Ricky decided that now might be a good time to talk to Devin. He gave him a quick call, telling him to come to the house. Ricky told Chris to wait in what was pretty much his room, and went outside to wait for Devin. Once the younger boy arrived, Ricky lead him upstairs to Chris.

"So, what's going on?" Devin questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Chris has had nightmares about his death two nights in a row now," Ricky sighed, hopping up onto the table to sit with the taller boy. "I was wondering if, maybe, you would be able to help me figure out some things about how he was killed, how recently, stuff like that. I need a better understanding of what he was put through."

"I can do my best," Devin replied. "Chris, do you remember anything at all about the way you were killed in those nightmares? I mean, we already know you were chopped into pieces, but can you remember any specifics?"

"I... Bl-Bled out afte-er th-they cut my l-legs off..." Chris responded with a shaky breath. "D-Different days. I-I was d-dead alr-ready when th-they c-cut the rest."

"Jesus Christ," Devin breathed out. "They couldn't have waited long before coming back, then. It wouldn't take you long at all to bleed out from the loss of both of your legs. It could've been mere minutes at most, that's all."

"Wait, then why did his legs rot away so much faster than everything else?" Ricky inquired.

"I don't know if you knew, Rick, but it doesn't actually take all that long for a human body to deteriorate," Devin chuckled. "So, the whole process would have been quick for every part of his body, depending on when it was cut off. For all we know, you could've found him just days after he was killed."

That wasn't what Ricky was expecting at all. To his knowledge, no one had set foot in the house for years on end. But, apparently, that wasn't the case. He was surprised he never heard anyone break into the house, or Chris screaming for help or something, considering he lived so close. He was also surprised that nobody found out about it all before he did. Then again, he supposed that was probably the reason Chris' killers chose to take care of him there. No one had been in that house for years before them, so why would anyone care to look in there for anything in the first place?

"Well," Ricky exhaled. "Now we know it was a fast kill, for the most part."

"Right," Devin nodded. "Generally quick kill, done by chopping up his body, and within a span of a couple days at the most, I would say. Does that sound about right, Chris?" he questioned.

"I th-think s-so," Chris responded, his breathing seeming to be uneven.

"You doing okay?" Ricky asked him softly.

Chris shook his head in response, leaning his head on the smaller boy's shoulder. Ricky frowned, gently draping his arm around him, pulling him closer. "I'm sorry we have to bring this stuff up around you so much," he apologized. "But it's the only way we can figure out what happened to you, and try to figure out who, well, killed you. That stuff's important, Chris."

"He's right," Devin said with a sympathetic smile. "Ricky and I, and our other friends that you met, are the only people that know anything about your situation. It's important for us to figure out everything that happened."

"I'm sorry you keep having to, uh, relive your death, I guess," Ricky exhaled.

"N-No, it's okay," Chris breathed out. "You're j-just tr-trying... T-To help."

Ricky gave the taller boy a small smile, rubbing his shoulder a bit.

"Hey, why don't we all head down to the cafe for breakfast?" Devin suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "Ryan works mornings there on Saturdays."

-------------------------------------------

Ricky and Chris simply split the breakfast that Ricky ordered, since Chris could really only eat small portions at most after being brought back from the dead. Ricky kept having to adjust Chris' hood, making sure his bolts wouldn't show. After all, the cafe seemed to be busier in the mornings than ever, especially on the weekends.

"R-Ricky?" Chris started quietly.

"Yes?" Ricky responded, looking at the taller boy.

"Why d-do I have to hi-hide th-the bolts?" Chris inquired.

"Well, because nobody else has bolts in their neck like that," Ricky told him. "People will think something's wrong with you, that you aren't like the rest of them."

"Th-That seems s-stupid," Chris shrugged, picking at the little bit of food left on his plate.

"It is," Ricky chuckled. "But, it's how the world works."

"Will I ever b-be able to g-go outside with-without my hood up?" Chris asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"I hope so," Ricky exhaled.

Just then, Chris' hood fell again, as it often did. But this time, somebody happened to walk by before he got it up over his head again, glancing over at the two of them. His eyes quickly caught the bolts wedged into Chris' neck, and from there he noticed some of his more visible stitches.

"What a freak show," the man muttered to himself, briskly walking past.

"Hey, don't talk about my friend that way," Ricky called out to him. The man simply shook his head, choosing to ignore Ricky.

Ricky turned back to Chris, noticing the frown on his face. "Hey, look at me," he said softly to the taller boy. Chris, of course, tilted his head up a bit, meeting Ricky's eyes. "Don't pay attention to that asshole, okay? Or anyone like that, for that matter."

Ricky proceeded to lift Chris' hood up for him, covering the bolts back up. "He... He c-called me a f-freak," Chris said under his breath.

"I told you, pay no mind to him," Ricky responded. "You aren't a freak, Chris. You just aren't like that guy. He can't seem to understand that."

Chris sent Ricky a small grin at that, and of course, Ricky just had to smile back, their eyes still locked on each other.