Chapter Text
In the spring of 1970, Evan gets his first diagnosis after many sick and sleepless nights—liver cancer stage one.
Despite it being caught early and him having a huge chance at surviving, his mother had wept as if he were already dead, while his father had gone to church and stayed there overnight doing god knows what. He’s never there when you need him. Whenever Evan or Pandora were sick, he’d run off to church and not come back until the tides were calm and his children healthy again.
In any case, after a tough year, Evan was cancer free and as healthy as a horse. His celebration party had been big and organised by his father at the church. He still remembers feeling sick because of the amount of cake he’d stuffed down his throat. At the end of the party, when everyone had gone off and there was still lots of cake left, he and Pandora had smashed each other’s faces in it until their mum caught them. To their surprise she didn’t scold them, she had just shaken her head and laughed. It’s a nice memory.
Five years later, Evan is sick once again and he gets his second diagnosis—spleen cancer stage two. This time, he was familiar with everything, and most nurses had his face etched into their minds because he was a good patient. He didn’t complain too much, didn’t talk too much, didn’t do too much of anything. Some time passed and he had once again kicked the cancer in the arse and was doing better. Mentally, he was worn down but at least he was okay again. He remembers the second party not being as fun as the first one and with significantly a lot less cake.
A day before his birthday—June 2nd, 1980, Evan gets his final diagnosis; brain cancer stage four.
It’s funny to him that they say all good things come in threes because all the number three had brought him was bad luck. They also say, ‘third time is the charm’ and he supposes that’s true because he knows he isn’t going to survive this one. He knows he isn’t going to ring a bell ever again and walk out of the hospital leaving a piece of his psyche behind but a healthy body with him and he’s come to terms with that. Well, not really, but there’s not much he can do either. The doctors made it evidently clear that there was nothing to be done. Evan was supposed to sit and let himself waste away. If Pandora had been there, she would’ve punched the loving shit out of them.
His mother walks out of the hospital, clinging to his father and crying into his shoulder as he mutters something under his breath—a prayer if Evan had to guess. He doesn’t want to go home with them. He doesn’t want to be with anyone. He knows that they’ll make an annoyingly huge deal out of tomorrow considering it’s his last birthday. Probably, half of the town will know in the next few hours because gossip spreads faster than you can blink around here.
So, when his parents get into the car, he refuses to move and stands his ground outside. Best part of growing up ill is that with one look, you can make it a thousand times harder for anyone to refuse you a wish. Evan will very much use that to his advantage. “I’d like to go on a walk,” he says in a small voice. When his mother hesitates for a second he adds a pleading ‘please ’.
She reaches out and squeezes his hand while wiping her nose with a handkerchief. “ ‘Course sweetheart, be home by dinner,” she says, looking at him through bloodshot eyes. His father nods approvingly when he looks at him and so he nods in return and turns around to start a small odyssey, perhaps the very last.
He goes wherever his feet take him with no real destination in his mind. He passes some interesting-looking shops, a group of younger kids huddled up in an alleyway with a pack of cigarettes that leave them coughing and gasping for air. He only leaves when they hear him laughing at them and start panicking and yelling at him.
He enters a bookshop and the doorbell rings, alarming the old man at the counter who eyes Evan warily as he looks around. He doesn’t have enough money with him to buy a book, only a few coins sitting heavy in his pockets and jingling whenever his pace quickens.
Eventually, he settles at the park and he watches the little kids play and run around as he sits on a small bench next to a few ducks, looking like an outsider studying a picture. When an ice cream truck passes he stands in line with them and buys himself a cherry flavoured popsicle and barely gets in two or three licks before it starts melting and dripping onto his fingers, leaving them red and sticky. He quickly eats it and laughs as he watches a little girl drop hers into the sandbox and her face turn as red as his popsicle while tears stream down her face. The mums throw him dirty looks, so he’s eventually forced to get up and walk away.
He ends up in a record store as the sun sets and he pulls out some of the records from their designated stops as he eyes them closer. The girl on the counter encourages him to play some of them, probably hoping he’ll buy some of them but the truth is he can’t. His father doesn’t let him listen to anything besides the church hymns. He enjoys one record by a cool-looking guy called Bowie, he’s heard of him from the other kids his age. As he plays more records, he realises that he’s missed supper. The guilt that ties knots in his stomach when he does something to disappoint his mum isn’t there. He’ll cherish the moments before it hits him, which he guesses will be anytime soon.
The sun has departed for the day, letting the moon take its spotlight and Evan is forced to leave the record shop when the girl’s boyfriend comes to get her and she is finally able to close it. He sees the disappointed look in her eyes when he doesn’t buy anything, but she still wishes him a good night. He smiles tightly at her and wishes her the same, despite not being sure if this is going to be a good night. His father will be all up his arse when he gets home.
On his way there he passes a pub, whose owner his mum hates and his father has forbid him from going into because he likes to call it ‘Satan’s house’ . Drinking, loud music, and dancing aren’t things a pastor’s son should do and so he’s never been allowed any of that, most fun things being the forbidden fruit in his life. He considers going in for a moment but when the smell of sweat, piss, and alcohol fills his nose, he decides against it and continues walking. He occasionally sees a few drunks either passed out, throwing up, or pissing in some corners, but he ignores them as he keeps walking.
Suddenly he’s roughly shoved into one of the aforementioned alleyways and there’s a hand covering his mouth and another keeping him pressed to the wall. He tries squirming but freezes when he feels something sharp and cold press against his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a knife. He panics and the hand clamping his mouth shut stops any air from flowing, but then he’s struck with a thought that holds him still in a way no knife could. He thinks dying this way is better than dying of a stupid cancer, he might even make the newspaper headline. His father would most likely use a picture of him looking like a zombie to spite him even in death, but if ghosts are real, he’d come back and haunt him.
When Evan stops trying to escape the person, they finally speak. “I’m gonna remove my hand and I don’t wanna hear a single fucking sound, understood?” he whispers close to his ear and when Evan doesn’t respond he presses the knife deeper in, not deep enough to break skin, but deep enough to remind him that he’s currently being held at knifepoint.
Now that he’s heard their voice, Evan knows that this is a bloke probably around the same age as him, so that should better his chances at survival because he could try and take him in a fight. Except he won’t but the thought is nic- the knife is pressed harder into his throat, and he hisses a fiercer ‘understood?’ .
Evan nods and the hand falls away. He immediately gasps for air and when he breathes too much in at once, he winces, in pain. He still has the knife to his throat, and he feels the guy’s breath as he leans in closer.
He starts sniffing...like a dog?
“Fresh meat, I like that,” he says, and Evan can hear the smile in his voice as he says it. He grimaces—that sounds very fucking perverted and weird.
The man suddenly drops the knife, sighs like all his dreams have been crushed. “Oh, dear, I can’t eat you! You’re rotting! What a shame, thought I’d found a looker too,” he whines miserably.
The thoughts in Evan’s mind are racing too fast for him to make any sense of them. He has so many questions—too many questions that are probably better left off unanswered, but before he can think properly, he opens his mouth and speaks. “You think I’m a looker?”
He almost smacks his hand over his mouth at the stupidity of his question, who even asks that? The guy must think he’s pathetic and stupid and truth be told, he is. He should’ve said something that makes him look more intimidating, he's not going down without a fight, that’d be too humiliating.
The bloke starts cackling at Evan whose cheeks redden with shame. He feels like the stupidest person alive. “Aren’t you something,” he laughs, leaning in closer again. Evan is about to fire back when his words echo in his brain “I can’t eat you! You’re rotting!”.
Well, now Evan is very fucking offended, you can’t just tell someone you won’t eat them. That’s incredibly rude, this guy needs to learn some manners.
“You want to eat me?” he asks, despite knowing his answer. Why didn’t he pick anyone other than Evan? There are loads of drunks outside that would be easier prey.
He sighs dreamily again and Evan hears him doing something that he can’t quite see because of the dark, but when he lights a cigarette, it’s clear what he’s doing. Evan catches a glimpse of his face because of the fire and from what he could see, he’s not too bad looking. Evan stands there awkwardly not knowing what to do until the guy sits on the pavement and the moonlight makes half of his face visible. Now, Evan only has one question and that’s why are all the pretty ones fucking insane? This one, he’s keeping to himself though.
He gestures to Evan to sit and so he does. He grimaces at the smell of cigarettes, he’s never liked them much, doesn’t understand how people willingly put their health at risk for something that smells this revolting.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Evan finally gets an answer to his question. “Wanted to,” he corrects him and now this is just borderline rude.
“Why don’t you want to now?” he asks, almost petulantly crossing his arms over his chest and he lets his head rest against the brick wall. He hears the guy huff a laugh, but he’s not taking his question back. He’s probably asking too many, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care. He is dying anyway, so what if a serial killer just sped the process up?
He hears him sigh and then he watches him closely as he stubs out his cigarette and lights up another one. This time, he catches Evan trying to get an even better look at his face and he grins cheekily. Evan looks away and he thanks whoever is up there for the dark.
Evan starts losing hope and the idea of dying with this question unanswered bothers him like a tie too tight around his neck. He wouldn’t say he was always the curious kind but if he’s dying, he deserves answers.
Seeking knowledge was like an all-eat buffet for Pandora, it was more her thing than Evan’s. He would stand at the sidelines and let her occasionally sneak him a bite or two. Knowledge is like an ocean and there will always be too much of it that you will never quite grasp, some of it will seep through your fingers, and the rest, you wouldn’t be able to stomach. Despite all this, Pandora was always hungry for more, more and more until she couldn’t swallow any more of it. It was unfair, she never stood a chance, and she was bound to drown in it. Sometimes Evan feels the bites she snook him sit heavy in his stomach like stones, anchoring him down. Sometimes he can hardly stand with this much weight.
The moment he starts giving up on ever getting an explanation as to why this stranger doesn’t want to eat him, he clears his throat and Evan looks at him hopefully. “You have cancer,” he says.
Evan raises his brow. “I know,” he responds. Him having cancer isn’t that much of an explanation and that much of a shocker either. This isn’t breaking any news or spilling burning hot gossip.
“You do?” he asks and Evan nods. They don’t say anything for a while. There’s not much to say either. If this were a normal situation, Evan would try to break the ice. He’d talk about the weather and how hot it was. He’d ask him what his plans for tomorrow are and they’d chat about the town news. Whether that is something as mundane and dull as Mrs. Patterson’s daughter wearing a scandalous dress or the next-door neighbour being arrested for drugs, doesn’t matter. It’s all superficial anyway.
When the bloke pulls out another cigarette, he puts it between his teeth and before putting the pack back into his pocket he hesitates. “D’ya want one?” he asks Evan, his voice coming muffled and awkward as he speaks around the cigarette, balancing it around to keep it from falling.
Evan snorts a laugh and turns to stare at the lightened-up side of his face. He still has his back and head pressed to the wall, so his neck is at an awkward angle to be able to look at him like this. “I have cancer and you’re asking me if I wanna smoke?” he asks, laughing again at the absurdity of his question.
He shrugs and puts the pack of cigarettes into his pocket again but doesn’t say anything before taking a few drags out of the new one. Evan grimaces when the wind blows some of the smoke into his face and he turns to stare at the wall opposite for the sake of his neck again. He looks up at the moon to entertain himself, he’s not sure sparking up a conversation with a murderer is smart. The small, harmless sparks might escalate and swallow him whole. Not that he cares that much but he would like his death to be painless and quick. Or, as painless as it gets. Being slaughtered by a knife doesn’t sound painless.
“It’s your last day anyway, go wild,” he throws his hands up in a theatrical gesture, “smoke, drink,” he adds. He turns to look at Evan and more smoke is blown into his face. He fans it away with his hand and coughs.
Evan’s lips twitch and the hint of a smile is there but it’s not fully formed or strong enough to be considered one. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m not old enough to drink any of that...yet, I think,” he trails off. Now, there is a smile but it’s a sorrowful one. He misses Pandora. Tomorrow should’ve been their day. They would’ve spent it together doing the most ridiculous birthday traditions they could come up with. If anyone should be here it’s her.
“Never let that stop me,” he shrugs again and looks out at the street. “How old are you anyway?” he asks him, turning to look at him. His eyes narrow a bit as if that’ll help him figure it out. Evan suspects it doesn’t because he’s still looking at him expectantly.
He doesn’t answer his question because truth be told, he doesn’t know. It might be well past midnight for all he knows. He instead answers his question with one of his own. “What time is it?”
The guy arches his brows and holds his hand up into the moonlight, trying to make sense of the numbers on his watch. It takes him a while to figure it out. “Half past eleven, why?” he asks.
“Still seventeen then,” Evan sighs. Making it to eighteen seemed always too far away for him to even grasp. It was such a big number in his head and now that it’s almost there, he feels its ghost as he reaches out to grasp it, it doesn’t seem that big after all.
Growing up, he was glad to wake up the next day. He was always an ill kid, had his parents running to hospitals every other week, and slowly but surely it became a routine. On school nights Pandora would sleep over at their neighbour’s who simply adored her but for some unexplainable and weird reason hated Evan. When it was holidays and weekends, she’d tag along and stick by his side, snickering jokes into his ear to make him feel better. Eventually, the doctors got used to Evan’s quiet presence and Pandora’s shenanigans. Once she stole some green Jello from an old lady for him simply because he told her he liked it.
Sometimes a night before he’s discharged, she’d sneak around with him in the halls, looking around every corner as if they were two secret agents on an important mission to save the world. Their mortal enemy would be Nurse Nora who would always send them back to bed, sometimes she’d even wake their parents up to scold Pandora, not Evan. Never him because they felt too bad for him. Their ally, though, was Evan’s doctor who when he saw them would sneak them both green Jellos and put them to bed. They’d both giggle with him all the way back to the room and if Nora caught them, the doctor would make up a ridiculous excuse and wink down at them. It was obvious she knew it was all bullshit but sometimes there would be the hint of a smile on the corners of her mouth and she’d let them go.
Evan is snapped back into the present by the stranger waving his hands in front of his face. He looks at him and tilts his head in question.
“What? What did you just say?” he asks.
Evan arches a brow and repeats himself slowly. The constant loneliness he carries around has made him used to keeping his thoughts to himself. He would often make up entire stories and arguments to keep himself entertained. He would argue that he has grown to be good at it but that just means he would start another argument with himself. He can’t concentrate on two conversations at once, so he leaves this for later if there is a later for him.
The guy waves his hand around dismissively and Evan is starting to question whether he did or said something wrong. He can’t remember saying anything that might upset him, though. “No, I heard what you said. Is it your birthday?” he asks.
Evan smiles, it’s ridiculous but the only people who care that it’s his birthday are his parents. He spends most of his days rotting away in his room except for when his mum drags him outside to help with her flowers or visit their neighbours. His life is quiet and it’s the same routine all over again. He thinks it’s only fair for it to be so, Pandora was always the routine breaker and the spontaneous one. They might be twins, but they couldn’t be any more different if they tried.
“In half an hour, yes,” he says, and he watches the stranger’s face light up. He huffs a laugh because he looks more ecstatic about this than he himself.
“There’s no way I can kill you now,” he half sighs half laughs. He doesn’t sound too upset, Evan notes.
They sit in silence, both with small smiles on their faces. Evan doesn’t know what to say or do, so he keeps quiet, waiting for anything he’ll give him. Nothing comes for a moment but then he asks him what his name is. He hums in response and Evan waits to hear how it sounds coming out of his mouth. It sounds soft, like something you whisper to yourself with a secret smile.
Evan isn’t sure if asking this is smart, or if it’s too much, too personal but there’s only one way for him to find out and so he musters up every ounce of courage he has in himself and asks him what his name is. It takes the guy a good minute to answer, and Evan sees the hesitation as the name comes out of his mouth quick and hurried.
“Barty,” he says.
Evan has never heard that name before and when he tries it, he finds that it doesn’t sit heavy on his tongue like most things, doesn’t taste bitter either. He whispers it a few times until it feels familiar and then he stops, feeling that it might be too weird. He tends to stop talking when he feels stupid which, admittedly is often.
Interrupting the serenity of the night, Barty groans as he gets to his feet, and he looks down at Evan until he does the same. He starts walking and Evan follows behind him like a lost puppy. He’s clueless as to where they’re going, and perhaps following someone who just tried to kill him isn’t a normal thing to do, but Evan finds that he doesn’t care one bit. Barty walks under a streetlight, and it highlights his silhouette. He looks handsome, the type you would bring home to piss off your parents handsome.
As he continues walking, Evan stops. He hesitates to follow him, it’s a foolish thing to do but the thought of what awaits him when he goes back home makes him take a step. He doesn’t dare take one more, the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, but he doesn’t feel that fear or danger in his stomach either. The idea of his dad sleeping on the couch, anticipating his arrival makes that pit appear.
Barty has noticed Evan stopped following him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t let it stop him. “What kind of cake would you like?” he asks.
Evan snorts a laugh, at least if he goes with him he’ll get a cake and a thrilling death, and well, isn’t life all about taking risks? Evan is sick never doing anything for himself, he wants to be young and stupid. Maybe, this is reckless, and maybe reckless is what Evan needs to be.
He runs up to him and smiles. “Chocolate cake,” he says and adds a ‘please’ afterward for good measure, just like he did with his mum.
They continue walking until they stop in front of a truck. Barty opens the door for Evan, then walks to the other side. He turns the engine on and waits patiently for him to get in. He doesn’t hesitate to do just that.
Barty drives for almost fifteen minutes if Evan had to guess and as he stares out of the window, he realises they’re heading towards the ‘bad’ side of town. The side he has never been in, the one that leaves people whispering about whoever dares to go to. It’s the worst thing you could do in a town as mundane as this where nothing ever happens.
The car stops in front of a pub with huge letters highlighting it. They read ‘Tommy’s’ with the second ‘m’ crooked and some of the lights flickering. As they step out of the car, Evan sees a bunch of people vomiting, he grimaces. It also stinks, he starts breathing through his mouth. He ignores the smell and looks over at Barty who is standing next to him. He isn’t going to walk in there by himself, that’s for sure.
Barty doesn’t hesitate for a second and he walks in like he owns the damn place. The way he moves around the crowd is familiar, eventually having to grab Evan by his elbow to keep him drowning in the wave of people. Evan can’t see much, his senses overwhelmed, instead choosing to concentrate on the lingering touch on his elbow. Even after Barty removes his hand, Evan can still feel its ghost.
He sits on a free stool next to him and looks at him expectantly. He’s clueless as to what to do or say, too afraid it might be the wrong thing. Evan has never been too good with words. He wishes he could say more, add significant remarks and details to conversations that others would admire and envy. He wishes his words could stir others’ thoughts, evoke emotion but he has so much to say, he mostly finds himself saying nothing. Words sit heavy on his tongue, like lead, until they disintegrate into ashes and leave a bitter taste behind. Evan has gotten used to swallowing the ash, it’s slowly become a comforting taste.
He listens more than he talks, Barty speaks to the bartender—Angie—like he’s known her for years and perhaps he has. Evan won’t ask, can’t muster up the courage to. He knows nothing would happen if he did but he doesn’t feel the need to. He’s content with the scraps and crumbs of information people trust him with, or that he overhears.
Barty orders two beers, one for him and one for Evan. Angie looks over at him with an arched brow. “How old are ya, kid?” she asks.
Barty rolls his eyes and Evan doesn’t know whether he’s going to answer for him. “C’mon, Angie y’know I would never bring you trouble,” Barty says.
She shakes her head as she pours an old guy a huge glass of something. It smells strong. “The cops been all up my ass sweetheart, ya never know,” she shrugs, now staring expectantly at Evan. “He could be one for all I know,” she adds.
Evan tries to smile weakly when she looks at him through narrowed eyes, trying to crack him open like a walnut. Despite not being a cop, he feels himself sink back into his chair until Barty interrupts their eye contact with a wave of his hand. “He’s a birthday boy,” he says and before Angie can question him further, he adds, “Eighteen.”
Angie’s whole face lights up and she looks delighted. Her head quickly snaps to Evan, and he nods to confirm what Barty said with a small smile.
“You gotta sing,” Barty says when she hands them their drinks and Angie considers it for a moment before nodding enthusiastically. Evan looks at Barty with wide, pleading eyes and he begs him not to without even uttering a word. Barty laughs at him and shrugs.
And sure enough, when the clock hits midnight Angie claps her hand to get everyone’s attention. She announces Evan’s birthday to the whole room and some people clap, others cheer, and the rest starts singing. Evan looks mortified.
When they finish, some drunks clap him on the shoulder, buy him more alcohol and give him shitty life advice. He takes it all with a smile. A hooker even offers him a birthday special and wouldn’t take no for an answer until Barty told her to fuck off. She left with a scowl and a snarky remark.
Evan feels the headache creep up on him, the alcohol, loud music, and the sweaty smell not helping. He excuses himself to use the bathroom and when he opens one of the stalls in his haze, he’s met with the hooker on her knees with the cock of a guy who bought him a drink in her mouth. He immediately empties his stomach at the sight.
He thinks he hears some shrieking, cursing, and yelling but all he can do is sink to the ground and lean against the stall door.
He doesn’t know how much time passes until Barty finds him. He hears him say something too, shake him back and forth but all Evan can do is groan and whine at the pounding in his head. Barty comes back with water, Evan tries drinking some of it but barely manages, spilling half its contents on himself.
Eventually, he feels Barty haul him up and he cries out when he drags him out of the dark and comfort of the bathroom into the crowd and then into the cold air of the night outside. He hears Barty say some more but before he can try to make sense of it, he feels him gently lower him down on a thin layer of blankets and before Evan’s head even hits the blankets, he blacks out.