Chapter Text
An agitated voice, and a tap on his shoulder. “Eddie, Max. Wake up. We have to go.”
Eddie peeps an eye open. It hasn’t been long since he fell asleep, he can tell from the way his body aches for more sleep. It’s still dark outside, and he can barely see the raindrops trickling down the window. The air conditioner hums faintly over the bustling noise of his parents rifling through the room. In the bed next to his, Max stirs and rubs her eyes with a soft what the hell, her long red hair strewn all over the pillow.
“Come on, kids, up, up! We have no time,” Susan taps them harder. “Can’t afford to dilly-dally.”
Fucking hell. Eddie scoffs a little under his breath – Susan never used the word dilly-dally unironically. It’s kind of funny. But the electronic clock on the side table says 2:17, truly an ass-o’clock. Eddie scowls.
“I thought the checkout isn’t until 11?”
“We are leaving right now,” George orders as he frantically shoves various items in his suitcase, chips and hundred-dollar bills flying around. His voice is gruff. “Pack your things.”
“Never bothered to unpack,” Eddie mumbles. Force of habit, really. He gets out of bed at last, groggy and tired from swimming and surfing the day before. Now that he’s more awake, he realizes that he really needs to take a leak.
“What part of right now don’t you understand?!” George bellows, making Eddie flinch.
“Jeez, dad, I’ve already packed! I just have to use the bathroom and we’re out of here, okay?! God-“
He’s shoved against the nearest wall by the collar before he registers that he’s made the mistake of talking back.
“I will only say this one more time,” George snarls, and there’s a dangerous twist on his lips that almost looks like a smile. “If we’re not out of here within the minute, this is it for us. We might actually not make it this time.”
Eddie has to bite down the urge to roll his eyes. He always pulls this dramatic shit like it’s the end of the fucking world if Eddie doesn’t listen, like something terrible might just happen if he doesn’t obey. He’s never dared to find out what the consequences might be.
“Yea, okay,” he chokes.
“Yes, sir,” George beckons. Honestly, didn’t he just say they are in a hurry? Jesus. But it’s not worth the trouble, not at a moment like this, so Eddie does answer him, “Yes, sir,” and massages his neck when George lets him go. Fuck.
“Maxine, get dressed,” Susan says without glancing, busy collecting whatever shit that’s scattered around the hotel room. “You heard your father. We’re leaving in a minute, and I really do mean a minute.”
He’s not my father, Max mutters under her breath, only loud enough that Eddie can hear, but the fact that she didn’t accost her for saying her full name instead of Max is telling, her movement swift as she takes a few items of clothing and goes into the bathroom to change.
Damn it. Now Eddie’s gotta wait until she comes out to use the goddamn bathroom.
He looks around the room to see if there’s anything else he needs to grab before going, although he knows already that he can absolutely just walk out the door right now. He's been ready. He’s always ready to leave anywhere, anytime. That’s the way he’s always lived. That his family’s always lived, always ready to disappear at a moment’s notice if the situation requires it.
Once Max exits and Eddie relieves himself at last, their parents are already at the door, peeking out to observe the hallway. Eddie spots a stray ball of cash at the foot of the bed and pockets it hurriedly, and joins Max to stand behind George and Susan.
“Why do we have to sneak out? Again?” Max asks.
“It’s clear,” George says, as if that answers her question. He pokes his head out the door and looks both ways like he’s about to cross the goddamn street, and runs to the elevator. The little screen on top lights up from the tenth floor with an upward arrow, but the number doesn't increase for quite some time.
“It’s not gonna be here any quicker, you know,” Eddie comments as George presses the down button repeatedly. There’s a crazed look on his father’s face. Eddie knows that George is now in a state in which he cannot really hear shit.
This isn’t anything new. Eddie was 10 when he learns what ‘gambling’ means. It’s a game, his parents had told him, a game from which they can make money. A lot of money and, as Eddie would discover later, a shit ton of debt. For the last few years, they’ve even been pursued by people - scary kinds - who really want their money back, who’d do just about anything to get it back. And today, of all the goddamn days of the year, had to be one of those days. The run days. And to think that he’d spend another leisurely day at the beach for a change…
“If we’re sneaking out, shouldn’t we take the stairs or something?” Max suggests, and for a moment Eddie thinks that it’s a futile thing to ask shit like that at a time like this, and going down eighteen stories by the stairs doesn't sound all that fun, what with all the shit they're carrying. But Susan somehow picks it up and nods, grabbing George by his sleeve and hightails towards the exit that leads to the stairs. Eddie follows, tightening the strap of his overnight bag on his shoulder. Behind him, the elevator finally opens with a faint ding.
Then. A strange man’s voice. “Take another step, Munson, and see what happens,” and George freezes on the spot, his hand on the doorknob. Eddie turns around to see not one but two men in Hawaiian shirts and shorts, looking so casual and easy and nothing out of the ordinary, except they’re pointing guns at his family as if they’re holding out champagne glasses to toast. Instinctively, Susan and Eddie step in front of a trembling Max, whose grip on Eddie’s strap is tight enough for him to feel.
“You wouldn’t,” George breathes, and it sounds like a plea.
“Shut the fuck up, man, I’m so fucking tired of playing tag all over the goddamn state,” the man growls. “Never thought I’d find you here, though. Santa Monica? That’s high profile, Munson. It’s like you were asking to be found.”
“Please, it’s our son’s birthday,” Susan says weakly.
“Oh, shit, is it?!” The second man chuckles, breaking into a wide grin. It almost looks genuine when he says, “holy shit, that him right there? How old are you, kid? You don’t look a day over 16, sweetheart.”
“I’m 18, asshole,” Eddie spits, almost regretting it when George shoots him daggers.
“Aww, happy birthday, kid!” He rests a gunless hand over his heart. “Now you can join your parents to play, huh? Am I dreaming or are those bags full of cash? Hope you were about to deliver them yourself. You’re so behind it’s not even funny.”
“Take – take them all,” Susan offers, lowering the bags and suitcases in her hands. “Please. Our children –”
The man on the left shakes his head in annoyance. “Yea, yea, spare us. How much you got?”
“It’s enough,” George tells them, at the same time that Susan says, “fifty thousand, as we promised.”
Eddie’s jaw drops. What the fucking fuck. He knew that his parents were in trouble, that they were in debt, but -
“Yea, you see, I don’t think that was the deal. There’s this thing called, uh, interest?” The first man smirks. “You owe us at least a hundred k, my friends. Time to cough up.”
“And you’ll get it!“ George snaps. “Just give us some time – we’ll make it up, alright?”
“No, no, it’s all here, actually, we can – Eddie, honey, give them your bag,” Susan says, brushing Max’s hand away from Eddie's strap and taking the bag off his shoulder. Max recoils, grabbing onto Eddie’s arm instead.
“What – what are you doing? That’s my –“ Eddie starts to protest, but immediately clamps down when he sees the desperate look in Susan’s eyes. Just play along.
“So, including this one, it’s a hundred?” The man on the right asks, checking the weight of Eddie’s bag. “Mind if we count?”
The men withdraw the guns and deposit them behind their backs, leaning forward to open the zipper.
As Eddie holds his breath – it’s only a matter of time until they find out that his bag is full of junk – George springs towards the men with an animalistic howl, knocking both of them to the ground.
For a cruel second, Eddie almost thinks that they might have hope. That they might be able to get out of this. Maybe recall in the distant future as they sit around, celebrating another birthday of his, maybe over a drink or two, saying, remember that time we almost died in that casino hotel? To health and longevity!
Instead, he stands there, paralyzed, as the men get back on their feet to swing at George and restrain his arms. Really, it’s like in the movies, when everything slows down, and time slows down – or is it more like in a dream? – watching Susan surging forward to go after George. The only thing that grounds him to reality is Max’s death grip on his biceps.
For the mystery men – probably some kind of loan sharks, as Eddie’s rational mind supplies somewhere far in the back – time isn’t at all moving in slow motion. They are quick to get the guns back in their hands, one pointing at George and the other at Susan.
“Open them,” one of the men tells George as he pushes him towards the elevator.
With shaking hands, George opens one of the suitcases, the one that the entire family knows is the one that contains cash, and the men nod in satisfaction. Fuck, that is a lot of money -
“And the other one?”
“Please, just let him go,” Susan sobs as George takes a deep breath to unzip Eddie’s bag. Even from afar, Eddie can see the little glimpses of his cassette tapes and clothes between the zippers.
The two men look at each other, raising brows, then back at George. “Hmm. Seems like you still owe us a fuck ton.”
“Just give us some time-“
“Hey, hey, keep it down, will ya? You’re gonna wake everyone up.”
They press the down button of the elevator, which opens at once, like had been waiting for this moment all along. The men shove George inside with the cash bag.
“No, please!” Susan sobs, inching towards the elevator despite being within point-blank range.
“No, Suzie – go! Take the kids!” George’s yelp is muffled as the elevator closes, the sound of commotion escaping between the door.
“Let’s go, we have to go get him,” Susan whispers, and Eddie doesn’t know how the hell her legs are still functional, how she’s still able to run like that as she sprints towards where her children are. If she could do this, he should be able to - Eddie tries to snap out of it and follows Susan to the stairs, taking Max by her hand.
Somewhere not too close and not too far, there is a resounding crack, suspiciously like a gunshot. Eddie gasps, but he doesn’t look back, his body now on autopilot as he jumps two steps down at a time. He barely feels Max’s hand slipping away from his.
-
It’s made with soft wood, with a crepe interior… Of course, I don’t know what your budget is, but here we have bronze, and copper…
Mr. Munson.
Mr. Munson?
“Uh, yea,” Eddie sighs, pushing through the static in his brain. “What’s the, um. What’s the cheapest option here? We don’t really have a lot of funds. Maybe something that doesn’t require a casket?”
The funeral arranger - Paul? He’s blanking on his name - nods sympathetically. “I understand. In that case, cremation would be your best option. I have to tell you, it’s not very traditional -”
“Yea, that’s fine,” Eddie says hurriedly. “How much?”
Paul purses his lips. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Mr. Munson, but -”
“Eddie is fine.”
“Eddie, I’m just wondering, for logistic’s sake. Is there an adult who can help you with this process? Please correct me if I’m wrong, but - maybe your mother?”
“My stepmother is… Indisposed, right now, so…” he trails off, blinking hard. He has no fucking idea how Susan is doing right now, not since she’s been taken to the psych ward for a mandatory 72-hour hold. “I’m 18. I can do this.”
Paul’s gaze is kind. “Any other family members?”
“I have a 13-year-old sister who’s shut herself off in her room, I don’t think she’ll be all that helpful here,” Eddie says.
“But no other adult? Maybe an aunt, or uncle? Grandparents?”
“Not that I know of. My biological mom is long gone. Same with my sister’s father. I mean, real father, not the one who just recently died,” Eddie adds with a humorless smile. “No living grandparents. And we don’t know if they have siblings or whatever. Never told us about them if they do.”
“Very well,” Paul says, although none of this is well at all. “In that case, I’ll … go ahead and order for cremation. Expect seven to ten days. Now, as for the funeral service -”
“That’s not necessary,” Eddie turns his heels towards the exit. Fat chance his dad is getting a service. Eddie’s not even sure if they can afford it. Turns out, it costs a lot to die, and isn’t that really the kicker here?
And with Susan in the psych ward, and Max alone at home, Eddie’s not about to make this more complicated than it has to be. The next step is going to the goddamn bank to sort out his family funds, in case the loan sharks visit them again. He dearly hopes that they’ve got enough to shut them up, because there’s no fucking way that Eddie could make that much money in a short period of time, and he really doesn’t want to be chased around again.
Susan never returns home, as the doctors recommend that she stay there as an in-patient, citing her mental instability. It’s just as well, really, it’s not like his parents were really around all that much. Fuck knows what they were up to when they left him and Max at home.
In the next few weeks, 18-year-old Eddie deals with more strangers than he ever has in his life: bankers who help him liquidate his parents’ assets, including the house, and deal with the massive debt that leaves him with nothing but tiny leftover savings that won't really be helpful; the Child Services folks who come to take them away, who only leave him alone when Eddie gives a desperate, half-assed lie that there is an adult who can care of him and Max as a legal guardian.
When they ask for the contact information, he makes an appointment with the psychiatric department at the local hospital to have a word with Susan. It’s just as taxing and chaotic as Eddie had expected, but in the end, he does find out that there is indeed a relative who lives across the country, an uncle in bumfuck nowhere in Indiana.
Before Eddie could ask if he could call the uncle first, the Child Services lady tells him that they will be in contact with his uncle; that is apparently the procedure. So many goddamn procedures to sort out his crumbling life.
It’s almost absurd how quickly his uncle - Wayne Munson, his dad’s half-brother, who Eddie didn’t even know existed - accepts the responsibilities of being two teenagers’ legal guardian, just like that. Once Wayne hears what had happened in California, he even offers to help hold a proper funeral service for George, which Eddie stubbornly refuses.
For a moment, Eddie thinks that Wayne would override his wish and hold one anyway, but Wayne just agrees to forgo the funeral after a beat, instead asking him to bring the urn back. Wayne and George were never close, being brothers nominally at best, he says, and hangs up the phone by saying that he and Max can come live with him anytime they’re ready. Despite the warmth of the implication, Eddie isn’t sure if he likes Wayne’s terse manner of speech.
The counselors and administrators at his school as well as Max’s are compassionate when Eddie goes back in September to let them know that he and Max need to transfer to the schools in Hawkins, Indiana, never once asking inane questions like why Indiana? And for that, Eddie is thankful because, fuck. There’s no good way to explain it. What is he going to say? Yea, my dickhead father got himself in an ocean-deep debt then got killed by thugs and my stepmom’s kind of gone nuts? Yea, no.
In the midst of all these life-changing events, Max stays eerily collected, which boggles Eddie’s mind - how could a child remain so calm with all this shit going on? Sure, George wasn’t Max’s biological father, but they had lived as a family for at least 5 or 6 years. And now Susan is completely absent from their lives. If Max is suffering inside, she doesn’t show it. The lack of her smile might be an indication, but she never once mentions any discomfort. It’s kind of remarkable, actually.
And Eddie chooses to believe it, that Max might be alright after all, until they pack their shit up once again in October to permanently relocate to Indiana. For the entirety of their flight, Max resolutely stares out the window, not bothering to wipe the tears that run down her little face.
They only have a suitcase each when they arrive at Wayne’s doorsteps - well, the steps that lead up to the trailer, which Eddie didn’t expect. And Wayne greets them with a clipped smile, motioning them in, saying, make yourself at home. But there isn’t much space in here, really, just a tiny bedroom on the inside, and a small bunk bed that shouldn’t be in the living room. Eddie’s not about to fuss over sleeping arrangements at a time like this, and yields the bedroom to Max.
Max shuts the bedroom door with a soft click and doesn’t come outside for the rest of the night.
“Tea?” Wayne asks, already filling the kettle with tap water. “You’ve come a long way.”
“Thanks,” Eddie says, and puts his suitcase by the bunk bed.
“You can take whichever bed. Or if you want to take the couch, that’s fine too.”
“I’ll use the top bed,” Eddie tells him, and opens the suitcase to unpack.
To unpack.
He studies the contents of the suitcase. A box with his father’s urn sits atop the piles of clothes.
For the first time since George’s death, Eddie lets his grief wash over him. Hot tears begin to spill down his cheeks.
He doesn’t have to close his eyes to picture the last time he saw George alive, the imageries still vivid as that very night when Eddie was frozen on the spot with his dad a few feet away. He thinks of George's cold, bloodied body inside the elevator on the ground floor, the doors struggling to close with his limbs sticking out in between. Eddie had turned his back away to cover Max from seeing that, his hands over Max's ears as Susan screamed her guts out. Eddie had to be the one to call the ambulance. Eddie had to clean up after his parents' mess. He had to be the one to take care of everything since. It's so unfair. It's so fucking unfair.
His dad was no saint, but. He didn’t deserve to go like that. That crazed look on his face - and how he carried himself - it’s almost as if he was always accompanied by the threat of doom everywhere he went.
He keeps staring at the suitcase fixedly. It’s a simple task, just to remove the things out of the suitcase, place them around the space, make himself at home like Wayne said. But that’s against the principle, the Munson doctrine that’s been burned into his brain, his mind: nothing, and no one, sticks around in one place, not even himself. Let’s be serious here; how long is this stay going to last? ‘Cause it can’t be permanent, he doesn’t even know what that means. How long will he have until he has to pack up and leave again? And if he has to go - should he even bother?
Before he knows, he’s stopped crying.
Wayne kneels in front of him and gathers him in a tight hug, almost uncharacteristic compared to his bristly demeanor. Eddie squirms a bit, but doesn’t break away.
“It’s okay, son,” he tells him, and his solid embrace brings him back to reality. “I got you. You did good.” He claps Eddie on the shoulder gently as he gets up, and places the urn on one of the windowsills. “Thanks for bringing him home,” he mutters.
Over tea, when Wayne asks tell me about yourself, son, any good memories from home? Eddie paints a picture for him, a beautiful snippet on his birthday weekend at the beach. That one rare afternoon when the sun was hot on their salt and sand-covered skin, when Eddie had forgotten about his parents, just laughing with Max on the surfing board. She looked happy. It’s like an imagined scene, a still cut from a movie with a velvet-smooth glow, the day before he turned 18, the last good day before all hell broke loose.
“Sounds like a good day.”
“Yea, it was,” Eddie lies. “That was my birthday.”