It was Saturday, and Craig's phone was buzzing. He hadn't taken it with him when he went out last night, and he was trying to remember whether he had meant to talk or spend time with anyone other than Kenny. He sometimes made plans without remembering. For some reason the kids at school just didn't make much of an impression, probably because he was bored of seeing them every day. His phone stopped buzzing, vibrating just short of falling off his bedside table entirely. The strap fell off the edge of his bedside table and dangled there with a light clink of his phone charm, a bright red race car and a finish line flag, both of which were battered with the enamel chipping off. He pawed it off the desk, and rolled over onto his back before even flipping it open, holding it against his chest as he breathed in and out, almost falling right back asleep. The phone buzzed against his ribs once, signalling that whoever had called had bothered to leave him a voice mail. He sighed, flipped it open, and was unsurprised to see a blurry candid of Tweek come up on the display, a photo he had snuck a shot of when the boy wasn't looking during lunchtime. Any time he tried to take a photo of him while he was aware of the camera he would bite his lip unattractively, or fidget, or worse yet throw his arms over his face and demand that Craig "point that thing someplace else." Kenny often made very blaise remarks about Tweek's constitution as a reliable person (as well as many unnecessary statements about Tweek's supposed failure in the bedroom, which were well-tested lies), but insults were just his way of showing affection lately. At first Tweek had just been someone to just boss around - you could never have too many of those - but then it turned out that Tweek was someone he really liked. He was also very angry, very strong, and very complicated. Complicated was not what Craig wanted to be handling today, so after another nearly-awake sigh of resignation he slowly tapped out a text response to the unheard voice message.
[Can't come out today. Sick.]
Almost ten seconds later, a reply flashed back, scathing and short-tempered.
[Did you come down with McCormick fever? Knew you would get a disease, eventually. Don't bother calling; I'm going over to Token's. You're on ice again.]
Craig sighed, flipped his phone shut, and put his arm over his eyes. He hadn't bothered to take his jacket off before he slept last night, and he smelled like must and sweat. That's right, Tweek. Keep on playing the bitch card, that always gets your would-be (could-be) lover raring to go. Craig hated when things were difficult, which made him wonder why he was so attracted to people that were impossible to hold on to. Eventually he sat up, tossed his phone aside, and went into the hall bathroom to wash his face, wearing his hat, his jacket, his shirt from yesterday, and boxers. The bathroom was the one room in the house immaculately kept, thanks to Ruby and no one else. She was neurotic about having at least one place she could "feel clean". Craig often found himself helping her out by wiping smears of toothpaste out of the sink to make sure it foamed up in the running water and went down the drain. Though, to be honest, this was mostly to avoid her storming into his room and explaining just what a disgusting pig he (and by definition, all men, especially their father) was. A clean mouth and a clean face later, he went back to his bedroom and found a pair of jeans he'd only worn two days in a row so far, socks that smelled more like detergent than feet, and pulled his hat harder down on his head so that his hair stopped sticking into his eyes.
Downstairs was quiet as if it were never inhabited, even though his mother was sitting on the couch. There was always the route of heading right out the front door and ignoring her hissing demand that he pause and explain himself, but he was feeling just generous enough (with an odd lack of hangover) to enter the living room instead and clear his throat grumpily.
She lifted her dark eyes up from the newspaper she was holding at exactly a ninety-degree angle from her arm, and folded it with just as much precision.
"You aren't high right now. That's at least something."
"I was worried about me last night, too, mom."
"Fine, smartass. I thought you came in because you were going to explain yourself anyway. Where were you last night?"
"Drinking and having unprotected sex. With like five older guys."
"No, but you were drinking. Do you have cash to pay for what you took out of your father's liquor cabinet?"
"No." He did, but not for wasting on his dad's cheap booze. Whatever his dad kept around, he felt entitled to.
"Fine, then you're raking the yard this afternoon."
"I have plans, sorry."
"Tomorrow."
"Busy."
"Choose one, Craig Tucker."
He heaved a sigh, and pulled his hat down again, even though it was already covering his hair. The brim met his eyebrows now.
"I'll do it tomorrow. I'm going out now."
"If you buy any more weed, I'm cutting off your allowance and confiscating your XBox."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it."
"Have fun, dear."
"How could I not?"
So, Tweek and Token were out of the question. Clyde had been a crybaby and a chore since Bebe dumped him for the fourth time (there were tedious text messages on his phone that he had not yet bothered to answer, detailing his life having ended and other assorted apocalyptic results of their love being rent asunder). That left Kenny, again, which was more than a little of the reason he had gone to see him the other night in the first place. His first thought was the garage, but when he checked his phone he could see that it was past one; even Kenny would have managed to make it home by now. His house was closer than the garage, anyway, so he shrugged his jacket a little closer together (he generally refused to close it these days, because he didn't get cold anymore, not after living in South Park all his life) and walked the eight blocks that would take him to the dirtiest and cheapest houses in a town of nothing but dirty and cheap houses.
Kenny's in particular was a magnificent specimen of what it really meant to have be poor; it was probably green at one point, but all gray now, and the roof had been patched over and replaced several times. The fact that it was more than one story was a miracle, and for some reason there was barbed wire, half pieces of trucks, and dead land mines in both the back and front yards. There was an iron spike out front that Kenny claimed was a dog post, but gave Craig an eerie sort of feeling when he looked at it. Out back was a shed that reeked of chemicals - once the friendly McCormick meth lab, which was allegedly abandoned now. From the scent of it and the fresh scorch marks on the aluminum pans strewn haphazardly here and there - it was still getting a pretty rough workout now and then. Craig took his usual route in the back, not wanting to bother with the formality of the front door. The screen door was off its hinges and set aside, and the door leading into the kitchen pushed open easily - the knob's latch didn't work, and when it became unbearably cold in the kitchen with it swinging open all the time it was held in place by several pieces of duct tape. The kitchen smelled like cigarettes and the light was out. As far as he could tell the entire building was completely silent - which meant that Kenny's parents and Karen weren't home, all of which were good things. He was on his way up to Kenny's room, but before he could get as far as the door, another one opened, and Kevin was suddenly standing in his path. Craig stopped short with a scowl. In the past he had ignored Kevin completely, to the point of not even caring that he existed. When he graduated middle school and became better friends with Kenny, however, he had to acknowledge that Kevin McCormick was also someone he might see now and again. He disliked Kevin intensely, mostly due to the fact that he had become overweight, very tall, and about as pungent as a freshly laid cat stool. His hair was kept from becoming a veritable minefield of lice by bi-weekly hackings from his mother's scissors - this time she had attempted to give him as close to a buzz cut as she could without a razor, but not without a few scrapes and bumps on his otherwise smooth skull. Kevin was chewing something that smelled like salt, and Craig suspected tobacco for a moment before he realized it was jerky. Craig's disdain for Kevin was heartily returned, but that didn't bother him in the slightest. He didn't want people he hated liking him anyway.
"Wh-what're you looking for, faggot?" Kevin finally stammered out, after a few moments of staring and chewing. He was sticking his lower jaw out as if he had the mumps.
"Your brother, moron," Craig said, his hands still in his pockets, trying not to look too defensive. Kevin was a retard, but he was huge, and he was unpredictable, and Craig was standing at the top of a flight of stairs he didn't want to be pushed down. He braced himself in case he would have to dodge any sudden attacks. Kevin kept chewing, as if he were considering his words, and then jerked his head in the direction of Kenny's room.
"Nothing but dead rats in there. I saw you two twinks leave. Last night. But he didn't come back. He's been gone. He's been gone a lot."
Craig didn't know whether to trust him, but he also didn't want to elbow past him. He could hear strains of death metal coming from inside his room, and for some reason the usually familiar sounds made him shiver.
"He thinks he's so - special." Kevin was talking again, and Craig looked at him evenly. Kevin was still staring at the door to Kenny's room. "Even though I'm the oldest. Even - though. I'm more important. He's always leaving out his window, doing his stupid. Ninja thing or whatever. One time I saw him jump - he broke his leg, or something. Then. Then you know what he did?"
Craig shook his head mutely, not wanting to actually ask. This sounded like one of Kevin's tall tales; he was somewhat familiar with those.
"Screamed. Cursed. Bled everywhere. Then he. Took out a knife, right? Stabbed himself - right in the neck. Next day, he was fine. And we went to school together. I fucking hate school."
"That makes no fucking sense, you empty-headed trash." Craig finally snapped, turning sideways and putting his foot further down on the step, away from the upstairs landing, away from Kevin. "You don't stab yourself in the throat and then go to school the next day. You die. You know that, right?"
Kevin's eyebrows knitted in anger.
"Of course I - KNOW that - you stupid - c-unt. I know a lot more than YOU do. That's what I'm fucking telling you. Kenny - the real Kenny - isn't here, anymore. Not since he was a baby. Okay? These are all just c-opies, and they think he's so fucking special. They want to fucking worship him like he's a messiah or something. But he's not even the real thing. He's a zombie. A ghost. A ghost that's a zombie. Whatever. Do you two fuck? You'd better not, 'cus his insides must be all dead and wormy. You'll b-e lucky if your dick doesn't fall off. Fucking fag."
"We don't," Craig said, crystal clear and smooth, and turned on his heel to walk down the steps, having had enough of Kevin's rambling and certain that Kenny wasn't here. He was going to check the garage after all.
"Liar. Lying fag. Disgusting. I'll get them to see, too. I'm the only one worth looking - up to. They don't know it yet. But they'll figure it out."
Craig slammed the rotted kitchen door behind him, and that was when he heard the most disturbing part of the entire encounter. Kevin was sitting by his window when he walked past it, crooning to himself, in a low hum somewhat in time with his muted music.
"Immortal. Immortal, immortal, immortal. New, fresh, never dead. Come love me. Immortal, immortal, immortal."
The next place to check was the garage, but it was empty by the time Craig got there. There was no beer left in the cans they had shared the other night, but other than that, everything was perfectly intact, and the most suspicious thing of all was that Kenny's backpack was still there, too. Kenny never left his own possessions, bare and few as they were, simply lying around for anyone to find and take advantage of. Finding everything neatly abandoned, even in as private a place as this, was disturbing. Even his phone was tucked neatly into the front pocket of the bag.
Maybe he just meant to come back soon, Craig told himself. Maybe he's only stepped out for a while, and he's going to be right back. Maybe you should just turn on the TV, enjoy your own goddamn clubhouse you made for yourself and sit your ass down on this couch, and stop worrying about Kenny before this gets out of hand. He's not even missing. He's been gone for five minutes for all you know. He never leaves his phone behind, but so what? This time he did. It just means he feels safe here.
Unconvinced, he bolted the door to the garage on his way out, and mentally traced out a path for himself to the Marsh's house. He hadn't been there in what might have been over a year or so, not since Stan had gotten daring and bold for the sake of a girl he was trying to impress (not Wendy, for once, he and Wendy had been fighting) and threw a party in his parents' basement. A real party, with drinks and drugs and unauthorized teenagers making out and making music with their bodies, some of them even right out in the open. Craig had gone after Stan himself that night, because he'd always wondered what their not-so-little joe next door would look like on his back. The answer had been; easy, pretty, red in the face and breathless, an experience worth repeating once or twice in the future. But not for a while. He knocked on the Marsh's front door like a proper citizen, and sniffed in the cold air. The lawn here was actually mown, there were signs of life in little scuffmarks around the flower beds and the marks of baseballs or footballs hitting the siding of the house. A dog barked inside the house when he knocked a second time, and he heard a young woman (Shelly, Stan's sister's name was Shelly) shout angrily down the stairs.
"MOM, SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR."
"Don't talk to me like that, young lady!"
"Don't talk to your mother like that, Shelly!"
The door opened and Craig was greeted with the sight of Randy Marsh's brightly smiling mustached face. He nodded in greeting, and Randy blinked in complete lack of comprehension as to who he was, which didn't surprise him. Stan's father had never been too bright, even if he had been acquainted with him for years.
"I'm a friend of your son's. Is he around?"
"Oh, you're Stan's friend- Craig, that's right, of course. Stan's out back with Gordon, go ahead and walk around. We're going to be having a barbeque later, want to join us?"
"Maybe later, thanks." Craig deadpanned, and nodded again, this time in careless gratitude for Randy's directions. Glad to not have to enter the house where Shelly was, he made his way around to the back to have a look, and realized that Gordon was the dog. He and Stan were playing fetch, or about as much fetch as you could manage to play in about forty feet of yard space, so Craig skulked in, staying near the house, and nodded in Stan's general direction. Stan waved, but didn't smile, since Craig never visited him, and Craig didn't blame him; he wasn't sure what to make of his visit either.
"Hey, Stan. Has Kenny been around?"
"No, not since...last week? I think he's been sick, dude."
"He's not, we were hanging out last night."
"Oh. Huh. If you saw him last night, why are you asking if he was here?"
Craig shrugged, his eyes on the brightly panting golden retriever that was jumping up onto Stan's chest, trying to get the small kibble that Stan was holding just out of his reach, above his head.
"He took off. I was worried."
"He's just like that, man. Don't even pay attention to it, he'll show up eventually."
"Sure. Would Kyle know anything?"
"Maybe. Probably not more than I do." Stan let Gordon take the kibble out of his fingers, finally, and then wiped the slobber off onto his pants. That was when Craig finally made eye contact with him, and smirked when he saw that Stan was looking at him as if he had grown an extra pair of arms. He stepped away from the house and walked past Stan - Gordon skirted away from him when he approached. Dogs didn't like him much. Which was all right, since he preferred smaller animals, anyway.
"He's my friend, too, y'know. You don't have to look so shocked."
"I'm not, just - "
Craig put a hand on Stan's chest lightly, and his smirk widened when Stan recoiled, and then he walked away, snickering to himself.
"See you around, Stan. Keep better track of your friends, you never know when one might end up being in trouble."
The Broflovski household was one of the few houses that Craig almost never went to. He was pretty sure his parents were mildly anti-semetic, because they never wanted to eat there, never wanted to go over when their parents were having a party, and always gave him a strange look if he was hanging out with the awkward, angry, clever jewish kid in school. Craig never got what the issue was, but he also didn't like Kyle very much - he was okay, it's not like there was anything wrong with him, but whenever they actually talked in school Kyle seemed to find some way to turn it into a debate. A disagreement. Or something. And that always ended up in a glaring contest. A couple of times it had ended up in a few punches thrown. But what else are you going to do when you're eleven and restless, twelve and angry, or thirteen and just plain fucking bored?
No hard feelings. Some people just like to bitch. He knocked on the Broflovski's door exactly as civilized as he had arrived at the Marsh's, and it was, to his relief, Ike who answered. Even if it hadn't been known throughout the entire school since he was in kindergarten that he was adopted, it would have been scathingly obvious to anyone with an ounce of sense. He was growing up strong; his hair was completely black, straight, and easy for him to keep neatly trimmed, and above all, unlike his brother and parents, he knew how to actually keep his mouth shut when he had nothing of value to say. If he was surprised to see Craig at their doorstep in the middle of a Saturday afternoon unannounced, he didn't show it.
"Hey, Craig," was all he said, instead, "Do you want to come in?"
Craig shrugged noncommittally, and stepped over the threshold.
"Is Kyle around?"
"In his room, I think. Are you two suddenly getting along, or something?"
"Not really. I'm failing math so my mom sent me out to try and remedy the situation. My friends are being dicks, so Token's not an option, and besides, he lives too far away."
"You're failing math? How?"
"Shut up, boy wonder. I'm here to talk to your brother, not you."
"Sure, okay, like I said, he's upstairs. I charge ten bucks an hour, though, for tutoring. Just in case you were wondering."
"No way am I spending money on letting some self-important little prick think he can teach me math." Craig was smirking, in spite of himself. Ike's dry assumption of his own importance was something he had to give the kid credit for. He flipped him the bird once with his left hand, then again with his right, then went upstairs to Kyle's bedroom.
Classical music. He was playing fucking Bach, or something. Now he remembered why Kyle was his least favorite of these four shitheads, even below Cartman, sometimes, who could arguably be seen as South Park's very own natural disaster. Sighing in exasperation, but not about to actually enter the room that was bound to be too much stuffiness for his normal teenage senses to take, he knocked on the door to hopefully summon Kyle to him. At least if anyone would actually know anything, it would probably be Kyle.
Kyle had a pair of glasses perched on his head - more accurately, on his hair, which extended in thick curls that he had managed to at least corral into one area, but never enough to keep them actually flat against his head. He was wearing a robe over his pajamas and holding half of a banana-nut energy bar, and was smiling until he saw who was knocking at his door, at which point his expression folded into a confused frown.
"What do you...want?" Was his confused response to Craig's unexpected presence, and Craig smirked at his discomfort.
"Nothing. I'm looking for Kenny. I just saw him last night - but he left all his stuff at my place and vanished. Do you know where he goes, since apparently this is just 'how he is'?"
"Not really, he goes to all the usual places. Which for guys like you and him can mean anything from his bedroom to under the freeway to try to score coke. Have you tried there?"
"Very funny," Craig growled, reminded in full force why he disliked Kyle so much. "I think something's wrong."
"Hate to break it to you, dude, but something's usually wrong with Kenny. We've all learned to deal with it - but how is it any of your business? You two aren't even close."
Craig glared at him for that, but let it pass. They weren't close, or rather, no one knew that they were - even Craig had a hard time wrapping his head around what they were supposed to be most of the time. Not really friends, not rivals for anything, spending too much time fucking to even get to know each other properly-
we're dating, you know that, right. going out to see a dramatic action movie on a friday night means we're dating.
Meaningless fucking. It was easy to have sex with Kenny - easier to get a handjob from him than a decent conversation, so if your opinions about sex being a purely physical release matched up with his, you were good to go for as long as you could bear to touch each other.
"Look, if you don't know where he is, and don't have anything to say except sarcastic shit, I'm going to move on."
"Not sure why you need to ask me in the first place, if you just saw him. And take Ike's tutoring, he'll up your GPA in more than just math."
"Don't eavesdrop on people's conversations, Broflovski."
"Don't be such a boring dick, Craig."
Kyle shut the door to his room, and the sound of violins grew louder. Ike raised an eyebrow at him expectantly as he passed by, which he gave him a friendly shove on the head for before letting himself out of the Broflovski house. He was now more irritated than ever, and down to his last stop on this miserable "where the fuck is Kenny McCormick" road. The Cartman residence was just four blocks away.