THE WANTED CRIMINAL °°° Eddie Munson

°°°Part Two

PART 2:
THE LAWYER TACTICS
(A LITTLE TALK WITH DEATH
NEVER HURT ANYONE—
DID IT?)

 

—\×\°\—

HEARTBREAKER BY PAT BENATAR WAS playing low on the car radio, and Eddie scrunched his eyebrows in stress. The tap-tap-tapping of Franklin's fingers were starting to annoy him, and frankly, the whole situation did. Because not only was he about to risk everything on a fake cover story to clear his name when he wasn't mentally prepared, but Franklin was acting weird—cold, and acting like anything for the past two days just didn't happen. If there's one thing Eddie learned about him during this drive is that he had a horrible habit of tapping his fingers on the wheel, and the tap-tap-tap finally made him snap.

He inhaled through his nose, turning from the car window, "So, are we just not going to talk about it?" he asks, shaking his head and resting his knuckles on his cheek.

"Talk about—?" Franklin was confused, but quickly came to realize and he tensed up, "Talk about the—no, sorry, just not now, man."

"Okay, so do you have a…" Eddie shrugged, "A schedule? A set date to talk about it?" he inhaled impatiently, facing Franklin, "Because I don't think we might even be able to make it out in one piece to be able to do that!"

"What do you want me to say, Munson?!" Franklin tensed, gripping the wheel tighter than before, "That I'm glad we almost had sex last night because I've had a major crush on you since junior year?"

Silence. Eddie blinked, whatever anger that was building inside him fizzling out instantly within a second. Instead, it was replaced by the feeling of his heart dropping, and his whole body breaking into luke-warm temperature and sweat trickling down his neck. His ears burned, voice cracking, "Wha—" he spoke quietly, afraid to break the fragile tension, "Is… Is that true?" When he carefully looked over to Franklin, he only saw how red he was, furrowing at the road in front of him and shoulders tenser than ever.

Eddie was met by silence, and he didn't know what was going through his mind at that moment—because he reached out to him, laying a hand on his tense shoulder just like Franklin had two nights before—right in the midst of Eddie Munson's mental breakdown.

But the touch didn't last long—not even a second—before Franklin shrugged him away, "D-Don't—Don't touch me." Eddie was taken aback by Frankie's vulnerable tone, and recoiled his hand. "Please."

And Eddie spotted something on the other boy's face. It was trickling down, staining his skin. "Hey," he whispered over, "You got—You got something there, on your…" Eddie pointed under his own nose.

Franklin furrowed his brows in a dazed confusion and touched under his nose with a spare hand, pulling it away from his face and inspecting the tips of his fingers.

Blood.

Eddie saw how Franklin's eyes, for just a second, flashed over in fear and pressed his lips together. He knew he couldn't do anything to comfort him right now, and he watched as the other boy wiped the blood off his sleeve and continued to drive. But he couldn't help but ask, "You're not—You're not cursed, are you?"

"No, no, I'm not. No visions or any of that shit. I get them once in a while—It's probably just the stress. Just—blood reminds me of bad times, that's all. Just—stop talking."

Eddie did, but it didn't rid his mind of worry for the boy. At first, he only needed to worry about school and drugs and after school clubs. Then, he needed to worry about a murder and supernatural shit. Then he forgot all of that because of one boy—and what he was worried about then was the fact that he was feeling too much for a boy he just met and knew nothing about. But now the supernatural's come back, and Eddie felt it—haunting them like some sort of knock-off piece of shit ghost.