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Final Girls Just Want to Have Fun

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Disability Fan Week, Day 5: Victims

A medium, ~12k word fic about Stretch and Sally finding solace with each other after their similar horrific experiences. Also some Sally/Stretch. Warnings for mentions/ discussions of death, a little bit of post-partum depression, and fairly graphic violence, a little above usual for canon.

The fall out of that one night from hell was devastating. Stretch escaped, and took herself to the hospital quick, where of course, police arrived. She told them the whole story, and they acted like she was hopped up on drugs and talking nonsense until they got calls from folks who had seen smoke from that old amusement park. Then the investigation was on. She got snippets of news from the staff of the hospital, and her friends who came by to check on her. They explained someone had fired off a grenade in the belly of that old minecart ride and the whole thing- closed years ago for safety concerns- came tumbling down. She heard there was another survivor. She prayed to God it was Lefty, mad as she was at that man, though she would have sobbed with unmatched joy if somehow it was LG. But it was neither of them. It was the bastard she slashed in the stomach with the chainsaw- the one who cut her to ribbons as she tried to escape.

Robert Sawyer was his name, apparently. They were the Sawyer family. Three brothers and their Grandpa. She hated that Robert got to live, but at least had the solace of knowing all the rest of his twisted family died. Their crimes were unveiled- a blood trail over two decades long starting back in their hometown of Newt, Texas. Where they had killed Lefty’s nephew and viciously attacked his niece. Just like they did to her and LG. But now it was over. The most notorious serial killers in Texas killed off or put behind bars. She hoped, wherever he was now, Lefty was happy. Or at least at peace, in some way. She hoped she would find peace too.

Years passed. She quit her job at the radio station, and went off to find something else, something real. Her experiences propelled her career in journalism, which should have made her happy. But it felt hollow. LG had always talked about when she finally made it- about how he’d go and get her one of those big ice cream cakes from Dairy Queen to celebrate, and she would joke that he’d have to take up as the DJ, and he’d laugh and try to mimic the way she answered calls, pitching up his voice. She’d tell him it didn’t sound like her, and toss something soft at him, and he’d yelp and they’d laugh.

But she finally made it. And there was no ice cream cake, no lighthearted jabs, no laughter. There was just no more LG. That devastated her more than she realized at first. Of course it hurt, of course it twisted her heart- he was her best friend. But she found herself struggling to get out of bed, struggling to go into public, all twisted up and hurt.

She needed to get past it. She desperately wanted to get past it. It had been two damn years. But she had no idea how to live like this- how to deal with the crushing weight of what she had seen, and the guilt she made for making it out when LG and Lefty were lying dead at the bottom of that cave. She had to find some way out of it. Some way through it. Some way to survive.

Which is why she went to Sally.

She shouldn’t have done it, she really probably shouldn’t have done it and she knew that. But there was no one else in the world who understood the pain in her heart the way that Sally did. Stretch needed that. Closure. Understanding. The guiding hand of someone who’d lived through it all before. She just hoped Sally would be willing to help her with it. She sort of knew she wouldn’t be welcome. Reporters had bothered her before, bothered the whole Enright family, which was how Stretch knew where she lived in the first place. They asked her all sorts of invasive questions, knocked on her door, harassed her daddy about his brother and her momma about her son. She had even seen pictures of Lefty and Franklin’s graves in a news article once. Which was why she was apprehensive. She didn’t want Sally to think she was like that- that she was one of them. But she had become decently well known as a reporter. So there was a chance that was how it would be perceived.

Which was why Stretch was sitting in her car, clenching the steering wheel, looking out at Sally’s house like some kind of creep. She was scared. Scared of being turned away. And scared of what might happen if she wasn’t.

“Oh… Fuck it. Brazos,” she said, slapping her hands against the steering wheel. She got out of the car quickly, and headed up to the door while she still had some bullheaded bravery in her. Then she actually got to the door and felt that bravery cower behind her. Oh God. she thought. C’mon. C’mon. I’ve stood toe to toe with actual serial killers, I can knock on this lady’s door. And she did. She didn’t hear anything immediately, and tried to convince herself Sally wasn’t home- got ready to leave right away. Then she heard movement. She froze, unsure of whether to stay or go or what the hell she might say.

Then Sally opened the door.

“Hello?” Sally asked. Stretch froze up. Sally was a pretty woman- older than she was sure, and she looked it- but she had a nice face, and pretty blonde hair, and kind, beautiful eyes and Stretch felt like absolute shit turning up on her doorstep with all this. “Who are you?”

“I’m- I’m Vanita Brock, or Stretch- you probably heard of me as Stretch, it was my old DJ name when I was a DJ- I’m a reporter now and-”

“Oh, Lord-” Sally started shutting the door. “Please- I don’t want to-”

“Wait! Please- This isn’t about all that- Well I mean- It sort of is but-”

“Would you give it a rest? Please? I’m so sick to death of being asked about Franklin, and my friends, and my uncle and-”

“Please- I- I knew Lefty-” Stretch said. Sally paused.

“What?”

“Your uncle he- I- he used me. Me and my friend, LG. As bait for the Sawyers, and they came, and LG died and I… I didn’t. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Not as a reporter just- just as another person who understands.” Sally paused for a moment, holding the door. Stretch held her breath.

“Come in,” she said, finally. “I’ll fix you somethin’ to drink.”

Sally brought her in, and they settled in a cozy set of plush chairs. Sally brought her a glass of sweet tea. Sally had a nice little house. It was cute, and fairly bright, despite having little natural lighting. It smelled nice, like she had lit a candle recently, and there were lots of little sitting places throughout, though no proper dining room table. That was a relief for Stretch, honestly, dining room tables made her too nauseous to eat after her encounter with the Sawyers. She never really considered that she could just choose not to have one. Sally got situated, sitting where she could see all the entrances to the room. Stretch was comforted by that, in an odd way. Comforted in knowing she wasn’t alone at least.

“I’m…” Sally began. “I’m sorry he did that to you. My uncle he- he was a good man, all his life but… What happened to me and my brother just drove him crazy. He just… He just couldn’t live with the guilt,” Sally said, her voice wavering. Stretch didn’t know what to say to that.

“I… The guilt?” she asked.

“He… He convinced me. To invite my brother along, on our fatal trip. Franklin had been upset about not us growin’ apart and talked with him about it and Uncle Lefty told me and… That was that. I never blamed him but… He blamed himself. It took us another day to find an old travel wheelchair for Franklin and… And Uncle Lefty couldn’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t said anything. Couldn’t get it out of his head that if the timing was just a little different we would’ve never bumped into that hitchhiker and… and Franklin and Jerry and Kirk and Pam would all just… be alive,” Sally said. “I’m… I’m sorry for what he did- I- I don’t know how I can make it up to you-”

“No- I- I don’t want that,” Stretch interrupted. “I… I just don’t know how to… How to move on.”

“Move on?”

“After all that happened I… I can’t stop thinking about it. What I’ve seen and… and who I’ve lost and I just… I just miss LG and my old life and my old job and- and I miss Lefty and I miss myself. I- that probably sounds crazy but I just-”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” Sally said, softly. “Not to me.” They let that sit there, for a moment. “I.. I miss the old Sally too, sometimes,” she said. “But… I can’t get her back. You know? I… I’ve seen too much. Felt too much. I’m just… different.” Stretch looked down at her sweet tea.

“Do you think… Do you really think there’s no going back to the old Sally?”

“No,” she said firmly. “But… that’s alright.”

“How?” Stretch asked. She didn’t mean it so bluntly- didn’t want to be rude, but she couldn’t fathom how Sally could just move on after that.

“I like who I am now. You… You can’t go back. You can’t change what’s happened. But the way I see it, you can waste a whole lot of time tryin’ to, or you can put all that effort into making a future you’re happy with.” Stretch sat on that for a moment.

“I’d… I’d like to. I want to do that but I… I don’t know how the hell to move on. To… Get through all this I just- it’s so much.”

“Yeah,” Sally said. “You can say that again.” Stretch paused, trying to take it in, trying to find some easy solution or hard but simple truth. “You want an easy way out,” she said, with a bluntness to her statement and steely gaze that reminded Stretch so much of Sally’s uncle she thought she might drop the nice cup Sally gave her.

“I… I guess so.”

“Well,” Sally’s expression softened, in a way his never did. She took Stretch’s hand, gently. “I’m sorry, honey, but there’s no way around all this… You’ve just… You’ve got to go through it.”

Sally and Stretch kept in touch, after that. Stretch kept coming over, and they talked. Not about that. Almost never about that. But about their lives, and what they were up to, and the hundreds of methods of healing Sally had tried.

Sally liked yoga, and meditation, and running. She tried to gently desensitize herself to the things that she had to in order to get around- hearing men’s voices when she didn’t expect them, gas stations, roadkill. But otherwise, she just avoided the things that tipped her over the edge. She didn’t have a dining room table, she didn’t wear bracelets, or necklaces, she wouldn’t go to a farm house or watch any movie with a pig in it, and she didn’t eat meat. She also avoided alcohol, as Stretch found out from inviting her for margaritas one too many times, though Stretch didn’t think that was exactly because of the Sawyers.

Stretch often felt like she wasn’t dealing with all of it as well as Sally did. She wasn’t active like Sally. The healthiest thing she did was join Sally for meditation, though she wiggled a fair bit during that, and journaling. Well, if the journaling was helping, like she thought it was, instead of making things harder. She was never really sure. She thought it was helping. Wanted it to be helping. But she didn’t know if it was really just dragging all her pain back up. Her pain still felt raw, just about every day, even three years after the Sawyers were dead and gone. She never felt safe, anymore, kept checking behind her in the reflections on windows, always sitting with her back to the wall, scanning every new person who came into wherever she was. Still panicking when she saw blue trucks. Smelled any kind of fuel. Met somebody with buck teeth. Of course Sally had her things too- even sixteen years after the Sawyers were out of her life. But she had far less of them than Stretch, and handled it all with grace. There was just something graceful about her. And strong too. Admirable. Stretch wished she was more like her. Less scared of every shadow, ever corner, every loud voice. Wished she dealt with her pain- at the loss of a best friend only- more like Sally managed to deal with losing her boyfriend, and her best friends, and her brother, and her uncle, years later. Wished that the day the two of them went to the state fair, feeling a little more comfortable knowing they had each other’s backs, she hadn’t broken down sobbing when she saw a pair of kids making a fry house.

Sally took her aside, helping her find a bench and a corner to hide in, where they were back away from the crowd, where they didn’t feel like they had to keep scanning the faces for someone horribly familiar.

“Stretch? Are you okay?” Sally asked. “Just breathe, honey,” Sally said. “Just breathe.” Stretch hiccuped and coughed, snot running down her face. “What happened, honey?” Sally asked, in that soft voice of hers. “Are you okay, Nita?” Stretch tried to control her breathing again.

“I- I just- I saw- there were some kids- makin’ a- a little house out of french fries,” she said. “It wasn’t- that wasn’t- my friend LG did that. He did that and- and I’ve never seen somebody else do it- and I just- I thought of him- and when I think of him I can’t think of him happy anymore I just- I just hear his voice after they got him, and see his peeled off face- I can feel it- I can feel it on me, Sally-” Sally put a hand to her face.

“You’re okay, Nita,” she said softly. “You’re here with me right now. There’s nothin’ on your face. See?” She rubbed a gentle circle on her cheek with her soft hand. “You’re here with me.” Stretch nodded. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m here with you.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re- we’re-” Stretch had done that one before. “We’re in Dallas, Texas, at the big state fair. It’s 1989- September the 14th, 1989. And… And we’re okay. We’re safe. And.. and everything’s under control.” Stretch’s breathing was calming down, but there were still tears in her eyes. Sally nodded. Then she gave Stretch her hand to hold.

“From the top, Nita. You can squeeze my hand.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you-”

“You’re not gonna.” She squeezed her hand.

“My… My name is Vanita ‘Stretch’ Brock. It’s September the 14th, 1989. And.. I am… I am thirty-two years old. I’m at the big state fair in Dallas, Texas. And I’m.. I’m safe.” Sally nodded. Stretch didn’t feel good by a long shot- she felt like she had roadrash on her soul, and some kind of emotional grime she could just never let go of. But she was oriented, again, in that moment there, could smell the popcorn and funnel cake instead of blood and rot and burning flesh. Sally was watching her face, trying to read her expression, no doubt. She sighed, heavily. “God. Sorry to fuck up such a good day-”

“It’s alright-”

“I’m sure you’re gettin’ tired of me-”

“No,” Sally said, sharply. “Never.” Stretch couldn’t help but to believe her.

In another year, Sally was married. Stretch didn’t really know the guy all that well, but he seemed fine- just generic. Stretch had no interest in any of that. She was focused firmly on her career. Though, unfortunately, her career was exactly what got her into trouble.

She wasn’t even told about it. Just heard through the grapevine that the issues had been resolved with land rights or whatever, and the police department had finally started to excavate Texas Battleland.

She stayed away from it for the first few days. She heard stories about it, about how the men on the job couldn’t believe how many bodies they were digging up, that the county had to bring in a bunch of new coroners to work just on that case, to keep the official county coroner from getting too backed up.

Then she heard, from Mrs. McPeters, his mother, that they finally found LG. She was invited to his funeral. It was going to be a small service, just family, done all very quietly so the press wouldn’t show. Mrs. McPeters told her over the phone she was invited because she was as good as family. LG told his Mama all about her, and she always thought she would be her daughter-in-law someday. Stretch was just glad Mrs. McPeters couldn’t see her sobbing through the phone. She agreed to come. Of course she agreed to come. She asked if she could bring her best friend along, just for support, and sweet old Mrs. McPeters said yes. She called Sally up about it, sobbing, and she promised to take the day off of work and come with her.

The day of LG’s funeral was a hard one. Stretch had gotten better at keeping those thorny memories from catching her and driving her crazy with fear, but it wasn’t the fear that worried her. It was the sadness. At least, at a funeral, it was okay to cry.

She managed, for most of the funeral- it was a quick service, the McPeters didn’t have much money. The funeral was just the basics, a casket and a headstone paid for by the state, as a quick apology for the deaths their ineptitude caused, and an attempt not to get sued for even more. But when the ceremony leader asked if she was his widow, she broke down and sobbed. She stayed strong, as long as she could, making it through the rest of the funeral through tears, breaking down properly in the bathroom of the funeral home after the service. She felt like she would never stop crying, and as soon as her sobs died down she thought of something else to cry about. She thought about why it was a closed casket. She thought about how likely it was she would’ve died in his stead if he hadn’t come by, just trying to bring her coffees. She thought about how his face over hers, his hat on her head. She thought about how he used his last moments to save her. How he might not have even heard her tell him she loved him. And she cried until finally she just couldn’t cry anymore.

Sally was there, patient and put together, when Stretch was finally able to leave. She had tissues in her purse, and a little makeup wipe. She drove Stretch home as she whipped her face and cleaned the smudged, wet mascara from her cheeks. Stretch didn’t say much, didn’t have the energy to, but Sally didn’t press her. She just turned on the radio, to a soft jazz station she liked, that didn’t remind Stretch too much of her old radio job, and drove.

Stretch wondered, for a minute, if she should’ve married LG. If she would’ve married him eventually, like everybody thought. She did love him. And he loved her. Though she wasn’t sure they really loved each other the same way. And she could never imagine being all wifey, or having a bunch of kids. She didn’t hate the idea of kids all together, she just wasn’t so sure about the pregnancy part, or having kids of her own. She was happy just having kids in the family. But maybe LG would’ve been happy with that too. She didn’t know. She just really didn’t know.

They settled in, in Stretch’s little apartment for a moment. Just trying to decompress, both checking in on each other. Stretch really thought she would be the only one breaking down- thought of herself as the weaker one between the two of them. But when she came back into the living room, after getting up to get herself and Sally some sweet tea, she saw something that surprised her. Sally was quietly drying her tears with one of those tissues. Polite, and somewhat under control, but still it was clear she was crying. Stretch sat close on the loveseat with her.

“Sal?” she said, softly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine I just…” She paused a moment. “We… We never got anything to burry, you know?”

“Huh?”

“Their graves. My brother’s and my uncle’s they’re just… empty. Headstones is all it is. Their bodies are just gone. God only knows where Franklin is and… Uncle Lefty’s down there in that chasm of lost souls somewhere. I just… I… I hope they’re at peace, you know? Just… Wrapped up in God’s heavenly love instead of stuck somewhere down in that hole…” Her lip wobbled, and the tears started to build up heavy in her pretty green eyes. “I just… Don’t know.” Stretch comforted her, hugging her tight, and stayed with her till she was ready to leave. But after that conversation, she had made up her mind. Even if she may have made it up foolishly.

People were allowed to try and identify loved ones at the excavation site. Every time a new body was drug up with some part of its face intact, dozens of grief stricken people surrounded the body as the crew tried to wheel it away to take it to the coroner, to determine cause of death and to try to confirm the identity. About fifty people had been identified by their loved ones- bodies kept in disturbingly decent shape sometimes, and noting but worm food in other cases.

For the next three weeks, after work, Stretch joined them. She brought with her a news article- the headline of a cowboy chasing chainsaws she kept all those years. And she fought her way through the crowd, to get a look at those mangled bodies, to see if maybe she could find him there, and give Sally her peace.

It was gruesome, awful work. She felt bad for the crew who had to dig them up, and worse for the people who didn’t even know if their loved ones were actually among the bodies down in there- who were just praying to finally have closure in a missing person case.

Stretch worried, all the time, that she wouldn’t be there when they found him. Or that the grenade would have rendered him unrecognizable, to the point even the coroner would never know who he was. But she kept looking, when she could anyways.

On the fifth day, she thought she saw him. Half a body was drug up- from deep in the ground they said. The corpse was mangled to the point that facial features didn’t help much, but the way it was torn looked like damage from a grenade to Stretch. And etched into her mind forever were the corpse’s bright blue eyes, wide and fearful, and somehow preserved. Most of the bodies didn’t have eyes. She took that as a sign- it had to mean something- it had to be him. But, at the coroner’s office, it was determined to have been a woman, and the eyes were taxidermy marbles. Seems the Sawyers had used her body as some kind of grisly decoration. Stretch wasn’t sure she would ever unsee that woman’s corpse, or overcome her fear of ending up just like her. But regardless, she pressed on.

The next false positive was in the middle of the second week. When they took up a body from one of the lower levels- the dining room of death, as the excavation crew called it- and the word ‘shrapnel’ echoed through the crowd of mourners like a ripple. Everybody knew the killers died to a grenade- quite likely to shrapnel. But Stretch knew Lefty had too. Or at least, she hoped he had. Nobody jumped forward to see that one as much as Stretch did, as it was carted past. She got a really good look at it. It was a man’s body, that she was fairly certain of- she was getting good at telling bodies apart. The size wasn’t too far off, he was a bit thin, but decomposition could’ve done that. His spine was severed- his torso and hips still attached by some kind of mummified tissue but nothing more. He looked like he was crushed. His skull and ribcage were flattened. It probably would’ve been quick. Maybe even painless. His body still wore the tattered remains of a suit- though it was covered in dirty and rot to the point she couldn’t tell what color it had been. The thing that finally clicked in her head, however, the damndest thing- was the pair of somehow almost perfectly preserved shoes. She stepped back into the crowd, away from her would-be killer, once again disgusted by the visage of Grandpa Sawyer.

There was nothing of note on the third week. No bodies that seemed more or less Lefty than any of the others. He should’ve been there- he should’ve died somewhere near the dining room, if his death happened how she thought of it. But she hadn’t been there. And she didn’t know.

Stretch always assumed he went down fighting. That one of the Sawyers pulled the pin on the grenade because of him- and he died to that. Maybe painful, but definitely quick. He didn’t suffer. It was a blaze of glory.

But she didn’t actually know that.

She saw a corpse dragged out, a body people sobbed as they tried to compare it to their loved ones, that sent a chill down her spine. It was the naked body of a man, face hard to recognize but contorted in pain nonetheless. His legs were mangled- broken. And there were chunks torn out of his neck, and his torso. Stretch wanted, desperately, to believe it was from decay. But she couldn’t shake the idea in her head that they were bites.

She started to wonder what really happened. If they overwhelmed him. If the grenade didn’t kill him, if the cave in didn’t kill him, and he died of thirst, trapped down there with his body broken for days. Waiting for help. Thinking, maybe, that help might come. Maybe the blast didn’t kill all the Sawyers immediately either. Maybe it trapped them all together. Maybe they tortured him, while waiting to die. Maybe they ate him. Stretch worried herself so much over it all that she had to run to one of the trash cans around the site and vomit.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone put their hand on her back. She whipped around, nearly slapping the other woman in the face, before realizing it was Sally.

“Stretch?” she said, softly.

“Sally? I- I’m sorry- I almost-”

“What are you doin’ out here?” Sally asked. Stretch felt almost guilty. Definitely caught.

“I was… I’m just…” She bit the bullet and told the truth. “Lookin’ for Lefty.” Sally looked like she was about to cry. “I wanted to bring him home for you- didn’t want him lost-”

“You’re sweet, Nita, but you don’t have to do this-”

“I don’t want him left behind, and I don’t want you to have to do this- You’ve been through so much-”

“So have you!” Sally asked. “You went through so much because of that crazy man-”

“I know but-”

“Stretch- there’s- you don’t-” Sally paused. “I don’t want this makin’ things worse for you. I don’t want you comin’ back here. Promise me you won’t.”

“I-” Stretch paused. “If you promise me you won’t either, then I will.”

“I promise,” Sally said. Stretch took a deep breath.

“I promise too, then.” She paused. “I just… How do you know you’ll get him back? Is it just… faith?” Sally smiled, sort of, then.

“A little bit of faith,” she said. “And a little bit of luck. He blew out his knee real bad when I was a kid, had to have surgery… They’ll know it’s him. He’s got three metal pins in his right knee. I’m sure they’ll know it’s him.”

Another two years went by. They didn’t find Lefty. But Sally and Stretch both avoided the hunt around the pit. By that point, all the bodies had been excavated. It was just a matter of identifying them. Sally divorced her first, forgettable husband, and remarried, some other man Stretch cared very little about. Though this one, at least, she remembered the name of, if only because Greg gave Sally her very first child. Sally and Stretch and Greg were all over the moon excited. Stretch and Greg were there at her every beck and call, one of them always around to make sure Sally was alright and had rides to doctor’s appointments and whatever food she happened to be craving. Sally was worried she would get fat, from all their attention, but Stretch kept reminding her she was eating for two, and told her if she got fat, nobody had any right to judge her, after everything she had been through. She was older, to be pregnant, so the doctors were diligent, checking in on the new little one constantly, especially with her family history of birth defects. But everything was right as rain. Until they found out the sex of the baby she was having.

Stretch wasn’t at that appointment with her, it was Greg, but she found out soon afterwards when Greg called her up about Sally, saying she had locked herself in the bathroom, and wouldn’t stop crying. Stretch came over quick, a little pissed at Greg for not helping his own pregnant wife before she got there. She parked like an asshole and ran to the door.

“Oh! Vanita, I’m so glad to see you-”

“Where is she?”

“Guest bathroom,” said Greg. “I just- I tried to help her but she won’t let me in. I think… I think it’s got to have somethin’ to do with the chainsaw killin’s, I just don’t know what.” Oh. That’s why he called me.

“I’ll talk to her.” Stretch came to the door. She could still hear Sally crying inside. She knocked, softly. “Sal?” she called. “It’s me. It’s Nita.” She heard the sobbing subside, for just a moment. “Are you alright? Can I come in?” She heard the door lock click. She came inside, and closed and locked the door back again. Sally was sitting on the toilet lid, snot and tears running down her face. Stretch got some toilet paper for her to wipe her nose on, which she did, as Stretch sat down across from her on the rim of the tub. “What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” Sally tried to calm herself down.

“I’m- I’m- the doctors told me I’m havin’ a boy.” Stretch tried to think of why that would be a problem- what about that could catch on those thorny memories of the Sawyers. She supposed they were all brothers.

“That’s gonna be alright. He’ll be a sweet boy. A kind boy, I’m sure. Like.. Like Uncle Franklin-” That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, as Sally broke down crying harder then.

“That’s the problem! That’s the problem!” Stretch was confused.

“Are- are you worried he’ll be sick like Franklin was?” Stretch asked. She had no idea what spinal issue Franklin had exactly, or if it was common in Hardesty men- she also wasn’t sure if whatever made Lefty so unstable was an actual condition, and if it was, if that was genetic too.

“I don’t know what to name him.” Stretch was just getting more questions.

“You don’t… You don’t know what to name him?”

“If I was having a little girl, that would be easy- her name would be Pamela, but- but I’ve lost so many men I just- there’s my friend Kirk, and my old boyfriend Jerry, and there’s my own brother, Franklin, who died instead of me, and my uncle, Boude, who died to avenge me and I- I just- I just don’t know-” Stretch felt a sudden flare of genuine, intense anger.

“Sally Ann, you listen to me,” she said. Sally looked up, a little bit surprised. “Your life is not a mausoleum! You don’t have to name that baby after any of them! Not even your brother, or your uncle.”

“It’s- it’s important- for the family-”

“Do you think Lefty would want you doin’ all this, and cryin’ about this? Do you think Franklin would? I knew Lefty, at least for a little while, and I don’t think he would. And from what you’ve told me of Franklin, I don’t think he would either! I think they would be overjoyed to hold their little nephew, or great-nephew, no matter what you called him. You… You don’t have to do all that. You’re drivin’ yourself crazy over absolutely nothin’,” Stretch said. “You name that baby whatever you want and I’m sure your friends and family will smile down on him just the same.” She didn’t quite smile, but peace returned to Sally’s face, and that was enough. “And if any of your living relatives have somethin’ rude to say about it, tell ‘em they can take it up with me.”

“And me,” Greg said from the other side of the door.

“And Greg.” Sally laughed a little then. She stood up, and she and Stretch hugged tight, Sally just holding on to her for a moment, comfortable there in her arms.

“Thank you, Nita. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His name was Andrew. Stretch loved him like he was her own son, and he loved his Auntie Nita too. There was a certain undeniable resemblance, and the boy was left-handed too, so his grandparents often called him by his great-uncle’s nickname, but Stretch just called him Andy. She wasn’t sure she would ever stop looking over her shoulders, or jumping at loud sudden noises, but as he was born she kicked some of the bad habits she had picked up, like drinking to deal with the emotional overwhelm, and her avoidance of places with big crowds and a lot of noises, like grocery stores. When it came to taking care of little Andy, she felt a lot more fearless. And, of course, she found, with repeated exposure to some of those details that triggered her fight or flight response and sent her spiraling, eventually they lost the bite they had- some of them fading out altogether. It was nice, when he was four, or so, to be able to drive little Andy around and play for him the songs that she and LG used to love. It was nice to find the Sawyers hadn’t taken everything away from her.

Little Andy was four when he found out he was going to be a big brother. He seemed pretty alright with that. Stretch didn’t have any siblings of her own, so she didn’t quite know the feeling, but Andy seemed to just regard the bump in his Momma’s belly as a potential new playmate. Though he was rather impatient, wanting his new little sibling to come out and play right away.

Sally had some unusual cravings that time around- cravings that made her scared, made her worried about the way that baby in her belly would turn out. After being vegan for over twenty years, Sally had a hankering for red meat. For the first few months, she fought it like hell- refusing to eat even something easier, like chicken, or fish. But eventually Greg convinced her it was alright to give the baby what it wanted- and she agreed to eat one, single steak. She refused to let somebody at a restaurant cook it, but couldn’t stand to cook it herself, so she had Greg make it at home, with Stretch there for moral support. Then, finally, Sally took a bite. And tears welled up in her eyes.

“Sal? Sally? Are you alright?”

“What’s wrong, Momma?”

“Honey?”

“I- I- I just-” Sally began, shaking a little. “I don’t know why my baby wants this. I just… I just don’t know-”

“It’s alright, honey,” Stretch said. “It’s probably just the protein, or the calories.”

“Besides, you know we all eat meat,” Greg said. “And we’re all alright.” Sally nodded, slowly.

“Maybe it wants meat ‘cause it’s gonna be a velociraptor,” Andy said, softly.

“Andy, hun, I don’t think that’s it.”

Sally got excited again when she found out it was the little girl she always wanted. Of course, everybody loved Andy, and Stretch didn’t doubt for a second that her dear friend would still love him just as much as she always had. But there was a different set of expectations and hopes with a girl, and in Stretch’s mind at least, seeing that baby girl and her big brother grow up happy, without a care in the world or a cannibal in the house across the field was kind of like a do over, for Sally. Ever since she found out she was having a girl, Sally was walking on air.

Until came the day that little Julia was born.

Stretch was in the waiting room, with little Andy, waiting on some news, when she heard Sally start to wail. And she knew, immediately, something was really wrong. She took little Andy’s hand and barged into that room before anybody could stop her.

“Sally? Honey? She’s okay- look- she’s okay-” Greg said, holding their newborn daughter.

“It just don’t end- it just never ends-” Stretch came quick to her side.

“Sally?”

“I don’t know why this happened- I- I don’t know-” Stretch went quick, to the baby, expecting something wrong with her- expecting, maybe, something wrong with her spine, or maybe something unusual about her face- but little Julia looked absolutely average to Stretch. As much as she would never admit it to Sally, newborns always sort of looked like wet hairless squirrels in her mind, and Julia was much the same. She was born with a little tuft of hair, dark and curly, that would probably be similar to Greg’s, or her Uncle Franklin’s. She had a short button nose. Big green eyes, like Momma, when she opened them. And bright red- healthy cheeks.

Or at least one of ‘em.

She turned her little head and Stretch abruptly realized the problem. Sally’s little girl had dark hair, and green eyes, and a big red birthmark right on her little cheek. Which, though Stretch had never even seen pictures of him, sounded a hell of a lot like that goddamn hitchhiker Sally as Sally described him. Stretch looked up at the sky, mad as hell at whoever up there had such a bent sense of humor. She let Greg hold the baby, and went to Sally’s side, pulling up a hospital chair.

“Sally? Sal?”

“This ain’t fair. This just ain’t fair,” she said softly, shaking her head so slow it was barely perceivable. “He… My uncle died to make sure this was over but.. But it just… It just don’t ever end.” Stretch swallowed, heavily.

“Sally…” she began. She thought of what she knew of her friend, of how she help her see what she saw- a healthy, cute little baby girl. “I’m sorry this has to be so hard for you,” she said softly. “I… I wish right now you could just be happy, and excited like.. Like before. But… Though it’s a hard one I think… I think this might be a blessin’ in disguise.” Sally paused, looking up at her, with a pained expression, covered in sweat.

“How?” she asked, softly. “Just… How?”

“It’s one more little way they’re just… gettin’ removed, you know? Taken right off this Earth. From… From here on out- even somethin’ like that- even somethin’ so… unusual. Ain’t gonna be theirs anymore. There’ll come a day when you look at that mark and don’t even think of him. It’s just gonna be part of somebody that you love… It.. It ain’t easy, but I think… I think this is God’s way of gettin’ rid of him.” Sally relaxed, just enough, still in pain, still teary-eyed, but so much more at peace.

“I.. I would hug you right now but- I- I don’t wanna get my sweat and snot and who knows what else on you and-” Stretch hugged her then.

“I don’t care, honey. I promise you I don’t care.” Sally snuggled close to her, getting the crook of her neck wet with tears. Stretch stroked her hair, gently, and just held her close. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Eventually, after a long time, Sally sat up. “Greg, can I… Can I hold her?”

“Of course, darlin’,” he said, sitting on her other side, and gently passing her the baby. Sally held her, grimacing just a little as she looked up at her, curiously, with those big eyes. “She’s got such pretty eyes.”

“Yeah,” Sally said, softly, but not happily.

“Like yours,” Stretch said, hoping to help Greg get his point across. Sally’s expression softened, just a little.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah… Like mine.” Sally gently rubbed her thumb against the baby’s cheek.

“She’s so little,” Andy whispered to his father.

“Yeah, she was just born,” he said. “You used to be that little.” The boy seemed quite surprised by that. Stretch almost laughed. Then, softly, for the first time, little Julia giggled, reaching out to hold her Momma’s finger. Sally broke down then, smiling at her.

“Hello, Julia,” she said softly. Julia started to fuss then, and Sally fed her new little girl for the first time, and Stretch felt like everything was going to be alright.

It was. For a time. The kids grew fast. Andy was nine years old, and Julia was five. Sally and Greg’s marriage had gone on a nosedive. But in an odd way. A way that somehow, despite her constant presence, Stretch didn’t quite understand. There was something inbetween them- something stopping them from being all that close to each other. But they were kind, and friendly nonetheless. Stretch was glad for that, of course, too many people she knew had had terrible, rocky divorces. But Sally and Greg just seemed to drift apart.

Stretch never married. Never even dated. She just didn’t have any interest, and she worked hard all day as a TV reporter. Romance just wasn’t something she looked for in her life. Besides, she already had a family, with Sally, and the kids. And Greg.

Her life was good. She was really, really happy.

Until the day that Robert Lambert Sawyer somehow, someway, broke out of prison. Having to report about it on the news, with a straight, calm face, was nerve wracking enough, but she was a professional, and she managed to get by.

But seeing that letter. That goddamn bloody piece of paper right there at her front door made her feel fit to die. She hoped beyond hope for just a second it wasn’t what she thought it was. But she picked it up. And opened it. And read.

Hey Radio Girl!

She closed it again. Looked around, frantically. But saw no signs. She thought about going inside to read it, but then considered he could be in there. So she went to her car. She drove, quickly, to the first place she could think of- the police station- and sat in their parking lot to read it, only feet from what should be help if something happened, if somehow she was there.

Though, after her run in with the Sawyers, and with Lefty, the presence of cops hardly made her feel better. She opened the letter, slowly, and three little metal rods fell out- in her lap. They were stained with old dry blood, and she flinched, immediately, and threw them across her car, into the passenger’s seat. She shook it out, in case anything else awful was contained down in there, before sighing, heavily, and opening up the letter, slowly starting to read.

Hey Radio Girl!

Long time no see. It’s me- Chop Top- in case you didn’t know. I saw you became a big shot reporter- saw you on the news! So I thought I would give you a big big story! And It’s one I’m sure you’ve been wunderin’ about. I’m gonna tell you how I survived the big cave in.

You killed my Great Grandma in front of me, then cut open my belly with her saw. I’m sure you rimember that. Then I fell down that long pipe, and the whole ceiling came down, like Atlas droppin’ the world. Then I had to crawl around in those pipes a minute- ‘cause they were so strong and didn’t get crushed.

I dug around and found my family. You killed my Grandpa with that cave in. Your little piggy friend killed my baby brother with that saw he brought. Big brother was in so many pieces I couldn’t tell which of you bastards killed him. But that’s okay!! My twin brother lived okay. He’s still livin’ down there, unless y’all brot him up and locked him up in jail too. The two of us found your little piggy friend with his saws all busted up. And his back too. I think when you sabotogued our house, you got him crushed too! But lucky for me he weren’t too bad to eat.

Stretch closed her eyes tight a moment, and tried to control her breathing. She had wondered, years ago, what happened to Lefty, but she hadn’t thought about it in a long time. They officially determined they had found Franklin a couple years ago, pieces of his skeleton woven into his wheelchair by the cave in, and the flashlight he brought with them still nearby. But they never found Lefty. She tried not to let her mind be overcome by the images of the bodies she saw them dig up.

He didn’t react much, but when we found him he was still wigglin’.

Stretch paused again, focusing all her energy on not picturing it, and losing slowly.

He didn’t squeal like a good little piggy, but I stripped his legs of meat, and then took a few big healthy bites out of him- ripped open his neck and his chest all up. I think I made him cry. Got a few good pictures of him too. Gonna send those to your little friend. Also found these weird things in his knee when I made my snacks out of him. Figured they might help somebody find him. And we can’t have that!! If my family don’t get to be happy, neither does his, and neither does yours!! See you soon :)

XOXO

Chop Top

Stretch processed, for a moment, what was laying in her lap. The horrible truth, there in front of her, the knowledge she never wanted to keep- the pins from Lefty’s knee, undeniable proof that Robert did find him- did tear him apart. Stretch hadn’t realized she was crying until the tears hit the letter. She was tempted to bring it in, walk right into that police station and show them what she had- get those bastards off their asses and shooting holes in that son of a bitch before sundown. But then a little more of that horrible letter processed in her mind.

Gonna send those to your little friend.

Sally.

It’s about Sally.

He’s gonna go to Sally.

Stretch whipped out of that parking lot like a bat out of hell, flying down the road to Sally’s house faster than the law would allow. She was lucky no cops tried to stop her, because she wouldn’t’ve stopped, and whatever the result of that was would just have to happen.

She parked like an asshole and outright ran to the door, slamming on it hard. She didn’t hear anything inside. She slammed on it again. She looked down to her feet, and saw a drop of blood on their doormat. She slammed so hard she could’ve broken a storm door.

“Sally! Sally! Please-” The door flew open, and she found herself face to face with a gun.

“Oh- Stretch-” Sally lowered it, tears still in her eyes. “Get in here! Get in here, now-” Stretch did as she was told.

“Where’s Greg? Where’s the babies-”

“He- he’s got the babies-”

“Robert?”

“Greg- Greg’s got the babies he- they’re- they’re he’s gettin’ ‘em ready to go to his parent’s house-”

“I got a letter-” Stretch began.

“Oh, God, he sent somethin’ to you too-”

“What did he send you?” Stretch asked. “What-”

“These pictures-” Sally said, tears streaming wildly down her face. “He sent me these awful pictures and- and I just-” She started to sob, harder, never letting go of the gun. “I- I wanted to just get rid of ‘em but- but the police might need ‘em as evidence. They’re just- they’re just so awful- I don’t want my babies to see it- I don’t want my babies to see him, Nita-” Stretch glanced at Sally’s kitchen counter, at the small group of slightly bloody polaroids.

“I think there’s a fingerprint,” she said, walking towards them- “Or at least a partial- here- He left-” She looked up, just a little too far, and saw what Sally had seen. She felt nauseous, and she started to shake, overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of Texas Battleland- hearing that goddamn dinner bell the cook had rung when they called Grandpa to kill her and the roar of saws and Bringin’ in the Sheaves- smelling gas and cooked up bodies and LG’s cologne, and the whiskey on Lefty’s breath- all of it, just at once, overwhelming her every sense.

Then, suddenly, she remembered the last body she ever witnessed the excavation crew dig up. The man with the bites along his neck, and his chest. The battered broken legs. The final expression of pain. Stretch couldn’t explain why she did what she did next. She should’ve looked away- God knows she should’ve just looked away. But she didn’t. She picked up those pictures, determined to face the truth, even if it hurt her.

It was Lefty. The same as he looked the last time she saw him. The last time anybody saw him alive. Though, fairly clearly, he was dead. His clothes were in pieces, framing his bloodied, broken body, the same way they had done to LG. He was cut up, clearly, and had a mess of bruises along his face- maybe from the cave in. Hopefully from the cave in. And bites- big fleshy chunks, taken out of his throat, and his chest. Toothy imprints on his shoulder. His face was blank- thank God, that of a dead man. Though his eyes were forever wide with surprise. And at least a spark of pain. Stretch had a horrible, horrible feeling he truly had been alive when that started. She put down the pictures.

“You didn’t have to look at that-” Sally began.

“I know,” she said. “I just… We should hold onto these, but put them somewhere them babies won’t see. It’s got his fingerprints on it, and… And I think… Seein’... Seein’ the wounds that… That took him. Could help. Could help with the investigation-”

“What do you mean?”

“I think-” Stretch took a breath and calmed herself. “If the coroners can see those pictures they’ll be able to identify his body. I… I think I saw him-”

“If they were gonna find him those pins in his knee-”

“The same son of a bitch who sent you those photos sent me a letter,” Stretch said. “And he had those pins in it. He took ‘em out, on purpose, said as much in the letter- he didn’t want us to identify Lefty- he wanted Lefty’s family to suffer.” With each word her voice became more strained, until the last word was a hoarse bark- almost a yell. Sally paused, then, struggling to find any response to that.

“Stretch… Me, Greg, and the kids are goin’ to his parents’ house. ‘Cause while he knows about me, and mine, I.. We don’t think he knows about Greg’s.” Stretch nodded.

“That’s a good plan. I want y’all safe.”

“And I want you safe,” Sally said. “Come with us.”

“Is- is Greg okay with that?”

“Yes-” Greg said, coming into the room with the kids, holding their little suitcases. “He is.”

They went to Greg’s parents’ house, all together. The kids were confused, and little Andy was old enough to be scared too. They just kept asking questions, all the way, which the adults tried to answer vaguely enough no to scare them, the whole car ride there. Fortunately, the kids loved their grandparents, and when they saw their Nana and Papaw, questions about their sudden departure faded away.

“Oh, uh, Ma, this is Stretch- Sally’s friend. She.. She got somethin’ in the mail from that guy too.”

Just like that, Greg’s parents were fine, welcoming Stretch in without another word. Sally asked if she could use their phone, and they agreed. She quickly called her parents, the Hubermans, the Willards, and the Waisains as well- warning them that Robert was at large. Stretch asked if she could do the same, suddenly fearful that the bastard might go after Mrs. McPeters. She called her, quick and desperate, trying to keep her voice steady and her eyes free of tears as she explained the situation. Mrs. McPeters promised to stay safe, and made Stretch promise the same. She hung up the phone and started to shake, uncontrollably. She felt Sally’s hands on her shoulders.

“Nita?” she asked softly. “Vanita? Are you alright?” She tried to keep herself steady, and images of LG and Lefty clear from her mind.

“If he does anything to that sweet little old lady I swear to God I’ll kill him,” she said, jaw starting to hurt from how hard she had clenched it.

“I’ll help you hide the body,” Sally said, softly.

They had dinner with Greg and his parents. Despite knowing that Sally and Greg were breaking down their marriage on good terms, somehow, she didn’t expect dinner to be so… amiable. There just wasn’t any anger between Sally and Greg- and his parents either didn’t care or didn’t know. There was a little awkwardness, due to the circumstances of their visit, but it was nothing that seemed too severe. The kids, in the very least, didn’t seem to notice. There was a tension, in all the adults, a fear of what may come, the urge to check every window, the slight flinch at every odd noise from outside. But everything seemed alright.

For a time.

Eventually, Sally and Greg were doing the dishes, while Stretch looked after the kids, trying to keep their minds off it all. She hoped she was doing a good job and not making them too nervous, as she glanced up at the windows and looked behind her in every reflective surface. Though, generally, they seemed alright. Andy was just a little more reserved than usual. There seemed to be something on his mind. It became more prominent, as the minutes dragged on, and he went from playing with his little cars unusually slowly, to just sitting there, holding them.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked, lifting his little chin up.

“Auntie Nita…” He started. “Were… Were those pictures real?” Stretch thought she was going to drop dead right then and there.

“Pictures? What pictures?”

“Today, in the mail, Momma got… Momma got some weird pictures.” No. No, God, please no. “She… She went to get Daddy, and Julie, and… And she put them up kind of high but I’m pretty tall so I… I looked at ‘em. A little.” Stretch still had hope, somehow, someway, that he hadn’t seen what she thought he saw.

“What… What was in the pictures?” she asked. He paused. She figured he knew he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. “It’s okay. Just… I just want to know what was in the pictures.”

“There….” Andy started to whisper. “There was a man. And he didn’t have any shirt on, and he was all torn up. And bloody.” Stretch closed her eyes tight, and felt a tear roll down her cheek. She hoped to God she never saw Robert Sawyer in person, because if she did she would end up in jail in a heartbeat. “Was it real?” Stretch had no idea what to tell him. What would help him, and what would fill his little head with nightmares, forever. She didn’t think it was her decision to make- she wasn’t his parent- she was just his Momma’s best friend. She held him tight, it was the only thing she could think to do.

“Thank you for tellin’ me, baby.”

“Was it real?” he asked again. Then, barely a whisper. “Is the guy who took those pictures gonna do that to us?”

“No, baby,” Stretch said, firmly. “No he’s not.”

“How do you know?” he asked, clearly scared.

“Because if that guy ever came around you, or your sister I would-” Rip his fucking head off. “Take care of it. We’re not gonna let anything happen to you.” He nodded, and burrowed his little head against her chest. She held him, tight, till she heard Sally and Greg turn off the sink. “I’ll be right back, honey, I- I’ve gotta talk to your Momma a second-”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No- No, baby. You’re not in trouble.” She maneuvered the little boy off her lap, then stood up slowly, trying to keep herself calm. She went into the kitchen, where Sally and Greg were talking. They looked stressed. She was shaking, and it was hard to get a single sound to come out of her throat.

“Sal?” she said, softly. “Greg- I- there’s somethin’-” she didn’t want to cry, she didn’t want to cry right then and it made her mad at herself, but the tears dripped down anyways. “Somethin’... There’s somethin’ I need to tell you about.”

“What happened?” Sally asked.

“Are the kids okay?” Stretch took a deep breath.

“Andy saw the pictures.”

“What?” Greg asked.

“No-” Sally began.

“Which pictures? What-”

“The pictures of Lefty.” Sally looked on the verge of sobbing too, and Greg’s eyes went wide. “He- He seems to be taking it okay he just.. He kept askin’ if they were real and… and if the person who took ‘em was gonna hurt us. I told him he was safe but I- I don’t know what to tell him about those pictures.” It hung heavy, over the three of them, for a moment.

“I…” Sally began. “I’ve… I’ve read up on this and… and things like this… Kids are… Kids are resilient,” she said. “So long as you support ‘em and… and don’t make ‘em feel scared, or ashamed.” Stretch was so glad, as she had been for years, that Sally was there and knew what to do. “I…” She took a deep breath. “I can talk to him. I’ll… I’ll take ‘em both aside and talk to ‘em for a minute.”

“I can go with you,” Stretch offered.

“Me too-” Greg added.

“That’s alright,” Sally said. “I.. I’ve got this handled.”

Stretch and Greg sat in the living room, alone. Greg’s parents had gone to sleep, and Sally was busy with the babies, trying to take care of all that mess. It was tense, at first, then Greg got up, and got himself a beer.

“Do you want one?” he asked, softly. Stretch thought she might should stay sober, in case Sally needed anything, or in case Robert did come and she had to kill him properly this time, but she was also so on edge she could hardly think.

“Yeah I’ll… I’ll just have one.”

One became three. Though she still had her wits about her mostly. Greg drank about the same, and the two of them started to feel a little less distant from each other, and got to talking.

“If I ever see that little pencil-neck son of a bitch I’ll kill him myself,” Greg hissed, waving the bottle around and talking quiet- not wanting the kids to hear. “Sally didn’t do a damn thing to him- I wish they’d just given that bastard the chair.” Stretch nodded, slowly.

“Yeah I… I almost killed him,” she said, softly. “I wish I had… Wish I’d done it properly.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Greg said. “You… You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. You cut his stomach open with a chainsaw and kicked him off a cliff- The fact that he didn’t die that’s just… The devil’s work.” His moment of religious fervor, a bit uncharacteristic for Greg, had Stretch clench the bottle just a little bit harder.

“Yeah,” she said softly, letting those horrible images pass through her mind without much attention. “By all means he… He should’ve died.” She couldn’t help but think about the letter. The way he survived. Stretch wished that was something she could’ve avoided, something that didn’t have to happen, but she had no other real options in that moment, and no way of knowing what would happen. She thought about Lefty, really thought about him, for the first time in a long time. It was his own damn fault he died like that. And he pulled her and LG down into it. But… No matter how mad she was at him then- how much she wanted to kick his ass too when she first got to the hospital and thought he might have made it- she couldn’t say he deserved the end he got. She couldn’t think of anybody who deserved all that. Well, maybe a few people. A few brothers, to be more precise. But not Lefty.

Over the years of knowing Sally, and her family, her views on Lefty had become more complicated. The first year, after he died, she was furious with him, blamed him just as much for LG’s death as the Sawyers- was outright glad, sometimes, he was dead. But knowing Sally, and her parents- her father especially- had dimmed that anger some. They had loved that crazy, stubborn man. And she loved them. And a little of that love rubbed off on her. She wished she could’ve known him, really, when he was alive, maybe before he lost his mind completely. He sounded like a good man.

Stretch realized, then she lost track of what Greg was saying. She looked over, at him, and her confusion sparked up again. He was a plenty nice guy. And he and Sally didn’t seem to have any real problem between them. They seemed happy. But somewhere, somehow, something was wrong. She had never seen anything like it. Well, almost never.

She had gone on little dates with LG that were like that, she supposed. It was fun- goin’ out with him, to bars to go dancin’ or on late night coffee runs, or out to go hiking. She really enjoyed spending time with him, and she loved that man, she really did. But there was always something not quite right, about their little dates, about the idea of LG being her man. She wondered if that was what it was like for Sally. And she wondered if she had married LG if they would’ve ended up like Sally and Greg.

Stretch looked over to Greg. He wasn’t unattractive, he looked fine- average. He wasn’t mean, or a drunk, or wrapped up in something bad. He was good with the kids. Had a fine job. Listened to Sally when she wanted to talk. Stretch wasn’t exactly attracted to him herself, but he seemed like a fine man for Sally. Greg seemed to be at the end of whatever tangent he had been going on.

“I uh-” Stretch began, interrupting him just a little- “I… I wanted to say thank you.”

“Huh?”

“For bringin’ me along. For bringin’ me here. You didn’t have to-”

“Nah,” he said. “It’s nothin’. Sally loves you, and I love Sally. Simple as.” Stretch paused, for just a moment. Then, spurned on by alcohol and unconcerned by the consequences she asked.

“It’s not my place at all but… I just… What happened with y’all?” she asked. “You just- you’ve always seemed happy, you know and…” Stretch started to think again she shouldn’t have brought it up. “I just don’t understand why you’d wanna split up when.. You love her so much.” Greg laughed, a little, and Stretch found herself rather surprised.

“That’s why I wanna split up,” Greg said. “Because I love her.”

“What?”

“Look I just… I love Sally. I love that woman with all my heart, and I love our kids, and her parents and.. And all of it. But Sally… She don’t love me. She’s just not capable of it.”

“What?” Stretch went quickly to Sally’s defense. “Sally’s capable of love-”

“Oh, I know that,” Greg said. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’. She loves our kids to death, and… I think she loves me like you love a good friend, but I… I know she don’t love me the way I love her.” Stretch tried to catch up.

“Do you… Do you think there’s somebody else?” she asked.

“Oh, I know there is. I’m surprised you don’t.”

“She’s never told me anything like that-”

“Stretch, it’s you,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s you, Stretch. It’s… Sally and I have been as happy as we could be, for a long time. But… I don’t think… She’s never… Stretch, I don’t think she’s ever had any real interest in men. At least none she’s mentioned to me. But… Every time you walk in the room she just lights up. You know? When things are goin’ wrong she goes to you- she wanted you around every important moment in our lives- you were there for the birth of both our children I just… I thought you two might already be together.” Stretch was beyond shocked. It was one hell of a day for all that to come out too.

“And you- you were okay with that?” Stretch asked, in a hushed tone.

“I already told you, Stretch,” he said. “I love Sally. And I want her to be loved. Even if it ain’t by me.”

Stretch had a hell of a lot on her mind that night. So, as she tucked in the guest room of Greg’s parents’ house, she expected to have some kind of dream. For years after her run in with the Sawyers she had nightmares. They had lessened over the years, but occasionally, suddenly they got stirred up again. As she laid down, and tried to sleep that night, that was what she feared.

She was at the radio station again. In her old DJ booth. It was nighttime. And nobody else was there. She was tense. Deathly tense. She thought she knew what would happened next. Was fairly confident she remembered exactly what happened next. She heard chattering, through the walls. Someone was talking in the lobby. She knew someone was talking in the lobby. She didn’t want it to go on longer than it had to. So she stood up, with all the confidence she could muster and walked that way.

What she saw there still surprised her.

There was a massive dinner table- laid out there instead of the couch, and around it were about a dozen people she recognized immediately. The Sawyers were there- of course- all of them- even her brain’s best conjuration of that damn hitchhiker- but among them were the Hardestys- Sally and Andy and Julie and Franklin and Lefty- and though Stretch wasn’t sure of the accuracy of their faces, her mind told her the other three at the table were Jerry, and Kirk, and Pam. They were eating, together, talking like nothing was wrong, joking with each other, passing around what looked like normal meat like some kind of macabre Thanksgiving. The old man Sawyer- the cook- Drayton- was the first to notice her.

“Oh. Well. Look who decided to come out of her room,” he said, in that annoying, jokey way her uncle used to say the same damn line, completely unconcerned by the way his jaw was hanging half off his face or the shrapnel in his chest.

“What?” she asked, unable to drag her eyes away from it.

“We were wonderin’ when you were gonna come join us,” Lefty spoke up. “There’s still plenty to go around, of course. I didn’t let the boys finish off the dinner rolls without you.” He looked happy. Sounded happy. But his clothes were wet with blood and his face was bruised to hell. She could see a bite mark peeking out from his shirt collar.

“This ain’t right. None of this is right,” she said, taking a step towards it all anyways- against her right mind and her will.

“We saved a seat for you, girl!” said Robert. The son of a bitch was smiling, sitting in the chair next to Sally- like he had any right to be anywhere close to her.

“You…” She began. “You-” She felt a hand on her shoulder- a big, wet hand. Then she heard a harsh whisper in her ear.

“Darlin’, I think you need to wake up.”

Stretch bolted right up, sitting up like she was awake. Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw a man standing by the window of the bedroom she was in. And she screamed. In a heartbeat, everybody else was there, Greg’s father weiling a double barrel shotgun wildly. The man ran- of course- when she screamed.

“What happened? What was that?”

“There was somebody- I woke up all of a sudden and there was somebody-”

“Do you think you just had a nightmare, dear?” asked Greg’s mother.

“No-” Stretch said. “I don’t- I-”

“Let’s go look,” Greg said, firmly. Greg and his dad ran outside, while Sally and Stretch stayed in with the kids, and Greg’s mom. Stretch was pretty confident she was the most prepared to beat the shit out of Robert if he ever came back, but she also refused to leave those babies alone for even a minute. She had seen what the Sawyers did to a trained man who brought three damn chainsaws. She wasn’t confident Greg and his father would be able to stop him either.

“What’s goin’ on?” Andy asked, softly. Stretch wasn’t sure what to say.

“We’ve gotta stay down right now, and be quiet,” Sally said, softly.

“Is it him?” Andy asked. “Is it the man who sent the pictures?” Sally held her little boy a little tighter.

“We don’t know. We’ve just got to be careful right now. Your Daddy, and Papaw are checkin’ it out right now, just to be sure.”

Suddenly, they heard a scream. Stretch wrapped her arms around Sally and those kids tight, ready for a fight. She heard the blast of the shotgun. Once. Then everything was deathly quiet. There was shuffling, at the front door, someone coming in. She tensed up, and slipped away from them, grabbing Andy’s little aluminum baseball bat and holding it tight in her hands, standing at the door, ready to bash the fucker’s head in if he came through.

“Sally-” Greg said, opening the door and almost getting hit in his already bleeding face for it. “We- we got him!”

Stretch found out what happened that night in pieces, as the cops finally showed up.

It was him. Robert Sawyer. Chop Top. He had broken out of prison, left behind the letters, and the pictures, and gone on a killing spree. They weren’t his first targets. His first kills were completely random, strangers he met along the way whose things he wanted, or someone he just thought might taste good. Then, he went after a couple of cops, and their families. Determined to have himself a ‘pig roast’ it seemed. And finally, he came knocking at the wrong door. He had cased the house, with few problems. Sneaky as he was capable of being. But then, for some reason, Stretch woke up.

She was never as spiritual as some people- not even close to as spiritual as Sally had become, as she aged. But it was hard to find any other explanation for what happened that night. And besides, it wasn’t the first time LG had saved her. She thanked him, for watching out for her again, and hoped wherever he was up there he could hear it.

Then, of course, Greg and his father went out looking. Just to check. Chop Top slashed Greg across the face, and Greg’s father shot him with a double barrel shotgun. It didn’t kill him, though it should’ve- that fucker was like a roach. But he couldn’t come after them when he couldn’t walk from the pain, and he was stuck in the yard until the cops finally arrived.

He went back to prison, and they went back to their lives. Things were different. But in many ways, things were the same.

It was the summer of 1999. Thirteen years after Stretch’s run in with the Sawyers. Twice that for Sally. Things were looking up. Sally and Greg did divorce. Stretch thought about what Greg told her, a few days after that night, and for years proceeding that. But nothing came of it. Stretch stayed single. She had a career to focus on, of course. And, admittedly, she was utterly uninterested in men.

She was around throughout the kids’ childhood. They called her Auntie Nita, or Auntie Stretch. She was there for Sally throughout the divorce. And she was there when the Hardestys had a small, informal funeral for Lefty when his body was finally, actually laid to rest- identified by those nasty photos left on Sally’s doorstep. And she was there when Sally’s father was laid to rest with his brother and his son. She was just always there. That was where she wanted to be.

Sally and Stretch sat outside, watching the kids kick a ball around, drinking sweet tea on the porch. Sally paused, thoughtfully.

“Did you ever want kids of your own, Nita?” she asked.

“Huh?” Stretch nearly spat out her tea. “What’s got you askin’ that?”

“You just… You’ve always been so good with Andy and Julie. But… You never had kids of your own. Or a husband, either. I mean, you’ve still got time, you’re only, what, forty-two?”

“Well, I guess-”

“And you’re very beautiful,” Sally said. Stretch felt her cheeks warm up, just a little. “Anybody’d be lucky to have you.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Of course,” Sally said. “You’re… I’ve… I’ve always admired you. You’re strong, and clever, and… Gorgeous.” Sally glanced just a split second at her lips- Stretch knew damn well she did. “Sorry- I- uh, I don’t mean it like that, of course,” Sally said, looking away.

“That’s too bad,” Stretch said softly.

“Huh?”

“I wish you did,” she said. Sally was looking at her like she was seeing her for the first time. “Mean it.. Like that.” They leaned towards each other, almost subconsciously, almost like magnets. And briefly, but warmly, they kissed.

In that moment it felt like everything just clicked right into place. It was a good feeling. A really, truly good feeling. They both smiled, enjoying just a moment of being in each other’s warmth. Then, leaning against one another, they looked back to their kids.

The day she met the Sawyers had changed her life forever. In a lot of ways, for the worse. But as she sat there on that porch, sipping her sweet tea, subtly holding’ Sally’s hand, she found she could breath easy, knowing she had finally made a life that she was happy with.

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #sally hardesty #stretch brock #vanita brock #tcm fanfic #writing #day five

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Day 7 of the tcm fan event with the prompt “headcanon disability”

Sorry I couldn’t get any art for yesterdays prompt

Anyways I had so much fun with this event and I hope y’all enjoy all the art I was able to make for it

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm 2 #lefty enright #tcm fanart #artwork #day seven

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month Event: Day 7- Headcanon Disability * Some head canon pride flags

Nubbins

Schizoaffective disorder • Insomnia • Visual impairment.

Chop Top

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder • Postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome/POTS • Tourette's Syndrome.

Bubba

Paranoia • Maladaptive Daydream Disorder • Chronic pain disorder

Drayton Sawyer

(Early onset) Rheumatoid Arthritis • Obsessive Compulsive Disorder • Fibromyalgia

To me, all the siblings are autistic as well.

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm edit #photo edit #nubbins sawyer #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #bubba sawyer #drayton sawyer #day seven

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Day 7: Disability headcannon

Nubbins often chews his fingernails to cope with different negative emotions. Sometimes he goes a little overboard.

#tcmdisabilityweek #tcmfanevent #tcm 1974 #nubbins sawyer #tcm fanart #artwork #day seven

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Day 6: Underestimated

Drew Nubbins from the van scene. Poor guy only wanted two dollars.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm 1974 #nubbins sawyer #tcm fanart #artwork #day six

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Day 5: Victims

Sally in the hospital a few weeks after the massacre.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

#tcmdisabilityweek #tcmfanevent #tcm 1974 #sally hardesty #tcm fanart #artwork #day five

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Day 4: Gonna be a fun trip

Nubbins s and Bubba are helping Franklin down the stairs just like they do with grandpa.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

#tcmdisabilityweek #tcmfanevent #franknub #nubbins sawyer #bubba sawyer #franklin hardesty #tcm fanart #artwork #day four

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Flesh and Blood need Flesh and Blood

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month event: Day 6- Underestimated

Word Count: ~3,100

Warnings: Blood and violence. Accidental killing. Period typical ableism & ableist language. Mild panic attacks. Domestic abuse. Religious aspects.

_________

“Take him home. Now, boy.” Drayton Sawyer barks in his middle brother’s face, keeping his yelling hushed to avoid causing a scene.

“Y-Yessir.” Nubbins, for his part, gives a nod and takes off running, only stopping when his clammy hands wrap around the handles of a wheelchair.

Franklin’s wheelchair.

It’ll be a long walk from here, takin’ the road shoulder all the way from the gas station to home, but Drayton’s got a mess to clean and customers to serve that oughta take priority over drivin’ the boys home. Couldn’t be arranged unless it was planned, and nothin’ about today had been goin’ in that sort of direction.

The boys were all together in the station’s yard, running not wheeling or wobbling to the best of their abilities. Using whatever toys they could scrounge together they’d made a game, pitchin’ crushed soda cans, wads of dry gum, a bouncy ball, and so so long as they could smack it around with a bat. Ain’t no objective, though eventually they started trying to catch each other’s swings.

Bubba’s only nine still and learnin’ to upkeep all the things he’d been taught. It’s harder work for him to retain things in his brain, so he stumbles when he walks and struggles to hold a fork at supper, but that’s just Bubba. Mangled little face and all, that’s the Sawyers’ kid brother and he’s goin’ to be included in their play.

Ain’t up to no yuppie scum t’ decide who’s doin’ what and where. Don’t stop them from sharin’ uncalled for opinions.

“That boy out there, you ought lock him up ‘fore someone gets hurt. Teenaged, child, whatever. Don’t matter to them like that. Those are freaks of nature, ‘n whatever they are, they’s goin’ ruin it all the same. Comin’ after the comfortable. You know what I’m sayin’.”

The man wouldn’t stop lecturing Drayton about allowing Bubba to play in the yard with his brother and a friend, like that was the worst option. Like he had any clue of when Mama was perfectly willing to let the state take Bubba for a price, just before her disappearance from the picture. Had a lot of nerve bein’ so ignorant out loud.

Well thing is, Franklin was playing batter, and the man was storming over to lecture here too, and Drayton wasn’t quick enough comin’ ‘round the counter to stop it, and he just reacted. Swing the bat.

Broke the man’s nose on the first swing, saw blood and panicked. Kept swingin’ and jabbing with the bat ‘til his instincts told him the threat was gone and he could stop. Just like swatting a bug.

Except a man’s skull was spilling its contents all over the ground, and nobody even said a word. Nubbins went straight to helping his big brother carry it, Bubba took the bat and ran it inside. The practiced nature of what they were doing, hiding the evidence, didn’t really occur to Franklin just yet. His mind was focused on the trouble he’d face from the law or his parents or even God for this, nevermind if the Sawyers didn’t care.

Now Nubbins is just pushin’ him along like it’s not an issue in the world, and Franklin can’t help but worry out loud, “Oh Lord, why’d I do that?”

“D-Do what?” Nubbins tilts his head and leans down into Franklin’s line of vision, slowing their forward progress from leaning on the wheelchair so heavily.

“You saw me! I killed that man!” Franklin’s voice cracks harshly, his cheeks tinging pink from the embarrassment of that, as if that’s worse than homicide.

But Nubbins straightens out some and casually reminds him, “He was mean.”

Franklin blinks away the surprise of his casual nature and sputters, “Lots of people are mean! But I hit him ‘cross the head with a steel bat! That’s mean too, dontcha think?”

“Nawh.”

“Naw?! Nubbins I'm goin’ to prison. I beat a guy to death and my fam’ly gonna hate me, they ain’t never gonna let me back! Not even God’s gonna want me, it’s gotta be a sin to kill another man. Oh Lord I’m goin’ to Hell Nubbins!”

With Nubbins behind him and nobody around for miles, Franklin won’t deny he started crying.

Nubbins shocks him out of it again with a curious comment, “Wh-What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Franklin sniffles, picking at his nails nervously.

His friend downright giggles, “Hell. What’s Hell l-like? I-I never been there.”

Sometimes he forgets the Sawyers aren’t of the faith, seeing it’s so common in his own life. Had to lie downright and tell his mama that they’re church goers alright, just a different sect so they’ll never see them on Sundays. Think he said they was witnesses or somethin’. Sometimes it felt like God was more important to them than even he was, a lonely child ignored for the sake someone they don’t even know’s grace.

Now ain’t the time to be doubtin’ his beliefs, so he sticks to them, and explains, “Hell is where the bad people go when they die.”

“You isn’t a.. a bad people. That other guy was. H-He was mean to Bubba. Anyone m-mean to Bubba gots to sp-splatter.” One of his hands comes down on the rubber lined handle of the wheelchair, making a dull thud that rattles Franklin’s bones. Almost worse than his comment, “H-He smashed up r-real good too, Frankie!”

“Oh God, I’m gonna be sick..” Franklin gets overwhelmed until it tightens in his stomach and feels funny in his throat. He covers his mouth, “You got a bag I could throw up in?”

Despite Franklin’s urgency, Nubbins sounds so casual, “Jus’ lean o-over.”

“My spine is paralyzed silly, I cain't just lean any way I wanna.” Correcting him works to calm Franklin down some at least, staying level headed so he don’t yell at Nubbins over forgetting a good excuse to breathe normal.

“Oh. I c-can help lean ya.” He offers patiently, impressive for Nubbins.

Franklin decides a few deep breaths’ll do. “It’s alright- No I don’t think I’m gonna be sick no more. It’s alright.”

“My sick lasts a.. a l-lot l-longer than that!” There’s something like admiration there in his voice. Like it’s got nothin’ to do with Epstein-Barr and it’s just some talent Franklin has that makes him feel better.

He laughs softly, “That’s ‘cause you got a condition.”

“Nuh-Uh.” Nubbins argues, even though it isn’t true.

“Oh, alright.” Franklin just agrees ‘cause that’s easier. And things are good for a while, pleasant. ‘Til his worries come out again and the reality of running away from murder with Nubbins sets in, “You think your brother is mad at me?”

“N-No. Not you. H-He don’ hit no o-outsiders.”

“I ain’t an outsider. I’m your best friend.”

Switching to pushing the wheelchair with only one hand, he shakes out the other, happy from hearing Franklin say that. Nubbins wants Franklin to be happy too, “That’s true. B-But.. I won’ let him hurt ya! I-I’ll take the beatin’. It’s no t-trouble.”

Somehow, that brings more dread into Franklin’s heart, “Critter, that don’t make me feel better.”

Not knowing a better way to settle it, Nubbins just shrugs and keeps down the path towards home, imitating buzzing car engines as they pass, or the crunch of Franklin’s wheels along the cracking road. Ain’t all that worried honestly for the crime scene they’re leaving behind.

That’s when Franklin remembers that the second he had swung the bat, Bubba got overwhelmed by the confrontation and run off towards home. Can tell he’s in there from the curtains being drawn up tight when he knows for certain they was open when he got dropped off this morning.

Nubbins seems to remember about the same and takes off jogging a little faster down the rest of the drive, shaking Franklin’s wheelchair around accidentally. He lets it slide since it’s a big brother’s concern for his sibling causing the rush and don’t ask him to slow down.

After dragging him backwards up the stairs, Nubbins shoves the door open and calls out, “B-Bubba, you home yet?”

If they’re quiet, they can both hear a quiet chuffing noise deep in the house somewhere, Bubba making noises like a pig to soothe himself.

“C’mon L-Leatherface, answer me if- if you’s here!” Nubbins raises his voice some impatiently while pulling Franklin inside after himself.

This time they get some babbling in response, and though Franklin wishes he understood the little Sawyer’s language, he’s not a master yet.

It’s a good thing Nubbins answers his question just fine, “Yeh, I-I got Frankie with me. You c-come out. I need- I need helps with supper.”

Out of the basement he emerges, no sign of the distress beyond an extra layer of clothes, a soft jacket he wears when he needs the comfort. Don’t know who it belonged to for it to be so large, hanging down past his curled up hands and almost to his knees, but he loves that thing. At some point, Franklin realized it was a woman’s robe and thought it might belong to his mother, but she’s a mystery to Franklin too.

“Cook gonna be o-ornery when he gets home, so’s I-I want you to help make s-somethin’ good!” Taking on the big brother role, Nubbins bosses him around, “Me ‘n F-Frankie, we gonna clean up and get- get the house nice, s-so you gonna cook!”

All together they get it presentable, sweeping the floors and wiping down the counters. Franklin is assigned to the dining room only since he’s never been in the kitchen, setting up a fancy table cloth and some plates. Never seen the place look so tidy before, wonders if they only do cleaning up for the holidays or guests.

Somehow it all feels like he’s preparing for the gallows, sentenced to a hanging the very moment Drayton gets home and subjects him to whatever punishment he’s got to face. An eye for an eye, killed by the same bat maybe? The police called on him and shooting him blank in the head when he cries. Hopefully not one of the oldest Saywer’s signature beatings, he’d almost rather one of the other choices.

He’s shaking like a leaf by the time Drayton cracks the door open, talking to them at a low tone ‘cause he knows they’d be close, not stupid enough to hide after this.

“Boys. Today’s uh- been a big day, huh?”

Draytons words trail off into a chuckle, but everyone else stays silence. Franklin gives a wet sniffle, on the verge of tears again.

Putting his hands on the back of the master chair, he leans forward and glances down the table, showing a crooked smile. “Supper don’t look too bad. Uh. I brought you uh- somethin’ down from the station-“

Over his shoulder, he gestures to a grocery bag he left by the door.

Nubbins starts bouncing in his seat, drumming his palms against the table, “I-Is it the beeve!?”

“Don’t you go ruinin’ the surprise!” Drayton kicks the seat of his chair, all that modest cheer melted into fury in the literal blink of an eye, “Did you tell him?!”

Franklin swallows thickly, “Tell me what, sir?”

“About the meat!”

“No.. I.. No sir. I don’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about. Either of ya.”

“In that case-“ He goes off to retrieve the bag and brings it to the table, raising it up along with his eyebrows at the same time, nudging it forward until he unveils what’s inside. Butchered meat, it seems, but the third piece comes out with lightly burnt skin left on, and a tattoo. “Congratulations, Franklin! You’re one of us now!”

“My- My firstie t-time was a long time ago. You’s jus’ a l-late bloomer like Bubba!” Nubbins adds, clapping Franklin on his shoulder over and over, like he’s petting a dog.

Franklin who’s mouth has gone so dry he’s got to down half his whole glass of sweet tea, “You’re talkin’ about killin’.”

“Uh-huh! Mine was a.. Bank man! B-Bank man come to take Drayton’s truck away, h-he put his hands on me, a-an’ I slashed his ugly neck r-right open!” Nubbins excitedly imitates an over-exaggerated spraying of blood by pushing air between his teeth and making the splatter with his hands.

It’s amusing, but the gravity of what they’re telling him holds Franklin’s joy down deep inside, “I jus’ don’t understand why. I never known anybody in the whole world to be like this. Killers this way.”

“We gots to eat.” Clearly repeating what somebody else told him, Nubbins gives a noncommittal shrug, “D-Dogs in the world ‘an stuff, w-we gots to eat each other.”

Ah. So he is right about that. Drayton cooked up the man he killed on accident and brought it home as some kind of treat for the boys.

Franklin tries to avoid havin’ to do the act by bringing up his own condition, diabetes type one, “Surely that ain’t good for my blood sugar. I got that disease you know, makes my sugar go up and down and I gotta watch it real close-“

“B-B-But you been eatin’ it j-jus’ fine all this time!” Nubbins interrupts him.

That’s when it clicks. He’s been doin’ what they do. Gettin’ so close to the Sawyers, the town loonies, was gonna end in somethin’ like this he s’posed. Everyone who said he’d always be a weak little baby, well they just didn’t know that he had it written in the stars he was gonna be a killer.

“Sally said the meat tasted rotten.” He comments vaguely, realizin’ he really is special this time.

Nubbins scoffs, never the biggest fan of Sally. “Sh-She would.”

“Oh hush. You aren’t to lay a hand on her, you hear?” Franklin scolds, but it’s just gently, just to make sure he isn’t doin’ the wrong thing by sittin’ at this table and not running.

Well, wheeling. He’d probably not outwheel Nubbins’ run, even if he’s got the arm strength to cave in a human skull.

“Never ever.” Making a cross over his heart, Nubbins declares it to him, “I swears, o-on my s-sick Granny.”

Dead granny. Franklin knows the woman ain’t still kickin’ no matter how much Nubbins insists she is. Though with this revelation he’s goin’ through lately, it prob’ly ain’t a lie that she’s in the upstairs of their house.

“Jesus. Well alright.”

The rest of the agreement is eat the evidence of his crime with the boys, then he’s free to go home. Seems so simple, it gets Franklin’s heart just pounding in his chest.

“I don’t.. Gotta keep up the killin’ now, do I?” He asks, on his way out to get driven back next door.

“Wouldn’t imagine.” Drayton is the only one out here yet while Nubbins runs around like a madman packing back up a bag of toys he’d scattered all around, forgetting Franklin wouldn’t get to stay forever.

“And I’m allowed to go home?” Franklin keeps asking, sounding feeble and scared.

This time he gets a scoff, like he should find that obvious, “Don’t do kidnappin’. Never let the boys keep one longer than a single night. After that- Lights out.”

One more, “And you really won’t hurt my family?”

“Not the girl, anyhow. No promises on your old man.” Drayton cackles, downright, like some kind of witch.

Franklin knows the bastard ain’t kind, certainly not to his own uncle Lefty or his wife, or actually his kids now that he thinks about it, but he’s not sure his Daddy deserves death over that. “That ain’t funny.”

“Wasn’t joking.” The oldest Sawyer assures him, cold smile dropping away again. “Siblings, they mean a lot more to the heart. You’ll understand that someday way I do.”

He extinguishes the cigarette he’d been smoking right in Franklins face by crushing it against a window sill, “That’s your little sister an’ I’ll respect it. Not a hair outta place on little Sally’s head.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In exchange for that you keep your damn yap shut.”

Eagerly, to show he ain’t gonna two time, Franklin nods his head, “Yes sir! This stays between me and y’all and the Lord.”

He gets a disgruntled comment under Drayton’s breath that he doesn’t even hear, “Shit, you’re jus’ like your uncle, boy.”

His faith been tested today, but he oughta lean into it while he can. Keep himself from goin’ completely off the edge. Somehow the Sawyers seem to have managed that much, though, like Drayton said, they’ve got each other. God is so far away, nothin’ at all like a sibling he can hate or hold in his arms, depending on the day.

God severs the spine of a little baby and leaves him to die with prayers and prayers from his family that never quite reached him. Little babies grow up into boys in wheelchairs, who can’t even eat a handful of sweet berries without his body threatening to give up on him. Grow into killers, given the right support. Ain’t gotta let himself lose now.

Drayton seems to hear all that thinkin’ somehow, some twisted way of his, and goes back on his word on the truck drive. He waves Franklin away, “Go on and get. Nubbins’ll get ya back home. Tell ‘em I needed your help handin’ me tools down the station and lost track of time. They’ll believe that.”

A test of will or an alibi, he ain’t quite sure, but he nods his head. Just one thing he’s worried about, “If they don’t?”

“You tell me. We’ll do what needs done.” Drayton says it like it’s simple, and clenches one hand, bringing it up in the air and then back down. Franklin realizes he’s miming stabbing someone or beatin’ ‘em with a hammer.

“Um… Thank you Mr. Drayton. For not killing me too.” They both flinch when Nubbins finally slams the door open so hard it clatters against the wall, earning him a quick slap before they can continue on their way. “Um. Goodnight, sir.”

Halfway down the trail, Nubbins glances back at the shrinking house light.

“You scared of big brother, a-ain’t ya?”

“A little.” Franklin confesses.

Makes him a little sad when Nubbins whispers, “Me t-too..”

It’s them two that’re bonded. Theres bad on both sides, from a rotten temperament to a lack of care, to stuck up Sally and mean old Drayton. His home is with his best friend, in his heart, just as Sawyer as any of the others. That’s his comfort for a long time, knowing he’s capable, got backup when he needs it, and a dead body under his belt. Ain’t no invalid.

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm fanfic #writing #nubbins sawyer #franklin hardesty #franknub #drayton sawyer #day six

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Chance

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month Event: Day Five- Victims

Word Count: ~1,600

Warnings: Death mention, mild internalized ableism, grief and anxiety.

_________

Turns out a giant grenade blast echoing around cave tunnels could do some pretty serious damage to the ear drums. Also turns out hearing aids ain’t some magical fix for hearing loss like Stretch might’ve once thought. Curse her former self for being so clueless about this way of life. Privileged little lady she used to be.

Bopping her head to music of any quality, let alone the shitty radio approved stuff, ain’t an option any more, took it for granted while it lasted. Hated that job and loved it at the same time, but she was too hard on it all. Only way they’re getting any of her ears back to working is surgery and tapping into bone, which Stretch ain’t willing to allow. Stitches and blood and metal in her head, just seems like a bad omen still.

Losing Lg would always be the worst part though. Take all her hearing, take her vision and her tongue and her spine, none of that would matter if sweet Lg hadn’t been taken down as a pawn.

They’d’ve found a way to talk without words and deafness getting in the way. Lg would’ve been patient and calm when she had her fits of frustration over the tinnitus making the inside of her head ring like a church bell.

She wears his keys on a necklace chain and as many of his clothes she could track down on her back. Keeping at least his memory close if he can’t be there in person. Guilt and regret and all can’t last forever when they were the sacrifices. The fault, if they’re really gonna place it, can only go to Lefty Enright, but he’s dead too. Checked to be sure when they were investigating that damned explosion and started pulling bodies out. He’s still legally a John Doe, but she recognized his mangled face.

Three hundred and eleven unique sets of bones were recovered from that place alongside him. Almost none of them complete, maybe being just a finger or two that didn’t belong to one of the more full bodies they were finding and had to be classed on its own. Among them, most of Lg was recovered and buried, gratefully including his face and his hat. That meant her business was done.

That’s her reason for stayin’ inside so much now. Her mama calls and she screens it right away. Writes a letter or a card instead that never gets a response. Doesn’t leave the house except for to restock on supplies. Food, hygiene, bullets. That kind of thing.

Against her better judgment she has a television in her kitchen, watching adverts for things to grab on her trips instead of browsing the shelves. Tries new things and usually hates them so bad she reverts right back to the routine that’s keepin’ her living. Stretch won’t stay out in the world a second longer than she has to.

Unless it’s to drop by the bulletin boards.

Stretch keeps track of the missing posters. The immortalized ink-blot faces she hopes she doesn’t ever have to recognize. When new ones appear, that’s her sign to make herself scarce again until it feels safe, and even then she’s got her pistol in her purse and a knife in each pocket. Never too careful. No such thing.

But nothing could prepare her for the day Lefty’s face joins the sea of forgotten souls.

“Enright, Boude AKA Lefty. Last seen in October of 1986. The missing person suffers from schizophrenia and is likely off of medications. He may be confused and in need of medical attention. We ask if you see him not to confront him. Contact The Hardesty family investigation in cooperation with Fort Worth police.”

The phone numbers listed included the police station, the sheriff's personal line, and one Sally Hardesty.

The last time Stretch saw that name she was readin’ in the paper that Sally’s tormentors had struck again killin’ those two kids on that bridge. Following that lead had doomed her to a similar fate. Similar losses. Everyday she regrets being stupid enough to play that tape and believe Lefty was going to call in backup and help. Turns out he wasn’t even a ranger anymore when she met him, but it’s too late to stay furious.

Stretch scrawls the numbers on the back of a receipt and gets the hell out of there before she breaks down inside a super store. Might be a hell of a sight to take her little ass to the garden section and wield a hedge trimmer like a saw against imaginary threats. Could go down in flames like the man ‘ come before her.

Instead she goes home and cries into her couch pillow ‘til she can’t breathe through her nose and passes out into a feverish sleep. Real badass now, huh. Sometimes she wonders how she even survived. If all of her did.

All by herself she crawled on her belly through Hell and she’d be damned if she just laid down and died after all of that. So why is she so nervous to just dial the phone and tell Miss Sally Hardesty the truth and the full one at that.

Well, maybe she wouldn’t have the heart to tell her the kind of man her uncle was. Sacrificing her and Lg when he knew better than most the brutality of that family. At this point it’s not even a complicated ordeal. She doesn’t forgive Lefty, even dead and gone. Why should she? She hasn’t just stopped loving poor Lg.

Still Sally deserves to know he’s dead. Closure and all. There’s just the problem or Stretch’s ears. Phone calls don’t work for her, the fuzz of traveling voices blocking out just about anything she might’ve been able to hear in the muffled way she does.

To the library it is. Computer records, phone books, she’ll be able to get an address for Sally off of that phone number and send her a letter.

It takes two trips, but she succeeds, her letter already written between all her frantic digging. The chase, the investigation, it makes her heart race and catch in her throat and she struggles to breathe. Actions like scrolling, filing, flipping through pages, it all reminds her of her job at the radio station. Of the beau who was by her side back then. Has to shake off the nostalgiac haze when she leaves.

Stretch is grateful once she can just mail the letter informing Sally her posters are futile, then maybe take her mind off it for a while.

The response comes only about half a week later, a good sign for their proximity and ability to meet up. Because that’s all Sally asked for actually. She wasn’t disturbed, didn’t call the police like Stretch might’ve if someone admitted to finding her address as public information.

Sally’s letter reads:

“Miss Brock.

I heard your situation down the grapevine. I wondered myself if I should reach out. I’m grateful you did first. My worried heart couldn’t decide one way or the other.

How can I begin this? Maybe with ‘I’m sorry.’ I’m sorry that I couldn’t convince them that Hell on earth was real in time. I’m sorry you got dragged into it and further down by my uncle. He’d always been that way, too headstrong for his own good. I guess I suspected all along he was dead. Two years is a long time to be on his own somewhere.

I hope it’s been long enough for you to heal somewhat. At least physically. I haven’t been quite the same since my survival and it’s been sixteen years for me. Please pardon the wobbly handwriting, my hands still shake. If it’s alright, I’ll pray for you. That the doctors may find a way to help your hearing, or better, that inventors might create a way to make the world easier without having to change you. It would be nice if the world could change for us once.

Miss Brock, it would mean a lot if we could meet in person. I trust you’ll bring protection and I will too. I carry a Cobra everywhere I go. Together I think we’d be safe enough to at least grab a coffee. I know a place. Write me back if you’d like, or don’t. I’m grateful for having the chance to have ever written you either way.

Thank you for sharing the news about my uncle, and for bringing some light back to this broken old wench’s day. I’ll get over my heartbreak eventually.

-Sally Ann.”

Stretch reads it over and over, like if she does it enough times the letter might reveal itself to be a trick or trap of sorts. Nothing stands out. Really, she figures their mutual tormentors likely wouldn’t even be able to spell well enough to write a letter like that. Or mail it in a darling pink envelope.

Scared as she might be, to accept leaving the house, and communication with a stranger she had to essentially stalk to find and the moral qualms of all that, on top of struggling to communicate at all with her deafness- Stretch finds this is the first time in two years she’s had something to look forward to.

She cries again, not ashamed of al the tears that fall by this point, gettin’ little wet splotches all over her page while scrawling her confirmation. Sally will likely understand.

“Blessed Miss Hardesty.

I’m there. Let’s do this next week sometime. I won’t go out ‘til after Friday, the 13th. Is that alright?

-Vanita Brock, but you miss, can call me Stretch.”

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm 2 #tcm fanfic #writing #vanita brock #stretch brock #sally hardesty #day five

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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Day 5 of the tcm fan event with the prompt “ victims”

Decided to keep it simple today

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm 2 #stretch brock #vanita brock #tcm fanart #artwork #day five

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texas-chainsaw-fanworks · 1 year ago

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A Fun Trip

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

Disability Fan Week, Day 4- It's Gonna Be a Fun Trip.

A short, roughly 2000 word genfic about Franklin and the van crew trying to find ways to have fun together. There's a little bit of period-typical and character-typical ableism, but this is like as fluffy/ lighthearted as anything really gets with tcm, the sawyers aren't even here.

Franklin didn’t want to seem like a burden. He knew his sister didn’t want him on that trip with her and her cool friends. So he tried really hard to ignore the man ways it was clear he was an afterthought. When they went skiing, he found out about a hot spring, which while not perfectly accessible was close enough, and he relaxed his pained back. When they wandered up high in an art museum with no elevator, he enjoyed the pieces down below. When they went hiking in Arizona in hundred degree heat, he stayed in the car like a dog. It all kind of sucked. But it all could kind of suck worse.

Unfortunately, though, while he tried to have the stoicness of Grandpa, or the masculine strength of Dad, or the steely gaze of their uncle- he apparently just sort of looked like a kicked puppy all the time. Especially as they got closer and closer to Houston, and he realized further no fun was to be had. Eventually, up near El Paso, just heading back into Texas, they stopped at a gas station and everybody but him and Sally got out. At which point, she seemed unable to ignore him any more.

“Franklin?” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Did you have a fun trip?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Franklin lied.

“You don’t look like you did,” she said. “And that kinda sounded the way you sound when you lie.” Franklin sighed.

“I mean… I had some fun,” he tried, instead. “But I just… I just wish there was more I could do, you know? With y’alll. It’s alright though. I’m not mad.” Everybody else piled back in the van then, and Franklin assume that would be the end of that. Until after everybody got settled, and Sally spoke up.

“Hey-” she said. “Y’all want to go bowling?”

Franklin was excited the whole way to the bowling alley. Because finally, for just one time on that trip- everybody wanted to do something he could participate in.

“I do have to warn you,” Jerry said, as he drove them towards the bowling alley on the map. “I am kind of the greatest bowler of all time.”

“Sure, man,” Kirk said, with a laugh.

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Pam added.

“Well, you’ve got some pretty stiff competition,” Sally said.

“Oh yeah? You’re gonna out bowl me, missy?” Jerry asked with a grin.

“Prob’ly not,” she said. “I’m terrible. Franklin, though, you’ll have to look out for.”

“Oh, really?” Jerry asked. Franklin swallowed nervously.

“You can bowl in that chair?” Kirk asked.

“I mean, yeah,” Franklin said. “I- uhm. I can bowl pretty well. I dunno about bein’ competition.”

“You’re the best at it in our whole family,” Sally said. Franklin smiled, just a little.

“Well, yeah, I guess so.”

“This is gonna be fun! All five of us doin’ somethin’ together,” Pam said, like it was some sort of novelty to include him. Franklin held his tongue about that- happy to be included at all.

“Oh yeah, I think this is gonna be great,” he said.

The staff of the bowling alley was a bit confused, at first, and they had to call a manager about Franklin’s predicament. But eventually they loaned him out a pair of bowling shoes. Which Jerry thought was pretty funny.

“Do they think he’s gonna miraculously stand up just for bowling?” he asked Sally, with a snicker.

“Well uh, that’s why I’m so good at it,” Franklin said, surprising Jerry a little, as he was broken away from his conversation with Sally. “I stand up to play and everybody else is so shocked they drop their balls.” Jerry seemed to actually think that was funny, for once, laughing at his dumb joke. Franklin felt a lot better than he had the rest of that trip. Until-

“Oh, God, look at that,” Jerry said. Franklin looked at what he saw. There was a young man, who could walk, but seemed to have some trouble with it- swaying oddly as he did- using one of the bowling ramps. Kirk laughed too.

“What’s wrong with that?” Pam asked.

“He’s a grown man,” Kirk said. “Those are fine if you’re a kid, or a thousand years old, or stupid. But if you’re normal, that’s pretty much cheating.” Franklin waited a moment, hoping one of the others- especially Sally, who knew he usually used one of those, because the armrests of his wheelchair would scrape up his arms and jab him in the side if he didn’t- would say something else, would disagree with Kirk and Jerry just a little bit. But none of them did. After everybody got their shoes, the cashier stopped, and asked Sally, while pointing at Franklin.

“Does he need a ramp, or-”

“No,” Franklin answered for himself. “I don’t.”

Franklin was the last person put on the board, which he didn’t mind so much, since it gave him a chance to think about how he was going to do this. The armrests of his wheelchair didn’t go down. He wasn’t a small man, and it was pretty difficult for him to lean over the side of his chair long enough to do something like bowl. He waited, nervously, for his turn to come around.

When his turn finally came, he rolled up to the ball rack, and grabbed his ball. He had hoped he could get a lighter one, but he was stuck with a 15 pound’er, the only one big enough he could get his fingers in it. With his ball mostly secure in his lap, he rolled up to the lane. Franklin paused a second, holding it nervously. He really wished Sally hadn’t bragged about him being good. He felt like he had to be good now- or he was letting everybody down. He thought he heard Kirk whispering. And Pam laughing. He was never quite certain if that was at him or not. Franklin did his best to steady his nerves, took the bowling ball in hand, and leaned over the side, the armrest digging in to him. He slid his arm back, and then forward, with as much force as he could manage, hoping, almost praying, the ball would actually go the right way.

And for once, it actually did.

“Hey! Way to go, Franklin!” Sally called. He sat up straight, returning to them excited, having bowled a strike on his first try.

“Hey, not bad, man,” Jerry said. “Maybe there’ll be some competition after all.”

The whole damn time, Franklin and Jerry were neck and neck, back and forth on the top of the leaderboard. Sally was pretty close too, occasionally taking second place from one of them, which made sense. Their family went bowling fairly often- it was one of the only things they liked to do that Franklin could do with them. Pam wasn’t too far behind, usually clearing most of her pins, and occasionally getting a spare, and one strike too. Kirk was firmly at the bottom of the heap.

“Man, I think I got a screwed up ball,” Kirk started.

“Oh yeah, man, the ball’s what’s screwed up,” Jerry said. The two of them got in one of their play fights, then.

“Guys, cut that out,” Pam said. “We’re gonna get kicked out!”

“We’re just playin’ around a little, mama-” Kirk began.

“Sure,” Pam said with an eyeroll. Franklin went to get his ball again. He wished, sometimes, that he could have had that. A chance to be young and stupid, and play rough with his guy friends. But everybody always treated him like he was made out of glass. And he didn’t really have guy friends. Or friends of his own at all. Though maybe someday, that could change. Maybe Sally’s friends would start to actually like him, and he could end up just being one of the guys. He liked that idea a lot. He went to the lane, leaned over again and bowled. He caught the tender, scraped up flesh of his arm on the armrest of his wheelchair again, and flinched. Looks like this one’s gonna be a spare. He rejoined the rest of them, waiting for his ball to come back.

“Losin’ your touch, man?” Jerry asked. Franklin tried to sound confident as he replied.

“You wish.”

Franklin came up in second place, behind Jerry by a good bit. He wasn’t even sure he deserved that- it was entirely possible in his mind that Sally had started throwing the game when she noticed he was falling behind. In the very least, he did beat Pam and Kirk fair and square, but he was still a bit sad about it. He thought he really could’ve beat Jerry. If maybe his ball were lighter. Or his wheelchair didn’t have armrests, and he could bend down more properly. Or if he hadn’t gotten all scraped up. Or if he had just used the ramp.

Jerry convinced everybody to play one more round. Franklin wasn’t sure he would enjoy that one, so much. He didn’t say anything, though, just sat there, picking at the scabs forming on his inner arm, waiting for it to start.

“Oh God, Franklin, what happened to your arm?” Pam asked. Franklin paused.

“Oh. Uh. The side of my chair kind of scraped it up a bit,” he said softly. “It’s alright. That just sort of happens. Not a lot I can do about it- it’s just the arm rests and-”

“Sally come look at this- “

“She doesn’t have to-”

“What is it?” she asked, coming over with the purple ball she traded her other, heavier ball for.

“Look at Franklin’s arm-” Franklin flattened a bit, feeling exposed.

“It ain’t anything important-”

“Does this happen every time y’all go bowling?” Pam asked Sally, though Franklin could’ve answered that fine too.

“No,” Sally said. “I’ve never seen that before-”

“It’s just ‘cause of my armrests,” Franklin said quickly, unable to look either of them in the eye.

“They don’t usually do that-”

“Well, yeah, that’s cause I usually use the ramp,” he said, softly.

“Well why don’t we get you one?’ Pam asked.

“Well I-”

“C’mon,” Pam said to Sally, the two of them running off to get it. Franklin deflated just a little bit further. So much for makin’ cool new friends.

The second round he used the ramp, as much as he kind of didn’t want to. Franklin was at an impasse. He didn’t want to rub blisters onto his arm, he wanted to have fun. But he also didn’t want to be seen as less-than, or a cheater. But he knew he couldn’t have both. And he didn’t even really get a choice of which of the two he wanted. Both in one day. Great.

His bowling game was about the same as it was before, just with a little more help getting set up. He wasn’t any better than he had been before- he thought he had proven himself just a little. But every time he went up to bowl, he heard snickers from Kirk, or Jerry, or Pam, and the occasional sharp whisper from Sally that confirmed in his mind that it was definitely about him. Franklin started to regret wanting to be included.

The game was almost over, again. Franklin was in third, behind Jerry and Sally. Pretty close to Pam. His heart really just wasn’t in it. Kirk was still in the way back. Which was why it burned his biscuits so much when he heard him whispering behind his back.

“.. Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t be dead last if Franklin weren’t cheating.” Franklin rolled his ball into the gutter on purpose, fucking up a perfectly good spare, and rolling himself back to the benches, trying not to look upset. He picked at the sores on his arm and wished he was at home, knowing damn well none of them would have his back.

“Well, Kirk, why don’t you try usin’ the ramp?” Jerry asked.

“Huh? What would I need it for?”

“Well you said a while back it was for kids, and old people, and the stupid. And you’re pretty stupid-” Franklin snorted, feeling a little better despite himself, and those two had another one of their play-fights. Then Kirk went up, not moving the ramp.

“Alright- alright- I’ll show you.” He lined everything up right, then shot the ball off the ramp way too hard, knocking over two pins. He walked back to the laughter of everybody in the group, Franklin included for once, though he tried to keep from laughing too much, not wanting him to turn his attention to him. “Yeah, yeah- yuck it up. I think I got a flat ball or somethin’-”

“It’s not flat, you geek, it’s a bowling ball,” Jerry said. “I think you just blow.”

“I think you blow-” Kirk said, with a laugh, shoving Jerry a little. He paused then, and looked down at Franklin, then away. “I still don’t get the ramp thing, though. Like at that point we might as well put up those little kiddie rails.” Franklin looked away again, back at the ground.

“Oh! We should!” Sally exclaimed.

“What, worried you’re not gonna beat me?” Jerry asked, smugly.

“No, I could beat you with my eyes closed,” Sally said back sassily, “I just wanna try to do trick shots.”

“Trick shots? Now what kind of bowling is that?” Jerry asked.

“It’s one thing to throw a bowling ball straight, it’s a whole ‘nother to bounce it off both walls thirty times and still get a strike. Unless, of course, you’re not up to it,” Sally said, with a shrug.

“Oh, you’re on!”

The rest of that round, the ramp and the side railings were in and out of play, used by just about everybody. Sally managed to come out on top, after somehow, literally, out-bowling Jerry with her eyes closed. All frazzled up and competitive, Jerry paid for one more round, and the five of them played again, using everything at their disposal. Franklin used the ramp, his left hand, and bowled hand in hand with Pam when she asked for help. Sally bounced the ball off those walls like the whole thing was a pinball machine. Jerry tried his hardest to still bowl perfectly straight, but either as slow or fast as humanly possible. Pam was bowling pretty much normally, occasionally closing her eyes or turning around when she did it, or requesting the help of Sally, or Franklin. And Kirk somehow managed to bounce the ball and get it in the gutter with the walls up on his first try- which became his mission after- to hit as few pins as possible.

In the end Franklin didn’t even remember who came out on top after that one. He was just glad he got to have fun with his friends. As they left the bowling alley and headed on the last leg of their trip, over to Newt to see their grandparents’ old house, and then on down to Houston, Franklin finally had a feeling it really was gonna be a fun trip.

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #tcm fanfic #writing #franklin hardesty #sally hardesty #jerry huberman #tcm jerry #kirk waisanen #tcm kirk #tcm pam #day four

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