Jimbeau

Jimbeau

                With every greedy gulp, and avaricious sip, Penelope felt that this case was getting nowhere, even slower. But it wasn’t her job to say that to Jimbeau. That’s not what she was hired for. The flask never strayed too far away from his lips, as if he were a noble crusader trekking through the wilderness on a quest to find the Holy Land, and his Holy Water was the only thing keeping him alive. However, not only was that a dramatization, Penelope thought, but it was also an extreme mistranslation.

                “We Parsons can hold our liquor,” he slurred out to Penelope. She was at the wheel, and the big red truck rolled through the town. None of the buildings in the town were any higher than 3 stories. Even the water tower, totally visible from any place in the town appeared to be short, as if no one in that town drank water, and everyone was just as much of a drunk as Jimbeau.

                “Well, now, don’t even gimme that look. You know I can hold my liq…” Jimbeau began, interrupted by a sharp hiccup.

                “’Beau, you’ve drank too much. I don’t want you to be intoxicated in front of our only lead, but it looks like we have no choi…” Penelope began.

                “Penny, girl, I done told you not to be usin’ them big words around me when I drink. I don’t even know what the hell you just sa…”

                “But, Jim you always drink.”

                “Exactly, sweetheart,” Jimbeau answered, chuckling. He reached over and tried to curl Penelope’s hair around his finger, but he missed horribly and accidentally stuck his finger in her ear. Used to these kinds of shenanigans, she smacked his hand down and said, “I’ll give you just this one warning, because I’m used to these kinds of shenanigans. Touch me again, and you’re gonna have a new hole to drink out of.”

                “Ooh feisty. I like it,” was Jimbeau’s reply. He was a bit more foreward than usual today.

                They pulled into the driveway of a trailer. There was a dog in the back, barking for attention, and a baby in one of the rooms by the window crying for the same thing. Penelope exited the car first. She brushed the dust off of her jeans, and examined her boots. The Magnum .357 in her holster bounced against her breast, reminding her of her empowerment. She put on her black blazer over her red shirt, and then removed her black, wide brimmed hat from the gun-rack in the back of the truck. She placed it on her head, and then put on her game-face.

                Jimbeau put his flask under his seat, and then stumbled out of the truck. He was also wearing jeans and a blazer, but his was far more wrinkled, and the white dress shirt under the blazer had sweat-stains in the armpit. He wore his .45 at his hip, and wore it out, brazenly so. His badge wasn’t visible however, which was probably due to the fact that he left it at home that morning.

                “Did you forget your damn badge, again?” Penelope asked.

                “It’ll be fine sweetheart. People know that I’m the law ‘round here,” he responded.

                “Whatever. Just let me do all the talking.”

                “Unh huh. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

                She wished so hard that he wouldn’t call her sweetheart. She wished she could tell him, but that wasn’t her job. Penelope was not even an official officer of the law, like Jimbeau. She was a consulting private investigator on this case. Her job was to help Jimbeau.

A large woman came to the door, a small, crying baby clinging on to the top of her belly, and the flab on her back, confusing them both for breasts.

                “Are ’yall here for Jackson?” she asked, the motions of her lips being mimicked the motions of her chins. Her eyes were for the most part squinted shut.

                Penelope opened her mouth to speak but, “If you know where that summabitch is, you better start talkin, now, y’hear?” erupted from Jimbeau’s drunken throat. A bird in the bush flew away, startled at the volume, and the baby began to cry harder.

                “I don’t know where he is!! I swear,” her face sank back into her face-fat when she made the “s” sound, but then it emerged like a turtle when she made the “wear” sound.

                “And, We,” Penelope shot an irritated look at Jimbeau when she said we. “Believe you. We just have a few questions that we would like to ask…” she said, getting cut off again by Jimbeau.

                “And if I find out you’re lyin’ to me…” Jimbeau began.

                “Which I am certain wouldn’t happen. You appear to be reasonabl…”Penelope tried to cut him off.

                “Then you’re gonna find out what it feels like ta get jackslapped by the long arm of the law!”

                Penelope stomped on Jimbeau’s toe, making sure to use the heel of her boot. The woman was in tears, and together with her child, there was a big sloppy mess in the doorway, keeping them from their investigation. A man wearing old worn jeans, and paint covered shoes came around the corner inside of the trailer.

                “What the hell is goin on ‘round here?” he questioned.

                “Nothin’ Lester. Just go’n back to your Tv,” the soggy woman at the door sobbed out.

                “You givin’ my woman a hard time?” Lester asked, pointing his finger, trying to be intimidating.

                “No not at all sir. We are looking for your son Jackson. He is wanted for the kidnapping of a minor and also…” Penelope started to explain.

                “Oh, that summabitch? He stopped bein my son a long time ago. Gloria, move your haunches out of the doorway, before you get charged with obstruction,” Lester said, managing to disrespect his entire family in one fell swoop. Gloria moved out of the way, and the duo entered the trailer, Jimbeau walking in first, too drunk to remember his chivalry if he had any to begin with. All four of the adults sat around the living room, the couple on the sofa, and Jimbeau and Penelope on the loveseat. Before Penelope reached her seat, she looked down to see Jimbeau’s hand placed palm up on top of her seat, almost beckoning for her forbidden lady parts. She quickly flashed her .357 at him, too fast for the couple to see, but just long enough for Jimbeau to move his hand.

                “Now, tell me, when was the last time either of you saw Jackson, for any amount of time?” Penelope calmly asked.

                “I seen ‘im around the water tower the other night,” Gloria stated. Lester stayed quiet.

                “Was this before the 20^th?” Penelope asked.

                “This was two days ago,” she said.

                “Did he have a girl with him? Probably wearing shorts and a pink tanktop? She would have had long brown hair, and blue colored sunglasses?”

                “Hell, I don’t remember, sweetheart. I had been drinkin’ because I just left the bar,” she said. Penelope cursed to herself.

                “But…I think he was with his friend Matt. I never cared for him much,” she said.

                “Do you know where Matt is now?” Penelope leaned on the edge of her seat to ask.

                “If he’s not home, he’s usually out at the hunting lodge, out past Old Mt. Dill Highway,” Lester finally piped in.

                “It’s the one on Truman Lake,” Gloria added.

                “Jackson and Matt spent a lot of time there, but I ain’t seen them with any deer yet,” said Lester. That set off a red flag in Penelope’s mind.

                “Thank you both so much. Jimbeau, did you get all that,” Penelope asked before turning her head. Jimbeau had fallen asleep. She kicked his calf with the back of her foot, and woke him up.

                “Hunh Wha, you got the right to remain silent…” Jimbeau rambled out.

                “C’mon. Let’s get you home…” Penelope said, her cheeks turning red. The duo stood up and retreated from the trailer.

                Penelope sat at her desk in her home office. She had her reading glasses on, going over all of the evidence they had found so far. She wanted to get this right. 21 year old Jackson Lee, conveniently named after two American heroes, was wanted for the abduction of Hailey Chandler, a 15 year old girl from the local high-school. Hailey was last seen leaving the campus early for a “doctor’s appointment.” That was the 20^th at 1 PM.

                Jackson and Hailey were apparently dating, as vile as that sounds, and his car was spotted circling around campus at around 12 PM that day. That was the last sighting of either of them, until two nights ago, an entire week later, according to Jackson’s mother Gloria. “Matt is worth investigating, and also the hunting lodge,” Penelope thought to herself. She pulled out a notepad and wrote down questions that she had: Was this abduction or a child running away? How does Matt tie in? Where was Hailey two nights ago? The possibilities on the third question made her shiver. There was a sudden knock on her door.

                “Come in, honey,” she said, knowing exactly who it was. A small, toddler pair of arms hugged her from behind, as she tenderly reached her hand back to stroke the head of her small child. The guest’s name was Phoebe, Penelope’s daughter. She was the real reason why Penelope did all of this; the reason why she even joined on the case with Jimbeau. She knew full well what kind of perverts lived in the world, and she knew the fate of many young girls who grew up without a father. Penelope put her entire being into the goal of making the world a safe place. She was both father and mother to Phoebe, Phoebe’s father dying in the line of duty worlds away in the desert before she was even born. All Penelope had left of him was his daughter who looked exactly the same as he did, and all Phoebe had left of him was a last name and really nice aunts and uncles. Sometimes, Phoebe would make the faces that her father made all the time, leaving Penelope to wonder how she learned to make them. And sometimes, as if a Jungian gift from the shared consciousness, shining through her juvenile mutterings, Penelope’s husband’s very words would waft from Phoebe’s lips. Sometimes, they were not in the right order, or not in correct context, but still his words the same, three in particular, “I” and “Love” and “You.”

                “You just waking up, honey?” Penelope asked.

                “Yes ma’am,” she replied sleepily. She was wearing her favorite pajamas in the middle of the day.

                “How was the sitter?” Penelope asked in a slightly more serious tone.

                “We played a game, and then I went to sleep, after I drank her juice,” Phoebe spoke. Although her wording was totally innocent, Penelope’s eyebrow shot up.

                “What kind of game, sweetie?” she asked.

                “Hide and seek, mommy,” Phoebe responded, giggling.

                “What kind of juice?”

                “Apple, mommy,” Phoebe replied.

                Satisfied, Penelope said, “Ok honey. Well, go put on some play clothes. We’re going to play some catch later.

                “Yay!!” Phoebe shouted, dancing out of the room and into the hall. Penelope took off her glasses and closed her case notebook. She stood up and stretched her day away. She wished that Jimbeau would either rehabilitate or disappear. She felt like the drunken oaf was still hanging off of her shoulders, nibbling on her ears. As soon as she had shaken him off of her shoulders, she received a phone call from Jimbeau. The phone buzzed off of the desk, and landed on the ground. Penelope picked it up to answer it.

                “What is it?” she asked, irritated.

                “We found her,” he answered.

                “Oh well that’s good to know,” she said.

                “Well, not really, y’see, we found her body,” he replied gravely. Penelope hung up the phone and went directly to Phoebe. Seeing the seriousness in her mother’s face, Phoebe asked, “Did something happen?”

                “Mommy has to go save the world again, baby doll,” Penelope sadly stated.

                “Awww…Is the world never safe, mommy?” Phoebe innocently asked.

                “Of course it is honey.”

                “Then why do you have to save it all the time?”

                “Because…because there are bad people in the world honey, and it’s mommy’s job to find these people, and bring them to justice, so they can’t hurt you,” Penelope said. Phoebe’s head turned sideways as the cogs turned in her mind. Penelope leaned down and picked Phoebe up, into a hug. Then she began to sing Phoebe’s favorite song.

                “Mommy, what will happen if you die?”

                Penelope stopped in sheer horror at the thought, and also at the audacity of the question. She paused for a second too long.

                “Mommy?”

                “Um…well sweetie, I’m going to be around for a very long time, so don’t worry,” Penelope answered.

                “I read daddy’s last letter to you, and it said the same thing, mommy,” Phoebe responded, completely unaware of the weight of her words.

                “I…I don’t have an answer for you. If I do, you are going to go live with Grandma, but I promise you, that won’t happen anytime soon, okay sweetie?”

                “Okay mommy,” Phoebe responded. A silence passed. “Can I go to Grandma’s today?” she asked Penelope.

                “Sure you can honey. I was going to take you there anyway.”

                “Yay!” Phoebe exclaimed, hopping out of Penelope’s arms and doing her happy dance all the way down the hallway. Penelope made a mental note to lock up her husband’s letters until Phoebe was older.

                After Penelope dropped her darling daughter off at her own mother’s house, she made it to the crime scene. The body had been dumped in the droughted spillway, the neck sliced open, and one shoe missing.

                “Why dump here? It’s bone dry,” Jimbeau understated.

                “Because tonight, tropical storm Aaron is supposed to come,” Penelope said. “Even though, it was pretty stupid to dump in broad daylight with no water to wash it away.”

                Jimbeau took a sip from his flask.

                “You’re still drinking? Seriously, how much money would you save if you didn’t buy booze every weekend?”

                “I…” he hiccupped. “I only buy booze on Tuesdays, sweetheart.”

                Penelope’s head quickly declined into the palm of her hand. “Did you call forensics?” she asked Jimbeau.

                “No, I just called you here. I,” he hiccupped. “ I wanted to get a few minutes alone with you. So we could…you know…” he started advancing towards Penelope.

                “You’re a sick man! This girl is dead, and you didn’t…” Penelope started. Jimbeau leapt over the corpse and tackled Penelope down to the ground.

                “Don’t fight it, now. Jus’ let it happen, I’ll be the best you ever had,” Jimbeau whispered into Penelope’s ear. Enraged at the thought that he just inadvertently claimed a spot above her husband, Penelope brought a swift elbow to his neck. Jimbeau slapped her in the face, and then bit down on her neck, sucking on it. He tried to reach for her belt, but Penelope grabbed his hand and snapped his pinky.

                “Got Dammit!” Jimbeau shouted out in pain, before rolling off of Penelope. “You’re gonna pay for that, Bitch!” As he charged Penelope again, two guys walked up to the edge of the spillway, mid-conversation. One of them was Jackson, and the other one, Penelope presumed was Matt.

                “The man said that we could pick her up here…” Matt was saying.

                “Oh, God, no…no no no no…..Is that her down…yes it’s her!” Jackson began to exclaim. He ran back to the car, sobbing. Matt looked down at Penelope and Jimbeau. Jimbeau’s badge was clearly exposed.

                “Shit, we got cops. Get in, now!” he said, before running away.

                “Get your ass up, Jimbeau. We gotta catch ‘em,” Penelope said. Jimbeau didn’t reply with words. Instead, he grabbed at Penelope’s ankle and slammed her to the hard concrete. She covered her face before she fell. Jimbeau pulled out his handcuffs and tried to put them on Penelope. She bucked her hips and threw Jimbeau off of her, to the ground. Then she ran, and didn’t look back.

She ran to her car, started it up, and tried to chase after Jackson and Matt, but to no avail. She didn’t see where they were parked, what they were driving, or which direction they took off in. She decided to go to the lodge. She didn’t care that Jimbeau had just tried to rape her. She had too much adrenalin in her system. She put on her hat, checked her .357 and then floored it out of there.

                She drove into the back yard of the lodge out of site from the road, dust kicking up. Clouds were approaching in the distance, and ominous bolts leaping out like the spears of an angry God. Jimbeau had already gotten a search warrant for the place, which Penelope had long since taken into her possession. She removed a confiscated lock-pick from her pocket, and dexterously opened the door. No one was there, but she figured that if this was Jackson and Matt’s base of operation, then they would be on their way here anyway.

                Penelope walked into the main room, stepping on the bear rug, in front of the ash covered fireplace.

                “Lit fireplaces in a drought in summer? Interesting,” she said to herself. She looked at the coffee table, and saw wineglasses sitting on it. “Aha. This must be a love den,” Penelope said. She walked back into the bedroom next. The bed was neatly made and looked warm and inviting. She looked in the drawer beside the bed, and saw several boxes of condoms. She quickly closed the drawer. “But why murder her? They looked like they were getting along just….wait a second. No, they didn’t kill her at all. That would explain why Jackson ran away sobbing. Well, then, why did she…”

                Penelope looked out of the corner of her eye on the floor under the bed, and saw a bottle that read, “Adam and Steve’s ‘Anal Lube’.” A red flag popped up in her mind. She bent down, put on a pair of rubber gloves, and removed an evidence bag from her pocket. She lifted up the bed skirt, and looked underneath. Under the bed was a stack of Playgirl magazines, more condoms, and a rainbow bed quilt that looked like it had seen some use.

                “And the plot thickens,” Penelope said to herself. “I hate to judge, but this doesn’t look like a love nest between any man and woman I have seen in my life.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. This backwater town was so far behind, that the thought of having actual homosexuals in it was so foreign that it hardly ever crossed anyone’s minds. She stood back up and looked around on the other side of the bed. In the drawer in that side, there was a diary that read, “Matt’s.”

                Penelope began reading the latest entry, dated for the 18^th. “Dear Diary, Jackson doesn’t look at me the way he used to, and he’s never had this much trouble getting up before. It must be that stupid high school girl that he started dating just to throw his parents off of our trail.”

                “Bingo,” exclaimed Penelope. She kept reading.

                “Maybe he’s actually gotten feelings for her now.” There was a break, but the entry continued that same day.

                “Dear Diary, I’ve found a ‘solution’ to my problem, but I don’t want to tell you too much ;) Let’s just say that if this works, we’re home free, but if it doesn’t…well it will just have to work.”

                Another red flag went off in Penelope’s mind. Before she could start talking to herself, the front door swung open. Penelope quickly slid the diary into the evidence bag.

                “They’re on to us, man! We gotta get the hell outta town now!” Matt’s voice said. Penelope stood around the corner, with her hands around the handle of her handgun. She wanted to hear how this would play out.

                “She…she’s dead man,” Jackson replied, sobbing.

                “Forget her. She’s just trailer trash, they come a dime a dozen. We gotta go!”

                “Watch your mouth! She was a good, Christian girl!” Jackson said back sharply.

                “’Cause good Christian girls sleep ‘round with guys 6 years older than them?”

                “That’s not fair! That was part of the plan!”

                “Was fallin’ for her part of the plan too?”

                “What are you…”

                “Oh don’t think I ain’t notice the way you looked at her, the way you held her in your arms after fuckin’ her, how much I had to fight you to get you to come back to bed, and leave her out by the fire.”

                “Are you jealous?”

                “No, I’m…no that’s not the point! The point is, you were cheatin’ on me with her!”

                “But it was a part of the plan!”

                “Maybe it was a bad plan!”

                “Maybe, but it was your plan! Which went horribly wrong by the way! She won’t supposed to die!”

                “Plans change,” Matt said. A red flag went off in Penelope’s mind right there. A lightning bolt struck a tree on the other side of Truman Lake, as she put her thumb over the safety. The second before she stepped around the corner, the front door flew open yet again. Jimbeau and three other officers burst in, brandishing handguns, aiming them on the two.

                Jimbeau said, “Jackson Lee and Matt Meadows, you are both under arrest for the murder of Hailey Chandler!”

                “But we ain’t kill her!” Jackson protested. Jimbeau began reading them their rights. Penelope was still around the corner, angered at Jimbeau for nabbing the wrong criminals. There was something deeper going on here, and Penelope felt the need to find out exactly what, in the name of justice. She remained hidden as Jackson and Matt were carried out. When she felt it was safe enough, she stepped out from behind the doorframe. The cars were driving down the road towards town.

                Penelope then walked into a room that appeared to be an office room. The only phone in the entire lodge, as well as the desktop computer, was housed in this room, both surrounded on all sides by piles of papers. Penelope leafed through the papers on the top of the stack.

                “Birthday lists…phone numbers…checkbook! Aha!” she exclaimed. She looked at the balance. The most recent charge was for 75 dollars, to the ABC store, probably for the wine. Before that was a huge debit of $745 to Rudy’s Repair Service.

                “Rudy’s Repair Service? Never heard of it. Interesting,” she said to herself, putting the checkbook in an evidence bag. Gravel in the driveway crunched under the tires of a heavy car. Penelope made a quick about-face, drawing her handgun in one solid movement. Jimbeau’s truck was pulling back in. Penelope put her gun down at her hip, because aiming your gun at an officer of the law is definitely a felony, but she still kept her hands on it. She quietly shut the door to the office.

                “I know you’re in here, li’l bitch, and I’mma tell you like this: Nobody say no ta Jimbeau,” He said. He had seen Penelope’s car earlier, and only pretended to leave. “Now, come on out here, and let’s have us a good ol’ time, and I might forgive you, baby.”

                “Hunted,” Penelope thought to herself. “Like a piece of meat. Well Jimbeau, your dinner hasn’t given up just yet.” She waited until Jimbeau was right in front of the door before she made her attack. She burst out of the door shouting. Jimbeau was so drunk, that he stumbled backwards several feet. Penelope bashed him across the head with her pistol, and knocked him out cold. Then she ran out into the storm. She hopped in the car, and drove away without looking back.

                Later that night, Penelope volunteered to be in charge of interrogating Matt.

                “You don’t want to wait for Jimbeau?” the chief asked.

                “Oh, he said earlier, that he needed to take a nap, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Penelope responded, choking back laughter.

                “Okay then. Have fun in there,” he said.

                “I’m definitely going to have something, chief,” Penelope said before walking in.

                “When do I get my phone c…” Matt started. Before he could finish the sentence, Penelope tossed the journal and the checkbook on the table in front of him, waiting for his reaction to give him away. He looked at it wide-eyed, his brain already knowing the link between the two objects, then he looked up to Penelope. For five minutes, he tried his hardest to keep his composure.

                “You don’t know shi…” Matt began. His lawyer kicked his leg under the table.

                “Well then educate me, Matt. Help me understand,” Penelope said, trying to be both reasonable and stern. Matt only crossed his arms.

                “Okay then, I’ll be more specific. There is a young underaged girl with her neck sliced open, and a family who will never see their daughter again. Why?” she asked, circling around Matt like a she-wolf eyeing her quarry from the edge of the woods. His heartbeat and breathing rate both increased and he broke into a sweat.

                “Matt, I can be your best friend. I can be your angel, your savior right now. Or, if you would prefer I can be the lion in the pit that rips you apart while everyone you know and love sits in the stands and watches. Your life as you know it can be over tonight, if you don’t talk to me,” she said, while hovering over his ears. Matt began shivering, and quivering, starting from the knees and working up his spine. Penelope sighed quickly and walked to the other side of the table.

                “Do you know what they do to pedophiles and child murderers in jail, Mr. Jones?” she calmly asked him, while sitting down in the chair across from him.

                “I AIN’T DO NOTHIN’ TO HER!!” Matt shouted. Penelope looked down at the table and kept speaking.

                “If you’re lucky, they’ll just kill you in the first month or so, but if they decided to keep you around then…well hey, I don’t know. You might be into that kind of thing, right Mr. Jones?”

                “What are you sayin’,” Matt asked, deeply offended.

                “Let’s hope so, because they’re definitely going to be into you,” Penelope said, chuckling devilishly.

                “You watch your mouth! Just because I’m gay don’t mean that you can just go ‘round sayin’ shit like that!” he shouted. The 3 letter word dropped like a bomb in the room. Penelope wasn’t shocked at all, because she already knew, but Matt didn’t know that, and the lawyer was farthest out of the loop. She looked up wide-eyed and covered her mouth with her large right hand.

                “So, Jackson is your lover, is that correct?” Penelope asked.

                “NO!..Yes..I mean…He was…used to be my lover…but…” Matt started. The lawyer spoke up finally.

                “Too far, detective. Besides, we don’t have to take this from you. You don’t even have a badge!” she said. Penelope completely disregarded her and kept going.

                “He didn’t love you anymore?” Penelope asked.

                “No…He…” at this point, Matt started crying. “He fell in love with that trash…” Penelope got out of her seat and circled around behind Matt.

                “It’s okay, darlin’,” she began, her voice suddenly being sweetened with a few drops of southern honey. “So, Jackson starts cheating on you with her?”

                “No…not really…I guess so…yeah, he did. She was the escape plan, but she turned into the thing the held us here…” he cried.

                “This plan you keep referring to, what was it?” Penelope asked.

                “I…he…we were planning on movin’ away from this backwater place,” he began. “We were gonna move somewhere nice up north, but…we had a problem.”

                “What was the problem?” Penelope asked, going back to her seat.

                Matt continued. “We needed cash. Jackson’s dyin’ grandpa had the cash we needed to get outta here, but on his deathbed he said, ‘Not one red penny of my estate will be left to a faggot,’ lookin’ directly at Jackson. His whole family knew he was a little bit queer.”

                “Go on. What happened next?” Penelope asked.

                “We…Jackson and I decided to find him a mock girlfriend. Just until his grandpa kicked the bucket, you know?”

                “But he fell in love with her,” she asked.

                “It won’t supposed ta end like this….you know…at the beginning,” he shouted out.

                “Funny how that works, isn’t it?” Penelope said. “Something in your house needed…repairing, Matt?”

                He hiccupped, and cried harder. “He ain’t ever gonna love me again!”

                “The repairman. What did he fix?” she asked again.

                “My problem!” he said slamming his fists down on the table. “I couldn’t have her in the picture no more! If we skipped town, Jackson’s heart would stay here with her! So…I made a phone call…” he said.

                “A phone call to whom?” she asked. Matt stopped talking. That wasn’t enough to catch the assassin, but she was sure that the assassin and the repairman was the same person, which was enough for her. The great, grey angry clouds split open and the rain lightened up, but one last pillar of lightning slated the earth below, making the ground move with its thunder.

                The front door to the department flew open, and in came the clunking of two tell-tale steel-toe size 10 boots. “Right on time,” Penelope thought. Since she wasn’t the actual officer on the case, she couldn’t officially charge him, and nothing that Matt actually had said could be used against him in court. Jimbeau needed to be there in order for the law to be fulfilled.

                The door to the interrogation room flew open, and in sauntered a rain soaked and sautéed Jimbeau. He glared at the back of Penelope’s head with eyes red hot as pokers in a fireplace, but it didn’t faze her in the slightest.

                “Matt Jones, I’m settin’ you free, and droppin’ all charges against you. Jackson is the real criminal here,” Jimbeau spoke through anger and through liquor.

                “You’re doing what, Jimbeau?!?” Penelope frantically asked.

                “It’s obvious isn’t it? Jackson killed Hailey and tried to frame Matt here!” Jimbeau said back, to Penelope’s disgust. All of her hard work was about to be slurped right down Jimbeau’s liquor scarred esophagus.

                “Chief, back me up here! You heard the entire interrogation!!” Penelope shouted to the two way glass. The light flicked on in the other room to the chief sitting down with his hat brim over his eyes. He had been asleep the whole time. The lawyer jumped into action.

                “Matt! Not another word!” she said. Matt complied as a maniacal grin invaded his face, almost screaming, “Revenge.”

                “Look here, Penny, I don’t care what you think happened! I am the law around here, and my word is final!” Jimbeau shouted, virtually slapping Penelope in the face.

The case was lost, and there was nothing she could do at this point. Matt had confessed to a different crime from the one he was being charged for, and Jimbeau was fully responsible. In Penelope’s mind, Jimbeau was the real criminal here. Matt put his head down on the table, the lawyer grimaced at Penelope, and Penelope glared at Jimbeau. The good guys lost to the bad ones that night.

                That night turned into a new day. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months, and the night before the trial, a certain message was left in a particular voicemail box.

                “Hey, Jimbeau, this is Penelope. I apologize, but tonight, I won’t be able to go on that date with you, that I promised. My daughter, her dance recital is actually tonight, so you know how that is. So um…I will have to do this some other time. Goodnight.”

                Jimbeau was already sitting in his favorite corner of his favorite diner waiting for Penelope to show up when he received that message. Across town, at the local elementary school, a troupe of 6 5 year olds pranced on stage, wearing different colored tutus, and at the center, a familiar figure, Phoebe, as the princess in the princess and the frog.  The assistants moved the girls into position on stage, but Phoebe was a natural at this. She was already in the right spot. Penelope sat on the front row, clapping with her hands, and cheering on her daughter.

                In the diner, Jimbeau ordered a coffee, as he was finally sober long enough to feel hung over. He listened to the message over and over again, and he probably would have all night too, if not for the greasy little man who approached his booth.

                “You’re Jimbeau, aren’t you?” he asked.

                “Who the hell wanna know?”

                “I’mma big fan, man. You put away my cousin Vick. He was the black sheep, ya know? Thank you for getting him off of the streets and behind bars where he needs to be,” he responded.

                “Uh-huh. Sure, now beat it,” Jimbeau responded. However, the man kept talking. If Jimbeau wasn’t so hung over, maybe he would have noticed the sleight of hand of the man dropping a small little something into his coffee.

                The overture ended, and the girls began dancing and prancing as well as kindergarten ballerinas can. Except for Phoebe. She danced as if she were a demigoddess of beauty, and a paragon of passion. And the poor frog who’s moves where choreographed to look brutish and ungraceful looked like an eyesore on stage.

                Jimbeau took a sip, totally unaware, and the effects started almost instantly. He clutched his throat. The man had long since walked away. Jimbeau stood to his feet, choking and losing motor function rapidly. He flailed his arms around violently as he danced his last dance. The waitress was on the phone with the hospital, but it was far too late to save Jimbeau. Minutes passed, and Phoebe pranced and pirouetted across the stage a few more times, carried by the invisible threads of melody, harmony, and rhythm. She pretended to kiss the frog, she turned him into a prince, and Jimbeau lay dead on the diner floor.

                There was a standing ovation. Phoebe was sweating, but she knew that she had just had the best performance of her life. The greasy little man climbed into his van, parked on the other side of the street.  The side of it read, “Rudy’s Repair Service.” Little did he know that there was a cherry bomb planted in the engine. He turned the key in the ignition, and as soon as the motor started, the entire van exploded, just as the clapping and cheering reached a crescendo.

                Penelope held her child in one arm, and her bouquet of flowers under the other. She looked her child in the eyes, and kissed her forehead. They both smiled, Phoebe because she loved being with her mother, and Penelope because she knew that for once, she had made the world a little bit safer.   

Spaceboy Shaun

Spaceboy Shaun

written by David Copeland

Shaun Benson buried his head in his elbows, or rather he tried to. His parents were arguing bitterly with each other, which had almost become routine. When they argued, he felt smaller than usual, already being the smallest nine year old at his school. As the fighting escalated from blaming to name-calling, Shaun slunk down further into the sofa, to the point where he felt like spare change that had fallen out of his parent’s pockets.

After he had heard enough, he ran off to his room, and started preparing. He found his astronaut bike helmet, his spaceboy badge, and his spacesuit, which was in fact, only a light jacket.. After hearing the argument, Shaun decided that he didn’t want to live on that planet anymore. He went back down into the kitchen and grabbed a juice box and 2 bags of chips, which he kept in his pockets. Then he went into the garage and wheeled his spaceship out into the drive way. He took one last look back at the house before climbing into his spaceship. With 10 rings of the bell, he blasted off. His spacecraft rumbled down the driveway, gaining speed slowly. Within a minute, he left the bluish-green planet behind him and his trail of glorious, red fire.

Now that he was free and had the entire universe to explore, he took a minute to think about where he wanted to go first. He glanced over towards a glowing red orb in the distance. “Mars,” he thought. “Mars is for boys, where mommies can’t yell at them and we can do what we want.” Shaun set his course directly for Mars.

The ground of Mars appeared to be a rust-red color as the Martian landscape zoomed by under Shaun’s spaceship. When he found a spot clear enough to land on, Shaun slammed on the brakes. However, he had too much speed when he landed, and he ended up sliding on the red sand uncontrollably. Shaun slid and eventually fell out of his ship into the middle of the red desert. At that moment, a scouting party of Martians came zooming by on their hover bikes. One of the Martians, who seemed to be the leader, drove his bike into Shaun’s ship. He tumbled and flew through the air. The other Martians stopped their bikes, and all surrounded Shaun on the ground.

They were all much bigger than Shaun, and they were all spattered with red dust. Their clothes were ripped at the knees and the elbows. The leader, who happened to be the largest one, stood to his feet. Shaun was petrified by fear, and couldn’t stand up. The leader grabbed Shaun by the collar of his jacket, and picked him up to eye-level. In his strange Martian language, which was about half as deep as his father’s and other grown up men, except for when it squeaked and cracked, he spoke to Shaun. He knew enough of their language to understand what he was saying. “Hey punk, I scraped my knee because of you. I think it’s fair that I scrape your face off on the ground.”

Shaun replied, “Just get your mommy to put a Band-Aid on it.”

He laughed back, “I don’t need my mama. I’m 12 years old. I’m basically a grown up already.”

Shaun didn’t understand why he thought that way, but he stayed quiet. He didn’t want to anger him more. The Martian raised his fist up to punch Shaun in the face. The other Martians cheered him on.

“This isn’t fair,” Shaun thought to his self. “And they’re cheering him on too.”

One of the Martians stopped the leader, “Hey, Tyler, wait! Make him get the football.”

Shaun knew enough about Martian culture to know what the football was. It was an oddly shaped ball that the Martians beat each other up for, and called it a sport. The one named Tyler, the one who had him by the collar, dropped him. His expression changed into a scheming one. Then he put his foot on Shaun’s chest and held him down with it.

“I won’t pound you into the ground, as long as you do something for us,” said he in his squeaky voice. Shaun nodded his head as best as he could, with a foot being on his chest. Tyler reached for his pocket and pulled out a Martian smoke stick, the kind Shaun’s mother made his dad go outside of the house to use, and the kind that his granny told his daddy would give him “Lung Cancer.” He lit it up, with a handheld flamethrower, and they were on their way.

They took him to a junkyard, with the remains of old dead spacecraft littered about. Tyler had an iron grip on Shaun’s shoulder as they led him forward through the wreckage, smoke trailing from his nose and mouth. They came to a ridge, high atop the junk overlooking the junkyard. Tyler pointed out for Shaun to go into the yard where the football was. It was perched on top of a car close to a building surrounded on all sides by junk. Shaun looked up to the Martian commander and asked, “Is that it?” He didn’t see any reason as to why he should be afraid, so he began to climb down the ridge, into the canyon of junk.

Warily, Shawn walked up and grabbed the football off of the car. The Martian commander yelled down to Shaun, “Oh! Watch out for Bruiser!” Shaun’s heart sank. He wasn’t exactly sure what or who Bruiser was, but he knew that with a name like that, it couldn’t be anything pleasant. He turned around too fast, and his foot accidentally hit a Martian drink bottle, like the kind his dad drank from before he would get angry. The brown bottle rolled across the red-brown ground and hit an old piece of metal. There was a loud “Tink” that sounded throughout the junkyard. Shaun froze and his eyes got wide. His breathing grew harder and harder as the seconds passed. Then Bruiser made his grand entrance.

A low rumble came from around the corner of the building, followed by heavy footsteps. As the footsteps got closer, Shaun realized that the rumble was the deep and angry growl of a Martian beast. The head rounded the corner first. It had a long snout in front of its cruel black eyes, and on the tip of the snout, a black box, with holes in it. The holes would flare open and close shut, as it growled. It had two flaps of flesh on both sides of its head. Drool poured out of its mouth, hanging from sharp and brutal teeth. Its body was large and muscular, and it walked on four muscular legs, with pointed claws on each one. It was black with a brown underbelly, and it looked like a demon from Hell, except for the fact that this wasn’t Hell. This was real life, and there was a large, deadly beast staring Shaun in the eyes.

Shaun put his hands out in front of him, and began stepping backwards slowly. The beast growled one more time, and snapped his mouth at him. Shaun kept stepping backwards, up until the beast started running towards him, a strange collar-like device rattling as he ran. Then, Shaun turned and ran back towards the ridge, as fast as his nine year old  legs would carry him.

Shaun ran and scrambled up the side of the ridge, tossing pieces of space junk down behind in in hopes that he could slow the beast somehow. The Martians had already turned and run away, and Shaun was alone in the unforgiving landscape. He got to the top of the ridge, looking for a place to run, and he spied the Martians all piling into an old busted spaceship. Shaun ran to them as they shut the door and stared at him through the window. Tyler rolled down the window and said, “Give us the ball!”

“Let me in!” answered Shaun. Without answering, Tyler reached out and tried to grab the ball. Then Shaun realized that he was about to be left for dead over a ball, and that hurt him deeply. His anger welling up inside, drowning the fear, he told Tyler, “Go get your own damn ball!” With that, he tossed the ball as hard as he could, back down the ridge where it came from. The beast saw the ball, and chased after it instead of Shaun. In a flash, Tyler opened the door and pounced on Shaun. His powerful Martian appendages pummeled and pounded Shaun’s fourth-grader body. “You idiot! Why would you throw it back down!?” he spoke between blows.

The other Martians began exiting the spacecraft, eyeing their leader with contempt. The next biggest one, behind Tyler spoke up. “Get off of him, Tyler. He’s just a kid.” Tyler stopped for a second, and responded. “He tossed our ball back down and…”

“Well if it’s so important to you, why would you send a kid to get it? You’re not scared are you?”

Tyler got up and grabbed him by the collar, “Shut up! Tyler North ain’t afraid of nothin’!!” said he.

“Well go get it!” said the other Martian. The rest of the group crossed their arms and agreed that this would be a fair assessment. Tyler looked around, looked back to the ridge, then at the strange Martian device on his wrist and said, “Nah, my mom told me to be back home at…”

Before he could finish the statement, the Martians all jeered at him loudly, saying, “Chicken,” and “Wuss” and another “F” word that Shaun’s dad sometimes called the two men who lived next door to the Benson’s.

Shamed, and dishonored, the proud commander lowered his head and walked away. The other Martians crowded around Shaun and helped him to his feet. Shaun brushed himself off, and wiped his bloody lip. One of them asked Shaun, “Why would you throw the ball back?” Shaun didn’t know so he shrugged his shoulders. The Martian sighed hard and said, “Whatever. Just get out of here before we have to beat you up.”

Shaun returned to his spacecraft for a snack. He opened the chips, which were very crushed at this point. He didn’t mind. He was a hungry growing boy.  When he finished the chips, he boarded his rocket-ship, and launched back into space. He thought to himself, “Boys are mean and dangerous, like daddy. Maybe I should go to a place where they can’t hurt me anymore. I know, Venus.” Shaun set a course for the cream-colored planet.

He entered the atmosphere of the planet, which was really just the cul-de-sac two blocks away from his own home, and hovered for a while. One of the Venetian women stared at the spacecraft, and yelled out to him, “What are you doing here, Shaun?” He answered the woman, “I’m just out playing.” That was Venetian code for going on an adventure. Shaun told his mother that same thing numerous times before. “Shaun, you’re bleeding!” she exclaimed. “Come here! Your mom would throw a fit if she saw you right now!”

Shaun parked his spaceship, and then followed the woman into her home. She led the young cadet into the kitchen, across from the living room, then went to go find something to clean him up. The interior of the cream colored dwelling was warm and inviting to him, like his granny’s house. In the living room, he could hear other Venetians talking in their squeaky, colorful tones. The topic of the conversation quickly bounced from the dress Miss Sauls had the audacity to wear to Bible Study, to Mrs. Winslow cheating on her husband with the pool-boy. Shaun was quickly absorbed into their conversation, leaning against the wall in the corridor, with the side of his face on the corner. He was so entranced by their speech, he almost didn’t notice when the conversation turned to his own mother. Almost.

“…And lo and behold, there went Martha Benson, driving up wearing that low cut red dress, and those stilettos like some kind of whore!”

“Who does she think she is? Some kind of supermodel?  You remember that choker that she was wearing?  Made her look like some kind of super-tranny!”

Shaun was confused at how they were talking about his mother. In his eyes, although she cursed at Daddy, and gossiped on the phone most of the time, she was still a perfect being. Could it be possible that his mother wasn’t perfect? One of the women looked out of the living room at Shaun.

“Isn’t that the Benson boy, right there?”

“And he’s bleeding, no less. Figures. She has no clue how to raise a child.”

“Look at him. We ought to call Child Services…” but by this point the woman whose home it was had returned with a wet napkin. She said to him, talking over the vicious words of the women in the living room, “Let’s get you cleaned up!” She walked him into the bathroom, and she shut the door behind them.

While she was wiping the blood off of his nose and lip, Shaun asked a question.

“Miss Cassie, what is a whore?” he asked.

Miss Cassie, the woman’s name, made eye contact, and before she could answer him, she bit her lip to hold the answer down. “Try not to talk, dear,” she said. “I can’t clean it with you talking.” But then he stared directly into her eyes, pleadingly. She sighed and began speaking. “A whore…is a very immoral woman. She makes men give her things, like money, or…jewelry…and things like that in exchange for…pretending to love them.”

Shaun responded, “But don’t the men know that it’s all pretend?”

“The smart ones do, and the experienced ones too, but most don’t even notice,” she responded. Shaun attempted to put two and two together.

“Are my parents really in love?” Shaun asked. Miss Cassie was most definitely not qualified or prepared to have this conversation, but she was having the conversation nonetheless.

“I’m sure they are, Shaun. But you can always ask them, you know. You can always talk to your parents,” she responded. She thought that that would resolve the conversation totally.

“They don’t usually listen. They fight most of the time, when they’re both home from work. And if they aren’t fighting, then my dad is drinking his whiskey, and my mom is talking on the phone with my Aunt Sheila. I’m sure they aren’t ignoring me. I just think that they forget that I’m there,” Shaun responded. Cassie could not say more on the subject. She held her breath to choke back her cry that was welling up quickly. Shaun had just struck Blue Gold in her fragile and sheltered soul. “My daughter Claire is around here somewhere,” she said quickly. “Go play with her.” Shaun nodded and left the bathroom. Cassie shut the door behind him and broke down in tears.

Shaun knocked on Claire’s bedroom door. Claire was an eleven year old girl, and as far as she herself was concerned, the queen of the whole world. Shaun decided that his space-suit was a little too rugged for the young Venetian princess. He quickly removed the jacket, right before Claire opened the door.

“Hello?” she said in confusion.

“Hi. I’m Shaun Benson, and your mommy told me to come and play with you.” That was code for, “I am Sergeant Benson. I have clearance to dock in this sector.

“Oh, you’re the Benson’s kid. Got any brothers? Sisters?” Claire replied.

“No. I’m an only child.” Claire looked down the hall both ways and then said, “Me too. Come on in, Shaun.”

Shaun had heard about young Venetian girls’ rooms before. They were littered with decorations and colors, and random unimportant things. This one was filled with those things, and more. Most notably, there were dozens of teddy bears, everywhere. Even though the room seemed comfortable, because of all of the stuffed animals, it screamed lonely at the same time. Shaun sat down on a strange chair called a bean-bag between two teddy bears.

“So what do you want to do,” Claire asked after she sat down on the edge of her bed.

“I don’t know. What were you doing before I walked in?”

“I was brushing my hair,” she replied, whipping her Venetian mane across her shoulders. Shaun noticed her slender delicate figure, like a dainty flower, a stark contrast to the Martians he had just left behind.

“It looks nice,” Shaun said, referring to her mane. It was long, silky, and bright yellow. Shaun knew the protocol for dealing with Venitians. During conversation, you must complement them constantly.

“Thank you, Shaun,” she replied, smiling and looking down at her lap. Shaun saw her mane-grooming device. It resembled his mother’s hairbrush except that Claire’s was smaller and made of a cheaper plastic.

“I can brush it for you, if you want,” was Shaun’s strange attempt at finding something to do. Claire made a strange face, and then smiled.

“Sure, why not. Do you know how?”

“I sure do. I brush my own hair, and sometimes I brush my mothers if she’s been drinking too much,” Shaun replied, entirely missing the weight of his own words.

“Oh,” Claire weakly replied, handing him the brush. She turned around in her chair, with her back to Shaun, while he began to brush her mane. After about a minute or so, Shaun looked up at the mirror and caught Claire staring at his face and smiling. She looked away and blushed.

“Shaun?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Sure. What do I have to do?”

“Keep brushing,” replied Claire with a smile. She leaned back in her chair, and let Shaun continue to brush her hair.

“Is this all I have to do?” asked Shaun.

“For now, yes.”

“Do you have to do anything?”

“For now, no.”

“Oh,” replied Shaun. In that beautiful moment of awkward yet sincere affection, Shaun Benson understood what it meant to care for someone. To do something for someone, just for the sake of doing it. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life in that moment, not caring about anything else except for her, the brush and her beautiful hair.

“Okay,” said Claire, breaking him out of his trance. “Now you get to kiss me.”

Shaun stopped brushing, and then moved to her side, staring at her in fear. She sat still, with her eyes closed, and her cheek poked out at him. Shaun reached for his inhaler, but realized that it was in his jacket, which was across the room on the bean-bag. Her eyes were still closed, and he silently debated whether or not he should go back for it. He started feeling that familiar tightness around his chest, but for some reason, he felt like it was all going to be okay.

“I’m waiting, boyfriend,” she said.

Shaun thought to himself, “Okay Sergeant.” He looked at Claire’s freckled, dimpled, smooth, and beautiful cheek. “It’s now,” then he looked at his jacket on the bean-bag. “Or never.” His hormones compelled him to pick the cheek, and as quickly as a flash of lighting touching the top of a darkened church steeple, Shaun leaned in and kissed her cheek. The kiss lasted for less than a second, but in that brief second, Shaun felt like something beautiful had just happened. He felt the warm of her skin contrast against the cool pre-pubescent fuzz on her face. He smelled her shampoo and her lotion, both the same scent, but different at the same time. He felt her soft breaths entering and leaving her mouth like birds tending their nest, and whatever the feeling he was feeling felt like, Shaun knew that he wanted to feel more.

“Was that it?” Claire asked?

Shaun looked at her, directly in the eyes, and said, “No.” He leaned down again, this time kissing her directly on the lips. Neither of them knew exactly what was happening, but as the oldest one involved, Claire assumed responsibility for guiding Shaun through the kiss. She held her thumb on his chin and tried to guide him as best as she could, but it still proved to be an awkward and uncoordinated ordeal. However, neither of them knew or even cared just how uncoordinated it was at all. All they knew was that they liked the feeling that it gave them. They kissed until Shaun’s neck got tired from holding it in an awkward, declined angle. He stopped first and began to rub his neck.

“You can sit down, if you want to,” Claire said to him. Shaun sat down beside her on the bed, he suddenly much shorter than her. She put her hands on his shoulders and pinned him down to kiss him, like she had seen her mother do with her boyfriend one time. They kissed some more for a few minutes, and before long, they were both sweating harshly. Breathing heavily, Claire asked Shaun, “Can you…go to the kitchen…and grab me a glass of sweet tea??”

Without question, Shaun got up, fixed his pants, and then left the room for the kitchen. He wanted more of what she was giving him, and he knew that he wouldn’t get it without that drink. As if on a life or death mission, Shaun raced to the kitchen and fixed a glass of Sweet Tea. The ladies in the living room weren’t talking about his mother anymore, thankfully. That would ruin his day. Now it was about Delilah Jones’ cats’ Funeral. As interesting as it was, Shaun made sure to not become enraptured by the Venitians again.

Shaun returned Claire’s room careful not to spill a drop of the beverage. Claire was sitting on the bed, wearing his space-suit eating his second bag of chips. Amazingly enough she had already finished the entire bag. Like a ravenous creature, she reached out for the drink, scratching Shaun’s hand in the process. “Sorry,” she said, before guzzling down the drink, and wiping her mouth with Shaun’s sleeve. “Now, where were w…” and before Claire could finish the rhetorical question, the doorbell rang. Claire looked out of the window, from where she could see the front door, and began smiling. She snatched off Shaun’s coat, and tossed it on top of his head. She began furiously brushing her hair out, undoing all of Shaun’s hard work, and then she went over to her dresser and spritzed her neck, chest, and hands with a perfume. Shaun coughed at the strong fume, after removing the jacket from his head.

The front door opened, and Cassie yelled out in a hospitable tone, “Well hey there, Bränn! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Hey there, Miss Cassie. Is Claire home?” the visitor asked.

“She sure is. Come on in!”

Shaun sat on the bed beside Claire, but Claire made Shaun get up. She pointed towards the beanbag. Shaun didn’t understand. He thought he was her boyfriend, but he made no plea. He silently moved over to the uncomfortable chair.

Bränn opened the door slowly. In walked a bright blonde boy, with bright blue eyes, and fair skin. He was about the same height as Claire, so Shaun assumed that he was probably her age. Claire quickly got up and ran to the boy, throwing her arms around him.

“I missed you so much, babe,” Claire said to the new guy.

“Me too! I’m living with my dad again for a while, so I’m back in the neighborhood,” he said. Then he looked over to Shaun and said, “I’m sorry, little guy. I didn’t see you there. Who’s he?”

Claire responded, and to Shaun’s extreme dismay, “Oh, that’s just some neighborhood kid my mom is making me play with. But it’s getting late, so his mommy will be worried about him if he doesn’t leave right now!” She put emphasis on “Leave right now,” and Shaun got the hint perfectly. First he brushed her hair, kissed her, got her a drink, let her eat his chips, and now she had no more use for him. This, piled on top of being left for dead earlier hurt Shaun in a way that no child should ever have to be hurt. He put on his space-suit. Bränn said, “Oh, okay then. See you, little guy.”

Shaun replied, “Good bye…” and when he was at the door, he added in, “Whore,” then shut the door behind him. Behind the door, Bränn asked Claire, “What does he mean by that?” That was all Shaun wanted to hear. He walked out through the hallway, fighting back the tears. Cassie tried to catch him at the door, holding a box of pre-prepped cookie dough, “Don’t you wanna stay for the…” Shaun cut her off.

“No.”

“Oh. Well then, see you later, Shaun,” she said.

Shaun mounted his spaceship and took off for the very edges of the solar system. Hot tears saturated his vision and assaulted the corners of his nostrils and his mouth. He did not know the word for it, but what he was experiencing was a catharsis. Every negative feeling that Shaun had learned to suppress all 9 years of his life were now rearing their ugly heads. His father wouldn’t listen to him; he was always either drunk, asleep, or on his way from the former to the latter. His mom couldn’t listen to him; she was always talking so much, that he never got a chance. The kids at school wouldn’t listen to him; he was too small to earn anyone’s respect. The Martians wouldn’t listen; their own egos crammed their ears full. The Venetians wouldn’t listen; they were too focused on their own agendas, and stuck in their own worlds. Now no one would hear his story except for the empty reaches of outer space. He would shout his story in all 6 spatial directions, not using words but using his most primal and basic vocal utterance. He cried. Loudly.

“Pluto. Pluto. If no one cares about me, then I don’t care about anyone anymore! I’ll go so far away that it won’t be a problem anymore!” Shaun thought to himself. He plotted a course for Pluto, far past the other planets.

When he arrived, it was dark. The streetlamps on that side of town were all out, and he was in the dark, cold. Feeling fear, he parked his spaceship on an abandoned Plutonian dwelling. The wood was old and the paint was peeling. The windows were broken in, and out, and the interior looked like it had been stripped naked. He needed to get inside of it, because that is what he felt would be safest.

There was no front door, so Shaun walked right in. He was greeted by the sound of a large Plutonian rodent running away from Shaun as if he had been frightened by the young Spaceboy’s sudden entrance. Shaun tip-toed through the house’s bottom floor, being careful not to disturb any more wildlife. After checking the bottom floor, he went up the stairs to check the top. As he walked over the stairs, they creaked like a car way past its glory day. Shaun hadn’t noticed, but one of the middle steps actually cracked under his space boots, compromising the entire stair’s integrity.

A few more rodents were upstairs, squeaking and fighting over an old cantaloupe rind, but other than that, he had the entire house all alone. He decided to walk back downstairs to bring his bike inside, and to find a place to sleep. Pluto was his home now, so he needed a place. Before he could make it, however, an unfortunate thing happened. The staircase gave way, and collapsed in. He fell into an old coat closet under the staircase, but multiple large pieces of wood fell on top of him, stopping him from moving. He was in total darkness, and unable to move more than an inch from his original spot without extreme pain. He heard dozens of rodent footsteps skittering away from the wreckage, and he screamed in pain and in panic. He screamed and cried out for about 10 minutes, but the wood muffled his voice, and it was all in vain. He began to grow hoarse, and his eyes stung with dust, sweat and tears.

“I…I want my mommy. I want my daddy,” he admitted, but it didn’t feel right.

“No…I Need my mommy, and I need my daddy!” he said, feeling better about himself.

“I’m sorry I deserted you two. I will never run away again.”He drilled the thought into his mind, that if he would ask forgiveness, and kept on believing, his parents would appear, that love would magically find him, and save him. He knew that he had a bright future ahead of him, and a home and family. Unfortunately for Shaun,  his parents couldn’t find him. They knew he was missing but they quite literally had to search an entire city for him. This alone would take quite some time, but Shaun’s parents believed strongly that he would never venture more than a 5 minute’s drive away from home.

4 hours, he was stuck there. 4 hours for his temperature to drop, and the dust to clod up his lungs. He sneezed every 10 minutes, and broke into vicious fits of coughing twice as often. 4 hours, and the rats began to catch on to the fact that tonight they might get lucky. 4 hours for them to perch around the hole in the staircase, their red eyes speckling the upper extremes of his vision. 4 hours for his weak lungs to finally give in. It came slowly at first, the tightness, and the coughing. Shaun knew that he needed his inhaler, or soon, he would never be able to see his parents again.

He tried to reach for his pocket, but his arm was pinned down and badly hurt. He managed to get a hand into the pocket, but the falling debris had dented and broken the inhaler, making it useless, even if he could get it to his mouth. The tightness was followed by a shortness of breath. It felt as if he were stuck in the deep end of the pool, and every inhale was defiance against nature in a pointless, and unwinnable war of attrition. The rats stood on their hind legs, and began licking their whiskers and paws in the darkness, almost as if they were privy to what was about to happen to him.

The corners of Shaun’s vision began to get hazy, and it got harder and harder to breathe. He thought about his family once again. “Why did daddy drink so much, and why is mom so mean? Maybe there are reasons for them. And now I’ll never get to ask…” he thought grimly. It’s an odd thing, a child accepting his death. A child, supposed to be full of life, potential, love, and imagination, stripped of his future. Imagine a family of caterpillars, who all go into their cocoons. However, one of them falls on its side guaranteeing that it will never emerge, and it will die in its cocoon. Its last vision will be all of its brothers and sisters emerging and flying away above him, a strange bittersweet gift of nature, showing it what it can never become, but yet allowing it to see its family alive and well, as they take off into the sun.

“I…I don’t care…” Shaun muttered in between breaths.

“I don’t care about…your flaws…flaws can be…fixed,” he said.

“All I want is…to be…to be…” and with that, Shaun’s windpipe closed violently, and his breathing became a direct brawl against his own body. His faint vision slowly faded away, leaving him in darkness, surrounded by his audience of rats, wood, and dust and the night.