Ferry Boats and Scrub Caps

Somebody Got Murdered

A/N: It's supposed to be more light hearted, but I can't ignore this chapter of Derek's life so...

Somebody got murdered
His name cannot be found
A small stain on the pavement
They'll scrub it off the ground
As the daily crowd disperses
No-one says that much
Somebody got murdered
And it' left me with a touch

The Clash lyrics rippled through his thirteen-year old brain. He bobbed his head to the rhythm as he clutched the headphones of his brand new Sony Walkman that he'd saved up for. That he worked at his dad's store to save up for. The music, while loud and clanging to most- somehow struck a harmonic chord with him. This particular album had a mix of everything, but it didn't matter. It was the anger, the rebelliousness. The against the grain style that pulled him in. The societal commentary suited him. Because everything in his world had just been flipped on its axis. A week ago his father had been murdered right in front of him. Everything was just so... wrong.

He clutched the cold wet rail of the Ferryboat, facing the wind thrown specks of drizzle that pricked him. At least he didn't have to hide his tears. A small stain on the pavement. They'll scrub it off the ground. That was how he felt. He turned the volume up. His ears hurt. He just wanted to... break something. Pound somebody to smithereens. Those rat bastards that shot his dad. For a friggin' watch.

He swore instead. Because he wasn't anybody. He was a scrawny gangly-limbed, fuzz-faced teenager, no match for a man with a gun. So instead, he pounded his head up and down to the rhythm in his quiet corner on the ferryboat. It had just docked, and was now finished loading. In a few minutes, it would be crossing the river again.

How long had he been here? He didn't know. He didn't care. Suddenly something in his heart unclogged, and a sob broke through his forced frown. He sputtered. Boy's didn't cry. But he couldn't stop it. Somebody got murdered, and it left me with a touch...

The tears were harsh and angry, matching the wail that escaped his throat. He was sure people were staring at him now, but he could care less. He didn't care. His father was shot. In front of him. Nobody cared about that either.

He used to ride the Ferry with his Dad all the time. After they closed up. In the morning on Saturday's. He'd buy him a hot dog from the cramped stand on the corner, from the grizzled old vendor who had shaky hands. His dad always tipped the man. Derek never understood why. The hot dogs didn't taste any better than any other guy's.

Now he couldn't eat hot dogs. Now he couldn't go to the store. He missed the way his dad mussed his hair, even though he used to hate it when he did it.

He blinked. The boat was departing now. He ran to the other side. The one that faced home. He pressed rewind on his cassette for a few seconds to start the song again. He wasn't sure if he could go home right now. He tugged at his tie again, trying to loosen it. He'd tried before but he didn't do it right and it wouldn't budge. This time he had the presence of mind to pull the proper way and he finally slipped it off. It was silk, and tear stained and wrinkled. He wanted to throw it into the river, but he didn't. It was his father's tie, so instead he crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his suit jacket. Mom was going to kill him for ruining it with the rain, but he didn't care.

He ran trembling hands through his wild locks as another sob attacked him. Dammit. But the tears came and went with his sobs as he remembered his father. He committed every detail to memory, like he was studying for an exam. He was good at exams. He would be good at this. He remembered the way his dad looked at him, with a mixture of fascination and pride. With careful love. He remembered the way his dad taught him about responsibility. You make a promise... You keep it. He'd said, after a heartbreaking lesson involving a girl and a movie, where he didn't show up because he had to get this new walkman. The one he was wearing now.

But there would be no more lessons from dad anymore. No shreds of advice or mussing of his hair. No poking in the ribs and side glances- "You finished your chores right? You love your sisters right?"

He rode the ferryboat instead. At least he had that.