Chapter Text
Raise the phone. Take a fast step back. Step forward. Step back. Swing!
Finney repeated Robin’s words again and again, his eyes fixed on the basement door. A figure loomed there, silhouetted by the hall. A broad devil-of-a-man.
Raise the phone. Take a fast step back. Step forward. Step back. Swing.
There was dirt under his fingernails. His head still throbbed where The Grabber had struck him. This was it. They both knew only one of them was coming out of this room alive. The phone was broken. There was no going back now, no help coming.
Raise the phone. Take a fast step back. Step forward. Step Back. Swing--
“Are you okay?”
Finn blinked and the basement melted away, replaced by the familiar sight of his own room. He looked around, eyes flicking from his closet, to his books, to the model rockets neatly placed by the window sill.
“Are you okay?” Gwen asked again. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
“Um. Yeah.” Finn sank back down into his bed. “Bad dream.” The sheets stuck to his back, damp with sweat. He must have forgotten to grab a towel before he went to bed.
Gwen’s mouth pulled into a hard, pale line. “That’s it? Just a dream?”
“Yeah?” Finn answered slowly. It wasn’t like him having nightmares was particularly uncommon nowadays. The dreams had started about two weeks after he’d escaped. Not every night, but often enough that it was easier to lay down a towel to sleep on instead of stripping the whole bed every few days. He unstuck his sweat-soaked shirt from his back.
God, how could he have forgotten?
Gwen looked from him to the door and back again, shifting from foot to foot.
“You’re home early,” Finn noted, more to clear the air than anything. “How’s Suzie--”
“Daddy’s drinking.”
Finn’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “What?”
“There’s a bottle on the counter. I saw it when I came in.” Gwen’s cheeks were scarlet with rage.
“Are you sure?” Finn kicked off his covers. “He said he threw them out.”
“Well clearly he lied!” Though Gwen was making a point to keep her voice low it still dripped with venom. “Was he acting off last night?”
Finn shook his head. As far as he knew, his dad hadn’t touched a drop of the stuff in months. Back before he’d escaped The Grabber, Finn had dreaded Friday nights alone with his father. But now--or at least up until last night--he’d actually found himself looking forward to them.
“We worked on my new rocket,” he explained. “He went to bed before I did.”
Gwen hummed, her jaw clenched.
“Are you absolutely sure he was--”
Gwen cut her brother off with a hard glare.
“Right.” Finn grabbed the small rocket-shaped penlight from its pride of place on his bedside table. The weight of it in his hand helped slow his thudding heart.
He knew it was stupid. He’d killed a man with his bare hands. Why was he still so scared of his own father?
Less than twelve hours ago the two of them had been sat at either end of the kitchen table sticking decals on a model he’d bought from the back of a magazine.
Finn hadn’t forgiven his father--would never forgive his father, but knowing that he’d tried, seeing the effort that he’d made to keep clean, the idea of going back to square one made his chest hurt.
“Is he mad?” Finn winced at how weak he sounded.
Gwen shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t seen him, I think he’s in the den.”
“Right,” Finn said again. The metal rocket dug into his palm.
Raise the phone , he told himself before opening the door and stepping out into the hall, Gwen at his heels.
Finn had killed a man. Snapped his neck. He could deal with his father.
Terrance Blake lay back in his recliner, eyes closed. The sight of him struck Finn with a stomach-turning sense of deja vu; him dozing in his chair, still in his work clothes from the day before, a glass cradled between his fingers.
“He asleep?” Finn whispered.
“I think so,” Gwen answered.
Finn moved slowly. He kept low to the ground, taking care to walk toe-to-heel to muffle his steps. He grasped the glass from the bottom and twisted it so that it gradually loosened from his father’s grip. He brought the empty glass to his nose. The scent of vodka assaulted his senses.
“Christ.” He set the glass down noiselessly on the floor, making sure that there was no danger of his father kicking it when he woke up.
“He said he’d quit,” Gwen hissed. “Where did he even get it?”
“I don’t know,” Finn said. He went over the previous afternoon in his mind.
Gwen had gone to Suzie’s. He’d cut across the baseball field to get home. His father had arrived home about an hour after him, had that been when he’d snuck the bottle in? Could he have hidden it in a bag or nestled out of sight in the crook of arm?
As Finn wracked his brain for the answer, Gwen slipped past him into the kitchen.
She flitted from cupboard to cupboard, closing them on her fingers each time to cushion the sound.
“Got it.” She lifted two bottles out from underneath the sink and, in a single fluid motion, unscrewed the caps. “Check the fridge,” she ordered as she sent the contents gurgling down the drain.
Finn did as he was told, jamming his fingers into the soft lining of the refrigerator door to release the pressure. Inside he found a half-empty six-pack of beer. His father hadn’t even bothered to hide it, just crammed it between a particularly sad-looking head of lettuce and a stack of tv dinners.
The cans would have been too loud to open without the risk of waking their father, so he and Gwen elected to throw them in Mrs Ridgewell’s trash in the next street over. She never put her trash cans in anyway.
Finn did the honors, opening each can one by one and pouring the contents into the gutter while Gwen grabbed them a breakfast of Lemon Soda and Tid Bits from the Grab n’ Go.
“Do you think he’ll be mad? When he wakes up I mean,” Finn asked. Though autumn was fast approaching, the morning was a pleasant one. The air was cool, but not sharp. A welcome change to the damp heat of his nightmares.
Gwen took a long drink and scowled. “He better fucking not be,” she said, all matter-of-fact. “He’s the one who broke his promise.” For a second, her expression darkened. It was the same look she’d given all those months ago, her eyes locked with their father’s, a bottle of vodka held aloft in one hand.
It made Finn’s chest ache, an odd mixture of pride and shame. She’d always gotten in worse from their father, even before Detective Wight and Miller sought her out.
Though Finn had always made a point to comfort her, ice her bruises and bandage any cuts, he’d never stuck up for her the same way she had for him. Not really.
He could take a punch, sure. Just not throw them. That’s what Robin said.
“Are they playing today?” Gwen’s voice snapped him back to reality.
“Hmm?”
She pointed a cheese-dusted finger towards the baseball field. Kids and adults huddled around the edge of the field, their voices a light buzz on the breeze.
“Guess so.” Finn hadn’t been paying much attention to baseball the last few months. “Wanna watch?”
“Not like we have anything better to do. Daddy won’t be up for ages yet.”
People Finn vaguely recognised stood in little groups. The adults all stood near the fence, either a little too engaged in the game or nattering, swapping gossip with the other parents. The kids meanwhile--all too aware that the new school year was breathing down their necks--took the opportunity to play catch up with each other.
Gwen dug her elbow into Finn’s side. “Donna, three o’clock,” she hissed, distracted from her anger.
Sure enough, Donna leaned up against the fence with two other girls from their science class, cheering along with the game.
Finn felt his cheeks flush. “Shut up.” He gave Gwen a little shove.
She smirked back at him, smacking her lips and making weird kissing noises. “Go say hi to your girlfriend!” she cooed.
Finn rolled his eyes and shoved his half-drunk soda into her hands. Really, he was glad that she was focused on something else.
He wiped his hands on jeans, making sure to get all the Tid Bit crumbs off. God, he wished he’d had enough time to shower properly.
He and Donna had been lab partners for nearly all of eighth grade and kind of-sort of dated for at least half of it. But he hadn’t told her about the nightmares, or anything about the Basement really. It wasn’t like she needed to know he was anything other than the cool and independent badass who had taken out the Grabber anyway.
“Hey.” He waved his hand in a small half-wave.
Donna turned away from the game and, for the briefest of moments, a strange expression flickered across her face. Her brows pinched together, puzzled. Which, honestly? was pretty fair, Finn reasoned. He hadn’t attended a game in months so it wasn’t like she’d been expecting to see him.
“Oh,” and just like that, her face cleared. “Hi Finney.”
Finney? God, no one had called him ‘Finney’ in ages. It hit Fin like a blow to the stomach.
He glanced out at the game. “Who’s playing?”
“Front Range and The Optometrists. Tied.” Donna’s head slanted to one side. “Don’t you play?”
“Used to.” Like his name, the question cause Finn off guard. He’d quit months ago. She’d watched his last game. He was about to say as much when, out of the corner of his eye, Finn saw someone new come up to bat.
Bruce Yamada looked like he had the last time Finn had seen him: dressed in his white baseball shirt and helmet, twirling his bat. He looked like his missing poster.
The taste of lemon soda burned the back of Finn’s throat, tinged with something bitter and metallic. He lurched forward, pressed right up against the fence.
He was dreaming. He had to be. He was still in his nightmare. If he blinked hard enough he’d wake up in bed. Yes, he was either dreaming or delirious or maybe Gwen’s abilities had rubbed off on him and he was finally seeing ghosts because there was no way in hell that this was happening.
Bruce Yamada was dead. His body had been moved to a local cemetery along with the other boy’s six months ago. Finn had attended a service held in their honour and Mrs Yamada hadn’t looked him in the eye once the entire night. She couldn't, because he was the one who lived, he was the one who survived while her son, her baby boy, sat rotting in a closed casket.
“Are you okay?” Donna asked, her voice tense.
Finn tried to speak. He tried to smile and lie and say he was perfectly fine thanks because Gwen saw dead people and she was fine. They were both fine. He just had to wait and soon enough he’d wake up in a bed where he hadn’t forgotten his towel and his dad hadn’t started drinking and Donna would call him Finn and everything would be fine.
The pitcher threw a fast ball Bruce’s way. It struck the bat with a thunderous crack! And sailed through the air in a perfect arc.
People were cheering. Donna and her friends were all cheering and the world wouldn’t stop spinning.
Finn watched as Bruce dropped his bat, feet pounding against the dirt. Past first base. Past second.
Bruce raised his head, his lips split into a wide grin.
And then his eyes met Finn’s and everything went silent.
Finn watched as Bruce’s eyes grew wide. One moment he was running, the next his feet had skidded out from underneath him. Bruce hit the ground with a stomach-clenching thud. The sound alone was enough to make the other players freeze in place.
“Is he okay?”
It took Finn a moment to realize Donna had been talking to one of her friends and not him. She winced.
“That looked like it hurt.”
But Bruce was already back on his feet. He stumbled forward, his shirt streaked with dirt.
The other players snapped back into action, but it was already too late as Bruce half-ran half-tumbled over home plate to thunderous applause.
Finn didn’t move. He barely even breathed.
Bruce Yamada was here. He was alive.
Which meant that, surely, Robin was too.
He left Donna without a word. He needed to find Gwen.
The tiny fins of his penlight dug angry red lines into his palm. He needed to be careful. It was sharp enough to cut flesh.
“Did you see that?” the words stuck in his throat when he found Gwen. His brain felt like it was going to vibrate out of his skull. Bruce Yamada was alive.
Gwen held one hand to her temple. “You saw it too?” She glanced around, like she couldn’t believe the audacity of the other people around her. How dare they chat and go about their morning as if nothing had happened. How dare they act like one of their own hadn’t risen from the dead!
She didn’t give Finn time to answer her question. “It’s definitely him. Everything’s too…he’s too solid.” She stomped her foot against the ground for emphasis.
“What does this mean?”
“I don’t know!” Gwen snapped suddenly. “You’re the smart one!”
“I know about rockets, not…” Finn gestured to the field. “This!” He raked a hand through his hair. He needed to think. He needed to calm down.
He screwed his eyes shut and drew in a deep breath.
Raise the phone. Take a sharp step back. Step forward. Step Back. Swing. He repeated the words again and again in his mind.
Bruce was alive. Bruce was sat on the bench less than twenty feet away. Those were facts of life now, he couldn’t change that so there was no point in freaking out. It was the same line of thinking that kept him calm in the basement. Accept reality. Accept the facts, the constant variables and search for a solution.
He balled up the anxiety that raged in his chest and shoved it to one side. It wasn’t productive.
Bruce was alive. The question was how.
He looks exactly like he did before.
Finn clenched his jaw. He’d talked to the dead, watched them kick soda cans around with his own two eyes. When compared to that, was the possibility of time travel really so far-fetched?
“Be right back,” he muttered to Gwen.
“What are you--”
“Hey!” He raised his hand to wave at a group of kids a little ways down the fence.
“What?” One of them called back. He looked annoyed, Finn noted. Or rather, he made no attempt at hiding that he was annoyed. No one wanted to upset the kid who killed The Grabber, even Buzz, Moose and the Matts had kept their distance.
“What’s the date today?”
The boys exchanged confused looks.
“Twenty-fifth,” one of them said.
“Of August?”
The question got a blank stare, which Finn took as a ‘yes’.
Bruce got Grabbed in July, so time travel was off the cards.
No one was acting strange or surprised--well, apart from Bruce himself--and he didn’t look like a zombie so ‘resurrection’ couldn’t be right either.
“Well?” Gwen asked when he returned.
“I have nothing,” Finn answered with a wince.
Gwen’s shoulders slumped and she groaned. “So we’re back at square one?”
“I don’t think we even left square one.”
The crowd around them erupted into cheers, startling both of them.
Finn’s eyes snapped back to the game where the Optometrists were all crowded around Bruce, cheering. They’d won.
Finn felt panic starting to stir in his chest again. He pressed his thumb against the tip of the penlight, focusing on the pain.
“He recognised me,” he said. “We should talk to him. Maybe he knows…maybe he knows what’s going on.”
They had to wait for the teams to shake hands first. It felt like forever for Finn, standing there with his heart hammering in his chest.
The moment the teams broke apart he and Gwen went off like a shot, making a beeline for Bruce.
He stood by the bench waiting for them, his bat rested across his shoulders.
And then a hand was on Finn’s shoulder and he wanted to scream. He whirled around, it took all his willpower not to strike out with his penlight.
“You’ve got some nerve showing up, Finney Blake.” David O'Gallagher, the coach for the Front Rangers, had to be about seven feet tall. Rumor had it that he was supposed to go pro at some point, but ended up getting stuck teaching the game to middle-schoolers and Finn honestly believed it.
“What?” Finn choked on the word.
“No call,” Coach O'Gallagher scowled, “no nothing. You’re our star pitcher!” he shook his head. “I get that you kids don’t have much vacation left, but I expect better from you. You’re not one to skip out on a game.”
Finn blinked. “I quit.”
Coach’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Gwen pushed her way between them. “He’s sick!” she chirped. “Threw up all last night. But he knew this was an important game and he wanted to cheer you on. I told him it was a bad idea.” She fixed Finn with a hard look. “I told you it was a bad idea!”
Coach O'Gallagher took his hand off Finn’s shoulder. He leaned forward, peering closely at Finn’s face.
“You do look pale,” he noted.
Finn was barely listening. He leaned to one side, trying to look around the coach’s imposing figure.
Bruce was still waiting by the bench, twirling his bat with one hand.
“Just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” Coach O'Gallagher said. “You’re a good kid, you’ve got promise.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “At least get your father to call me if you’re sick in the future. You got that?”
“Yes, Coach.”
Once the coach was gone, that left him, Gwen and Bruce alone.
Bruce looked slowly from Finn, to Gwen, and back again.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked.
Finn shook his head.
Bruce seemed to contemplate this. “Are you dead?”
Finn and Gwen exchanged a look.
“I don’t think so,” Finn answered.
“Huh.” Bruce’s voice sounded…odd. The words were solid, just as Gwen had said before. It was no longer the crackling voice of a ghost. “What’s going on?”
Finn forced a laugh. “We were hoping you knew.”
Bruce bit the inside of his cheek and turned to Gwen. “You’re the girl,” he said.
“Gwen.” She stuck out her hand. “I don’t think we actually ever met.”
Bruce shook her hand. “No, I don’t think we did.” He looked back at Finn. His next words were cautious, like a foot tapping against ice to make sure it wouldn’t split. “Your arm is mint.”
And Finn smiled, because really, what else could he do?
“I almost had you,” he said.
“You…” Bruce pulled at his dirt-stained shirt “You made me tank it. I thought this was heaven or something and then you turned up and scared the shit out of me.”
Gwen’s brows shot up her forehead. “Scared the shit out of you !? You’re the zombie here!” Her words hung in the air, and suddenly Finn felt very exposed.
“We should walk and talk,” he suggested. If anyone heard what they were talking about they’d think they were crazy.
“Yeah,” Bruce agreed. He glanced around. “And we should look for the others.”
Shit, Finn had almost forgot. “I know where Robin lived--lives. It’s near the school. Should we start there?”
Bruce nodded. “Good plan.”
The trio avoided main roads as best they could, at Bruce's suggestion.
Finn found it weirdly comforting, how Bruce made a point of standing as far from the curb as possible, how he eyed each vehicle as it passed and circled away from any parked cars. Like for the first time in months he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t acting nuts. Because, yeah, Gwen tried to understand--everyone tried to. But there was a difference between being told what had happened and actually living it.
“How much do you remember?” Gwen asked. “Of before, I mean. You weren’t here yesterday.”
Bruce rubbed the back of his neck.
“I remember…I remember Finney, your arm is mint” those words sounded automatic. “And I remember…no…wait… fuck !.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “I remember before the basement! I mean, it was sort of there before but it was…faded? I knew vague stuff, I knew that I’d been riding home and that guy …he opened the door of his truck in my face.” Bruce swallowed hard, his fingers white-knuckle around the handle of his bat. “I didn’t hear the phone. I didn’t know not to go upstairs--none of us did. I remembered dying. I remembered you. Your arm is mint. I couldn’t remember anything else. Then you heard the phone. You killed him--” he cut himself off. His brow creased. “And then…I don’t even think I woke up. It was like…like someone had changed the channel on the tv, does that make sense? I was there and then suddenly I was in my bed and my mom was calling me because I had a game and I knew who she was again. I knew about her and my dad and Amy and I knew--” his voice petered out into a whisper “I knew my name.” Bruce binked once, twice, then rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Bruce Yamada put on a smile the same way a business man puts on a tie. “I’m fine.”
“Well that’s a fucking lie,” Gwen snapped.
Bruce’s expression faltered, but only for a second. “I’m not lying. I really don’t know how I got here.”
“No, I believe that.” Gwen jabbed a finger at Finn. “He’s not fine,” she pointed to herself, “I’m not fine and I never even saw The Grabber in real life. You died! ”
Bruce’s jaw tightened. He scratched the back of his neck again, still smiling. “I--” but before he could get the next word out he was cut off by a stomach-turning shriek.
Gwen snapped into action. In the blink of an eye she’d bolted off in the direction of the noise.
“Gwen!” Finn hurried after her, Bruce at his heels.
Another shout split the air. It was quieter this time and more angry than scared.
It came, vaguely, from the direction of the Grab n’ Go and Finn cursed because it meant they were heading in the opposite direction to where they needed to go.
A group of kids were crowded in a circle on the street corner a ways down from the store, pained cries drowned out by the all-too-familiar chant of “fight!”
Finn pushed through the crowd after Gwen. Snippets of conversation filled his ears.
“I thought they were friends?”
“Clapped him on the shoulder. That’s all he did.”
“What do you expect? He’s a fucking psycho!”
Finn’s stomach dropped.
Randall Bates--a boy notable only for the fact that his name sat in third place of the Grab n’ Go’s pinball scoreboard--lay curled up on the sidewalk. Vance Hopper stood over him, slamming his foot into the other boy’s stomach again and again.
“Please!” Randall wheezed. “I’m sorry!”
Vance planted his boot on Randall’s chest. “What you say, asshole?”
“I’m--I’m sorry!”
“For what, huh?” Vance leaned over, his blonde curls framing his face. “Don’t fuck with me? You got that?” He slammed his foot down again. “Don’t. Fuck. With. Me!”
“He gets it, Hopper.”
And suddenly Finn is dreaming, he has to be, because Robin Arellano has pushed his way into the ring.
Vance scowled. He stepped back, losing any interest he’d had in Randall Bates. Finn watched him scramble to his feet, hunched over with pain.
Robin waved him away. “Get out of here, man.”
Randall didn’t need to be told twice. He stumbled off out of sight.
He wasn’t important now.
Finn couldn’t breathe.
Robin looked the same as he always did, in bellbottoms and a tank top, his hair pulled back from his face.
Vance loomed over him and Robin stared right back. No one moved. No one breathed.
Then, softly, Robin broke the silence.
“Today’s the day, motherfucker.”
Vance’s shoulders tensed. For a horrible moment, Finn was sure he was going to bash Robin’s face in. Instead, Vance huffed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his vest.
“Not fucking worth it,” he scowled. Then, louder: “Show’s over, dipshits.”
A murmur of voices rumbled through the crowd. Still, no one moved.
Vance lurched forward. “Are you deaf?!” He snapped. “Fuck off!”
That did it. The crowd thinned out as, one by one, people started splitting off in the direction of the Grab n’ Go, some glancing back over their shoulders.
Soon all there were left were Vance, Robin, Finn, Bruce and Gwen, stood in a vague circle on the street corner.
A smile quirked the corner of Robin’s mouth. “Hey, Finn.”
Those two words lodged a lump in Finn’s throat.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw his arms around Robin and hug him. But he couldn’t, all he could manage was a throttled “hey.”
Robin crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off Vance. “Long time no see.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Finn laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, devoid of any kind of humour.
Robin was alive.
“You can’t go around doing that to people,” Robin said.
Vance scoffed. “What? Like you don’t run around pulling all that Bruce-Lee-Bullshit.” He combed his hair back from his face.
“The people I fight deserve it,” Robin pointed out.
“He deserved it! Asshole snuck up behind me, he had it coming.”
Gwen stepped forward. On instinct, Finn reached out to grab her arm and haul her back, but she shook him off.
“You’re Pinball Vance Hopper,” she said.
Vance cocked his head to one side. “And?”
Gwen met Vance’s eyes and held them. “You showed me where the bodies were. You helped me find Finn.”
Vance’s lip curled into a sneer. “It wasn’t about him. Needed a back up plan in case Spaceman over there carked it.”
Gwen actually had the nerve to smirk. “If you insist.”
Her words seemed to catch Vance by surprise. He pressed his fist to his brow. “Jesus christ, does anyone know what the actual fuck is going on?”
Bruce cleared his throat and put on his smile again. “We’re alive.”
“Yeah, I guessed that,” Vance spat. “So what, we’re all clueless? Is that it?” Finn nodded and Vance’s scowl deepened. “Great. Fucking Great.”
Though he knew it was wrong, Finn found himself wishing that Vance would leave--Gwen and Bruce too if he was really honest with himself.
He wanted to talk to Robin, he wanted to…to what? To apologize? I’m sorry you died when I lived. It’s not fair. You’re so much stronger than me, you should have lived. Which wasn’t even the whole truth. Bruce had said Finn’s arm was mint, but he was strong in his own right and Pinball Vance was…well…Pinball Vance.
The only reason he had succeeded and they had failed was because he’d heard the phone. Because he’d had them to guide him.
Not that any of that mattered now. They were all alive.
Vance turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Gwen asked.
“To kill a bastard,” Vance snapped. “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out yet. We’re here, the other two probably are as well and you know what that means? That means He is too.”
Acid crept up the back of Finn’s throat.
It was the one possibility that he hadn’t allowed himself to think. Because, yeah, if they were alive…he shook his head.
Gwen chirped up. “You’ll get killed again.” And good God Finn wished she’d just keep her mouth shut.
Vance’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck did you just say?”
Again, slower this time, Gwen said: “You’ll get killed. And that’s if you even know where to find him.”
“I know where he is.”
“You didn’t last time.”
Vance’s eye twitched.
Gwen continued. “If you are going to kill him--”the nonchalance with which she said it made Finn feel an odd mix of pride and horror “--you’re going to need back up. Otherwise you'll just walk right into a death trap. He killed you before, he can do it again and then you’ll never know how you even got here in the first place. Is that what you want?”
Finn didn’t know why he was so shocked. He’d heard about her calmly cussing out the detectives, he’d seen her bash Buzz’s head, but he still watched her with awe.
Here she was, twelve years old with her hands on her hips, facing down Vance Hopper like a matador facing down a raging bull.
Between her and Robin, Finn realized, Vance was having a very bad day.
“What do you suggest then?” Vance hissed through gritted teeth. “We just let him walk around doing whatever-the-hell he wants?”
Gwen didn’t miss a beat. “Finn killed him, but only because you all helped.” She glanced at Finn over her shoulder as she spoke. “So, we get the other two--Billy and Griffin--we figure out what’s going on, find him, and we get the cops.”
Vance scoffed. “You think the cops will listen to us?”
Gwen smiled sweetly. “They’ll listen to me.” She clapped her hands. “We’ll split up. Robin and Finn can look for Billy. Me, Bruce and Vance can look for Griffin. Anyone know where they lived--live--where they live?”
“I think Griffin lives near me,” Robin said with a wicked grin. He honestly looked proud of Gwen. “Saw him walking to school most mornings.”
Gwen nodded. “And Billy?”
Vance drew in a sharp sigh through his teeth. “He lives on Heron,” he muttered. “His poster was on the back of Principal Keller’s door for ages.”
Gwen beamed. “Thank you. Robin and Finn head down there, we’ll start looking for Griffin. Meet on Osage in about an hour. Keep as hidden as possible. If you see his van, scatter and keep away from the main roads. Got it?” She clapped her hands again. “Come on, let’s go!”
“Man,” Bruce muttered as he passed Finn. “I forgot, your sister is kind of a badass.”
Finn couldn’t help but agree.