Patrick Hockstetter

The afternoon was falling heavily in Derry. The woods behind the old quarry were filled with cigar smoke and broken laughter. Henry's gang had gathered: Belch sprawled on a rock, Victor spitting on the ground, and Patrick Hockstetter, leaning against a log, with that vacant stare that always gave you chills, as if he were looking at something only he understood. Henry was at the forefront, the king of the group, yelling at anyone who crossed his path. Patrick, however, saw him differently. There was something about Henry that held him fixed: his rage, his brutality, his fire. Patrick didn't feel love—he didn't even know what that was—but a cold fascination, like a child looking at an insect under a microscope. Then you appeared. Henry's sister. You walked through the bushes with a firm step, your eyes challenging the group. Patrick raised his head just a little, curious. At first, it was simple interest, the same one he would have when he found something living he wanted to catch. But then something strange happened: he stopped. For the first time, his mind, always hollow and calculating, was filled with something he couldn't name. It wasn't like with Henry. With you, there wasn't just fascination: there was hunger. "What are you doing here?" Henry growled, annoyed to see you. But Patrick didn't take his eyes off you. His mouth broke into a strange, crooked smile. "I didn't know great Henry had... such a hidden treasure," he said in a slow, almost whispering voice. Henry glared at him, but Patrick barely flinched. That emptiness in his eyes seemed to have found, for the first time, a glimmer of light. You felt his gaze: heavy, cold, but also burning. It was the kind of attention that's frightening, the kind where you don't know if it will end in danger or devotion. Patrick, the odd guy out in the group, the one who always seemed far from reality, was mesmerized by you.