Casper couldn't gauge the degree to which Ash's confusion and shock extended. Casper himself wanted to retch at the prospect of the kid squirming around on his carpet being a rapist, but he couldn't imagine how Ash felt - engaging in first-hand contact with the guy, straddling his hips. Or maybe Ash didn't feel queasy in the slightest, and was taking it all in his stride, forcing himself to adopt a state of composure. That could most probably be the case, for all Casper knew, seeing as Ash wasn't giving much away. He seemed calm enough, gentle even, but also possessed the cold scorn that one would expect when chastising a rapist. Not that such a thing happened on the regular.<br/><i><br/>
Good. </i>Casper thought, mentally breathing a sigh of relief, at about the same time that Ash physically did. The last thing he needed was someone panicking, or complicating things further. And god knew this shitstorm was already complicated as it was, without needing highly strung teenagers thrown into the mix.<br/><br/>Casper watched as Ash got up to check on Miles, pleased with the boy's decision to accompany him to the station.<br/><br/>He now took the opportunity to process what everything meant for<i>Miles</i>. Joe had ventured into the suburbs, attempting break-ins and darting behind sundials - all for what? To ease his conscience, most probably (Casper knew far too well how it would bode otherwise), and to ensure that Miles wouldn't go tattling to the police. Overall, Joe was a complete fucking moron. If that hadn't been obvious before, it certainly was now. Casper was fairly certain that Lainey hadn't even made an accusation yet, and yet Joe was inflicting all this drama on himself and pleading for Miles' silence when the latter had shown zero intent to say anything, and possessed zero motivation to do so. Not to mention that Joe's entirely tactless method of persuasion (loitering outside the house's perimeter, scaling the garden wall, attempting to break in etc. etc.) was what had caused Joe's downfall, and he'd gone about his predicament in the most foolish way possible. Truly, his crime would've remained unbeknownst to the enforcers of law if he'd done absolutely nothing for the past week. But no - Joe Gibbs just had to take the Complete Fucking Moron approach.<br/><br/><i>Unless...<br/>
</i><br/>Unless there was a valid reason for him to be acting so impetuously, in such a rash and deranged manner. Apart from the obvious. And then suddenly, something clicked.<br/><br/><i>Of course.<br/>
<br/>
OF COURSE.<br/>
</i><br/>Casper slapped his hand against the carpeted patch of floor beside him as his head shot up in belated realisation. Joe continued sobbing.<br/><br/>Throughout the haze of paranoia and his responsibilities regarding Miles, Casper had completely forgotten about the brunette girl that he'd previously pegged as a prying reporter, who had visited him only four days before. Her face, however, had blended into a mesh of all her precursors, all the other personages that had knocked on Casper's door and then been swiftly shooed away. He couldn't distinguish or recall one face from the other, and certainly couldn't remember her's. He'd just assumed that they were all trivial obstacles, frivolous amateur journalists, easily dealt with by refusing to answer their questions and making sure their feet weren't obstructing the door when it slammed in their face. But now, Casper realised that there was something that distinguished that brunette from the rest. He distinctly recalled how eerie she struck him as, what with her puffy eyes and red patches of skin. As if she'd been crying. But he'd pinned it down to hay fever or the such, and didn't bother finding out if she was indeed a reporter, because the first thing she'd said to him was:<i> 'Hi, </i>d<i>oes Miles Hawkins live here?' </i>which was followed by a '<i>Please! Can I speak to him?'</i>. If that didn't emanate prying, journalistic vibes, Casper didn't know what did. She was bad news, and he knew she knew something, and he had no intention of letting her get a word in edgeways. He'd been about to shut the door on her when suddenly, she resorted to begging, her puffy eyes on the brink of shedding actual tears, begging for him to at least take her number to give to Miles when the boy came to. And Casper wasn't entirely heartless; he did possess at least an ounce of pity. So he let her hastily tear a piece of paper out of a notebook from her satchel, and waited quite patiently for her to finish scrawling her digits before taking the number and leaving it at that.<br/><br/>That same day, in his bedroom, Casper had turned the scrap of paper over in his hands, repeatedly, musing about what the girl could possibly have wanted. She hadn't even provided him with a name. The number was for Miles, for when he woke up.<i>Why? So you can personally grill him about the details of the murder? What slashing technique he opted for?</i>Casper had thought to himself with a snort. He'd gotten up, his resolve having been strengthened; opening a desk draw of old trinkets and semi-functioning pens, Casper flicked the scrap of paper right into the back. He wouldn't be taking it back out anytime soon.<br/><br/>At least, that's what he'd assumed.<br/><br/>Currently, seated next to a rapist on his first floor landing, that slip of paper was at the forefront of his mind; he imagined its ragged edges with perfect clarity, the smudged ink. Still perfectly legible though, from what he remembered. Without a doubt, that girl had been Lainey. Casper's thoughts were a blizzard, but he quickly pieced everything together. From what he could sensibly assume, Joe had perhaps been watching Casper's house for numerous days. Or perhaps just that once, four days ago - when Lainey had visited; the very fact that Lainey was visiting Miles Hawkins' residence could only mean that she wanted the teen for the same reason that Joe did: Miles was present during the rape and had personally witnessed it. So if Joe saw her visit the house, he must have known that Lainey was in contact with the Hawkins. She was still in mourning, still terrified, still feeling defiled and disgusting. Casper could also safely assume, then, that she wanted Joe behind bars, for what he and his friends had done to Shane, and to her. But maybe she was scared no one would believe her, and so she needed a witness.<i>Poor girl, </i>Casper thought idly, running a hand through his hair. Perhaps she had chanced a visit to those other kids who had witnessed her rape, so that it wasn't just her word against Joe's. Maybe they'd refused to aid her, and maybe Miles had been her last hope.<br/><br/>"Joe Gibbs," Casper said coldly, turning to the sobbing form sprawled across his carpet before uncrossing his legs and assuming a kneeling position. Joe instantly became alert, looking up at the Dark-Haired Man through matted eyelashes, clumped together with masses of tears.<br/><br/>"Y-yeah?" He replied, wiping at his nose.<br/><br/>"You saw Lainey visit me, Monday, didn't you? Hm?" He looked down at the boy, taking in the kid's look of surprise and distress. This was a marginally big piece of the puzzle, so he peered down at Joe with interest, the beginnings of a leer playing at his lips. "C'mon, buddy, pal, chum. You can tell me. You saw her here, which sent you into a right old frenzy, because that's how you knew she wasn't going to keep quiet about you ripping into her vagina and THAT'S why you were in a panic to see Miles. To shut him up, right? Hm, how'd that fare, Joe?"<br/><br/>This onslaught of dialogue proved to be too much for Joe, because he covered his face with his sweaty hands, wiping at the stream of mucus with the back of his sleeve. He found it incredulous how this man was saying such things in such a factual, unwavering tone. And it was incredulous how accurate the man's presumptions were. Joe only wondered for a slight second about how much he should let on, before remembering that he had given up; slowly, he nodded.<br/><br/>"It's true." He said.<br/><br/>So it was true.<br/><br/>And alas, Joe must have gone mad. Spotting Lainey in Miles' home surely would have sent his sanity into a downward spiral. The rashness of his chosen course of action made a sliver of sense now; he'd thought that Lainey had gained a witness against him, someone that would stand against him in court and cement that prison sentence. At least the kid was resilient - he had, after all, tried to eliminate the chance of someone being a witness, but that plan of action had failed tremendously.<br/><br/>But the main point that Casper had drawn - the point that held the most importance - was the Lainey did want to press charges after all. Casper was sure of it; why else would she want to see Miles, and why else would Joe be driven to a panic? So now, Casper needed to finalise everything, and act as the last link. But there was one more question scratching away at the crevices of his mind.<br/><br/>"Joe." Casper said. "Who raped Lainey?"<br/><br/><i>Snort of mucus. </i>"Me and B-Brent."<br/><br/>"No one else?"<br/><br/>Joe peered out from his wall of mucus-drenched cloth.<br/><br/>"Uh, no. Why-"<br/><br/>"Never you mind. Now stay, there's a good boy." Casper's form expanded as he stood, his legs striding over to his bedroom door; the carpets ensured that his footsteps were noiseless. Was it risky leaving a self-confessed rapist alone with an open and unguarded means of escape? Yes. Was it risky if said rapist was<i>Joe Gibbs</i>? Absolutely not. Even if the doomed teen did chance a dash down the stairwell, Casper's room was positioned midway between Joe and the stairs, so he'd manage to intercept the felon in time. Joe was surprised at Casper's apparent trust in him - or, rather, lack of faith in Joe's physical capabilities. But Joe Gibbs wasn't going anywhere. No. He wasn't going anywhere for a long time to come.<br/><br/>Casper, meanwhile, had headed straight for the desk in his bedroom. He grabbed his phone off of the wooden surface and then pulled open the trinkets drawer. After fumbling around for a good ten seconds, cursing when his skin made contact with the sharp end of a pair of scissors, Casper's fingers finally enclosed around a thin scrap of paper.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>The wheels were set in motion; Casper had served as the final link in this sadistic tragedy. He'd called Lainey Richardson, and she'd somehow remembered him, despite the sentiment not being returned. And he'd explained, as delicately as he could, that he knew about the rape and wanted to help. Initially, she'd been silent, but she soon found her voice as Casper started instilling confidence in her that the case could be won. He had Joe Gibbs in his home, for starters (Casper had ventured out to the hallway again, and indeed, there Joe lay, quite pathetically) and the boy seemed to have given up resistance. That is to say, he seemed as if he'd confess. And if he didn't, Casper could make a statement detailing the confession that had commenced on his first floor landing, and Joe would crack easily under extensive questioning from police. No need for Ash to get involved, no need for Miles to come forth as a witness.<br/><br/>And indeed, that's what Casper had been trying to succeed in averting. Getting Miles involved. Casper had no doubt that Miles would undergo some questioning too, however mild, and may eventually be suspected. Why, for example, didn't he try and interfere? Why hadn't he helped Lainey Richardson? Was he about to partake in it too? Would he have done so if Shane's group hadn't showed up? And of course, bringing Miles to the police's attention was the last thing Casper wanted. They might find out other things.<br/><br/>Ash did seem like the righteous type though - at least, the type that prioritised some semblance of morality over self-beneficial ulterior motives. Thus, if Miles let on more than he intended, it may urge Ash to either suspect Miles or to encourage Miles to impart certain information to the police to help Lainey. In any case, it was best if Miles didn't tell Ash anything at all, lest his friend unknowingly involved Miles further. Which, Casper realised, he should have thought of before letting Ash into Miles' room. Slipping his phone into his pocket, Casper hastily crossed the landing and quickly opened Miles' bedroom door, hoping nothing much had been shared between the two.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Miles was in the midst of attempting a one-handed body lift, so that he could effectively scratch his ass with a bandaged palm, when Ash entered the room. Miles assumed that the tussle in the hallway had ceased, and that his father was relatively unharmed since Ash wasn't in an urgent state. His torso was still exposed, so Miles reached for the shirt Ash had previously discarded, handing it to his friend. But it seemed that Ash's agenda entailed making sure that Miles was alright; Miles grew slightly unnerved, both by the proximity at which Ash was suddenly talking to him (hand on shoulder, gentle pat, an increase in Miles' heart rate<i>) </i>and by the concern that was laced in Ash's voice. Both factors contributed to the reddening of Miles' cheeks, but he quickly responded:<br/><br/>"I'm good man, but what the hell is going on?" He furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, he's a psycho alright - burst in and started crying all over me. Thought he was a real pussy, and then he started blabbering about me not telling anyone about something he did." The creases in his face deepened from his mounting confusion. "But, like..." he looked at Ash, eyes narrowed in concentration, as if trying to recall something. "I literally don't know what the fuck it is that he did. Like, I don't even remember what<i>I</i>did that night. I'm guessing what he did was<i>baaaad </i>though," he gave a whistle, remembering how frantic the stranger had been acting.<br/><br/>"Wait, do<i>you </i>know what he was talking about?" He suddenly asked, looking at Ash. Maybe Ash was clued up about what the hell was going on.<br/><br/>But then something that Ash had said caught Miles' attention.<br/><br/>"Girls...?" He asked, trailing off, deep in thought. Now that Ash mentioned it... nope, actually. No person with a female form had been present, as far as Miles' memories recalled. It had been a night filled to the brim with beer and testosterone, macho men celebrating football and hitting on...<i>girls</i>. Wait, so there had been someone.<br/><br/>But suddenly, something else flashed before Miles' eyes, and he recalled a certain image with clear vividness.<br/><br/>That image which he often felt flash before the peripheral areas of his vision.<br/><br/>"Wait, there is something..." He said, squinting harder as if wringing out every detail from this sudden flash as he possibly could. And there it was, a face. He recognised it immediately. Shane Richardson's face, gleaming with a sheen of sweat and sporting multiple bruises, heading right for Miles. A memory that he often experienced in his dreams, and rarely during waking hours, but a memory nevertheless. And it was a<i>real </i>memory - Miles was sure. But what he didn't understand about it, and what he'd constantly ask himself, was why he remembered Brent Davis slumped against the wall, half-conscious, and Shane Richardson coming for Miles. Only these three forms; Miles being the last one attacked, the other group members apparently having scattered.<br/><br/>Surely, if Brent had killed Shane, he wouldn't have been unconscious before Miles? Surely Brent would be the last one fighting Shane?<br/><br/>"Sometimes, I remember this one image, yeah,"  Miles started, wondering how to word his thoughts. "Where it makes like, zero sense. Like,<i> I'm</i>the one -"<br/><br/>Suddenly, Casper walked in.<br/><br/>"Heyyy, hope I'm not intruding on any vital info," Casper said with a quick grin, knowing full well that he was. "Alright Ash, time to cover those pectorals," he sounded almost rueful. "Ted Bundy over there," here, he pointed a thumb out the door to where Joe lay in the hallway. "can only be restrained for so long. My estimate - 13 minutes. After that he'll be pleading for our mercy and scuffing the car floor." He gave Miles an easy smile, ignoring the latter's questioning gaze. He wouldn't bother explaining anything to Miles just now, and would wait until he and Ash were safely out of earshot in the hallway before he started imparting the specifics of this plan.<br/><br/>"By the way - and this is<i>totally </i>unrelated to the car-scuffing thing - but mind if we take your sedan?" He gave Ash a grin that conveyed mischief. "Don't worry, I'll be taking the duty of making a statement about Joe. So you can just drop us off at the station and head back home. I can always go back by...<i>bus.</i>" He tried not to utter the word with too much distaste. He waited at the bedroom door for Ash to follow suit, intent on telling him about Lainey once they were away from Miles.<br/><br/>"Dad, you're just gonna leave me here?" Miles exclaimed.<br/><br/>"Oh shut up, I gave that bitch Tracy a call to come over and watch you." Casper replied dismissively. Miles looked positively distraught, and sank back into his mass of pillows. He fucking hated Tracy. Suddenly, he paused and listened out for a strange noise being emitted from the hallway outside.<i>Is that... crying? Is that creep still fucking crying?</i>