'. She loves to tap them on the counter, I swear she knows it drives me crazy. One day I'm going to murder her so brutally that the most seasoned cops will hurl their lunch. Or breakfast. Or tea. Or donuts… you know what I mean.
"I have no idea what you mean Patrick, you're talking aloud again." Dan rolled his eyes.
"I've really got to stop doing that." I muttered in response. Dan simply snickered and held up the plastic bracelet. He told me once he'd stolen it from a patient of a mental hospital, and I remember at the time I wondered if there was a patient running around the town on the loose and bracelet-less. Whenever he wants to pay me out about my paranoia, my accidental talking out loud or my conspiracy theories, he just points to it. Convenient, huh?
"You got a boyfriend yet?" Dan teases me. If you're thinking I'm gay, I'm not, though I couldn't blame you for wondering at the wording of that misleading statement. Dan is gay. He argues that for me to be straight (bi is tolerable at most) would be ruining the line. I kinda wonder what line exactly he's on about, he's the only gay in our family so far; apart from my cousin Sue, who is a lesbian. Clearly my dad's not gay unless he's in a serious case of denial (which I think I'd find more amusing than anything else, should it happen) so this brings me back once again to 'What line?'
"No Dan. I'm still straight. Like last week, and every week before that." I sigh, knowing it's pretty pointless to argue with him. Dan sighs, equally disappointed, and it's a stalemate.
That night, I watch our new neighbours. I deliberately haven't looked, wanting to preserve my girl-next-door fantasy. Or better still… girls-next-door. Like, one girl and an adopted sister. I'm not into twins… that shit's just fucked. Family… incest….bad, you follow? Anyhow, I look out of my bedroom window, which faces onto the back of their property. Their shed has this weird glow coming from it, like someone is welding something. It's a blue light, not the yellow of a torch or fluorescent lighting. Weird.
Strange neighbours have been receiving parcels. The idiot who dropped it off left it at our house and I tore into it without even looking at the name. It was only when I was staring at some weird bunch of wires that I realised it may have not been for us. I looked. Damn, not ours. I pretty much ripped the package to shreds. Looks like I'll have to take it over myself and explain, unless I can convince Dan to drop it off. I doubt it though, he's off to go and see Michael, his boyfriend. I really have reserved judgement on Michael… the guy is a complete… well… let's not get into that now.
I wonder what they want wire for? I mean, it's a fuckload of wire. What do you use wire for? It's not silver wire, it's that coated wire. The kind you see on bombs on TV and stuff. Wait… bombs… welding…. You weld things to make bombs, right? Anyhow, I walked next door to rap on their door in a very intimidated manner. If a hot girl answers the door, I'm going to look pretty lame (not to mention freaky and stalkerish for opening their parcel, even if by accident.)
Knock. Knock some more. Ring doorbell a few times. Whoever is home should hate me by now. Ringing the doorbell some more. Wow, this is annoying me, think of how pissed off they must be by now… They can't punch their new neighbour in the face on first meeting, right?
"FOR FUCKS SAKE, I'M COMING!" comes a definitely male voice. Damn. Or maybe that's good? I'm not pissing off hot sister, at least.
"Can I help you?" A guy has answered the door. He's got shaggy brown hair with these unreal white streaks, that's currently hanging over his eyes, (I can't see what colour his eyes are) and is tall and lanky.
"I…uh… this is yours." I pulled out the parcel, which was covered haphazardly in sticky tape and rips. New-neighbour-guy looks disdainfully at it.
"Sorry… the guy dropped it off and I didn't look at the name on it. More fool me for trusting in our shitty postal system." I think my face might have twitched. I get than when I'm annoyed, it makes Dan laugh and point at the psych-ward bracelet some more. It's pretty routine between us, not to mention Dan and I's compulsive lying.
"Uh… yeah." Neighbour mutters, before I hand over the parcel. A mother type figure appears behind him.
"Oh hello, who are you?" She smiles.
"Patrick… I uh… live next door. Pleased to meet you." I force a smile and hope she doesn't find out about their parcel until after I've left.
"Oh please, come in." Neighbour-mum grabs my arm practically dragging me into the house. In no time at all, I'm seated at their kitchen table, with a jug of lemonade and some cookies in front of me. It's kind of creepy. I'm glad Neighbour-mum isn't blonde, or it would just be too much. Actually, she looks a lot better than Stacey, she's about the same age, with brown hair and blonde streaks, and clear green eyes.
"I'm Patrick…." I trail off, imagining Neighbour-guy will take this opportunity to introduce himself.
"Heath." Heath says. Ah, a talkative type. Silence. Silence. Still silence.
"Heath, I'm going to the shop. Patrick you're welcome to stay as long as you like. Oh, I'm Cherie by the way. I hope to see you around here more often, Heath's a shy boy." Neighbour-mum says. I simply smile, Heath raises an eyebrow at her. This is getting really awkward. Soon as Cherie is out of the way, I'm running for the hills… or next door as it were. Cherie leaves.
"Well I'd…" I'm interrupted by the doorbell ringing, cutting off my intended escape sentence. I don't deal well with awkward things; I have a tendency to make them even more awkward.
"Be right back." Heath mutters, and comes back with a package, which he opens just enough for me to see a display counter, like the timers on bombs. OH MY GOD HE IS BUILDING A BOMB!
"I'm gonna shove this in the shed." Heath yells, as he walks outside.
"Ok!" I squeak.
When he comes back in, I'm sure I look dodgy. My eyes are wide, I'm twiddling my thumbs nervously… well wouldn't you? He's an insane-ass-mother-fucking TERRORIST! He wants to blow us all up!
"I gotta go now! Brother… expecting me!" I mumble as quickly as possible. Real smooth of me.
"Ok. Nice meeting you… Patrick." Heath sounded distinctly amused. What was that pause between the rest of the sentence and my name? Does he know I know? Does he think that I know that he knows I know? I'm too young to die!!
I started walking quickly towards the door, before Heath grabs my hand.
"AHHH!" I yelp, spinning around to face Heath, who studies me for a moment.
"You were going the wrong way Patrick. The door is that way." He tells me. I can't tell what he's thinking and he still hasn't let go of my hand! He knows! He knows that I know, that he knows that I know that he knows that I know! I'm going to die!
"You're still holding my hand…" I point out, eyes widening to improbable widths.
"Oh. Yeah. See you around." Heath says, letting me out of the front door.
I just met my somewhat eccentric new neighbour, who I'm seriously wondering about. I think he might have been on drugs. He was standing there in my doorway, brown hair in loose curls, warm brown eyes to complement this … mischievous look about him. He was pretty awkward around me at first, after I got the parcel he was nuts! So nervous and jumpy. I wonder if he saw anything… because I think he knows. Him knowing would be bad. Bad like everyone else finding out bad. He can't know. And if he thinks that I know he knows…
I must take steps to ensue this doesn't get out.