"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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
