I tried not to freak out as I walked down the street away from Richie's house. There were no words to describe how I felt.

It had seemed so real - but it couldn't have been. All the brown muck that exploded out of the balloon had disappeared without a trace, yet the sopping feeling as it splattered my face was unforgettable. I understood why Richie would brush it off as a nightmare.

But there was no denying that I had seen Patrick. The memory of him standing at the top of the stairway, barely illuminated in the dark, was impossible to forget.

I couldn't help but stew over where he had been the last couple of days. He wasn't at the movies and I hadn't see him anywhere near Henry or his friends. Heck, the last time I had seen him was right before he went into the sewer, looking for Ben.

I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to clear my head, but my mind couldn't stop replaying what I had seen.

Maybe Patrick was sick and that was why I hadn't seen him. Maybe he came to Richie's house last night to tell me why he missed out on our date, but then freaked and left when I fell down the stairs.

But that didn't explain the balloon and door slamming by itself when I woke up.

None of it made any sense at all. Maybe I was going crazy.

I turned the corner onto my street. The familiar blue trans am sped down the concrete and I immediately spun on my heel. I prayed that they hadn't seen me, but the sound of the car engine came closer and closer until I could feel its vibrations in my feet.

"Look what we have here."

I turned with disdain towards Henry. He was leaning out of the passenger seat of Belch's car and I could see Victor slumped in the backseat, looking bored. Patrick wasn't there.

"What do you want." I looked at Henry with a scowl.

"Can't say I'm the happiest with the outcome of yesterday." Henry drawled. "You fucktards played dirty and I think we've got to finish what we started.."

I took a step back, shaking my head. "Played dirty? We did shit all to you, Bowers."

"Is that right now?" He exclaimed, letting out a filthy laugh. "So it wasn't you and your friends who threw popcorn all over us and hit us with trashcans."

"I didn't touch you." I replied, my eyes narrowing. "So, is it gonna be death by association now? Because that sounds like a fucked up system to me."

I felt bad for placing the blame on my friends, but I knew I wouldn't stand a chance against the three bullies alone. The dark glint in Henry's eyes left an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach and, in that moment, I would have said anything to get them off my tail.

"You're right, you didn't touch me last night. Can't say the same for what happened that night at camp, though. Up for round two?" Henry replied with smirk. I felt my heartbeat quicken.

"You're disgusting." I spat. My instincts told me to turn tail but I knew I wouldn't be able to outrun a car. Unless...

"Come on, little slut. We'll give you a better time that Denbrough fag." Henry went to open the car door and I took two steps back.

"I'd rather fuck an ass than be anywhere near you. I'm not in the mood for your shit, Bowers." I snapped, my voice breaking as Henry grabbed my arm as I was about to turn away.

Henry snorted. "Like I give a shit whether you're in the mood or not. You know, I have no idea why Patrick is so fascinated with you. You're about as shallow as my whore of a mother's vagina."

I glared at him, not saying anything. His grip on my arm was strong and I had to fight the urge to let out a break in my facade.

Because that's all it was - a facade. I was terrified of Henry and he knew it. Something had changed in him over the past couple of weeks. It was as if the boundaries to the harm he could deliver had somehow vanished - there was no telling how far he'd go, anymore.

"I think you should get your hand off her, young man." An old voice came from behind us. We turned to see an elderly man in the doorway of the house whose nature strip we were standing on. Henry let go.

"I think you should mind your own business, old man." Henry mocked before walking back to the car.

I turned to give the man a smile of thanks but he had already disappeared back inside his home. Henry had that effect on people. I was surprised the man had said anything in the first place.

Belch revved the engine of his car and Henry leaned out the window to talk to me. "By the way, would you tell Patrick to pick up the damn phone? I haven't seen him since we beat up lard-ass the other day. Probably too fucking ashamed. It was his fault the pig got away in the first place."

I looked at him in shock. Had he not seen Patrick either?

"I haven't seen him." I mumbled.

Henry stared at me with cold eyes. "Well fuck, that creep must be really fucking sorry, then. Step on it Belch."

"Wait!" I said, stopping them. Henry gave me a dirty look. "Where does Patrick live?"

"Why the fuck do you want to know?"

"I just want to see if he's okay." I replied, trying to keep my face clear of any dislike towards him.

"Gee, aren't you a good little slut. He lives in the shitty blue house on the corner of Jackson Street."

With that, Belch revved the engine and I watched as the blue car zoomed down the road, feeling lucky as hell that my guts weren't scattered on the pavement.

- - -

I stared up at the average-sized house which was indeed a light blue.

So, this was where Patrick lived. It seemed too normal for someone as malignant as him. But, then again, I really knew nothing about him at all.

Taking a deep breath, I took a step forward and knocked on the door. There was no car in the driveway so my expectation that someone would answer was low. However, a middle aged lady opened the door with a smile.

"Hello dear! How can I help you?" she asked. She had a very sweet face with light, greying hair, but there were also signs of wear and tiredness in the lines of her face.

"Hi, um, I was wondering if Patrick was home?" I asked, trying my best to sound as polite as possible.

"Oh! Are you a friend of Patrick's?" she asked, her eyes lighting up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." I bit my lip, looking past her into the house.

"Oh, well I'm afraid he isn't home. In fact, he hasn't been for a couple of days now." she said. I felt my eyes open wide with worry. "But don't worry, honey! This isn't unusual of Patrick. You know him, likes to go off and do his own thing." she replied reassuringly. I had a feeling she was saying this more to reassure herself than me.

"Oh, yeah, of course." I smiled. "I better get going then."

"Oh, why don't you come in for some tea? You're the first one of Patrick's friends to ever come to his house and actually speak to me, so I'd like to get to know you!"

"No no, I don't want to intrude." I said hastily. Chumming it up with Patrick's mum wasn't something that I wanted to do. Not with any adult in general, for that matter.

"I insist. Please, come in." she stepped to the side and beckoned for me to enter. Feeling as if I had no other choice, I walked into the blue house.

"Just this way, dear." I followed her into the living room and she gestured for me to take a seat on the blue sofa. There was a very obvious colour palette surrounding me.

She exited the room, saying something about making tea, and I was left alone. I noticed some picture frames on a dresser next to the staircase and I went over to take a closer look.

I smiled as I looked at the photos of a younger Patrick. Even as a small boy, he had that almost sinister look about him. He didn't smile in any of the photos and, on the rare one that he did, it didn't reach his eyes.

There was only one picture that Patrick looked truly happy. He was standing next to a man, holding a fishing rod with relatively large fish on the end of it. He was looking at the dying animal with a glee that seemed unusual for a child in the situation, but felt so strongly of Patrick that I had to place the photo down.

There was a small frame at the back which had fallen face down. I reached over and picked it up, staring curiously at the picture. Patrick was young, probably around the age of five, and had a baby placed on his lap. He was staring at it in disgust, his arms held out as if to pass it off.

"Oh yes, that's one of the very few photos I have of them together."

I spun around quickly to see Patrick's mum holding two small teacups and looking down at the picture in my hands sadly.

"Who's the baby?" I asked softly, placing the photo back onto the table.

"My son, Avery. Patrick's little brother." she said, handing me one of the cups. My hand closed around the glazed ceramic, my cold fingertips warming from the touch. I remembered what Patrick had said the last time I had seen him, about having a brother who had died.

"Is he-" I started.

"He passed away in his sleep. The doctors said he suffocated, but he was laying face-up when I found him."

"I'm sorry." I said, not knowing what else to say. Was this why Patrick was the way he was? Did the death of his little brother affect him deeply in a way that nobody realised?

"Well, enough of this talk! Please, tell me about yourself."

I smiled and we sat down, starting the lengthy conversation of myself and Patrick. I tried to steer away from questions about our relationship together, noticing the sparkle in her eyes every time I did.

At first sight, Patrick and his mother bore almost no physical resemblance to each other. With her light brown hair and sweet face, she was almost the polar opposite of Patrick. But after watching her for awhile, I noticed small similarities such as the curve of his upper lip, the scrunch between his eyebrows when he had to think, his long, slender fingers that were fit for a pianist, and the deep blue colour of his eyes that had so often stripped me bare with just one look.

"Oh, you know Patrick. He's very reserved around his father and I, barely says a word unless asked to." she rambled. "Sometimes I worry about what he does in his spare time and who he hangs out with. But if they're anything like you, then I have nothing to fret about."

She said this with such a genuine smile that I wanted to shield her from the immoral things she didn't know Patrick did. What even I didn't know he did.

After a few more minutes, she sent me off with a small bag of cookies. My head wouldn't stop spinning and I didn't stop thinking of Patrick until I saw the five boys waiting at my doorstep.