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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.