"What are you talking about William?" Jackson's eyes widened as he pondered William's intentions. "He's changed since the surgery, William. He's not the same man that abandoned us both to fend for ourselves growing up." Jackson pleaded his case to William, but the long lost brother's eyes showed it was a futile gesture.
"Us? My abandonment goes well beyond yours. He gave you up to our grandparents. He gave me up to total strangers. I spent the first 12 years of my life assuming I was just the black sheep of a 5 child family, but I eventually learned enough math and biology to realize my 6 month age difference from the closest sibling wasn't likely to mean I was a delayed development twin. I didn't hang out in the womb for an extra six months and I don't have the physical deficiencies of a baby born after 6 months at most in my mother's womb. That's when I started asking questions that they avoided like I was asking about the tooth fairy or Santa Claus." William thrust his arms into the air in a sign of frustration nearly knocking the lamp off of the table.
"I was waved off like I was some brainless idiot. Like I was one of their other children. Those brainless clods that love to sing together in the car on family trips and willingly pass clothing from sibling to sibling like each ratty pair of pants was a family heirloom!" William began flailing dramatically, but Jackson was beginning to lose sight. His stitches has opened up more than he thought and he was bleeding freely on to the bed now.
"But he's still our father..." Jackson's strength was waining now and William appeared unconcerned about his brother's well being.
"Listen, Jackson. I don't hold any ill will towards you for how I grew up. You were trying to make your life into something that would not reflect any connection to our father and I truly respect that, but I can't imagine any situation on any planet where you wouldn't gladly allow that man to leave this life. That's why I'm here. I didn't want to do this without at least talking to you. I don't want you to feel you gave up part of your liver for nothing, so let me say this." William reaches into his pocket and pulls a small hand gun holding it down at his side.
"You've given me my father back so I can be the one to finish the job. Thank you, brother. It's the best gift you could have given me." Jackson passed out as William placed the gun back in his pocket. He stopped at the nurse's station on the way out and watched them scramble as he told them he thought his brother was going bleed to death. He waited for the floor to clear before he walked downstairs to his car.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
The visitor
Jackson rolled onto his side trying to ease the pain from his stitches. He had been awake for an hour after his father left and could only listen to the footsteps and pages as he waited to heal enough to leave. As he rolled onto his back again for the twelfth time, he heard footsteps at the door that sounded like they entered.
"I thought you were just going to call in and check on me, Dad." Jackson smiled at his repeated fall into an affectionate tone towards his father today.
"Why would you want to save that drunken jackass?" The voice from the door seemed familiar, but Jackson couldn't place it. The man in the doorway was about 18 years old and had familiar look in his eyes. Something about the eyes disturbed Jackson. They were like his and his mother's, but something dead seemed to be behind them. "I see that brain of yours working, Jackson. Let me help you place me. I'm the only man Andrew Porter wanted less to do with than you."
Jackson took a breath as the image of his mother and father appeared on both sides of the stranger's face. He began picking out features from each until they combined to make the man in the doorway. "William?"
"Impressive. I wasn't certain if you even knew about me. From my understanding, I was pretty much forgotten about at birth. Oh, that looks painful." William pointed to a thin line of blood coming through Jackson's hospital gown. His stitches must have opened some during his shifting. He would have to page the nurse for fresh bandages.
"So you actually did give up a piece of your liver for the old man. That's heroic really. Stupid, but, in some way, heroic. I applaud your efforts, but hosing down a bathroom doesn't mean it's going to start growing flower, brother. You should have let him die. That what we both are really waiting for, the sweet release of death. His death in particular. So where is the old bastard anyways. Save his life and he still leaves you, huh? That's cold."
Jackson shifted up and reached for the nurse's pager before William jumped over and swatted it away out of Jackson's reach. "Let's not interrupt this family affair quite yet. I don't want anyone to know I'm hear including him."
Jackson grunted as he slid back down on his bed. He stared at William fascinated by how much they looked alike and yet how differently they must view the world. "He won't know you're here. He's no longer with us."
William's eye finally perked up. "Did he not make it? Oh, that is fantastic. I mean, it sucks for you to have gone through this and put yourself in such pain during this most joyous moment. When you get out, I'm going to take you out for some champagne. You'll have to buy, of course, but I'll split the cost with you. D-day. Death day. I didn't think it would be this sweet."
"He's not dead." Jackson witnessed the return of the darkness behind his brother's eyes. He did not feel comfortable even knowing William had not threatened him in any way. He had merely slapped the call button away. "He went home feeling great. He's actually putting the place together for me to come see him again. He would likely welcome you too. We could tell him."
William snorts as he reprimands his brother for the confusion. "Don't get me wrong, Jackson. Seeing you has been nice, but I came for one family event today and that appears to not be happening here. One way or another, I'm going to watch that man die."
"I thought you were just going to call in and check on me, Dad." Jackson smiled at his repeated fall into an affectionate tone towards his father today.
"Why would you want to save that drunken jackass?" The voice from the door seemed familiar, but Jackson couldn't place it. The man in the doorway was about 18 years old and had familiar look in his eyes. Something about the eyes disturbed Jackson. They were like his and his mother's, but something dead seemed to be behind them. "I see that brain of yours working, Jackson. Let me help you place me. I'm the only man Andrew Porter wanted less to do with than you."
Jackson took a breath as the image of his mother and father appeared on both sides of the stranger's face. He began picking out features from each until they combined to make the man in the doorway. "William?"
"Impressive. I wasn't certain if you even knew about me. From my understanding, I was pretty much forgotten about at birth. Oh, that looks painful." William pointed to a thin line of blood coming through Jackson's hospital gown. His stitches must have opened some during his shifting. He would have to page the nurse for fresh bandages.
"So you actually did give up a piece of your liver for the old man. That's heroic really. Stupid, but, in some way, heroic. I applaud your efforts, but hosing down a bathroom doesn't mean it's going to start growing flower, brother. You should have let him die. That what we both are really waiting for, the sweet release of death. His death in particular. So where is the old bastard anyways. Save his life and he still leaves you, huh? That's cold."
Jackson shifted up and reached for the nurse's pager before William jumped over and swatted it away out of Jackson's reach. "Let's not interrupt this family affair quite yet. I don't want anyone to know I'm hear including him."
Jackson grunted as he slid back down on his bed. He stared at William fascinated by how much they looked alike and yet how differently they must view the world. "He won't know you're here. He's no longer with us."
William's eye finally perked up. "Did he not make it? Oh, that is fantastic. I mean, it sucks for you to have gone through this and put yourself in such pain during this most joyous moment. When you get out, I'm going to take you out for some champagne. You'll have to buy, of course, but I'll split the cost with you. D-day. Death day. I didn't think it would be this sweet."
"He's not dead." Jackson witnessed the return of the darkness behind his brother's eyes. He did not feel comfortable even knowing William had not threatened him in any way. He had merely slapped the call button away. "He went home feeling great. He's actually putting the place together for me to come see him again. He would likely welcome you too. We could tell him."
William snorts as he reprimands his brother for the confusion. "Don't get me wrong, Jackson. Seeing you has been nice, but I came for one family event today and that appears to not be happening here. One way or another, I'm going to watch that man die."
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Rapid Recovery
The surgery had gone well, Jackson was told when he awoke from the anesthesia. He felt some cramping in his abdomen when he tried to sit up. The doctor told him to lie still for a few hours until they brought lunch to help save his strength. He reached down to rub the pain from his stomach and his finger rubbed the humped section of flesh where the doctors had opened and closed when removing a small section of his liver.
Jackson turned his head to the left toward the empty bed next to his. "Where is my father? I thought he was going to be placed in the same room as I was."
The doctor scanned his monitors as if distracted. He was unwilling to answer the specific question asked. "Your father came through just fine, Mr. Porter. He is resting."
"Why isn't he in this room?" The concern on Jackson's face forced the doctor to admit the truth to his patient.
"Jackson. Your father woke up about an hour ago. He was in the bed next to yours, but nearly ripped the tubes from his arms trying to get out of his bed. He demanded that he be moved to a...uhh...different room."
"A different room? What's wrong with this one?" As if answering his own question, Jackson grunted to himself as he looked at the empty bed again. "So he didn't want to be in the same room with me, right? That does sound like the father I've grown to know. Silly of me to think that would have somehow changed after I help him out. I guess I just thought he would have at least been weak enough to get over his distaste for me."
Jackson shrugged and reached for the remote control and flipped on the late late show until he slipped back off to sleep. He was greeted 7 hours later by a knock on his door. He was certain he must have only half woken from his dream, because his father was standing in the doorway fully dressed as if he had just been visiting another patient.
"Sleep well?" He seemed less grumpy than usual, but he had been on morphine the night before and that likely still soothed his temper.
"As a matter of fact, I did. I tossed at first knowing my father was begrudged to bail on the room with his son before I awoke last night. Then I realized that I had done something nice regardless of how it turned out. Kind of an un-Andrew Porter thing to do and I slept like a baby." Jackson took a deep breath as he felt a pull in his stitches that forced him to calm down.
"I agree. It was a very un-Andrew Porter thing to do as you point out. Thank you."
Jackson's first response was shock at the kind words before he also noticed the smile on his father's face seemed genuine. He had grown up assuming his father was born with a facial tick that forced him to scowl at all times. "What are you on and how come you're dressed already?"
Andrew's smile did not fade. "Strangest thing happened this morning when I woke up in my own room. I began to feel bad. Not physically bad, but emotional really. For the first time in a long time, my first regret had nothing to do with your mother. I had abandoned you as a child and then, after your most generous efforts, abandoned you to your hospital bed. That did not make me feel comfortable at all in my room, so I walked down and saw you were sleeping soundly."
Andrew leaned against the doorway showing no signs of fatigue or sickness from a major surgery. "The nurses yelled at me until I apologized for the way I had been treating them earlier. They had their doubt and made a face like...well, much the same as your right now. Disbelief would be the proper term. So I went back to my room and realized that I, actually, felt great. I haven't felt this alive in decades. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs or what, but I sat for another hour and it didn't fade, so I popped the IV out and waited another hour, but I just kept getting happier and more calm."
"You pulled out your IV?!?" Jackson looked at his father's arms expecting to see blood running down his hand from a hasty removal, but he looked healthy.
"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine. The spot where the IV was only bled for a bit and healed up. I feel great and it's thanks to you. I know you are still sore physically and not ready to go, but I wanted to head home while I still feel so terrific and put my place in order."
Jackson looked suspiciously at his father. "Why?
"To have you over of course. I've been given a second shot and I'm not going to waste it. It's almost as if I feel warmth coming from my stomach, but I know it's not my stomach. It's the part of you given to me. It's like I've been invaded and couldn't be happier. You stay here and rest while I head home to clean up. I'll call to check in on you in a few hours. Sleep well."
Before he could say another word, he heard his father's footsteps fading away down the hallway. Jackson smiled in relief that his journey had been so worthwhile before drifting back to sleep for the last time in his hospital bed.
Jackson turned his head to the left toward the empty bed next to his. "Where is my father? I thought he was going to be placed in the same room as I was."
The doctor scanned his monitors as if distracted. He was unwilling to answer the specific question asked. "Your father came through just fine, Mr. Porter. He is resting."
"Why isn't he in this room?" The concern on Jackson's face forced the doctor to admit the truth to his patient.
"Jackson. Your father woke up about an hour ago. He was in the bed next to yours, but nearly ripped the tubes from his arms trying to get out of his bed. He demanded that he be moved to a...uhh...different room."
"A different room? What's wrong with this one?" As if answering his own question, Jackson grunted to himself as he looked at the empty bed again. "So he didn't want to be in the same room with me, right? That does sound like the father I've grown to know. Silly of me to think that would have somehow changed after I help him out. I guess I just thought he would have at least been weak enough to get over his distaste for me."
Jackson shrugged and reached for the remote control and flipped on the late late show until he slipped back off to sleep. He was greeted 7 hours later by a knock on his door. He was certain he must have only half woken from his dream, because his father was standing in the doorway fully dressed as if he had just been visiting another patient.
"Sleep well?" He seemed less grumpy than usual, but he had been on morphine the night before and that likely still soothed his temper.
"As a matter of fact, I did. I tossed at first knowing my father was begrudged to bail on the room with his son before I awoke last night. Then I realized that I had done something nice regardless of how it turned out. Kind of an un-Andrew Porter thing to do and I slept like a baby." Jackson took a deep breath as he felt a pull in his stitches that forced him to calm down.
"I agree. It was a very un-Andrew Porter thing to do as you point out. Thank you."
Jackson's first response was shock at the kind words before he also noticed the smile on his father's face seemed genuine. He had grown up assuming his father was born with a facial tick that forced him to scowl at all times. "What are you on and how come you're dressed already?"
Andrew's smile did not fade. "Strangest thing happened this morning when I woke up in my own room. I began to feel bad. Not physically bad, but emotional really. For the first time in a long time, my first regret had nothing to do with your mother. I had abandoned you as a child and then, after your most generous efforts, abandoned you to your hospital bed. That did not make me feel comfortable at all in my room, so I walked down and saw you were sleeping soundly."
Andrew leaned against the doorway showing no signs of fatigue or sickness from a major surgery. "The nurses yelled at me until I apologized for the way I had been treating them earlier. They had their doubt and made a face like...well, much the same as your right now. Disbelief would be the proper term. So I went back to my room and realized that I, actually, felt great. I haven't felt this alive in decades. I couldn't tell if it was the drugs or what, but I sat for another hour and it didn't fade, so I popped the IV out and waited another hour, but I just kept getting happier and more calm."
"You pulled out your IV?!?" Jackson looked at his father's arms expecting to see blood running down his hand from a hasty removal, but he looked healthy.
"Don't worry, I'm perfectly fine. The spot where the IV was only bled for a bit and healed up. I feel great and it's thanks to you. I know you are still sore physically and not ready to go, but I wanted to head home while I still feel so terrific and put my place in order."
Jackson looked suspiciously at his father. "Why?
"To have you over of course. I've been given a second shot and I'm not going to waste it. It's almost as if I feel warmth coming from my stomach, but I know it's not my stomach. It's the part of you given to me. It's like I've been invaded and couldn't be happier. You stay here and rest while I head home to clean up. I'll call to check in on you in a few hours. Sleep well."
Before he could say another word, he heard his father's footsteps fading away down the hallway. Jackson smiled in relief that his journey had been so worthwhile before drifting back to sleep for the last time in his hospital bed.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
A reunion of sorts
Jackson pulled his rental car into the Saint Joseph's campus parking garage and put the SUV into park. He sat listening to the end of the current song on the radio at first. Near the end of the song, he turned the radio and engine off and continued to sit and stare out of the windshield at the concrete pillar in front of him. Having spent his life in an effort to specifically not be his father in the hope that it might prevent the world from having one more of Andrew Porter in it, he was now about to risk his health to make sure the original bastard did not leave the same world.
He tried to imagine the argument that good requires evil to prove good exists, but it was the prayer he said before opening the door that helped him the most. He closed his eyes and asked for the strength to get through the day without falling victim to his father's wrath once again. He asked for the understanding he had fought to maintain all of those years when his father dove into the depression left to him upon his mother's passing. The guilt over her death was on his head despite how circumstantial her death was so many years ago.
He closed his eyes and nodded his head towards the steering wheel as if in agreement that he should continue his efforts. The sound of the car locks echoed through the garage as he walked towards the elevator. The doors closed behind him and reopened on the 3rd floor of the hospital. He asked for Dr. at the nurse's station and introduced himself as Jackson Porter. The nurses all rolled their eyes indicating they knew full well who he was here to see. "Sorry."
Walking down the hall, Jackson sees a nurse rush from a room into the hallway followed by a cafeteria tray. He can hear his father bellowing 100 feet away.
"I'm already dying! Are you trying to kill me with this food?!? Get me a drink and let me end this on my terms!" Andrew's voice cuts off with a grunt as he sees his son walk in to the room. "Have you come to watch me die? Your grandparents already sent me a 'Are you dead yet?' card and flower basket. Considerate, really, seeing as I forced your worthless behind on them for years. If you want to start drinking heavily now and be like the old man, you're welcome to it. Hell has no fire marshall spouting capacities."
Jackson had not expected so much hatred and nearly left the room when he heard his father mumble, "like father like son." Jackson turned with a look of surprise in his eyes. He was honestly surprised and his father became curious.
"What the hell are you looking at?" His father slurred the middle section of the sentence out of habit.
"Redemption." The one word seemed to answer any doubts in Jackson's head and he began to walk out of the room with a purpose.
"Wait! Where the hell are you going? Do you think I'm going to apologize on my death bed to you?" He spat wildly with rage. Jackson turned and witnessed the spectacle just as a wad flew past him hitting the light switch.
"This is very rewarding, surprisingly. I'm going to go down to the nurse's station now and ask to speak to you doctor. I'm going to have him come in here with some morphine for you."
"Finally. The prodigal son returns to send the old man off. That's the nicest thing you've ever done fro me. Much better than that crappy tie you sent me on Father's Day about 10 years ago. Although it did make for a handy rag while I was changing the oil." Andrew smirked at his clever strike, but Jackson remained unfazed.
"That's not what I mean. I'm going to have him knock you out so you can't refuse the liver I'm about to donate to you. I will get to save my father's life despite the hellish childhood I suffered through and you torturous visits. I'm being rewarded with a selfless act from a selfish man Ironic really.""
Jackson walked out of the room to a spew of vulgarity and did as he promised. The doctor gave Jackson a blood test to make sure he was a match and scheduled a surgery that night so as not to waste any time. The doctor clearly meant he did not want Andrew Porter in his hospital any longer than necessary, but Jackson preferred the altruistic image.
Two hours later, Jackson was prepped for surgery and lay on a table with the round lights blinding him from counting the number of medical professionals in the room. He had an IV from his left arm passing up above his head and could hear movements from behind him.
"Now breathe deeply and try to relax. Count backwards from 100 and we'll begin when you're out." Jackson felt the fluid enter his veins and tried to concentrate on something else. He began counting backwards from 100. He usually stumbles around 79 to 78 for some reason, but he never made it that far before the deep sleep hit.
He tried to imagine the argument that good requires evil to prove good exists, but it was the prayer he said before opening the door that helped him the most. He closed his eyes and asked for the strength to get through the day without falling victim to his father's wrath once again. He asked for the understanding he had fought to maintain all of those years when his father dove into the depression left to him upon his mother's passing. The guilt over her death was on his head despite how circumstantial her death was so many years ago.
He closed his eyes and nodded his head towards the steering wheel as if in agreement that he should continue his efforts. The sound of the car locks echoed through the garage as he walked towards the elevator. The doors closed behind him and reopened on the 3rd floor of the hospital. He asked for Dr. at the nurse's station and introduced himself as Jackson Porter. The nurses all rolled their eyes indicating they knew full well who he was here to see. "Sorry."
Walking down the hall, Jackson sees a nurse rush from a room into the hallway followed by a cafeteria tray. He can hear his father bellowing 100 feet away.
"I'm already dying! Are you trying to kill me with this food?!? Get me a drink and let me end this on my terms!" Andrew's voice cuts off with a grunt as he sees his son walk in to the room. "Have you come to watch me die? Your grandparents already sent me a 'Are you dead yet?' card and flower basket. Considerate, really, seeing as I forced your worthless behind on them for years. If you want to start drinking heavily now and be like the old man, you're welcome to it. Hell has no fire marshall spouting capacities."
Jackson had not expected so much hatred and nearly left the room when he heard his father mumble, "like father like son." Jackson turned with a look of surprise in his eyes. He was honestly surprised and his father became curious.
"What the hell are you looking at?" His father slurred the middle section of the sentence out of habit.
"Redemption." The one word seemed to answer any doubts in Jackson's head and he began to walk out of the room with a purpose.
"Wait! Where the hell are you going? Do you think I'm going to apologize on my death bed to you?" He spat wildly with rage. Jackson turned and witnessed the spectacle just as a wad flew past him hitting the light switch.
"This is very rewarding, surprisingly. I'm going to go down to the nurse's station now and ask to speak to you doctor. I'm going to have him come in here with some morphine for you."
"Finally. The prodigal son returns to send the old man off. That's the nicest thing you've ever done fro me. Much better than that crappy tie you sent me on Father's Day about 10 years ago. Although it did make for a handy rag while I was changing the oil." Andrew smirked at his clever strike, but Jackson remained unfazed.
"That's not what I mean. I'm going to have him knock you out so you can't refuse the liver I'm about to donate to you. I will get to save my father's life despite the hellish childhood I suffered through and you torturous visits. I'm being rewarded with a selfless act from a selfish man Ironic really.""
Jackson walked out of the room to a spew of vulgarity and did as he promised. The doctor gave Jackson a blood test to make sure he was a match and scheduled a surgery that night so as not to waste any time. The doctor clearly meant he did not want Andrew Porter in his hospital any longer than necessary, but Jackson preferred the altruistic image.
Two hours later, Jackson was prepped for surgery and lay on a table with the round lights blinding him from counting the number of medical professionals in the room. He had an IV from his left arm passing up above his head and could hear movements from behind him.
"Now breathe deeply and try to relax. Count backwards from 100 and we'll begin when you're out." Jackson felt the fluid enter his veins and tried to concentrate on something else. He began counting backwards from 100. He usually stumbles around 79 to 78 for some reason, but he never made it that far before the deep sleep hit.
Friday, May 23, 2008
And the award goes to...
The screen flickered as the tape kicked on in the VCR. The screen remained blank for a moment before a lens cap is removed and the image focuses. A filtered voice came over the speaker in a deep and threatening tone.
"You may have noticed one of your group is now missing. If you don't know which once, it's clear this won't be as difficult of a job as we had intended. Yes, I said we. Totally more than just me in this operation." The voice changes slightly as the man speaking makes his voice higher pitch. "We will do horrible things to your friend if you do not listen to us now and obey our demands."
The lower voice returns, "Yes, horrible things. Let us show you our power. Behold, Jack Swanson!" The camera zooms to a man strapped to a lounge chair with the words Bellagio on it. Behold, your friend is in grave peril...wait." The camera zooms back to the darkness and the voices argue.
"I told you to put a towel over the chair!" The lower voice scolds.
"Oh, please, that camcorder is so old, the resolution can't even make out the word Bellagi..." The higher pitch voice cuts off for a moment. "Bell Lodge and Camping Resort. Yes, I accidentally just said that it was Bell Lodge and Camping resort. But which Bell Lodge you may never know!"
The lower voice grumbles. "Just put the damn towel down."
The camera pans quickly to Jack again as the person recording has walked past accidentally turning the camera with a full view of Jack and Chaz Parson walking towards him. "Lean up." The lower voice says to the blindfolded Jack.
"Yeah, lean forward or we'll do terrible things and your friends will watch." The high pitch voice coming from Chaz says to Jack after Chaz jumps to his other side first.
Jack leans forward as Chaz places a towel that obviously has Bellagio written on it in larger letters than the chair. Turning back to the camera, Chaz freezes realizing he is now within full view of the camera.
"OH...Oh my God! I've escaped my binding ties! I will over power you...both of you and get away." The camera watches as Chaz runs towards the camera and tips it to the ground. The voices can be heard, one at a time, yelling that they did not intend to hurt him before a bang like a crushed soda can is heard.
Chaz is heard groaning in pain. "I'm..dieing. And dead..." A loud breath is heard in the camera and the lens is turned to show a pair of legs as if to imply Chaz is now dead. The camera obviously is being held by the legs' owner.
"That is what happens when you mess with us. This is what you get...when you meeeess with us!" The lower voice starts, the higher voice takes over midway signing the second part.
"Is that Radiohead?" Jack is struggling to shake down the blindfold, but it is too tight.
"No. Shut up! You try holding a kidnapping and managing a decent bad guy dialogue, ass!" The higher voice has taken over now and sounds much closer to Chaz's real voice. "Now your fiends shall feel our wrath. We demand you let Chaz Parson stay with you in the suite that we witnessed the black jack pit boss comp you or..." The camera turns again and a high pitched scraping sound is heard.
When the camera is turned back, a large oscillating fan is seen in front of Jack. "Take these orders and obey or I...we. r we shall turn this fan on your friend Jack who we know has acute sinus problems and will suffer stuffiness and runniness without relief. CHOOSE!" The lower voice comes back in to finish out the threat.
"How did you know I had sinus problems?" Jack turns his head listening more closely to the tone and familiarity of the voice now that Chaz's name has been brought up.
"We know all!" Silence takes over the tape as Jack sits quietly placing the sounds.
"Chaz, you idiot! Untie me or I will brain you into next week and make you bet on the Falcons on Sunday!" Jack's voice turns far more frightening than any faceless voice before him.
"No." Chaz's voice is clearly heard with no effort to disguise it. He walks into the camera frame and flips on the fan. The wind speed picks up and Jack's hair is visibly tossed about as he begins to sniff.
"I will snot on your dead corpse if you do not let me out right now!" Jack's rage is picking up. He feels he has control of the situation. His lines are directly aimed at Chaz as he shakes his head further and the blindfold slips from one eye.
"Good luck with that, pal. I'd hate to know what you'd do to my live corpse. See you at breakfast tomorrow." The camera turns away and returns to static. Chaz sits beaming on the witness stand as the defense attorney walks to the witness stand.
"So that is when the defendant rolled off the chair and kicked the fan to the floor?" Peter Jenson straightened his tie attempting to look studious in his first year of law school. He needed to portray himself as dashing and compose or he would be ripped to shreds by the plaintiff.
"Yes. I mean, I assume so. I wasn't there. Those guys sounded menacing. I see Jack got out alright though." Chaz beamed to the defense's table where Jack sat with his arm in a sling.
"Alright? Do you call having a 200 lb circulating fan designed for the pools at the Bellagio tipping on him as he rolled away and breaking his arm alright? He's suing you for damages in the ball park of $3000 for his medical bills and and additional $5000 for the extra nights he had to stay in Vegas and miss work nearly costing him his job. What do you have to say to that?"
"Jealous." Chaz's only word stood in the courtroom untouched for a moment until the lawyer took the bait.
"'Jealous? What are you talking about?" His composure is faltering, but he does not feel it shows.
"Yes. He's just jealous that his payback turned on him and Joey Harrington was on fire that Sunday I made roughly $10,000 on that bet. Thanks, sucker."
Jack leaped to his feet, but the judge banged his gavel quickly and returned order to the room. "This is an obvious case of friends doing stupid things to each other that eventually gets someone hurt. I'm dismissing this case and feel these two men will work things out on their own. Beatings and all. Next case!"
Chaz leaned towards the judge and whispered something in his ear sending the judge into a fit of eye rolling. "What did he say!" Jack was standing again and obviously fuming.
"He asked what I thought of the cinematography. Feel free to beat the hell out of him right on the stand. I'm taking a ten minute recess and a nap."
"You may have noticed one of your group is now missing. If you don't know which once, it's clear this won't be as difficult of a job as we had intended. Yes, I said we. Totally more than just me in this operation." The voice changes slightly as the man speaking makes his voice higher pitch. "We will do horrible things to your friend if you do not listen to us now and obey our demands."
The lower voice returns, "Yes, horrible things. Let us show you our power. Behold, Jack Swanson!" The camera zooms to a man strapped to a lounge chair with the words Bellagio on it. Behold, your friend is in grave peril...wait." The camera zooms back to the darkness and the voices argue.
"I told you to put a towel over the chair!" The lower voice scolds.
"Oh, please, that camcorder is so old, the resolution can't even make out the word Bellagi..." The higher pitch voice cuts off for a moment. "Bell Lodge and Camping Resort. Yes, I accidentally just said that it was Bell Lodge and Camping resort. But which Bell Lodge you may never know!"
The lower voice grumbles. "Just put the damn towel down."
The camera pans quickly to Jack again as the person recording has walked past accidentally turning the camera with a full view of Jack and Chaz Parson walking towards him. "Lean up." The lower voice says to the blindfolded Jack.
"Yeah, lean forward or we'll do terrible things and your friends will watch." The high pitch voice coming from Chaz says to Jack after Chaz jumps to his other side first.
Jack leans forward as Chaz places a towel that obviously has Bellagio written on it in larger letters than the chair. Turning back to the camera, Chaz freezes realizing he is now within full view of the camera.
"OH...Oh my God! I've escaped my binding ties! I will over power you...both of you and get away." The camera watches as Chaz runs towards the camera and tips it to the ground. The voices can be heard, one at a time, yelling that they did not intend to hurt him before a bang like a crushed soda can is heard.
Chaz is heard groaning in pain. "I'm..dieing. And dead..." A loud breath is heard in the camera and the lens is turned to show a pair of legs as if to imply Chaz is now dead. The camera obviously is being held by the legs' owner.
"That is what happens when you mess with us. This is what you get...when you meeeess with us!" The lower voice starts, the higher voice takes over midway signing the second part.
"Is that Radiohead?" Jack is struggling to shake down the blindfold, but it is too tight.
"No. Shut up! You try holding a kidnapping and managing a decent bad guy dialogue, ass!" The higher voice has taken over now and sounds much closer to Chaz's real voice. "Now your fiends shall feel our wrath. We demand you let Chaz Parson stay with you in the suite that we witnessed the black jack pit boss comp you or..." The camera turns again and a high pitched scraping sound is heard.
When the camera is turned back, a large oscillating fan is seen in front of Jack. "Take these orders and obey or I...we. r we shall turn this fan on your friend Jack who we know has acute sinus problems and will suffer stuffiness and runniness without relief. CHOOSE!" The lower voice comes back in to finish out the threat.
"How did you know I had sinus problems?" Jack turns his head listening more closely to the tone and familiarity of the voice now that Chaz's name has been brought up.
"We know all!" Silence takes over the tape as Jack sits quietly placing the sounds.
"Chaz, you idiot! Untie me or I will brain you into next week and make you bet on the Falcons on Sunday!" Jack's voice turns far more frightening than any faceless voice before him.
"No." Chaz's voice is clearly heard with no effort to disguise it. He walks into the camera frame and flips on the fan. The wind speed picks up and Jack's hair is visibly tossed about as he begins to sniff.
"I will snot on your dead corpse if you do not let me out right now!" Jack's rage is picking up. He feels he has control of the situation. His lines are directly aimed at Chaz as he shakes his head further and the blindfold slips from one eye.
"Good luck with that, pal. I'd hate to know what you'd do to my live corpse. See you at breakfast tomorrow." The camera turns away and returns to static. Chaz sits beaming on the witness stand as the defense attorney walks to the witness stand.
"So that is when the defendant rolled off the chair and kicked the fan to the floor?" Peter Jenson straightened his tie attempting to look studious in his first year of law school. He needed to portray himself as dashing and compose or he would be ripped to shreds by the plaintiff.
"Yes. I mean, I assume so. I wasn't there. Those guys sounded menacing. I see Jack got out alright though." Chaz beamed to the defense's table where Jack sat with his arm in a sling.
"Alright? Do you call having a 200 lb circulating fan designed for the pools at the Bellagio tipping on him as he rolled away and breaking his arm alright? He's suing you for damages in the ball park of $3000 for his medical bills and and additional $5000 for the extra nights he had to stay in Vegas and miss work nearly costing him his job. What do you have to say to that?"
"Jealous." Chaz's only word stood in the courtroom untouched for a moment until the lawyer took the bait.
"'Jealous? What are you talking about?" His composure is faltering, but he does not feel it shows.
"Yes. He's just jealous that his payback turned on him and Joey Harrington was on fire that Sunday I made roughly $10,000 on that bet. Thanks, sucker."
Jack leaped to his feet, but the judge banged his gavel quickly and returned order to the room. "This is an obvious case of friends doing stupid things to each other that eventually gets someone hurt. I'm dismissing this case and feel these two men will work things out on their own. Beatings and all. Next case!"
Chaz leaned towards the judge and whispered something in his ear sending the judge into a fit of eye rolling. "What did he say!" Jack was standing again and obviously fuming.
"He asked what I thought of the cinematography. Feel free to beat the hell out of him right on the stand. I'm taking a ten minute recess and a nap."
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Something in the sauce
A decade is often not long enough. Jackson Porter spent the previous ten years of a peaceful existence hearing nothing from his father. Since the age of six, he had considered his grandparents to be the only parents he ever had. Until the call came in from a hospital a few days after his twenty fourth birthday. Andrew Porter was laid up in a small hospital room suffering the repercussions of a scarred liver from years of alcohol abuse. Only a matching section of liver from a donor would get him out of that hospital. As if karma forced the hand of the hospital, neighbors refused to volunteer to be tested for matches.
Andrew refused to give his doctor's the details needed to find the sons. Jackson was listed in hospital records along with his brother William, but no one was able to track down a William Porter, Jackson was the first and best chance to save his father's life. The doctor asked Jackson if he would be willing to fly back and have some tests to see if he would be a good match to donate for his father.
An hour into the flight, the Sky Mall catalog drifted to the floor from Jackson's hands as he slipped off into his past. His childhood flooded over him punctured by the many images of his father's constant drunkenness washing away the pleasant memories of life with his mother still alive. When his early youth memories flitted away, memories of his life living with his grandparents took hold. Years of schooling in upstate New York through high school and coming home to his grandmother's baking and his grandfather's pipe filled him with a feeling of nostalgia. The smell of the sugar cookies baking took hold even while watching the smoke from his grandfather's pipe fill the air. The plumes of smoke wafted in the living room twisting and forming shapes. The build up of smoke did not concern Jackson as only dreams can both calm and shock from moment to moment. Surprise did not even fill him when the smoke formed into the shape of a man yelling and stumbling around the living room. A smoky finger pointed at Jackson accusingly as his grandfather walked to the front door to escort the smoke out and away as he so often had done with Andrew Porter on his rare appearances.
In waking to the pilot's voice, Jackson was left with the certainty that he could not think of a less deserving person in his life to sacrifice a part of himself for, but he also knew he would have to rise above his father as he had all his life. With a thump mirroring the nerves in Jackson's gut, the plane touched down in Lexington, Kentucky.
Jackson Porter's father was a belligerent drunk. He would explain that many people are belligerent when they are drunk, but not everyone is drunk on most days at most hours. His father, Andrew Porter, grew up in Birmingham, Mississippi which, Jackson would dead pan, is why he was named Jackson. His father, Andrew, and he, Jackson, made up a "fine southern president" as Andrew liked to say when Jackson was young.
Andrew had been a good father and supporter when Jackson was young. He worked double shifts at the local plant on Saturdays to help make ends meet while Jackson's mother, Beth, was taking care of their son. When Jackson came to be old enough for school, Beth took a part time job during school hours allowing Andrew to cut his weekend hours and allow the family to have family events on the weekend.
On one of these weekend, Beth had brought a bottle of wine on a picnic to let Andrew know that she was pregnant again. Seeing as she was pregnant at the time and Jackson was 6, Andrew ended up drinking the entire bottle by himself. As gladly as Andrew would have embraced his forthcoming son, William, he could not get past the thought of going back on extra shifts at work to make ends meet. The new twist would be that Beth would not be able to supplement income again until William would be old enough for school. Additionally, Andrew would have to work even more hours to support his oldest son now needing more food clothing and school costs than as a baby as well as the new baby.
His merlot soaked brain did not have a filter for this information and, at two thirds gone in the bottle, he let this information be known. He blamed Beth for not thinking of the consequences of having more children when they could barely afford the one. Jackson would remember this clearly, even at six years old, as the moment he stopped respecting his father.
Nearly nine months passed from that day and Beth had just quit her part time job to prepare for the coming baby. Andrew had given up on the family weekends after that day's outburst and began working double shifts on Saturday and Sunday as well as picking up a part time job bar tending in town on week nights. This allowed him to stockpile income for the coming stringent times in a two child household. It also allowed him to drink for free on the job and come home on most nights drunker than the clientele.
It was on one of these fateful nights that Beth brought up that Jackson had been given information about a summer camp that would allow them to ship him off for a month and a half while Beth took care of their coming son. The idea was to ease the burden on both of them, but Andrew scoffed at the idea of spending more money. He accused Beth of taking the easy way out of her responsibility while he was working double shifts and double jobs to pay the bills.
Beth argued with him that she was hoping it would ease the stress on both of them. Upon suggesting she might invite her mother to stay and help for a few weeks, Andrew went to the liquor cabinet. As he reached for the plastic bottle of vodka, it slipped to the ground as Beth turned to leave the room not wanting to witness her husbands alcoholic demise. Her heel caught on the rolling bottle and she tumbled back wards hitting the ground hard.
Two hours later from the hospital, Andrew would learn that the fall had caused Beth to bleed internally putting the baby in jeopardy. They would explain that they were able to save his newborn son, but his wife did not survive the surgery. When Andrew punched the doctor, security handcuffed him to a chair and brought him coffee to sober him up to make a decision on what to do with his wife's effects and let him know to contact them when he had made funeral arrangements.
A nurse approached him unaware of the events of the day or Andrew's current status asking him to give his newborn son a name. Without pause, Andrew told her to name him William after General William Sherman, "the man that entered the south in good health and left it in shambles." The name William would stand, but the last name Porter would not. Andrew instructed the nurse to have the child given up for adoption and that no one was to mention to his wife's family that the baby survived.
Jackson had arrived at the hospital with his neighbors to see his mother when he walked into the cafeteria overhearing his father's orders. He would see his father only sporadically after that and always drunk. Andrew sent Jackson to New York to live with his grandparents.
Andrew refused to give his doctor's the details needed to find the sons. Jackson was listed in hospital records along with his brother William, but no one was able to track down a William Porter, Jackson was the first and best chance to save his father's life. The doctor asked Jackson if he would be willing to fly back and have some tests to see if he would be a good match to donate for his father.
An hour into the flight, the Sky Mall catalog drifted to the floor from Jackson's hands as he slipped off into his past. His childhood flooded over him punctured by the many images of his father's constant drunkenness washing away the pleasant memories of life with his mother still alive. When his early youth memories flitted away, memories of his life living with his grandparents took hold. Years of schooling in upstate New York through high school and coming home to his grandmother's baking and his grandfather's pipe filled him with a feeling of nostalgia. The smell of the sugar cookies baking took hold even while watching the smoke from his grandfather's pipe fill the air. The plumes of smoke wafted in the living room twisting and forming shapes. The build up of smoke did not concern Jackson as only dreams can both calm and shock from moment to moment. Surprise did not even fill him when the smoke formed into the shape of a man yelling and stumbling around the living room. A smoky finger pointed at Jackson accusingly as his grandfather walked to the front door to escort the smoke out and away as he so often had done with Andrew Porter on his rare appearances.
In waking to the pilot's voice, Jackson was left with the certainty that he could not think of a less deserving person in his life to sacrifice a part of himself for, but he also knew he would have to rise above his father as he had all his life. With a thump mirroring the nerves in Jackson's gut, the plane touched down in Lexington, Kentucky.
Jackson Porter's father was a belligerent drunk. He would explain that many people are belligerent when they are drunk, but not everyone is drunk on most days at most hours. His father, Andrew Porter, grew up in Birmingham, Mississippi which, Jackson would dead pan, is why he was named Jackson. His father, Andrew, and he, Jackson, made up a "fine southern president" as Andrew liked to say when Jackson was young.
Andrew had been a good father and supporter when Jackson was young. He worked double shifts at the local plant on Saturdays to help make ends meet while Jackson's mother, Beth, was taking care of their son. When Jackson came to be old enough for school, Beth took a part time job during school hours allowing Andrew to cut his weekend hours and allow the family to have family events on the weekend.
On one of these weekend, Beth had brought a bottle of wine on a picnic to let Andrew know that she was pregnant again. Seeing as she was pregnant at the time and Jackson was 6, Andrew ended up drinking the entire bottle by himself. As gladly as Andrew would have embraced his forthcoming son, William, he could not get past the thought of going back on extra shifts at work to make ends meet. The new twist would be that Beth would not be able to supplement income again until William would be old enough for school. Additionally, Andrew would have to work even more hours to support his oldest son now needing more food clothing and school costs than as a baby as well as the new baby.
His merlot soaked brain did not have a filter for this information and, at two thirds gone in the bottle, he let this information be known. He blamed Beth for not thinking of the consequences of having more children when they could barely afford the one. Jackson would remember this clearly, even at six years old, as the moment he stopped respecting his father.
Nearly nine months passed from that day and Beth had just quit her part time job to prepare for the coming baby. Andrew had given up on the family weekends after that day's outburst and began working double shifts on Saturday and Sunday as well as picking up a part time job bar tending in town on week nights. This allowed him to stockpile income for the coming stringent times in a two child household. It also allowed him to drink for free on the job and come home on most nights drunker than the clientele.
It was on one of these fateful nights that Beth brought up that Jackson had been given information about a summer camp that would allow them to ship him off for a month and a half while Beth took care of their coming son. The idea was to ease the burden on both of them, but Andrew scoffed at the idea of spending more money. He accused Beth of taking the easy way out of her responsibility while he was working double shifts and double jobs to pay the bills.
Beth argued with him that she was hoping it would ease the stress on both of them. Upon suggesting she might invite her mother to stay and help for a few weeks, Andrew went to the liquor cabinet. As he reached for the plastic bottle of vodka, it slipped to the ground as Beth turned to leave the room not wanting to witness her husbands alcoholic demise. Her heel caught on the rolling bottle and she tumbled back wards hitting the ground hard.
Two hours later from the hospital, Andrew would learn that the fall had caused Beth to bleed internally putting the baby in jeopardy. They would explain that they were able to save his newborn son, but his wife did not survive the surgery. When Andrew punched the doctor, security handcuffed him to a chair and brought him coffee to sober him up to make a decision on what to do with his wife's effects and let him know to contact them when he had made funeral arrangements.
A nurse approached him unaware of the events of the day or Andrew's current status asking him to give his newborn son a name. Without pause, Andrew told her to name him William after General William Sherman, "the man that entered the south in good health and left it in shambles." The name William would stand, but the last name Porter would not. Andrew instructed the nurse to have the child given up for adoption and that no one was to mention to his wife's family that the baby survived.
Jackson had arrived at the hospital with his neighbors to see his mother when he walked into the cafeteria overhearing his father's orders. He would see his father only sporadically after that and always drunk. Andrew sent Jackson to New York to live with his grandparents.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
A New Toy
Ed stared down from his front door at the man sprawled on the ground in the parking lot. From a distance, it was like seeing himself in the way of an out of body experience. The thought made him shiver as he realized what that would have meant had the home invader come when he was there. He might have been mistaken for Stan and suffered whatever consequence Stan suffered.
Ed was familiar with Stan's bookkeeping business and did not doubt this was all a part of a bad deal with an excommunicated customer as Stan would refer to them in conversations. The dangers of renting from a man like this was far outweighed by the cheapness of the units. Stan had explained once that he could make his true business look legit by charging less rent and bumping up the appearance of normal rental costs to avoid suspicion of price gouging. He would take the $450 he charged Ed and Jennifer each month and bump it up to $750 with his betting income. Stan often referred to the process as self laundering money.
Jennifer still stood staring frightened at the robed figure stunned on the ground. She must not have recognized Stan from her angle and the cops were unfamiliar with him. The officer that had tazed him stood still and frightened having never used this device before this day. The remaining officers drew their weapons and began inching towards him.
"It's Stan!" Ed came running down the stairs toward the gathered officers. "Put your guns away. It's Stan." He pushed through the crowd and leaned over Stan. He began to shake him lightly to wake him. It took a moment, but Stan finally woke up to Ed's face.
"What...the...hell...just happened?" His voice returned to normal as his muscles fought to regain normalcy. He looked at Ed and then beyond him at the crowd of officers. A look of fear came across Stan's face as he looked back to Ed for information.
"Are they here because of me?" Stan whispered a little too loudly. A few officers raised eyebrows at his question. The man with the tazer in his hands still did not move.
"Yes, but not for anything you've done." Ed nodded to assure Stan they weren't there to arrest him. "They do have some questions on what exactly happened here today." A flash of anger came across Ed's eyes as he whispered, "I have a few myself."
Stan struggled to stand and face the crowd. He searched the ground for the answers he would need to address and seemed to decide on the following. "I admit Jennifer and I have been having an affair for a bit now. We had a fight today and I ran off. I assume she told you some crazy story, but I assure you, it was just an argument and nothing more. Sorry to bother you, officers. I hope this should answer your concerns and allow you to go back to serving the people that need you. With that, if you will please vacate the premises so I can speak to my tenants in private, I would appreciate that."
With a satisfied nod, Stan turned to revel to Ed about how he controlled the situation and to gloat about being above the law. Ed seized the opportunity landing a right hand to Stan's ample stomach and a left catching him in the temple knocking him out cold. Staring down at his landlord fists clenched, Ed felt a slight sense of satisfaction before remembering he was not alone. With a start, he looked up and found the Sergeant looking at him.
"He was sleeping with your wife. We'll just pretend that didn't happen. Get him into his home so we don't have a scene here and call me when he wakes up again. We'll take a look at the lamp and let you know what we figure out. See what you can get out of him." With a high pitched whistle, he rounded the officers up and into their cars.
Ed was no body builder and having to carry Stan back to the other end of the complex wasn't helped by the return of his anger. Jennifer came down to offer to help halfway across the parking lot before Ed yelled at her not to touch Stan. "I can't deal with this right now. I'll put Stan in his unit and I'll come to you when I'm ready to discuss this rationally if at all. I'm too disgusted to even look at you right now."
Jennifer walked away unfazed. She did not react to any of Ed's words and seemed to feel no remorse. How can a person hurt their significant other so badly and feel no regret over it? Doesn't she love me anymore? Ed stopped walking. She doesn't love me, he thought. What the hell did I do?
He pondered this further while lurching the remaining distance with Stan breathing heavily the entire way. He didn't have a key to Stan's place, but he didn't care about that at this point. As delicately as possible, Ed laid Stan on the ground and sent a solid SWAT-style kick through the door leaving the latch in tact and door splintered open.
Ed returned to his heavy burden and laid Stan on the couch. Stan grunted on landing and Ed heard a high pitched ringing noise before witnessing Stan's robe disappear in a flash of light and a puff of dust. Ed was staring at his naked landlord lying on a garage sale couch and began to wonder where his life went wrong.
Stan proceeded to roll over revealing more of himself than Ed would have wanted to know if he were the man's doctor. Ed heard the click this time before the ringing started again and Ed's couch flashed out of existence tossing Ed to the floor and sending the stamp rolling to a stop by Ed's feet.
Grasping the handle careful not to press any buttons, Ed held the stamp in his hand. It didn't look much different than the old rubber stamps they used to use in the library when he checked out books as a kid. it was a bit larger and the biggest button shining in red light was different, but all in all it wasn't uncommon. Cautiously, Ed pressed the red button and watched as the end lit up with a blinding light before hurriedly pressing the button again.
Stan began to stir and Ed had no real explanation why his landlord was currently naked on the floor without a couch, so he took his new toy and walked out of the room. Not prepared to deal with Jennifer, Ed took to the streets.
Ed was familiar with Stan's bookkeeping business and did not doubt this was all a part of a bad deal with an excommunicated customer as Stan would refer to them in conversations. The dangers of renting from a man like this was far outweighed by the cheapness of the units. Stan had explained once that he could make his true business look legit by charging less rent and bumping up the appearance of normal rental costs to avoid suspicion of price gouging. He would take the $450 he charged Ed and Jennifer each month and bump it up to $750 with his betting income. Stan often referred to the process as self laundering money.
Jennifer still stood staring frightened at the robed figure stunned on the ground. She must not have recognized Stan from her angle and the cops were unfamiliar with him. The officer that had tazed him stood still and frightened having never used this device before this day. The remaining officers drew their weapons and began inching towards him.
"It's Stan!" Ed came running down the stairs toward the gathered officers. "Put your guns away. It's Stan." He pushed through the crowd and leaned over Stan. He began to shake him lightly to wake him. It took a moment, but Stan finally woke up to Ed's face.
"What...the...hell...just happened?" His voice returned to normal as his muscles fought to regain normalcy. He looked at Ed and then beyond him at the crowd of officers. A look of fear came across Stan's face as he looked back to Ed for information.
"Are they here because of me?" Stan whispered a little too loudly. A few officers raised eyebrows at his question. The man with the tazer in his hands still did not move.
"Yes, but not for anything you've done." Ed nodded to assure Stan they weren't there to arrest him. "They do have some questions on what exactly happened here today." A flash of anger came across Ed's eyes as he whispered, "I have a few myself."
Stan struggled to stand and face the crowd. He searched the ground for the answers he would need to address and seemed to decide on the following. "I admit Jennifer and I have been having an affair for a bit now. We had a fight today and I ran off. I assume she told you some crazy story, but I assure you, it was just an argument and nothing more. Sorry to bother you, officers. I hope this should answer your concerns and allow you to go back to serving the people that need you. With that, if you will please vacate the premises so I can speak to my tenants in private, I would appreciate that."
With a satisfied nod, Stan turned to revel to Ed about how he controlled the situation and to gloat about being above the law. Ed seized the opportunity landing a right hand to Stan's ample stomach and a left catching him in the temple knocking him out cold. Staring down at his landlord fists clenched, Ed felt a slight sense of satisfaction before remembering he was not alone. With a start, he looked up and found the Sergeant looking at him.
"He was sleeping with your wife. We'll just pretend that didn't happen. Get him into his home so we don't have a scene here and call me when he wakes up again. We'll take a look at the lamp and let you know what we figure out. See what you can get out of him." With a high pitched whistle, he rounded the officers up and into their cars.
Ed was no body builder and having to carry Stan back to the other end of the complex wasn't helped by the return of his anger. Jennifer came down to offer to help halfway across the parking lot before Ed yelled at her not to touch Stan. "I can't deal with this right now. I'll put Stan in his unit and I'll come to you when I'm ready to discuss this rationally if at all. I'm too disgusted to even look at you right now."
Jennifer walked away unfazed. She did not react to any of Ed's words and seemed to feel no remorse. How can a person hurt their significant other so badly and feel no regret over it? Doesn't she love me anymore? Ed stopped walking. She doesn't love me, he thought. What the hell did I do?
He pondered this further while lurching the remaining distance with Stan breathing heavily the entire way. He didn't have a key to Stan's place, but he didn't care about that at this point. As delicately as possible, Ed laid Stan on the ground and sent a solid SWAT-style kick through the door leaving the latch in tact and door splintered open.
Ed returned to his heavy burden and laid Stan on the couch. Stan grunted on landing and Ed heard a high pitched ringing noise before witnessing Stan's robe disappear in a flash of light and a puff of dust. Ed was staring at his naked landlord lying on a garage sale couch and began to wonder where his life went wrong.
Stan proceeded to roll over revealing more of himself than Ed would have wanted to know if he were the man's doctor. Ed heard the click this time before the ringing started again and Ed's couch flashed out of existence tossing Ed to the floor and sending the stamp rolling to a stop by Ed's feet.
Grasping the handle careful not to press any buttons, Ed held the stamp in his hand. It didn't look much different than the old rubber stamps they used to use in the library when he checked out books as a kid. it was a bit larger and the biggest button shining in red light was different, but all in all it wasn't uncommon. Cautiously, Ed pressed the red button and watched as the end lit up with a blinding light before hurriedly pressing the button again.
Stan began to stir and Ed had no real explanation why his landlord was currently naked on the floor without a couch, so he took his new toy and walked out of the room. Not prepared to deal with Jennifer, Ed took to the streets.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Everyone can be normal
He spent his early years as a celebrity. Everyone recognized him in every store and even impersonated his accent. He was a well known and well loved face even if a bit odd to look at usually. However, after years in the spotlight, he decided it was time to take a bow.
His former celebrity friends begged him not to go through with it. You won't be you anymore, they would say. Your life will be over, they claimed. He didn't care. He needed to get away from it all and so to Dr. Sherman he went.
The doctor warned him there could be repercussions for such a radical plastic surgery, but he did not care. Dr. Sherman ran him through a video compiled by friends and family begging that the plastic surgery not happen like an intervention of sorts. It ran 47 minutes including video from a lifetime of commercials and print ads bringing joy to families throughout the ages. His look was called timeless, but this was no deterrent. His timeless look was what kept him from achieving anything in his life beyond the same typecast role he had played for an eternity.
After much arguing and eventual waivers signed, the controversial surgery began. The first to go was the oddly long chin and bumpy skull that prevented a normal hairstyle for the past half century. The next move was to brighten the skin tones by thinning the skin near the blood vessels in the face. His pointed nose was cut back and his pointed ears curved down. His entire skin and tissue structure was given a fresh pint of blood from a normal person to begin the transformation. The needle pierced the skin bringing in the fresh blood when he started to react as the doctor had feared.
He began convulsing and shaking against the restraints that had been placed just prior to the infusion. His new face contorted into shapes never seen before in his previous works. After the bag was half emptied, his body lay still again. Dr. Sherman's assistant handed the defibrillator paddles to the doctor managing to get the heart beating long enough to empty the bag into his body, but that was as far it went. The surgery was a failure and a success. He would live that life he had so recently abandoned no more.
With the story told, today we mourn the passing of Count Chocula. In life, he was a cartoon vampire offering chocolaty goodness to children. In real life, he was just dead. A cartoon vampire can not become real as vampires are not real. A beating heart would negate his reality and thus he fell. Mrs. Chocula and the family thank you all for being here and hope you understand the reason for the closed casket funeral. The family has nothing but grief left for the passing of this great chocolate lover and hope, at very least, this will serve as a warning to others looking to undergo a similar procedure. We are looking at you, Frankenberry. Don't let us down.
His former celebrity friends begged him not to go through with it. You won't be you anymore, they would say. Your life will be over, they claimed. He didn't care. He needed to get away from it all and so to Dr. Sherman he went.
The doctor warned him there could be repercussions for such a radical plastic surgery, but he did not care. Dr. Sherman ran him through a video compiled by friends and family begging that the plastic surgery not happen like an intervention of sorts. It ran 47 minutes including video from a lifetime of commercials and print ads bringing joy to families throughout the ages. His look was called timeless, but this was no deterrent. His timeless look was what kept him from achieving anything in his life beyond the same typecast role he had played for an eternity.
After much arguing and eventual waivers signed, the controversial surgery began. The first to go was the oddly long chin and bumpy skull that prevented a normal hairstyle for the past half century. The next move was to brighten the skin tones by thinning the skin near the blood vessels in the face. His pointed nose was cut back and his pointed ears curved down. His entire skin and tissue structure was given a fresh pint of blood from a normal person to begin the transformation. The needle pierced the skin bringing in the fresh blood when he started to react as the doctor had feared.
He began convulsing and shaking against the restraints that had been placed just prior to the infusion. His new face contorted into shapes never seen before in his previous works. After the bag was half emptied, his body lay still again. Dr. Sherman's assistant handed the defibrillator paddles to the doctor managing to get the heart beating long enough to empty the bag into his body, but that was as far it went. The surgery was a failure and a success. He would live that life he had so recently abandoned no more.
With the story told, today we mourn the passing of Count Chocula. In life, he was a cartoon vampire offering chocolaty goodness to children. In real life, he was just dead. A cartoon vampire can not become real as vampires are not real. A beating heart would negate his reality and thus he fell. Mrs. Chocula and the family thank you all for being here and hope you understand the reason for the closed casket funeral. The family has nothing but grief left for the passing of this great chocolate lover and hope, at very least, this will serve as a warning to others looking to undergo a similar procedure. We are looking at you, Frankenberry. Don't let us down.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Yellow and Blue makes what now?
Tommy had prayed that night that he might have a special power. He didn't ask for anything specific. He only wanted to feel special and hoped any gain from his prayer would be something of value to the world. He did not recognize his short sighted view of life and the implications of his actions. A wish for something given without effort is truly a lazy concept. Sometimes prayers are answered as a way of teaching a lesson. However, not all lessons are learned correctly.
Tommy rolled out of bed the next morning hoping to find he could fly or was impervious to pain. One leap into the air without catching himself proved both hope incorrect. Rubbing his forehead, he walked into the bathroom across the fall and began to brush his teeth. Staring at his reflection, he also lost his potential for invisibility. An attempt to break his toothbrush in half with his super strength resulted in a toothbrush flung into the toilet and toothpaste sprayed across the room. No super power would save him from a grounding if he didn't clean the mess up.
Reaching under the sink, he grabbed the cleaning rag and a bottle of glass cleaner. The bottle read SHAZAM in big bold letters with a cartoon genie flexing a monstrous bicep at him. Tommy's mother had found that this alone made it easier to get Tommy to clean around the house as he enjoyed running around yelling "Shazam!" as he partially cleaned windows around the house.
With the cleaning rag in the one hand and the cleaning bottle in the other, Tommy pointed to the mirror and yelled, "SHAZAM!" His left hand began to tingle as the rag began to spark and flash with light and electricity. The bolts began stretching down his left arms raising the hair to full attention before the yellow glow flashed across Tommy's chest and hit the cleaning bottle. The sparks transferred through the air from his left hand to his right hand before he realized his left hand was empty where the rag had been.
The light on his left began to fade and only the spray bottle in his right hand was still glowing until that too began to fade. As it faded, Tommy noticed the firm plastic texture of the bottle had softened and now felt like the cleaning cloth. Back at normal light levels, Tommy now held nothing in his left hand and only a rag shaped like the bottle now becoming saturated with the cleaning fluid before it over took the cloth and began drip freely all over the counter.
Frightened by the bottle trick, Tommy threw the wet bottle shaped rag into the sink and curled on the floor crying until the door opened and his mother came to his rescue.
Tommy rolled out of bed the next morning hoping to find he could fly or was impervious to pain. One leap into the air without catching himself proved both hope incorrect. Rubbing his forehead, he walked into the bathroom across the fall and began to brush his teeth. Staring at his reflection, he also lost his potential for invisibility. An attempt to break his toothbrush in half with his super strength resulted in a toothbrush flung into the toilet and toothpaste sprayed across the room. No super power would save him from a grounding if he didn't clean the mess up.
Reaching under the sink, he grabbed the cleaning rag and a bottle of glass cleaner. The bottle read SHAZAM in big bold letters with a cartoon genie flexing a monstrous bicep at him. Tommy's mother had found that this alone made it easier to get Tommy to clean around the house as he enjoyed running around yelling "Shazam!" as he partially cleaned windows around the house.
With the cleaning rag in the one hand and the cleaning bottle in the other, Tommy pointed to the mirror and yelled, "SHAZAM!" His left hand began to tingle as the rag began to spark and flash with light and electricity. The bolts began stretching down his left arms raising the hair to full attention before the yellow glow flashed across Tommy's chest and hit the cleaning bottle. The sparks transferred through the air from his left hand to his right hand before he realized his left hand was empty where the rag had been.
The light on his left began to fade and only the spray bottle in his right hand was still glowing until that too began to fade. As it faded, Tommy noticed the firm plastic texture of the bottle had softened and now felt like the cleaning cloth. Back at normal light levels, Tommy now held nothing in his left hand and only a rag shaped like the bottle now becoming saturated with the cleaning fluid before it over took the cloth and began drip freely all over the counter.
Frightened by the bottle trick, Tommy threw the wet bottle shaped rag into the sink and curled on the floor crying until the door opened and his mother came to his rescue.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
A Cause for Abuse
Gerry received the call from Teresa Shea from Corporate head quarters. He had just managed to get his computer restarted after a weekend of glitches and viruses. Teresa's tone was calm, but cautious as she asked Gerry how everything was going in the call center.
"It's going alright now. It's just been a very frustrating morning. You know, one of those mornings where you could just kill some one." Gerry laughs to himself while only silence greets him from the phone.
"But you wouldn't kill someone in the company, right?" Gerry misread the comment as dry humor.
"Not if they don't cross me today." Again, Gerry chuckles with no response from the phone. He was beginning to think he was the only one in this company that understand work banter.
"Mr. Warren, would you be open to speaking to our job counselor today at one o'clock. I will be there also. It's very important to your future here."
"Well, if it's important to my career, I'll come unarmed." Gerry was beginning to see a pattern with his jokes today. He sat quietly in a corner by himself at lunch that day instead of with his coworkers as he tried to figure out what he had done to garner so much attention today. Teresa would give him the evil eye as she wondered through the cafeteria with her lunch and decide to eat in her office instead.
That afternoon, Gerry walked to the job counselor's office to find Teresa sitting in a chair behind the desk with the counselor. He couldn't help but think back to the time in junior high when he got caught forging his father's name on his most recent report card and found them both standing behind the principal's desk staring at him accusingly.
"Mr. Warren..." The counselor spoke first.
"Call me, Gerry. Mr. Warren is my father, but he'll tell you the same thing."
"Sure. Gerry. What makes you so angry and what can we do to make your work life a happier and more enjoyable one?" Finally, Gerry thought, some is willing to make the effort to talk to the people and fix the everyday frustrations.
"Well, I could do without talking to people all of the time. I'll they ever do is complain about what's wrong like it's my fault. I've started to mentally send tiny assassins through the phone line to stop the calls, but they seem to be ineffective." Again, Gerry finds himself the only one chuckling.
"Mr. Warre...Gerry. Miss Shea brought me into this... situation to find out if there was any way we could appeal to your reasonable nature. We've all had bad days at work, but most of us have the ability to keep perspective on it all. As much as I may be frustrated when some employees come to me about wanting higher pay and less hours of work, I keep my cool and tell them that pay is based on merit and value to the company which will not come without hard work. As much as I want to, I would never tell them that they would need plastic surgery and quality madame prostituting them out to wealthy government officials for that kind of hour to pay ratio." This time Gerry doesn't laugh and gets a questioning eyebrow from the counselor.
"That was a joke, Gerry."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Anyways, let's get to the point. We are willing to increase your vacation time to 5 weeks this year and 6 weeks for the following years to keep you happy and working with us. We hope this will keep the employees in this company in your kind regards. Of course, we would request you get yourself into an anger management program and maybe a sex addict program." Now Gerry had the questioning eyebrows.
"Granted, Mr. Warren. Sorry. Gerry. Granted I don't know if they have programs for your specific type of anger, but the general programs are built to handle the root cause of rage and should help you greatly." This time Gerry's laugh was greeted with a response something similar to terror. His laughter stopped immediately.
"Can someone please tell me what this is all about? What is this anger and", in a whisper as if embarrassed by the word, "sex addiction you think I have?"
Teresa and the job counselor look at each other and begin giving the "you tell him" "no, you tell him" expressions that end in Teresa apparently losing the battle.
"Gerry. We've spearheaded a program this past week to review random laptop usage for inappropriate abuse of the company internet. This morning we received the log of usage from your laptop. I don't have the exact numbers, but we were able to identify a clear history of violent pornographic sites followed by violent weapon sites and continued downloading of the anarchist cookbook. We at Telecom Enterprises feel there is no place in our company for the kind of employee that would be browsing these sites on the company dime, but you have a long history of quality reviews and value awards within the company and felt it best to try to work it out first." Teresa was wringing her hands like her thumb was on fire.
"When did this happen?" Gerry had been misusing company time and internet bandwidth in a job search in the past for a better position in a similar role, but at no point would he be on a porn or violent site.
"The log of events started at 7 am today and ended at 11 am this morning when the program finished running the search." This morning, of course. The virus on his laptop must have been scouring the internet to drive up traffic and ad revenue for the virus writer. They must have logged his internet activity before he managed to get tech support to reimage his machine.
"So you think I'm a sexual deviant with a violent streak but you value my work history enough to want to work it out and give me extra benefits to keep up my morale?"
"Yes." The two women answered in unison.
"That pretty much sums it up." Teresa takes a deep breath hoping this conversation has ended and will be sure to run the scan again in a week to make sure it's been settled.
Gerry sits quietly staring at the two women that are now obviously disgusted by him and will be for the rest of his career there.
"Where do I sign?" Gerry would go home that night and plan a nice trip to Fiji with his wife.
"It's going alright now. It's just been a very frustrating morning. You know, one of those mornings where you could just kill some one." Gerry laughs to himself while only silence greets him from the phone.
"But you wouldn't kill someone in the company, right?" Gerry misread the comment as dry humor.
"Not if they don't cross me today." Again, Gerry chuckles with no response from the phone. He was beginning to think he was the only one in this company that understand work banter.
"Mr. Warren, would you be open to speaking to our job counselor today at one o'clock. I will be there also. It's very important to your future here."
"Well, if it's important to my career, I'll come unarmed." Gerry was beginning to see a pattern with his jokes today. He sat quietly in a corner by himself at lunch that day instead of with his coworkers as he tried to figure out what he had done to garner so much attention today. Teresa would give him the evil eye as she wondered through the cafeteria with her lunch and decide to eat in her office instead.
That afternoon, Gerry walked to the job counselor's office to find Teresa sitting in a chair behind the desk with the counselor. He couldn't help but think back to the time in junior high when he got caught forging his father's name on his most recent report card and found them both standing behind the principal's desk staring at him accusingly.
"Mr. Warren..." The counselor spoke first.
"Call me, Gerry. Mr. Warren is my father, but he'll tell you the same thing."
"Sure. Gerry. What makes you so angry and what can we do to make your work life a happier and more enjoyable one?" Finally, Gerry thought, some is willing to make the effort to talk to the people and fix the everyday frustrations.
"Well, I could do without talking to people all of the time. I'll they ever do is complain about what's wrong like it's my fault. I've started to mentally send tiny assassins through the phone line to stop the calls, but they seem to be ineffective." Again, Gerry finds himself the only one chuckling.
"Mr. Warre...Gerry. Miss Shea brought me into this... situation to find out if there was any way we could appeal to your reasonable nature. We've all had bad days at work, but most of us have the ability to keep perspective on it all. As much as I may be frustrated when some employees come to me about wanting higher pay and less hours of work, I keep my cool and tell them that pay is based on merit and value to the company which will not come without hard work. As much as I want to, I would never tell them that they would need plastic surgery and quality madame prostituting them out to wealthy government officials for that kind of hour to pay ratio." This time Gerry doesn't laugh and gets a questioning eyebrow from the counselor.
"That was a joke, Gerry."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Anyways, let's get to the point. We are willing to increase your vacation time to 5 weeks this year and 6 weeks for the following years to keep you happy and working with us. We hope this will keep the employees in this company in your kind regards. Of course, we would request you get yourself into an anger management program and maybe a sex addict program." Now Gerry had the questioning eyebrows.
"Granted, Mr. Warren. Sorry. Gerry. Granted I don't know if they have programs for your specific type of anger, but the general programs are built to handle the root cause of rage and should help you greatly." This time Gerry's laugh was greeted with a response something similar to terror. His laughter stopped immediately.
"Can someone please tell me what this is all about? What is this anger and", in a whisper as if embarrassed by the word, "sex addiction you think I have?"
Teresa and the job counselor look at each other and begin giving the "you tell him" "no, you tell him" expressions that end in Teresa apparently losing the battle.
"Gerry. We've spearheaded a program this past week to review random laptop usage for inappropriate abuse of the company internet. This morning we received the log of usage from your laptop. I don't have the exact numbers, but we were able to identify a clear history of violent pornographic sites followed by violent weapon sites and continued downloading of the anarchist cookbook. We at Telecom Enterprises feel there is no place in our company for the kind of employee that would be browsing these sites on the company dime, but you have a long history of quality reviews and value awards within the company and felt it best to try to work it out first." Teresa was wringing her hands like her thumb was on fire.
"When did this happen?" Gerry had been misusing company time and internet bandwidth in a job search in the past for a better position in a similar role, but at no point would he be on a porn or violent site.
"The log of events started at 7 am today and ended at 11 am this morning when the program finished running the search." This morning, of course. The virus on his laptop must have been scouring the internet to drive up traffic and ad revenue for the virus writer. They must have logged his internet activity before he managed to get tech support to reimage his machine.
"So you think I'm a sexual deviant with a violent streak but you value my work history enough to want to work it out and give me extra benefits to keep up my morale?"
"Yes." The two women answered in unison.
"That pretty much sums it up." Teresa takes a deep breath hoping this conversation has ended and will be sure to run the scan again in a week to make sure it's been settled.
Gerry sits quietly staring at the two women that are now obviously disgusted by him and will be for the rest of his career there.
"Where do I sign?" Gerry would go home that night and plan a nice trip to Fiji with his wife.
Transition
Stan did not see the smoke puffing from the robe he was wearing. He did not notice the front catch fire after walking barefoot through town for over an hour. He did not notice the blisters on his toes anymore or the cold breeze sneaking up the robe over his naked body. He only felt pain. Two sharp pricks to his chest and then pain.
He felt his heart race and his body go stiff. His arms shivered as the muscles tightened unintentionally. His breathing stopped as his diaphragm pressed upwards in a fit like some monstrous hiccup that would not release him. He stood at attention at the end of the lot from the complex he inherited from his mother as an officer stood in front of him holding the tazer now connected to him by two long wires.
His mind flashed to the looks he got from the school bus driver and a breeze picked up on his walk causing him to fall into a Marilyn Monroe pose to avoid a public indecency fine and angry calls from parents. He had been walking for twenty minutes at that point and was beginning to get light headed. Luckily, he stepped on a broken bottle and had been bleeding from a cut on one of his toes for about 5 minutes before the bus came by giving him time for lucidity. The kids coming back from morning kindergarten made faces like children will and no one thought it strange to see a barefoot man walking through a school district.
He would later walk past a suspicious group of young men that clearly were still school aged, but did not appear to be on a lunch break this far from the school. One of them even threatened him if he didn't hand over his wallet before Stan flashed him to show he had nothing of value to them.
He would have a more peaceful walk the final 5 minutes of his trip but the 15 minutes before that were spent running down various streets and alleys avoiding stray dogs. All of his trip seemed worth it to him as Stan came up the sidewalk near his complex. He knew he had a spare key hidden under the doorbell of his apartment and fresh clothes and a shower were waiting for him.
Through all of his tribulations, Stan could not have imagined this ending to his journey. The last thing he felt was the ground as he dropped onto the sidewalk and passed out.
He felt his heart race and his body go stiff. His arms shivered as the muscles tightened unintentionally. His breathing stopped as his diaphragm pressed upwards in a fit like some monstrous hiccup that would not release him. He stood at attention at the end of the lot from the complex he inherited from his mother as an officer stood in front of him holding the tazer now connected to him by two long wires.
His mind flashed to the looks he got from the school bus driver and a breeze picked up on his walk causing him to fall into a Marilyn Monroe pose to avoid a public indecency fine and angry calls from parents. He had been walking for twenty minutes at that point and was beginning to get light headed. Luckily, he stepped on a broken bottle and had been bleeding from a cut on one of his toes for about 5 minutes before the bus came by giving him time for lucidity. The kids coming back from morning kindergarten made faces like children will and no one thought it strange to see a barefoot man walking through a school district.
He would later walk past a suspicious group of young men that clearly were still school aged, but did not appear to be on a lunch break this far from the school. One of them even threatened him if he didn't hand over his wallet before Stan flashed him to show he had nothing of value to them.
He would have a more peaceful walk the final 5 minutes of his trip but the 15 minutes before that were spent running down various streets and alleys avoiding stray dogs. All of his trip seemed worth it to him as Stan came up the sidewalk near his complex. He knew he had a spare key hidden under the doorbell of his apartment and fresh clothes and a shower were waiting for him.
Through all of his tribulations, Stan could not have imagined this ending to his journey. The last thing he felt was the ground as he dropped onto the sidewalk and passed out.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Crazytown
Ed pulls into the parking lot outside of his apartment building weaving in and out of police cruisers until he finds a parking spot on the other side of the lot from his front door. Even with traffic slowing him to a one hour trip home, it did not appear that the police attention could possibly have dissipated. Ed did not see how there could possibly have been more local officers on the scene unless they hired people on the spot.
Up the stairs and stepping under the police tape, Ed make his way down the hall to his doorway. He is not delayed at the door as no one is standing watch. They are all staring at a the remains of a lamp in his bedroom. He can see his wife smoking a cigarette on the bed through the hole in the wall from the living room.
"What in the hell happened here?" All eyes dart to the man in the doorway. One of the officers begins to stand and protest Ed's presence in the room before Jennifer runs over to put her arms around him. The officer relents.
"Mr. Brilke? I'm Sergeant Haskin. We arrived on the scene because your wife called in a B&E and kidnapping incident. We sent a car immediately to the scene, but required back up when the officers began to listen to your wife's full story. Have you heard her story yet, sir?" The Sergeant's eyebrows raised in a sign of concern that was not for Jennifer's situation. Rather it was a look of concern over the possibility of having more crazy people at a potential crime scene.
"No. She left a frantic message on my phone and I rushed home. What is going on here and what's the deal with my mother's lamp?" A couple of men looked up from the crouched position around the shattered lamp. They seemed curious to hear the story again themselves.
"Your wife claims that a... let me phrase this correctly... a lizard man in a velvet robe. Velvet robe, right?" The Sergeant calls over his should to the officer standing behind him.
"Yes, sir. Velvet is what she said."
"Right. A velvet robe and threw your landlord into a large sack before walking through the wall dragging one, Stan Garetti, with it."
"Someone kidnapped Stan from my bedroom and broke through the wall rather than open the door?" Ed had to interrupt the ridiculous story. What was Jennifer on today? Was this story true or had she made it up to hide what had made the hole in the wall? But if it was a phony story, why bring Stan into it? What was worse to tell the truth about than implying his landlord was in his bedroom with Jennifer while Ed was at work?
"Something, sir. And from your wife's account, the thing she saw seems to be able to pass through things like they aren't there. She said it walked through the bed and the lamp in the corner which she threw at him seemed to pass right through him. The way we figure, if we take the story as what really happened here, the thing can pass through objects but Mr. Garetti could not. This would explain the size of the whole being roughly Mr. Garetti's size based on your wife's description of the man." The Sergeant stopped expectantly waiting for Ed's response to the story. He cracked his knuckles impatiently as Ed finally spoke.
"Did she say why Stan was in my bedroom?" Jennifer looked up suddenly dropping the cigarette on the carpet. The Sergeant quickly stamped it out.
"Sir. I understand this will be a domestic matter once we've gotten through the other details, so please try to save those questions for your wife once we've left."
"Fine. Then why don't you explain to me why so many people are on the scene for such a crazy story." The Sergeant smiled. He loved the big reveal and was waiting for this sort of question.
"Because of the green growth, Mr. Brilke." The Sergeant stepped aside and, for the first time since entering the room, Stan could see the extent of the damage the lamp had suffered. The wide base had stayed intact upon striking the wall, but it was not the light shade of blue it had previously been. There was some black fungus lying inside the base and spread across the side. When one of the officers moved from the window, the sunlight hit it illuminating it from within in a dark green the bubbled and churned as if began to grow in size. The officer returned to his position blocking out the light.
"Mr. Brilke..."
"Ed."
"Alright. Ed. We would like to take this to the lab with us. If what your wife told us is accurate, it may give us a clue as to what we are dealing with here. To look at it in the most likely light, someone may have entered your apartment and thrown Mr. Garetti into a bag as your wife says. The likely threw the lamp at him cutting him and leaving whatever this is on the lamp behind. The suspect then threw Mr. Garetti through the wall before running out to the living room and taking him out of the building. A traffic camera in the neighborhood did catch a van speeding away from the vicinity of your residence and the driver did appear to be wearing a hooded outfit of some kind. We have the state highway patrol on the look out for the van now, but have not heard anything yet."
The Sergeant turned back to the lamp. "We would like to take this back with us to see if we can identify something unique in the blood that may tie us to the suspect and help us find your landlord."
"Whatever your need to do." Ed began to wonder if he would need to take some time off from work to deal with this as he watched two officers pull on latex gloves and pull out a plastic evidence bag.
The two officers bag the lamp with the growth to take it to the station's lab for analysis. The lab in town is not a well equipped lab, but the lab techs have been resourceful in the past managing to connect a string of car thefts to a chop shop based on the way the owner snubs out his cigarette in the ash tray of every car he steals. They didn't even try to run the cigarettes for DNA analysis before getting the guy to confess.
The Sergeant gathers the men and moves them toward the front door following the bagged lamp leaving Ed and Jennifer alone in the bedroom. Ed continues to stare at the corner where he witnessed one of the weirdest things in his lifetime.
Jennifer walks to the balcony to try and avoid answering Ed's question of why Stan was in the bedroom and to steady her nerves some more. She opens the pack she hides under the plant on the balcony so Ed will not know and stuffs a filter into her mouth. She flicks the lighter a couple of times without success before her shaking hand drop the lighter off the balcony. It lands near the police cruiser where the men are loading the lamp carefully into the back of the car. As the door slams closed, she looks up to the parking lot entrance and screams. There at the entrance to the parking lot is the hooded figure.
Up the stairs and stepping under the police tape, Ed make his way down the hall to his doorway. He is not delayed at the door as no one is standing watch. They are all staring at a the remains of a lamp in his bedroom. He can see his wife smoking a cigarette on the bed through the hole in the wall from the living room.
"What in the hell happened here?" All eyes dart to the man in the doorway. One of the officers begins to stand and protest Ed's presence in the room before Jennifer runs over to put her arms around him. The officer relents.
"Mr. Brilke? I'm Sergeant Haskin. We arrived on the scene because your wife called in a B&E and kidnapping incident. We sent a car immediately to the scene, but required back up when the officers began to listen to your wife's full story. Have you heard her story yet, sir?" The Sergeant's eyebrows raised in a sign of concern that was not for Jennifer's situation. Rather it was a look of concern over the possibility of having more crazy people at a potential crime scene.
"No. She left a frantic message on my phone and I rushed home. What is going on here and what's the deal with my mother's lamp?" A couple of men looked up from the crouched position around the shattered lamp. They seemed curious to hear the story again themselves.
"Your wife claims that a... let me phrase this correctly... a lizard man in a velvet robe. Velvet robe, right?" The Sergeant calls over his should to the officer standing behind him.
"Yes, sir. Velvet is what she said."
"Right. A velvet robe and threw your landlord into a large sack before walking through the wall dragging one, Stan Garetti, with it."
"Someone kidnapped Stan from my bedroom and broke through the wall rather than open the door?" Ed had to interrupt the ridiculous story. What was Jennifer on today? Was this story true or had she made it up to hide what had made the hole in the wall? But if it was a phony story, why bring Stan into it? What was worse to tell the truth about than implying his landlord was in his bedroom with Jennifer while Ed was at work?
"Something, sir. And from your wife's account, the thing she saw seems to be able to pass through things like they aren't there. She said it walked through the bed and the lamp in the corner which she threw at him seemed to pass right through him. The way we figure, if we take the story as what really happened here, the thing can pass through objects but Mr. Garetti could not. This would explain the size of the whole being roughly Mr. Garetti's size based on your wife's description of the man." The Sergeant stopped expectantly waiting for Ed's response to the story. He cracked his knuckles impatiently as Ed finally spoke.
"Did she say why Stan was in my bedroom?" Jennifer looked up suddenly dropping the cigarette on the carpet. The Sergeant quickly stamped it out.
"Sir. I understand this will be a domestic matter once we've gotten through the other details, so please try to save those questions for your wife once we've left."
"Fine. Then why don't you explain to me why so many people are on the scene for such a crazy story." The Sergeant smiled. He loved the big reveal and was waiting for this sort of question.
"Because of the green growth, Mr. Brilke." The Sergeant stepped aside and, for the first time since entering the room, Stan could see the extent of the damage the lamp had suffered. The wide base had stayed intact upon striking the wall, but it was not the light shade of blue it had previously been. There was some black fungus lying inside the base and spread across the side. When one of the officers moved from the window, the sunlight hit it illuminating it from within in a dark green the bubbled and churned as if began to grow in size. The officer returned to his position blocking out the light.
"Mr. Brilke..."
"Ed."
"Alright. Ed. We would like to take this to the lab with us. If what your wife told us is accurate, it may give us a clue as to what we are dealing with here. To look at it in the most likely light, someone may have entered your apartment and thrown Mr. Garetti into a bag as your wife says. The likely threw the lamp at him cutting him and leaving whatever this is on the lamp behind. The suspect then threw Mr. Garetti through the wall before running out to the living room and taking him out of the building. A traffic camera in the neighborhood did catch a van speeding away from the vicinity of your residence and the driver did appear to be wearing a hooded outfit of some kind. We have the state highway patrol on the look out for the van now, but have not heard anything yet."
The Sergeant turned back to the lamp. "We would like to take this back with us to see if we can identify something unique in the blood that may tie us to the suspect and help us find your landlord."
"Whatever your need to do." Ed began to wonder if he would need to take some time off from work to deal with this as he watched two officers pull on latex gloves and pull out a plastic evidence bag.
The two officers bag the lamp with the growth to take it to the station's lab for analysis. The lab in town is not a well equipped lab, but the lab techs have been resourceful in the past managing to connect a string of car thefts to a chop shop based on the way the owner snubs out his cigarette in the ash tray of every car he steals. They didn't even try to run the cigarettes for DNA analysis before getting the guy to confess.
The Sergeant gathers the men and moves them toward the front door following the bagged lamp leaving Ed and Jennifer alone in the bedroom. Ed continues to stare at the corner where he witnessed one of the weirdest things in his lifetime.
Jennifer walks to the balcony to try and avoid answering Ed's question of why Stan was in the bedroom and to steady her nerves some more. She opens the pack she hides under the plant on the balcony so Ed will not know and stuffs a filter into her mouth. She flicks the lighter a couple of times without success before her shaking hand drop the lighter off the balcony. It lands near the police cruiser where the men are loading the lamp carefully into the back of the car. As the door slams closed, she looks up to the parking lot entrance and screams. There at the entrance to the parking lot is the hooded figure.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Stan the man in the van
The rumbling of the van over the stones in the driveway shook Stan awake. He was inside a dark smooth cloth prison. As he fought more, the sides of the bag closed in tighter until he was no longer able to move. He had vacuum sealed himself into submission. He could blink his eyes for now, but even that movement seemed to be drawing the sides of the bag in on him even more. Closing his eyes, Stan gives in to what must be certain death until he feels himself tipping over and slam into the inside wall of the van.
A small tear forms near his face and a stream of light falls on Stan's face. A noise like that of a passing airplane can be heard and he takes it to be the sound death must make upon crossing over. The tear is letting air in little by little and his arms are able to fan out more and more space to move.
Stan reaches towards the light as souls are instructed to do in the movies. A cool breeze greets him as he tears open the bag and tumbled to the rough tan carpeting in the back of the van. He never imagined heaven could look so tacky and dirty. Heaven's image was renewed upon the sound of a hissing coming from behind him. He turned just in time to see a small block of wood at the end of a small handle passing towards him at a great speed.
Scrambling for safety, Stan's foot catches in the velvet bag he just escaped. Stan's footing gives way from under him. The bag slips out from his foot and launches into the air connecting with the wooden stamp. Stan rolls over as he lands in time to witness light emanating from the point of contact before the bag disintegrated into a pile of dust.
The air begins to vibrate like a tuning fork as the stamp begins to glow for moment afterwards and then cools until it appears just hot to touch. The red outline in the area reads "OVERDUE" in reverse. Stan covers his ears as the ringing ends with a sudden burst as if a great vacuum void has just been filled in a rush of air.
"Damn it. That was an expensive bag." Each letter seems to be whispered yet carries as if the voice is directly in Stan's ear. From his corner in the back of the van, Stan can only see the arm retract and the van's sliding door close from the outside. The world comes back into focus when Stan hears the van door make the same whooshing plane over head sound he heard while in the bag.
A moment later a round spot of black smoke forms in the wall of the van near where Stan is sitting. He recognizes what is happening a moment before the glowing stamp comes through the cloud and narrowly misses his right shoulder.
He swings out to grab the arm, but his hands pass through as if it were some attacking apparition. The arms retracts and is gone before another smoke hole opens from the back doors. This time, Stan doesn't need to move as the strike is well off the mark and the stamp slams into the wheel well instantly turning the van into dust. The carpet does not dematerialize which is a blessing to Stan as it saves him from falling naked into the driveway of stones.
"Sit still!" The hissing is back in his ear, but this time it really is behind him. Stan quickly grabs the frayed end of the carpet formerly lining the van and begins to roll himself up for protection. The stamp strike the carpet beneath his armpit causing Stan scream and swing wildly this time connecting with the butt of the stamp and knocking it to the ground.
Now lying in a nude heap in the stones, Stan reaches out his hands to return to a kneel when he realizes his hand now rests on the handle of the stamp that thing used to turn the bag and van to dust. This new found weapon gives him a slight feeling of control until he finds himself in a dark green headlock fighting to maintain this new control.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Stan cries out in muffled breathes as his air supply dwindles.
"It is the way of things. Things must begin and things must end in their correct time. I failed to set your final date at birth and now I must right the situation if I ever want to get back to my true job again." The hissing and the throbbing of his blood in his ears begins to make Stan dizzy. Beginning to lose his balance, he reaches up to the arm holding him to keep himself standing forgetting he still has the stamp in hand.
There is a clicking noise as Stan's grip on the handle bumps the switch that must have caused the light he saw previously. The sizzling sound in his ear is deafening for the second it is there and then he is huddled on the ground lying on an empty robe. His green captor is nowhere to be seen. Rising to his feet, he feels the find in his damp hair from sweat and begins to feel the cooling breeze in far too many places for being out in public.
Turning from left to right and spinning slowly counter clockwise, Stan sees nothing but large mountains of stone and a path from which the van must have entered. He recognizes the Slater Sand & Stone yards from his trips down I-83. He was taken about five miles outside of town and the wind has gone from cooling to freezing now that he's been standing in the buff for ten minutes taking in all that had happened. Stan reaches down for the robe beneath him and tosses it on after the green dust has fallen out from the inside. He tosses the stamp into the pocket he finds inside and begins the long walk back to Parkwood.
A small tear forms near his face and a stream of light falls on Stan's face. A noise like that of a passing airplane can be heard and he takes it to be the sound death must make upon crossing over. The tear is letting air in little by little and his arms are able to fan out more and more space to move.
Stan reaches towards the light as souls are instructed to do in the movies. A cool breeze greets him as he tears open the bag and tumbled to the rough tan carpeting in the back of the van. He never imagined heaven could look so tacky and dirty. Heaven's image was renewed upon the sound of a hissing coming from behind him. He turned just in time to see a small block of wood at the end of a small handle passing towards him at a great speed.
Scrambling for safety, Stan's foot catches in the velvet bag he just escaped. Stan's footing gives way from under him. The bag slips out from his foot and launches into the air connecting with the wooden stamp. Stan rolls over as he lands in time to witness light emanating from the point of contact before the bag disintegrated into a pile of dust.
The air begins to vibrate like a tuning fork as the stamp begins to glow for moment afterwards and then cools until it appears just hot to touch. The red outline in the area reads "OVERDUE" in reverse. Stan covers his ears as the ringing ends with a sudden burst as if a great vacuum void has just been filled in a rush of air.
"Damn it. That was an expensive bag." Each letter seems to be whispered yet carries as if the voice is directly in Stan's ear. From his corner in the back of the van, Stan can only see the arm retract and the van's sliding door close from the outside. The world comes back into focus when Stan hears the van door make the same whooshing plane over head sound he heard while in the bag.
A moment later a round spot of black smoke forms in the wall of the van near where Stan is sitting. He recognizes what is happening a moment before the glowing stamp comes through the cloud and narrowly misses his right shoulder.
He swings out to grab the arm, but his hands pass through as if it were some attacking apparition. The arms retracts and is gone before another smoke hole opens from the back doors. This time, Stan doesn't need to move as the strike is well off the mark and the stamp slams into the wheel well instantly turning the van into dust. The carpet does not dematerialize which is a blessing to Stan as it saves him from falling naked into the driveway of stones.
"Sit still!" The hissing is back in his ear, but this time it really is behind him. Stan quickly grabs the frayed end of the carpet formerly lining the van and begins to roll himself up for protection. The stamp strike the carpet beneath his armpit causing Stan scream and swing wildly this time connecting with the butt of the stamp and knocking it to the ground.
Now lying in a nude heap in the stones, Stan reaches out his hands to return to a kneel when he realizes his hand now rests on the handle of the stamp that thing used to turn the bag and van to dust. This new found weapon gives him a slight feeling of control until he finds himself in a dark green headlock fighting to maintain this new control.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Stan cries out in muffled breathes as his air supply dwindles.
"It is the way of things. Things must begin and things must end in their correct time. I failed to set your final date at birth and now I must right the situation if I ever want to get back to my true job again." The hissing and the throbbing of his blood in his ears begins to make Stan dizzy. Beginning to lose his balance, he reaches up to the arm holding him to keep himself standing forgetting he still has the stamp in hand.
There is a clicking noise as Stan's grip on the handle bumps the switch that must have caused the light he saw previously. The sizzling sound in his ear is deafening for the second it is there and then he is huddled on the ground lying on an empty robe. His green captor is nowhere to be seen. Rising to his feet, he feels the find in his damp hair from sweat and begins to feel the cooling breeze in far too many places for being out in public.
Turning from left to right and spinning slowly counter clockwise, Stan sees nothing but large mountains of stone and a path from which the van must have entered. He recognizes the Slater Sand & Stone yards from his trips down I-83. He was taken about five miles outside of town and the wind has gone from cooling to freezing now that he's been standing in the buff for ten minutes taking in all that had happened. Stan reaches down for the robe beneath him and tosses it on after the green dust has fallen out from the inside. He tosses the stamp into the pocket he finds inside and begins the long walk back to Parkwood.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Mistaken Identity
Stan Garetti has owned the Parkwood Manor apartment buildings since 1995 when his mother left them to him in her will. He had been using an abandoned office for booking bets for wealthy clientele until then without much gain for himself. On an average week, he brought in just enough to pay his utilities and buy enough food to live. He lived month to month, but it was not much of a life. Stan had become gaunt and an unhealthy form of thin. His mother did not know where he was or what he was doing. He had run out as a teenager and she had not changed her will in the 15 years he had been gone.
Now in his late forties, Stan was now an unhealthy form of average build and weight. He had the right weight and shape for his height, but was not the kind of man that worked out other than in his visits to the occasional lonely housewives in his apartments. He had taken to the electronic age for his book making business and now took bets via email and phone. He held monthly meetings with clients for pay out and pay in from the old abandoned office to keep a distance, but he no longer worked from that office outside of these monthly meetings.
In fact, Stan had begun to drop clients since he no longer needed the money as badly to live on and he had found himself spending more of his time in 14B with Jennifer Brilke. There was something about him that she had taken a liking to and he wasn't going to miss out. Jennifer was a beautiful 39 year old woman who was not overly happy with her husband Ed.
Stan liked Ed. Stan had a similar build and hair style to Ed albeit a bit thicker. Ed had lost his father when he was a kid as well and had grown up in a single mother home lacking the male influence of a constant father. He had also found himself feeling like a burden to his mother as she tried to continue her life without the man she had planned to finish it with beside her. They often discussed the lack luster courting routines of the men that interviewed for the position of father and a role of husband they could not and would not be able to fill.
This did not stop Stan from seeing Jennifer throughout the week while Ed was at work and it would have continued this way for years had that lizard thing not come into Ed and Jennifer's bedroom that day. Stan was lying naked under the sheets as Jennifer began to drift off on her side when the wall started to smoke and figure appeared in a dark hooded robe. A scaly green finger pointed at Stan before leaning in and mumbling something about time being up or overdue.
In a fit of courage the Jennifer would keenly recall later, Stan leapt across the bed to the other side of Jennifer begging the thing to take her and not him as she lay frozen in terror next to the naked man crouched behind her like a frightened child. A cold wind swept into the room as the figure stepped forward and through the bed as if it were a pool of water her was wading through. The robe cut through Jennifer's leg as it stopped a few inches from Stan. Stan and Jennifer both retreated to their respective corners as the looming shape stopped between them.
Out of fear and in an attempt at self preservation, Jennifer reached back for the antique ceramic lamp given to her by Ed's mother and launched it through their attacker before it hit the wall in a purge of smoke gained during the pass through without touching the looming threat. The figure stopped and addressed Jennifer for the first time since entering the room. Jennifer witnessed the green within the shadow below the hood and recoiled at the uncoiling tongue that hissed out a warning to stay out of this fight.
The robed figure reached a long arm into its sleeve and pulled out a large velvet bag. The bag also smoked as it exited the robe and appeared large enough to hold the bureau on which the 32" TV stood in the bedroom. An arm reached toward Stan deftly tossing him headlong into the sack despite his violent flailing on the floor. As valiantly as Stan fought in captivity, he was unable to emerge from the bag again. Velvety imprinted of Stan's face and fist were apparent in his struggle but to no avail for the trapped man.
The tall beast stepped through the rest of the bed dragging Stan in bag through the wall with a thud as the bag refused to dissipate through on first pull. With a hiss heard from the other side of the wall, the bag was jerked through the drywall leaving a hole in the shape of a crumpled man. Stan was knocked unconscious by the final blow and would not notice the sound of the front door opening as he was led out without the glitz of a smoke screen through a concrete wall. He would awaken twenty minutes later in the back of a van driving at high speed across town.
Now in his late forties, Stan was now an unhealthy form of average build and weight. He had the right weight and shape for his height, but was not the kind of man that worked out other than in his visits to the occasional lonely housewives in his apartments. He had taken to the electronic age for his book making business and now took bets via email and phone. He held monthly meetings with clients for pay out and pay in from the old abandoned office to keep a distance, but he no longer worked from that office outside of these monthly meetings.
In fact, Stan had begun to drop clients since he no longer needed the money as badly to live on and he had found himself spending more of his time in 14B with Jennifer Brilke. There was something about him that she had taken a liking to and he wasn't going to miss out. Jennifer was a beautiful 39 year old woman who was not overly happy with her husband Ed.
Stan liked Ed. Stan had a similar build and hair style to Ed albeit a bit thicker. Ed had lost his father when he was a kid as well and had grown up in a single mother home lacking the male influence of a constant father. He had also found himself feeling like a burden to his mother as she tried to continue her life without the man she had planned to finish it with beside her. They often discussed the lack luster courting routines of the men that interviewed for the position of father and a role of husband they could not and would not be able to fill.
This did not stop Stan from seeing Jennifer throughout the week while Ed was at work and it would have continued this way for years had that lizard thing not come into Ed and Jennifer's bedroom that day. Stan was lying naked under the sheets as Jennifer began to drift off on her side when the wall started to smoke and figure appeared in a dark hooded robe. A scaly green finger pointed at Stan before leaning in and mumbling something about time being up or overdue.
In a fit of courage the Jennifer would keenly recall later, Stan leapt across the bed to the other side of Jennifer begging the thing to take her and not him as she lay frozen in terror next to the naked man crouched behind her like a frightened child. A cold wind swept into the room as the figure stepped forward and through the bed as if it were a pool of water her was wading through. The robe cut through Jennifer's leg as it stopped a few inches from Stan. Stan and Jennifer both retreated to their respective corners as the looming shape stopped between them.
Out of fear and in an attempt at self preservation, Jennifer reached back for the antique ceramic lamp given to her by Ed's mother and launched it through their attacker before it hit the wall in a purge of smoke gained during the pass through without touching the looming threat. The figure stopped and addressed Jennifer for the first time since entering the room. Jennifer witnessed the green within the shadow below the hood and recoiled at the uncoiling tongue that hissed out a warning to stay out of this fight.
The robed figure reached a long arm into its sleeve and pulled out a large velvet bag. The bag also smoked as it exited the robe and appeared large enough to hold the bureau on which the 32" TV stood in the bedroom. An arm reached toward Stan deftly tossing him headlong into the sack despite his violent flailing on the floor. As valiantly as Stan fought in captivity, he was unable to emerge from the bag again. Velvety imprinted of Stan's face and fist were apparent in his struggle but to no avail for the trapped man.
The tall beast stepped through the rest of the bed dragging Stan in bag through the wall with a thud as the bag refused to dissipate through on first pull. With a hiss heard from the other side of the wall, the bag was jerked through the drywall leaving a hole in the shape of a crumpled man. Stan was knocked unconscious by the final blow and would not notice the sound of the front door opening as he was led out without the glitz of a smoke screen through a concrete wall. He would awaken twenty minutes later in the back of a van driving at high speed across town.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Target
Ed Brilke stared directly at the 42 year old man with the thinning hair and frowned. How anyone could walk around life knowing so much scalp is showing was beyond him. If it were up to him, he'd be using a touch of the spray on hair to cover it up, but Jennifer says she'd rather see him completely bald than look like he just changed his oil without a pan. The shirt was alright with a touch of blue that highlighted his eyes, but the shoes were visibly worn at the toe and the sole flapped softly against the linoleum when he walked down the halls at work.
Yes, Ed Brilke was not the young man he had hoped to be when he'd finish his life. True, he had managed to hold off gray hair into his 40s, but God found away to remind him he was still aging. His father had passed away from heart failure at 54 with a thick full head of hair. Unfortunately, genetics works differently than Ed wanted and his mother's father was as bald as a newborn baby.
The door opens starling him from his revelry. Jim Thomas walks past him with a sidelong glance implying his concern at any man standing in the men's room not at a urinal, toilet or at least washing his hands at the sink. Ed had been caught day dreaming again instead of working. He flipped the handle to cold on the sink and began scrubbing his hands methodically like a surgeon. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand... Ed had read some where that surgeons scrub their hands for a minimum of fifteen second to insure no germs remain on their hands before a surgery. Ed had a fascinating medical history that read like a cliff notes version of a man's life. His childhood records included many dates and diseases listed as he was vaccinated as a young child and through his youth. He had his tetanus booster five years ago after cutting his foot on a rusty fishing hook at a company get away. He had a record of his visit to the cardiologist after his father passed from heart disease. All records indicated Ed was a healthy man. He had never been sick. The hospital records could only cover visits to indicate if he had ever been sick, but Ed had never even had a cold or the flu.
As a child, he only attempted a few sick days once he watched enough TV to recognize the symptoms of a sever cold or flu. He would rub his nose raw with a tissue and apply a light dose of Vaseline for the appearance of runniness, but he was often sent to the bathroom to clean off his face and get ready for school. He had never taken ill with the chicken pox as a child even though his sisters had them when he was 5 years old. his mother forced him to sleep in the same room with the itching twins for 4 nights before she gave up on the hope of getting his infection out of the way with theirs. This sort of disease that was known to be more severe in adulthood than childhood is why Ed washed his hands so thoroughly. It's why he used two paper towels to dry his hands: one for the drying and the other to open the door before he walked out.
Back in the hallway, Ed's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, but he couldn't get it yet. He had the social awkwardness of not wanting to be on his phone while walking away from the bathroom and given anyone reason to believe he was one of those men that had no problem answering the phone while sitting on the toilet. He despised those people and the diseases they likely spread to their phones in those moments. He dreaded having friends that handed him a phone to talk to a friend calling from far away and never knowing how clean it was. If he stayed healthy, he trusted that friend more than before.
Back at his desk, his voicemail light lit red. tapping the voicemail speed dial, Ed enters his pin and presses one numerous time until his message finally plays. The first sound to great him is a siren and then the panicked voice of his wife swearing that he's not at his desk and hanging up. Ed reaches furiously for his cell phone as he stands at his desk and runs to the elevator bank. He pressed the speed dial on his phone and hears this voicemail from his wife. The sirens are quieter this time and she seems to be whispering somewhere away from the noise to him. "Ed. I'm not crazy. Don't let them tell you I'm crazy. I saw it. I saw that lizard thing take Stan. It threw him in a bag and walked through the wall like it was some kind of ghost. You have to believe me! Come home now!"
As the elevator came, Ed realized Jennifer should have been working that day. Why was she at home? And, more importantly, why was she with Stan Garretti, their landlord?
Yes, Ed Brilke was not the young man he had hoped to be when he'd finish his life. True, he had managed to hold off gray hair into his 40s, but God found away to remind him he was still aging. His father had passed away from heart failure at 54 with a thick full head of hair. Unfortunately, genetics works differently than Ed wanted and his mother's father was as bald as a newborn baby.
The door opens starling him from his revelry. Jim Thomas walks past him with a sidelong glance implying his concern at any man standing in the men's room not at a urinal, toilet or at least washing his hands at the sink. Ed had been caught day dreaming again instead of working. He flipped the handle to cold on the sink and began scrubbing his hands methodically like a surgeon. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand... Ed had read some where that surgeons scrub their hands for a minimum of fifteen second to insure no germs remain on their hands before a surgery. Ed had a fascinating medical history that read like a cliff notes version of a man's life. His childhood records included many dates and diseases listed as he was vaccinated as a young child and through his youth. He had his tetanus booster five years ago after cutting his foot on a rusty fishing hook at a company get away. He had a record of his visit to the cardiologist after his father passed from heart disease. All records indicated Ed was a healthy man. He had never been sick. The hospital records could only cover visits to indicate if he had ever been sick, but Ed had never even had a cold or the flu.
As a child, he only attempted a few sick days once he watched enough TV to recognize the symptoms of a sever cold or flu. He would rub his nose raw with a tissue and apply a light dose of Vaseline for the appearance of runniness, but he was often sent to the bathroom to clean off his face and get ready for school. He had never taken ill with the chicken pox as a child even though his sisters had them when he was 5 years old. his mother forced him to sleep in the same room with the itching twins for 4 nights before she gave up on the hope of getting his infection out of the way with theirs. This sort of disease that was known to be more severe in adulthood than childhood is why Ed washed his hands so thoroughly. It's why he used two paper towels to dry his hands: one for the drying and the other to open the door before he walked out.
Back in the hallway, Ed's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, but he couldn't get it yet. He had the social awkwardness of not wanting to be on his phone while walking away from the bathroom and given anyone reason to believe he was one of those men that had no problem answering the phone while sitting on the toilet. He despised those people and the diseases they likely spread to their phones in those moments. He dreaded having friends that handed him a phone to talk to a friend calling from far away and never knowing how clean it was. If he stayed healthy, he trusted that friend more than before.
Back at his desk, his voicemail light lit red. tapping the voicemail speed dial, Ed enters his pin and presses one numerous time until his message finally plays. The first sound to great him is a siren and then the panicked voice of his wife swearing that he's not at his desk and hanging up. Ed reaches furiously for his cell phone as he stands at his desk and runs to the elevator bank. He pressed the speed dial on his phone and hears this voicemail from his wife. The sirens are quieter this time and she seems to be whispering somewhere away from the noise to him. "Ed. I'm not crazy. Don't let them tell you I'm crazy. I saw it. I saw that lizard thing take Stan. It threw him in a bag and walked through the wall like it was some kind of ghost. You have to believe me! Come home now!"
As the elevator came, Ed realized Jennifer should have been working that day. Why was she at home? And, more importantly, why was she with Stan Garretti, their landlord?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Back Story of Life
They smile at the obituary page. They see those passing on through the eyes of those forced to stay here without them. Those that ask why are clearly not enlightened to the grand scheme. Those that quell the saddened with phrases like "it was his time" or "God has a plan" are considered idiot savants. They know but they do not understand.
Most people have the doubt about everything happening in its time. They want to believe death happens for a reason, but it becomes difficult when it happens to the healthy. To the strong. To the young. They expect it from the old and from the terminal and can not accept when it's horrific and man made.
They can not understand that everyone has a due date stamped into the back of their heads. A time when your earthly voyage is done. Everyone fights it, but they all must succumb to it no matter how great the fight. There is no escaping us. We are everything. We are everywhere.
We have been tasked with a job and we are never failing. We are ever performing. We are clutch in your definition. We always play to win and we never lose. Our numbers may not be as great since the due dates have been extended. Most of our numbers have been laid off and moved onto positions in middle management redirecting the recent term finishers.
We came into a rough patch a few years back and were forced to use some temporary workers. Most were experienced and previous stampers. Some came from other life collection areas such as inceptors and planners. Sadly, we were one short and had to rely on one of the laborers in the entertainment wing. His name was Cyrus and he is why we have an unstamped roaming free.
He is why you are here.
Most people have the doubt about everything happening in its time. They want to believe death happens for a reason, but it becomes difficult when it happens to the healthy. To the strong. To the young. They expect it from the old and from the terminal and can not accept when it's horrific and man made.
They can not understand that everyone has a due date stamped into the back of their heads. A time when your earthly voyage is done. Everyone fights it, but they all must succumb to it no matter how great the fight. There is no escaping us. We are everything. We are everywhere.
We have been tasked with a job and we are never failing. We are ever performing. We are clutch in your definition. We always play to win and we never lose. Our numbers may not be as great since the due dates have been extended. Most of our numbers have been laid off and moved onto positions in middle management redirecting the recent term finishers.
We came into a rough patch a few years back and were forced to use some temporary workers. Most were experienced and previous stampers. Some came from other life collection areas such as inceptors and planners. Sadly, we were one short and had to rely on one of the laborers in the entertainment wing. His name was Cyrus and he is why we have an unstamped roaming free.
He is why you are here.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sui Javo
A fine grey powder billowed skyward from the asphalt before taking the shape of the wind and dissipating into nothing. The cinder blocks tests the results of falling from such great heights. Like an egg drop gone horribly wrong, the event begins. The first contestant walks to the ledge holding cinder block stuffed full of tomatoes and tosses it in an arc with a few tomatoes escaping before implanting in the parking lot below. The cinder block reaches the ground delivering its payload of lycopene to the black top. The concrete splinters a fragment off of the corner allowing the tomatoes to ooze out like some sadistic pasta sauce.
The next contestant steps forward with a wooden box of 1"x2" boards stuffed with pickled beets in one side and 2 4"x4" blocks. The drop is meticulous and the box lands on the wood blocks firing the pickled beets airborne into the nearby splash zone. The ruddy purple strikes near the tomato remains in a spray pattern as if spewed from the mouth of some tomato beast that had fallen to earth. Contestant two walks away pleased with the effect.
Contestant three walks to the ladder rungs peeking over the top of the building's edge and ties the ends of a water balloon slingshot to each before loading the funnel with a leftover order of Chicken Tikka from Fast Fresh Indian. In one smooth motion, she pulls the funnel back tightening the elastic and quickly angles the shot downward firing before any can drip onto the building. An explosion of curry and chicken strike at an angle next to the previous two contestants spraying over top of the other two stains like a sunburst.
The judge nods in approval as contestant 3 steps back rejoining the line of contestants just as contestant four pulls a bag of limes out strapping them to his chest before sprinting and leaping off the edge of the building. The other contestants run to the edge, but can only stop and watch as the body tumbles 6 stories to the parking lot below. The body strikes the ground just beyond the tomatoes firing various streams of green lime pulp and rind in all directions. The body lies still momentarily before pressing against the ground in a push up and rising to his feet.
Shaking off the initial shock, he begins to sprint towards the gate before the guard stops him and knocks him flat with a clothes line. The judge grabs the radio from his belt and barks orders at the guard. In response, the other contestants watch as the guard smashes his flashlight over number four's head and drags the limp body into the guard house.
"Number 3. You are the winner. Now everyone dance!" The judge announces as if nothing happened. Looking downward to the parking lot she now sees the guard and contestant number four outside of the guard house dancing like they were in a dance club. The two contestants are doing an old fashioned swim dance and the judge is breaking down with the pony when she looks down and sees a trophy at her feet.
Picking it up she reads the inscription: "Lisa Weinstand, Winner of Food Stai.. traffic today on the 308 is backed up a bit due to an overturned fruit stand tipping into the exit lane near Randolph."
Lisa awakes to her radio alarm with a styrofoam container lying next to her on her bed. She remembers getting back at near to 2am the night before and ordering late night Indian food. She must have fallen asleep while eating and had a stream of yellow stain down her shirt and on her sheets. Turning 30 wasn't supposed to be like this, she tells herself before killing the alarm clock and rolling over again.
The next contestant steps forward with a wooden box of 1"x2" boards stuffed with pickled beets in one side and 2 4"x4" blocks. The drop is meticulous and the box lands on the wood blocks firing the pickled beets airborne into the nearby splash zone. The ruddy purple strikes near the tomato remains in a spray pattern as if spewed from the mouth of some tomato beast that had fallen to earth. Contestant two walks away pleased with the effect.
Contestant three walks to the ladder rungs peeking over the top of the building's edge and ties the ends of a water balloon slingshot to each before loading the funnel with a leftover order of Chicken Tikka from Fast Fresh Indian. In one smooth motion, she pulls the funnel back tightening the elastic and quickly angles the shot downward firing before any can drip onto the building. An explosion of curry and chicken strike at an angle next to the previous two contestants spraying over top of the other two stains like a sunburst.
The judge nods in approval as contestant 3 steps back rejoining the line of contestants just as contestant four pulls a bag of limes out strapping them to his chest before sprinting and leaping off the edge of the building. The other contestants run to the edge, but can only stop and watch as the body tumbles 6 stories to the parking lot below. The body strikes the ground just beyond the tomatoes firing various streams of green lime pulp and rind in all directions. The body lies still momentarily before pressing against the ground in a push up and rising to his feet.
Shaking off the initial shock, he begins to sprint towards the gate before the guard stops him and knocks him flat with a clothes line. The judge grabs the radio from his belt and barks orders at the guard. In response, the other contestants watch as the guard smashes his flashlight over number four's head and drags the limp body into the guard house.
"Number 3. You are the winner. Now everyone dance!" The judge announces as if nothing happened. Looking downward to the parking lot she now sees the guard and contestant number four outside of the guard house dancing like they were in a dance club. The two contestants are doing an old fashioned swim dance and the judge is breaking down with the pony when she looks down and sees a trophy at her feet.
Picking it up she reads the inscription: "Lisa Weinstand, Winner of Food Stai.. traffic today on the 308 is backed up a bit due to an overturned fruit stand tipping into the exit lane near Randolph."
Lisa awakes to her radio alarm with a styrofoam container lying next to her on her bed. She remembers getting back at near to 2am the night before and ordering late night Indian food. She must have fallen asleep while eating and had a stream of yellow stain down her shirt and on her sheets. Turning 30 wasn't supposed to be like this, she tells herself before killing the alarm clock and rolling over again.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Spreading
That woman was dead and that bullet went right through her chest! Jackson Krennan couldn't believe his luck. He had always wanted to wonder the streets of the city and find something amazing to tell stories about for once in his life. Enough of Bill's running of the bulls story in the cafeteria. He managed to find a way to fit that damn story in no matter what the topic.
"I can't believe they think macaroni and cheese constitutes an entree in the cafeteria. Next they'll be saying a bag of chips if an entree and we should shell out $5 for the privilege of having a plate full of Doritos!"
"I hear you. When I was running with the bulls in Pamplona, the had a lot of expensive treats at the vendors lined up along the course. Not like I had time to partake since I was running for my life and all."
Jackson hated that guy. To make matters worse, his desk was next to Bill's and he had ti hear Bill use that story on sales calls to bully people into buying one of the products in their catalog that week. Telemarketing is bad enough without this joker telling the same lame anecdotes over and over to guilt someone into a purchase to make up for not having as fulfilling of a life as Bill had.
Finally he had a story to use of his own. Don't miss your opportunity. I watched a young woman killed on the streets out here...her whole life ahead of her. You never know what could happen if you don't grab every opportunity! Jackson had it all running through his head as he doubled over in pain from a piercing pain in his chest. He felt the hot pain of the sidewalk cracking against his forehead and the cold in the pit of his stomach as his body rebooted.
His eyes opened to a pair of white tennis shoes on a sidewalk. He could not tell how long he had gone down for, but he knew one thing. Nobody was coming to check on him. Not with the dead girl in the street. He gathered himself slowly and bit more sluggish than expected to his knees. His first attempt to pull his left foot into a partially crouched pose failed as if it weren't responding to his commands at this point.
After more grunting and moaning than his personal trainer would like to see in a customer, Jackson made it back to his feet in time to see the woman standing in the street again like some undead weeble wobble. Why is she still standing there! I saw that shot go right through her.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Some story this was turning out to be. He had to say something to somebody just to prove he wasn't insane. Luckily, the streets were crowded with people witnessing the whole event. He turned to see if the sneaker lady was still next to him and was taken aback to find she wasn't watching the woman at all. her eyes bore only into him as he turned to face her.
"What are you staring at me for? She's the one still standing after a truck ran her down and a cop shot her in the chest." His voice must not have come back completely after the crack to his head because Jackson heard only the tone of his own voice as a guttural howl.
Something in that tone must have frightened the woman with the white sneakers as she recoiled in horror nearly knocking the couple behind her over backwards. She fell backwards as the couple split not wanting to touch her for some reason. Jackson wanted to make sure she was alright when he noticed those same white tennis shoes she was wearing were spattered red.
Jackson assumed his fall must have caused more blood than he imagined to come out of him. Reaching for his forehead to check for a scrape, he realized he was still holding something in his hand. To his dismay, it was a woman's arm. Further frightening him was his next action as he moved it to his mouth to take a bite.
"I can't believe they think macaroni and cheese constitutes an entree in the cafeteria. Next they'll be saying a bag of chips if an entree and we should shell out $5 for the privilege of having a plate full of Doritos!"
"I hear you. When I was running with the bulls in Pamplona, the had a lot of expensive treats at the vendors lined up along the course. Not like I had time to partake since I was running for my life and all."
Jackson hated that guy. To make matters worse, his desk was next to Bill's and he had ti hear Bill use that story on sales calls to bully people into buying one of the products in their catalog that week. Telemarketing is bad enough without this joker telling the same lame anecdotes over and over to guilt someone into a purchase to make up for not having as fulfilling of a life as Bill had.
Finally he had a story to use of his own. Don't miss your opportunity. I watched a young woman killed on the streets out here...her whole life ahead of her. You never know what could happen if you don't grab every opportunity! Jackson had it all running through his head as he doubled over in pain from a piercing pain in his chest. He felt the hot pain of the sidewalk cracking against his forehead and the cold in the pit of his stomach as his body rebooted.
His eyes opened to a pair of white tennis shoes on a sidewalk. He could not tell how long he had gone down for, but he knew one thing. Nobody was coming to check on him. Not with the dead girl in the street. He gathered himself slowly and bit more sluggish than expected to his knees. His first attempt to pull his left foot into a partially crouched pose failed as if it weren't responding to his commands at this point.
After more grunting and moaning than his personal trainer would like to see in a customer, Jackson made it back to his feet in time to see the woman standing in the street again like some undead weeble wobble. Why is she still standing there! I saw that shot go right through her.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Some story this was turning out to be. He had to say something to somebody just to prove he wasn't insane. Luckily, the streets were crowded with people witnessing the whole event. He turned to see if the sneaker lady was still next to him and was taken aback to find she wasn't watching the woman at all. her eyes bore only into him as he turned to face her.
"What are you staring at me for? She's the one still standing after a truck ran her down and a cop shot her in the chest." His voice must not have come back completely after the crack to his head because Jackson heard only the tone of his own voice as a guttural howl.
Something in that tone must have frightened the woman with the white sneakers as she recoiled in horror nearly knocking the couple behind her over backwards. She fell backwards as the couple split not wanting to touch her for some reason. Jackson wanted to make sure she was alright when he noticed those same white tennis shoes she was wearing were spattered red.
Jackson assumed his fall must have caused more blood than he imagined to come out of him. Reaching for his forehead to check for a scrape, he realized he was still holding something in his hand. To his dismay, it was a woman's arm. Further frightening him was his next action as he moved it to his mouth to take a bite.
Monday, May 5, 2008
The baby epidemic
Erin Morgan Shine, 35 years old, lies 8 months pregnant in the hammock in the side yard of her home on 318 North Prospect place in Spring Hill, Indiana. She and her second husband, Eric, have lived there for nearly two years. Eric is mowing the back lawn as Erin relaxes on a cool autumn day after a morning of picking through the baby names book together. Names had been tossed around both from the book and as jokes to make each other laugh, but nothing was agreed upon yet.
Eric didn't have any male role models in his family that he would consider naming the child after. His father had been one of the string of congressmen linked to the DC Madame prostitution ring as "Customer 10" on the list before congress a year back. He had no uncles and his grandfather had fled to Canada to avoid the draft into WWII which Eric did not fault him for, but he abandoned Eric's grandmother and father at the same time and never returned to the US once he found a new love in Saskatchewan.
Erin liked the names of Eric's father and grandfather, but Eric would not hear of being reminded of his family's past or force his child to live a life in their shadow and name. The name choices were also limited by Erin's refusal to name her son the same as any other children in the neighborhood. She feared the day when she asked if her son was somewhere by first name only and allowed her son to go missing for not asking for him beyond first name. The sheer number of pregnant women on Prospect place also made it difficult. Each was at a similar stage of pregnancy and each was also having a son due within a two month period of each other.
Evelyn Taylor, 34, lives next door to Erin and Eric at 316 and moved in a month prior. She had laid claim to the name Gabriel weeks ago and is expected to go into labor at any minute with her due date so close. Despite this fact, Evelyn is standing next to her mower attempting to pull start the push mower in between waving to neighbors walking past. Her husband, Ron, is a traveling salesman fresh off a long route of sales and with a month of vacation beginning today. He's currently sleeping on the couch in the living room while his wife gladly does work outside ecstatic to have her husband back before she delivers.
Marissa James, 19, power walks out her front door across the street at 315 Prospect place. Marissa came into money from her parents when they passed in the tsunami that hit the great lakes region 3 years earlier in the height of the spate of worldwide weather headlines. She moved to the neighborhood after nearly 2 1/2 years of blindly drinking her way across the country with her then boyfriend, Tommy Tension (Tinsman), of the band Lickfinger. The band's trademark image ripped off from the Rolling Stones lips and tongue image could be seen peaking out from behind the spaghetti straps of her tank top. She had dumped him after the last tour after finding him with two groupies and a bong in the back of their van. After a night of arguing and a "fitting goodbye" as Marissa called it, she bought 315 and found out two weeks later that she was pregnant. Though she didn't speak to many in the neighborhood, word had spread that she too was having a boy and had taken to the name Nigel because "it would really piss Tommy off to have a son with a name like that."
There were 5 other women on Prospect place that were also pregnant not counting Jackie Bailey who lost her baby when she moved to South Bend when her husband, Ed, got transferred for his job. It happened almost as soon as they moved according to Jackie. The doctors tell her it was likely the stress of relocating so late in her pregnancy, but Jackie swears she stopped feeling her unborn son kick when they drove out of the neighborhood with the moving truck.
Eight women on the same block shared due dates with 58 days of each other and eight women had to fight over individual baby shower dates. Linda Butler's was coming up in a couple of days and Erin was thinking of a unique gift for her while lying peacefully on the hammock that day as Eric walked up and shut down the mower. He leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.
"How is your new hammock working out for you, my dear?" The previous hammock had weight limits that Eric learned about when he tripped and landed heavily across the ropes. He wanted to be able to lie safely with his pregnant wife, so he had picked up a higher strength nylon brand. Erin joked that he was hinting at her increased girth.
"Good. I haven't broken it yet. I'll give you a shout if I hear it creaking on me." Eric loved to see her smile even if she was a bit self conscious about it. She had knocked a tooth loose while moving and it had settled somewhat crooked. Eric said it gave her the most genuine smile he had ever seen and he should know as a lawyer what a genuine smile looks like.
"Ha ha. That things is weight tested by rocket scientists at NASA for catch the space shuttle during re-entry. If you hear a creaking, I would suspect it's the trees coming down."
"That's cute. Stop teasing your pregnant wife and grab the paper in the driveway. I want to see if there are any sales on baby furniture for Linda. I drew the furniture gift paper for her shower and can't rely on a fresh pack of onesies this time." To even up the baby showers in the neighborhoods, each coming shower had a paper draw from a hat with a number of baby gift options so everyone spent a similar amount overall and no one felt cheated. Some of the women there could be very petty.
"As you command, my lady." With a grand bow, Eric wandered off to the front of the house for the paper. He was lucky he was cute because his sense of humor most of the time wasn't going to win him any awards.
With a thud, the paper landed next to her on the ground just out of reach.
"Very funny." She didn't see him from the front, but she knew the image of her struggling to get out of the hammock would send him running. She reached the paper before she saw him on the road talking to Jonathan Kine, the rich developer that owned the land and the big house on Keiser drive. She never quite trusted him after the shopping development fiasco forced her out of her first house in Spring Hill even if it couldn't have been his fault that the zoning committee failed him.
She was beginning to wonder again how someone with the money to buy such a large number of land plot could not afford to bribe an official or three to get proper zoning when the newspaper at her feet nearly made her collapse in a heap. With a sprint that would be considered quite adept for a college track star, Erin picked up the paper and bolted to the house screaming "Oh God" loud enough to bring Eric running along side her.
Erin nearly knocked Eric over with the screen door running to the kitchen counter knocking the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers to the ground. Erin snatched the phone and immediately started dialing the only phone number with an area code in Arizona she knew. She tossed the paper to the table and stared unblinking at the headline as the line rang in her ear before informing her the number she is attempting to reach has been disconnected. Eric studied his wife's face before he too noticed the headline, "Freak Flood wipes out Southwest" and realized what she was doing. "Bert!"
Eric didn't have any male role models in his family that he would consider naming the child after. His father had been one of the string of congressmen linked to the DC Madame prostitution ring as "Customer 10" on the list before congress a year back. He had no uncles and his grandfather had fled to Canada to avoid the draft into WWII which Eric did not fault him for, but he abandoned Eric's grandmother and father at the same time and never returned to the US once he found a new love in Saskatchewan.
Erin liked the names of Eric's father and grandfather, but Eric would not hear of being reminded of his family's past or force his child to live a life in their shadow and name. The name choices were also limited by Erin's refusal to name her son the same as any other children in the neighborhood. She feared the day when she asked if her son was somewhere by first name only and allowed her son to go missing for not asking for him beyond first name. The sheer number of pregnant women on Prospect place also made it difficult. Each was at a similar stage of pregnancy and each was also having a son due within a two month period of each other.
Evelyn Taylor, 34, lives next door to Erin and Eric at 316 and moved in a month prior. She had laid claim to the name Gabriel weeks ago and is expected to go into labor at any minute with her due date so close. Despite this fact, Evelyn is standing next to her mower attempting to pull start the push mower in between waving to neighbors walking past. Her husband, Ron, is a traveling salesman fresh off a long route of sales and with a month of vacation beginning today. He's currently sleeping on the couch in the living room while his wife gladly does work outside ecstatic to have her husband back before she delivers.
Marissa James, 19, power walks out her front door across the street at 315 Prospect place. Marissa came into money from her parents when they passed in the tsunami that hit the great lakes region 3 years earlier in the height of the spate of worldwide weather headlines. She moved to the neighborhood after nearly 2 1/2 years of blindly drinking her way across the country with her then boyfriend, Tommy Tension (Tinsman), of the band Lickfinger. The band's trademark image ripped off from the Rolling Stones lips and tongue image could be seen peaking out from behind the spaghetti straps of her tank top. She had dumped him after the last tour after finding him with two groupies and a bong in the back of their van. After a night of arguing and a "fitting goodbye" as Marissa called it, she bought 315 and found out two weeks later that she was pregnant. Though she didn't speak to many in the neighborhood, word had spread that she too was having a boy and had taken to the name Nigel because "it would really piss Tommy off to have a son with a name like that."
There were 5 other women on Prospect place that were also pregnant not counting Jackie Bailey who lost her baby when she moved to South Bend when her husband, Ed, got transferred for his job. It happened almost as soon as they moved according to Jackie. The doctors tell her it was likely the stress of relocating so late in her pregnancy, but Jackie swears she stopped feeling her unborn son kick when they drove out of the neighborhood with the moving truck.
Eight women on the same block shared due dates with 58 days of each other and eight women had to fight over individual baby shower dates. Linda Butler's was coming up in a couple of days and Erin was thinking of a unique gift for her while lying peacefully on the hammock that day as Eric walked up and shut down the mower. He leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek.
"How is your new hammock working out for you, my dear?" The previous hammock had weight limits that Eric learned about when he tripped and landed heavily across the ropes. He wanted to be able to lie safely with his pregnant wife, so he had picked up a higher strength nylon brand. Erin joked that he was hinting at her increased girth.
"Good. I haven't broken it yet. I'll give you a shout if I hear it creaking on me." Eric loved to see her smile even if she was a bit self conscious about it. She had knocked a tooth loose while moving and it had settled somewhat crooked. Eric said it gave her the most genuine smile he had ever seen and he should know as a lawyer what a genuine smile looks like.
"Ha ha. That things is weight tested by rocket scientists at NASA for catch the space shuttle during re-entry. If you hear a creaking, I would suspect it's the trees coming down."
"That's cute. Stop teasing your pregnant wife and grab the paper in the driveway. I want to see if there are any sales on baby furniture for Linda. I drew the furniture gift paper for her shower and can't rely on a fresh pack of onesies this time." To even up the baby showers in the neighborhoods, each coming shower had a paper draw from a hat with a number of baby gift options so everyone spent a similar amount overall and no one felt cheated. Some of the women there could be very petty.
"As you command, my lady." With a grand bow, Eric wandered off to the front of the house for the paper. He was lucky he was cute because his sense of humor most of the time wasn't going to win him any awards.
With a thud, the paper landed next to her on the ground just out of reach.
"Very funny." She didn't see him from the front, but she knew the image of her struggling to get out of the hammock would send him running. She reached the paper before she saw him on the road talking to Jonathan Kine, the rich developer that owned the land and the big house on Keiser drive. She never quite trusted him after the shopping development fiasco forced her out of her first house in Spring Hill even if it couldn't have been his fault that the zoning committee failed him.
She was beginning to wonder again how someone with the money to buy such a large number of land plot could not afford to bribe an official or three to get proper zoning when the newspaper at her feet nearly made her collapse in a heap. With a sprint that would be considered quite adept for a college track star, Erin picked up the paper and bolted to the house screaming "Oh God" loud enough to bring Eric running along side her.
Erin nearly knocked Eric over with the screen door running to the kitchen counter knocking the napkin holder and salt and pepper shakers to the ground. Erin snatched the phone and immediately started dialing the only phone number with an area code in Arizona she knew. She tossed the paper to the table and stared unblinking at the headline as the line rang in her ear before informing her the number she is attempting to reach has been disconnected. Eric studied his wife's face before he too noticed the headline, "Freak Flood wipes out Southwest" and realized what she was doing. "Bert!"
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Up a flooded creek without a paddle
At 45 degrees, the water began to tighten the muscles in his chest as he struggled weakly at his modified dog paddle. The term flash flood is used to alert residents to the potential for low-lying areas to be overcome with rain water that falls to quickly to be absorbed by the ground causing rising levels of flood waters.
Bert Erinson lived in a town in Arizona called Quartzsite between Phoenix and the California border. The chance of a flash flood was not taken seriously in this desert-land town. Even forecasts of rain were considered similar to bigfoot sightings. News reports had come in from Prescott that Chino Valley and Prescott Valley had experienced unusual weather patterns in the past few days, but so is the life of a valley town in some mountain ranges in the west. It was not unheard of for a valley town to have days of 80 degree sun baking weather to be hit in the middle of the night by snow fall from winds coming off the mountains.
Bert had moved back to Arizona after things back in the neighborhood in western Indiana near Terre Haute. He had lived there with his wife Erin for twelve years before Jonathan moved in and began buying up property. He and Erin had shopped feverishly when they were first married for what would be their first house together before deciding to buy into the Mayfair Meadows land development deal. They purchased a model home with two bathrooms and four bedrooms including a 2 car garage and a 1000 square foot kitchen with a built-in breakfast bar. It was a good sized home for a first home and they got such a deal, they never thought twice about the deal. They couldn't pass it up even if they did not own the land they lived on just like the rest of their neighbors.
After two years of marriage and multiple decor changes, Jonathan Kine from GEB Investments suddenly knocks on the door and offers the couple a half million dollars for their home. His firm was investing in building a large shopping complex south of Terre Haute and not far from the populous in the Rea Park Golf Course area with the majority of the money. He gives them 30 days to decide or be evicted since his investment company owns the actual plot of land under the house. The offer of money is being given to all of the home owners in the development as a sign of good faith and to keep angry headlines from dulling the shine on the potential money making venture.
Erin was set against selling and was prepared to retain a lawyer when Bert pushed her to reconsider. With the amount of money being offered, they could buy a larger home in one of the other suburbs, Bert argues.
"Emotions aside, a first home is a starter home," Bert said. "We've come to appreciate what it's like to live together and the small quarrels we have while trying to keep up payments on our mortgage. Isn't it time to 'move on up to the east side' as it were? We could live near the golf course and our finances could go towards only the extravagances we want instead of concerning ourselves with paying the bills. We could be free to live carefree the we we've always wanted. Just you and me hanging out by a nice pool. We could play some golf and take vacations whenever we want to."
"Or we could stay here and have a home that we earned for ourselves over years of school and career moves to bring us to where we are today. I don't want those carefree days as you call them. They were empty times. I want to move on. I want to grow up. I want to pay bills and work hard to support children. Plan for our future. If we have time to golf on occasion, we can do that, but I like my life of responsibility."
"That's a bit selfish. We have a unique opportunity and I'm going to take it. I don't want to pull rank on this call, but I am the primary on our mortgage since you were still finishing up school and had no income to support the mortgage. Start looking into a set of clubs, because we are going to accept that man's offer."
"That doesn't sound like the man I want to spend my life with or raise a family with. What happened to the guy that just wanted to finish his degree, start a life with me and enjoy the simple things. Why does the offer of money have to change all of that?"
"That guy in college was on a scholarship. He didn't have loans to worry about after school and didn't realize how slow promotions come in business around here. He thought he would have it easier than we do. Right now, you are the only part of this family I want to worry about."
"What do you mean by that?" Erin grasped for the stairway railing behind her dramatically. Bert thought she was being over-dramatic to guilt him into giving in to her. Her tone had begun to waver a bit like it did when she was getting angry with him. A tone he had grown to recognize far to often in their struggle to make ends meet in far too many months over the past few years.
"I mean that this is not the time to consider children. If we can't discuss this house sale business rationally, how can I consider having a child with you. In fact, I'm not that crazy about the idea of adding diapers and clothes they will outgrow in a matter of months to our already fleeting cash flow. So forget children." His relationship had blossomed on a different set of three words. These three would throw the rest of them away.
Erin walked out of the house slamming the door behind her. She would not return until late that night. That would be the last night they slept in the same bed much less the same bedroom. Erin did eventually retain that lawyer but in the arena of divorce. She was against the idea of the sale, but was entitled to half of the outcome after Bert had forced her from a home she had grown to love for money.
A few months after the divorce was finalized, Bert gave up his studio apartment in Terre Haute, as he was transferred to the Phoenix office. Due to the amount of travel now required between his office in Phoenix and a major client site in Palm Springs, Bert bought a small house in Quartzsite roughly half way between each city. His one bedroom one bathroom ranch style home was enough for what it was to him. A storage space for a bed and clothing. He ate on the road every meal now. His refrigerator had become a cold box for storing rancid milk and bad lunch meats.
Erin contacted him a year ago today about her new life. She still lived in Spring Hill and had even bought a house from Jonathan Kine in a new development he called the Lincoln Estates. After 8 years as a divorcee, Bert was now acutely aware that the business world in Indiana had caused him stress in his marriage and forced him to try and accept a money laden deal that ended up being pointless for the developer and investment firm. A couple days after he and Erin each moved to their respective home after the divorce, she called him to let him know they were tearing down the house on Wednesday and wanted to know if he would come with her to watch it happen. She hoped it would be cathartic, but they ended up arguing the entire time.
The shopping mall plans that had forced them from their home had never come to fruition. The zoning fell through and GEB ended up scrapping those plans and redeveloping the area into multiple small streets ending in cul de sacs formed like the spokes of a wheel with a large community building joining each of the street ends to join the home owners into one large community. His plan would double the number of people living in Spring Hill and maybe even bring better schools into the area for her future children. This was how she told him she had remarried and was pregnant.
Erin had begun dating her divorce attorney after Bert moved away and, as it turns out, the lawyer had also worked with Jonathan Kine on his zoning troubles. Thanks to his efforts, Eric Shine, had acquired one of the new homes in the new development for cheap and asked Erin to marry him when he brought her to see his new home.
They had been married a year when Erin called Bert and were now pregnant. She was on leave from her job at the university while she prepared for the birth of a son. She said it had all happened so fast and things were going so well for both of them now. She had let go of her resentment for how she and Bert had parted and wanted to wish him the best in his life. It was unfortunate the Bert's life was not going well, but he wasn't about to let her know how miserable he was. She may have let go of the resentment, but he had not.
He was prepared to explain how his life was now everything he had always wanted it to be hoping to end his sentences with things like "now that I don't have to support you" or "now that I don't have your negative attitude keeping me down", but was interrupted by a knock at Erin's door by another pregnant neighbor. She let him go and asked him to call her back sometime and to keep in touch. he would do neither before the news reports began coming in of the earthquakes in Mexico that sheared the peninsula including Cancun, where they had honeymooned, into the gulf. They estimated 30,000 to 40,000 people died and many were pulled under when the land mass sunk by a vortex effect by the suddenness of the sinking.
Two months later, electric generators in London exploded across the country leaving a million people without power. one month later, the power was still not repaired when the markets in Hong Kong shut down abruptly due to a sudden explosion somewhere underground that caused an aeration effect sinking much of Hong Kong's marketplace under a 1000 feet of dirt and soot.
Bert ran through some of these well known stories now as he struggled to keep his chin above water with his toes perched cautiously on the roof of his now submerged home in Quartzsite.
Bert Erinson lived in a town in Arizona called Quartzsite between Phoenix and the California border. The chance of a flash flood was not taken seriously in this desert-land town. Even forecasts of rain were considered similar to bigfoot sightings. News reports had come in from Prescott that Chino Valley and Prescott Valley had experienced unusual weather patterns in the past few days, but so is the life of a valley town in some mountain ranges in the west. It was not unheard of for a valley town to have days of 80 degree sun baking weather to be hit in the middle of the night by snow fall from winds coming off the mountains.
Bert had moved back to Arizona after things back in the neighborhood in western Indiana near Terre Haute. He had lived there with his wife Erin for twelve years before Jonathan moved in and began buying up property. He and Erin had shopped feverishly when they were first married for what would be their first house together before deciding to buy into the Mayfair Meadows land development deal. They purchased a model home with two bathrooms and four bedrooms including a 2 car garage and a 1000 square foot kitchen with a built-in breakfast bar. It was a good sized home for a first home and they got such a deal, they never thought twice about the deal. They couldn't pass it up even if they did not own the land they lived on just like the rest of their neighbors.
After two years of marriage and multiple decor changes, Jonathan Kine from GEB Investments suddenly knocks on the door and offers the couple a half million dollars for their home. His firm was investing in building a large shopping complex south of Terre Haute and not far from the populous in the Rea Park Golf Course area with the majority of the money. He gives them 30 days to decide or be evicted since his investment company owns the actual plot of land under the house. The offer of money is being given to all of the home owners in the development as a sign of good faith and to keep angry headlines from dulling the shine on the potential money making venture.
Erin was set against selling and was prepared to retain a lawyer when Bert pushed her to reconsider. With the amount of money being offered, they could buy a larger home in one of the other suburbs, Bert argues.
"Emotions aside, a first home is a starter home," Bert said. "We've come to appreciate what it's like to live together and the small quarrels we have while trying to keep up payments on our mortgage. Isn't it time to 'move on up to the east side' as it were? We could live near the golf course and our finances could go towards only the extravagances we want instead of concerning ourselves with paying the bills. We could be free to live carefree the we we've always wanted. Just you and me hanging out by a nice pool. We could play some golf and take vacations whenever we want to."
"Or we could stay here and have a home that we earned for ourselves over years of school and career moves to bring us to where we are today. I don't want those carefree days as you call them. They were empty times. I want to move on. I want to grow up. I want to pay bills and work hard to support children. Plan for our future. If we have time to golf on occasion, we can do that, but I like my life of responsibility."
"That's a bit selfish. We have a unique opportunity and I'm going to take it. I don't want to pull rank on this call, but I am the primary on our mortgage since you were still finishing up school and had no income to support the mortgage. Start looking into a set of clubs, because we are going to accept that man's offer."
"That doesn't sound like the man I want to spend my life with or raise a family with. What happened to the guy that just wanted to finish his degree, start a life with me and enjoy the simple things. Why does the offer of money have to change all of that?"
"That guy in college was on a scholarship. He didn't have loans to worry about after school and didn't realize how slow promotions come in business around here. He thought he would have it easier than we do. Right now, you are the only part of this family I want to worry about."
"What do you mean by that?" Erin grasped for the stairway railing behind her dramatically. Bert thought she was being over-dramatic to guilt him into giving in to her. Her tone had begun to waver a bit like it did when she was getting angry with him. A tone he had grown to recognize far to often in their struggle to make ends meet in far too many months over the past few years.
"I mean that this is not the time to consider children. If we can't discuss this house sale business rationally, how can I consider having a child with you. In fact, I'm not that crazy about the idea of adding diapers and clothes they will outgrow in a matter of months to our already fleeting cash flow. So forget children." His relationship had blossomed on a different set of three words. These three would throw the rest of them away.
Erin walked out of the house slamming the door behind her. She would not return until late that night. That would be the last night they slept in the same bed much less the same bedroom. Erin did eventually retain that lawyer but in the arena of divorce. She was against the idea of the sale, but was entitled to half of the outcome after Bert had forced her from a home she had grown to love for money.
A few months after the divorce was finalized, Bert gave up his studio apartment in Terre Haute, as he was transferred to the Phoenix office. Due to the amount of travel now required between his office in Phoenix and a major client site in Palm Springs, Bert bought a small house in Quartzsite roughly half way between each city. His one bedroom one bathroom ranch style home was enough for what it was to him. A storage space for a bed and clothing. He ate on the road every meal now. His refrigerator had become a cold box for storing rancid milk and bad lunch meats.
Erin contacted him a year ago today about her new life. She still lived in Spring Hill and had even bought a house from Jonathan Kine in a new development he called the Lincoln Estates. After 8 years as a divorcee, Bert was now acutely aware that the business world in Indiana had caused him stress in his marriage and forced him to try and accept a money laden deal that ended up being pointless for the developer and investment firm. A couple days after he and Erin each moved to their respective home after the divorce, she called him to let him know they were tearing down the house on Wednesday and wanted to know if he would come with her to watch it happen. She hoped it would be cathartic, but they ended up arguing the entire time.
The shopping mall plans that had forced them from their home had never come to fruition. The zoning fell through and GEB ended up scrapping those plans and redeveloping the area into multiple small streets ending in cul de sacs formed like the spokes of a wheel with a large community building joining each of the street ends to join the home owners into one large community. His plan would double the number of people living in Spring Hill and maybe even bring better schools into the area for her future children. This was how she told him she had remarried and was pregnant.
Erin had begun dating her divorce attorney after Bert moved away and, as it turns out, the lawyer had also worked with Jonathan Kine on his zoning troubles. Thanks to his efforts, Eric Shine, had acquired one of the new homes in the new development for cheap and asked Erin to marry him when he brought her to see his new home.
They had been married a year when Erin called Bert and were now pregnant. She was on leave from her job at the university while she prepared for the birth of a son. She said it had all happened so fast and things were going so well for both of them now. She had let go of her resentment for how she and Bert had parted and wanted to wish him the best in his life. It was unfortunate the Bert's life was not going well, but he wasn't about to let her know how miserable he was. She may have let go of the resentment, but he had not.
He was prepared to explain how his life was now everything he had always wanted it to be hoping to end his sentences with things like "now that I don't have to support you" or "now that I don't have your negative attitude keeping me down", but was interrupted by a knock at Erin's door by another pregnant neighbor. She let him go and asked him to call her back sometime and to keep in touch. he would do neither before the news reports began coming in of the earthquakes in Mexico that sheared the peninsula including Cancun, where they had honeymooned, into the gulf. They estimated 30,000 to 40,000 people died and many were pulled under when the land mass sunk by a vortex effect by the suddenness of the sinking.
Two months later, electric generators in London exploded across the country leaving a million people without power. one month later, the power was still not repaired when the markets in Hong Kong shut down abruptly due to a sudden explosion somewhere underground that caused an aeration effect sinking much of Hong Kong's marketplace under a 1000 feet of dirt and soot.
Bert ran through some of these well known stories now as he struggled to keep his chin above water with his toes perched cautiously on the roof of his now submerged home in Quartzsite.
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