Act 1
"Reap What You Sow"
No one cut through the field behind the high school anymore. One neighborhood boy claimed that he had seen a man in a black coat standing there, staring off, whistling to himself. No one believed this account, yet mothers kept their children home. Doors were locked at night and the porch lights kept on until dusk. Any dogs were supposed to be kept inside, so when Ruby heard her dog Polo barking she didn’t think it was real.
She sat up in bed, tried to feel for the covers in front of her and couldn’t see where they were without the nightlight.
She’d forgotten to plug it in.
At eleven years old she was beyond the need of one, but kept it for comfort, and certainly not because she was afraid when the lights in her room went out.
Polo kept right on barking.
It wasn’t hysterical barking -- yet, but alarmed, and Ruby wondered if the poor lab had been spooked by a raccoon again. She swung her legs over the bed and her feet touched down onto the cold hardwood floor. There was enough of a moon in the sky to light her way to the window and once there she pressed her face up against the glass.
She looked for Polo near the swing set where her dad usually tied him down. The lab wasn’t there. This didn’t concern Ruby as the dog had a knack for breaking free of the rope leash and running through a broken plank in the fence that led to the field beyond it. Her eyes went left and she spotted the dog standing near the barn that had been converted into a guesthouse. Its head was tilted back giving a phlegmy triple bark -- roop-roop-roop- and then went still.
Ruby followed the dog’s gaze up to the roof of the guesthouse and when she adjusted her eyes she trembled in surprise. There on roof, sitting cross-legged, was a figure, though she couldn’t be sure. Her harsh breaths had turned the window white with condensation.
On weak knees she broke toward the bedroom door and fled out into the hallway. As she rounded the banister she could hear her feet smacking against the wood of the stairs while she took them two at a time. She paused in the downstairs hallway, the burn in her lungs working its way up to her throat. It dawned on her then that her little sprint was the most she had requested out of her legs since before her last episode.
Blue light flickered and raced at the edges of the doorway to the living room. Her father would be in there watching TV because he never slept well.
Ruby stepped to the doorway.
Her father was across the room in his recliner, in front of the TV. From where she stood, she couldn’t see anything of him but the back of his head surrounded by the nimbus of blue light. His head also blocked the view of whatever was on the TV, although she could see parts of a basketball court.
It was dark, the lights in the room switched off.
He didn’t respond when she said, “Daddy,” and her next thought was that maybe he wasn’t asleep after all. She swallowed hard, realizing for the first time how dry her mouth had gotten.
She came forward, moving slowly across the thick carpet. She stopped in front of the TV and her shadow fell upon her sleeping father. He seemed to sense the change in lighting and awoke with a heavy exhale.
“Ruby?” he said. “What’s going on? Why you still up?”
“Someone is on the roof of the guesthouse. I’m scared.”
He put a knuckle to his eyes and looked about the room, squinting, as he tried to get his surroundings. She watched him reach over for the bottle of beer on the table next to the recliner. He took a small sip, smacked his lips to it, and leaned forward as he pulled her close.
“You’re shaking. Take a breath.”
“I want Mom.”
“I know, but she’s still in Chicago,” he said and she could smell the skunky stench of the beer on his breath.
“Can you make him leave?”
He stood, then, towering over her as he placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what. We’ll go back to your room and we’ll work on a few more chapters of Sherlock Holmes until you get tired.”
“What if he’s still out there?"
“What if who’s still out there?” he asked as he guided her toward the hallway with his hand still on her shoulder.
“The man I saw.”
He laughed, “The roof is too narrow. No one would be foolish enough to climb up that and if they did we’ll have a big laugh in the morning because they’ll be stuck up there.”
Ruby followed her father back up the stairs.
“You know,” he said. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you walking around like this. Even if it is the middle of the night.”
In the bedroom, the light in the corner caused a glare against her window and she couldn’t see outside. She crawled back under the covers while her father brought over the chair from her desk. He sat down with a groan and fumbled through a worn paperback copy of Sherlock Holmes stories. Under normal circumstances her father’s dry, rhythmic reading soothed her and often did make her sleepy, but every time she felt the weight of her eyes, they snapped back to the window.
The book closed and her father said, “That’s all for now, okay Rubes? Let’s think about sleep.” He returned the chair to the desk and walked back to the bed.
In a soft voice he said, “It tore your mother up having to see you stuck in bed all the time. I think this will be a good surprise when she gets back.”
He kissed her forehead then and a few seconds later the lights in the room went out.
Ruby’s eyes jumped back to the window -- the figure was still there. A cold, prickly feeling washed up arms and she yanked the covers to her face.
From the doorway her father said, “Night Rubes.”
Outside on the guesthouse roof the figure stood.
He was staring in at her.
“Ruby, I said goodnight.”
“I see him,” she whispered.
She shifted her eyes back to her father and the look in them caused him to step back into the room. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I think we’re going to die.”
Wallace Witasick's Office
March 11th, 2013
"You paying attention, Anj?"
Angelus stirred in his seat and tried to focus his eyes and the room seemed to zoom in close.
"Ah, yes. Sorry. Long day."
Wallace looked at him closely, then leaned back in his chair as he tossed a stress ball upwards and caught it on its fall.
"I was saying that sooner or later we're going to have a Mark Flynn problem. Bigger than the one we already have."
"I understand."
Anj's eyes followed the stress ball going up… then down… then back up.
"How's Jessica holding up?"
"She'll be fine. Tough chick as she'd say."
"Glad to hear it."
The sound of Wallace catching the stress ball was starting to give him a headache.
"You mentioned earlier there was something else?"
Wallace caught the ball and set it back down on his desk.
"Yes, I need to know I have your full buy in. Things are going to be shifting in a new direction very soon and it'd be nice to know you're in my corner."
"Of course, whatever you need."
Wallace gave that big cheshire cat grin of his.
"Good."
Dave Janice stirred in the warmth of his bed. He could feel something white slipping in under the creases of his eyes. He went to open them and found that he couldn’t see. The white was blinding him. On an unsteady elbow he tried to sit up, and to his relief some of the white faded. He blinked away the fuzzy dots hovering in front of his vision and looked to his bedroom doorway.
A solitary figure stood there, holding a flashlight in his gloved hand. He’d been shining it into Dave’s face. The figure lowered the light to the floor so that he was shrouded by the dark of the room. Dave reached out his hand involuntarily and felt his wife’s arm next to him. She murmured something, started to come awake.
“Wh--what is this?” Dave asked. “What’s happening?”
The figure shone the light back into Dave’s face.
“You smell that?” said the voice.
Dave wished he hadn’t woken Mallory. He didn’t want her to see this. She was a sound sleeper and he prayed she’d turn over and fall back asleep.
“You’re secreting adrenaline,” the voice said. “It’s a very distinct smell.”
“Who are you?” Dave said, trying to put some -- any strength back into his voice.
“I’m sure you’ve smelt it before. Did Laila smell like that after you beat her up?”
“How -- what do you want?” Dave stammered, his voice breaking. He heard Mallory mumble his name.
“It’s quite the stimulating smell,” the voice continued. “I can see why you like it so.”
Dave saw the other’s gloved hand hanging down empty. Despite his age, and even with the last few years where his drinking intensified, he figured he could get a hand under his pillow and snatch the revolver there. It would only take a fraction of a second. So why was he so frightened that his teeth were chattering in his head?
Episode Thirteen
Subject: Angelus
Date: 3/13/13
Location: Cobra Kai Dojo
Man, it feels so good to be back. I'm not even upset that I'm stuck in Nebraska this week. I know, that's saying a lot.
So, after a short hiatus I return to find that Sir Duke of Hurl and the last cowboy Gilbo Baggins have tried to steal my number one contender slot from me. It's nice to know that when you're away the vultures sweep in.
Duke, I got news for you, you can prance around all you want thinking you're going to taste gold again, but you're not, head to the back of the short bus Gilmour rides to the arena in.
Moving on…
It appears this week I find myself in a match with Crimson Dong… I mean Crimson Deadly… or Crimson Tide the 1995 movie directed by Tony Scott… or is it the Alabama Crimson Tide?
Maybe I'm facing the whole football team. Who knows?
Oh, it's Crimson Cobra you say.
Like Cobra the 1986 movie with Sly Stallone.
Unfortunately, Crimson Cobra is about as useful as a flunky from the Cobra Kai dojo.
C'mon, how am I supposed to take someone who runs around dressed like Aladdin seriously?
Dakota Cobb asked (and that's Crimson Cobra for those playing at home) if I ever had to face my biggest fear.
Why yes, it was that I'd have to sit through another five minutes of your useless promo.
I zoned out when he started to rant about "We believe in this, you believe in that, if you don't believe…"
Blah, blah, blah.
I think that was followed up with something about his mother helping him, but who knows? I turned the tape off at that point.
I hope you're listening there Cobra Kai.
I am the best at what I do and what I do isn't very nice.
It's nothing personal, Dakota. I just have to eliminate you for your own good.
I'm sure you're a great guy, but I've been champion for forty-two days now and I don't plan on having a guy dressed like you taking the gold off me anytime soon.
So, suit up and bring everything you got, stroke that little evil henchman beard you got going on and prepare for the ass kicking of a lifetime.
This isn't going to be like the movies.
There isn't going to be you trying to sweep the leg for that last second victory.
When you step into the ring with me on Warfare understand that you're in there with the whole damn show.
No comments:
Post a Comment