lachambers oneshots

Runaway

At exactly 9:36 P.M. on the 2nd Thursday of a December in 1964, 17-year-old Christopher Chambers disappeared off of the streets of Castle Rock without so much as a goodbye to his loved ones.

Everyone thought it was simple. Chris didn't have any loved ones. He had a father like any other kid, except he didn't really because a father isn't someone who drinks until he can't remember his own name or spits in the direction of his wife's grave every time he drives past the cemetery on Willow Street. Chris remembers the first time he'd seen his father do it. He'd watched with one eye swollen shut from the same bullies he'd been dealing with since the beginning of his middle school years how his father had taken a swig of his beer before he noticed the opening to the graveyard and hacked up a big, slimy ball of 'fuck you' and chucked it in Chris' deceased mother's general direction.

Chris had almost choked on his Coca-Cola, instead spitting it out before it had a chance to get into his throat - all over the floor of the car. It had earned him a slap across his cheek and fresh blood that rose to the surface in littered specks from the force of the hit. He didn't do anything for the rest of the drive except listen to the harsh words that were thrown at him.

Rumors about Chris' dad molesting him spread like wildfire, then how Chris was supposedly being sold as a sex slave to others by his own flesh and blood. The abuse was obvious to everyone and their mothers and the rumors eventually got to higher authorities, thus leading the police straight to the Chambers residence with the intends to question the man sitting instead with a beer can in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

On the other side of town where the adults were rich but the kids took care of themselves, where the trees and grass seemed greener but they were all just fake sat Keith Greenwell, the sheriff of Castle Rock and 17-year-old Gordie Lachance.

A million thoughts were swimming through Gordie's head. Chris was missing. Chris Chambers, a face he'd only seen in hallways for the past 3 years had disappeared off the face of the Earth and nobody had a clue where he had gone.

When Gordie had first heard the news, it had felt different. The goons at school hadn't blinked an eye, but Gordie hadn't expected much from them anyway. The wind was still blowing and the sun was still shining but there was a painful absence that Gordie couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was all those summers spent with Chris and the others in the treehouse, or the days when Chris would come to him to cry on his shoulder about his dad or the countless nights they spent sneaking around and sharing sloppy kisses with each other when their girlfriends that their parents had set them up with weren't around. Too many times when they forgot about everyone else and concentrated just on each other and their shallow breaths.

Whatever it was, it was eating a hole inside of Gordie.

"When was the last time you spoke to Christopher?" The sheriff's words broke him out of his trance. Gordie placed his fingers on his wrist and scratched gently, nervously. Gordie searched the corners of his brain for an answer. "Maybe a couple months ago?" He struggled for something else knowing the sheriff would want him to elaborate. "He and I had the same study hall together," Gordie paused when he noticed Keith was writing his words down on a yellow notepad. Keith looked up after he finished, signaling Gordie to continue. "We got to talking - mostly about his dad, but I'm sure you've visited him already." He finished with a slight edge to his voice. The sheriff sneered. "Lachance, I can assure you that this will go by much faster if you tone down your usual level of sarcasm," As he finished writing Gordie's response, he looked up at the clock on the wall. Half-past eleven, a week after Chris went missing.