The Riddler

Gentle tears fell down upon The Riddler’s writing. “No tears for the writer, no tears for the reader.” Each inked letter came not without a tear or sigh. One word at a time to reveal a tragic life of a made up character. The Riddler felt every pain the character felt, every joy the character felt. That is how The Riddler wrote. Not wanting to leave something out, The Riddler would live it mentally. One will never know how The Riddler did it.

Yet upon one wintery eve, one could see plainly into The Riddler’s heart as true, agonizing pain was given to The Riddler in the form of flame.

 

Snow fell lightly upon the city. Lamp posts glowed under layers of glistening, white sheets. A gentle breeze blew about the city, nipping at the noses and cheeks of those brave enough to bear the cold. Carols could be heard wafting through the air, bringing early Christmas cheer to all who could hear. Wreathes hung on the doors of closed shops. Window displays showed trains and teddy bears, dolls and jacks. Each window was surrounded by pairs upon pairs of wishful little eyes. Whispers of what Santa would bring moved from mouth to ear between the children. A dream like peace blanketed the hearts of men, women, and children alike as the Christmas season drew near.

As the streets cleared of the holiday hustle and bustle, the door to the shop on the corner opened. The soft ringing of a bell danced through the air as a man in a top hat locked the door behind himself. He pulled his scarf up around his neck and mouth. Then he pulled a pair of black gloves out of his jacket and put them on his hands. With his head down and eyes towards the ground, the man walked up the street towards the heart of the city.

Each step he took crunched. His breath blew in little puffs of smoke in the frozen air. The few people that were still out in the cold waved a greeting at the man. Not wanting to take his hands out of his pockets he simply nodded in their direction. The man continued to walk up the snow covered sidewalk without the slightest interest in the window displays. The crowd thinned out even more, leaving only the man’s footprints lining the edge of the block upon which he walked. Several minutes of continuous walking lead the man to a red brick house on the opposite corner from which he came.

He walked up the steps and reached out to grasp the door handle. Before his hand could come in contact with the cold, black steel the door swung open. Standing in the glowing door way was a little girl. Her brown hair was pulled into tight cloth curlers. Her flowered nightgown covered her body and grazed the wooden floor. Her eyes shown in delight as she watched the man walk in around her. She watched in pure amazement as the man removed his jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves. Then upon setting his gloves on the door-side table, he spun around and scooped the little girl into his arms.

The girl let out a gleeful giggle. “Hello, Daddy. I missed you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head upon his shoulders.

“I missed you, too, but why are you still awake? Shouldn’t you be in bed like your brother?” The girl’s father looked around the room then back at his grinning daughter.

“Oh Jimmy already went to bed along with Mommy. I snuck out of bed to wait up for you.” She never released her grip as she spoke.

“Well, thank you, Jessica. That was very sweet. It’s nice to come home to a warm hug.” He walked over to a chair and sat down while still holding his clinging daughter. “Now, tell me, how was your day?”

Jessica finally released her strangling grasp and looked up into her father’s face. “Today was good, except for Jimmy kept pulling my hair all through supper,” the girl bubbled.

“Well Jimmy is a boy, and your curls are just too cute to not touch.” The man ran his hand over his daughter’s hair. Then smiling, he asked, “how was school?”

Jessica gasped. “At school today we had a pop quiz in math. I only missed one! Jimmy missed three, and Melissa missed four!” The little girl’s eyes got wide with enthusiasm. “Miss Allen said I did great and she is very proud of me.”

The man chuckled. “I’m very proud of you, too, honey. What else happened today?”

“Jimmy accidentally grabbed my lunch box today instead of his own. Then when he opened it at lunch and pulled out the note you wrote to me, his friends laughed really hard. Jimmy turned bright pink! He tried to explain to everyone that he had the wrong lunch. No one believed him until I brought them the note that you wrote to him. Even after I showed them, everyone kept teasing Jimmy. Of course Jimmy didn’t pay them any attention because he didn’t feel like fighting.” Jessica stopped to take a breath and to examine her father’s expression.

“Well, that sounds silly. Im glad your brother didn’t get into any fights. Santa is watching really closely this time of the year. I would hate for Jimmy to get a stocking full of coal.”

“Oh, that would be terrible. He won’t get coal will he, Daddy?” Jessica’s eyes filled with concern for her brother.

The man looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked into his daughter’s eyes. “I think Jimmy will get presents this year, but why are you worried about him? Aren’t you concerned with getting presents yourself?”

“Oh no, Daddy. I’ve been a good girl. I’m not worried about me at all.”

“Oh!” The man looked surprised at his daughter’s matter-of-fact tone.

“Oh yes! I’m going to get that dolly that is in the toy shop window.”

“You are, are you? Which toy shop window?”

Jessica smiled. “The toy shop that Jimmy and I pass on our way home from school everyday. Santa will bring it to me. I just know he will!”

The man chuckled again. “Oh, well I’m sure he will, too, then.”

Jessica shivered and snuggled into her father’s chest. “Tell me about work, Daddy. Did you get the book finished?”

The man sighed and laid his chin on her head. “No, not yet. Mr. Johnson said that we will be done by Friday. Just in time for me to spend the rest of the month here with my family.”

“Friday?” Jessica perked up. “That means you’ll be able to come to the Nutcracker Ballet with us doesn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means. I’ll be able to go with you, Jimmy and Mother.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Jessica looked into her father’s eyes, then wrapped her arms around him again. “That’s great! I can’t wait!”

“Neither can I, Jessie.” He pulled her in closer to him. “Oh you’re like ice. How about I start the fire and make some hot cocoa before I tuck you into bed?”

“Just like when Jimmy and I were little?” Jessica questioned.

“You still are little, silly.”

“I am not. I’m a big girl now.” Jessica stated as she sucked in a breath and sat up as tall as she could.

“Oh, well I beg your pardon, little miss.” The man said in a gentlemanly tone. “Would you care for a cup of hot cocoa?”

Jessica sat up tall with her nose in the air and said, “Yes, please.”

“Would you like to help me start the fire just as you used to when you were little?”

“Oh I would love to!” Jessica jumped off her father’s lap and grinned brightly.

“Okay. You get the green candle. I’ll put the wood in the fire place. Be quiet now, I don’t want to wake Mother and Jimmy.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Jessica whispered as she ran into the next room.

The man walked over to the fireplace. Next to it lay a large pile of wood. The man reached for the top piece to lay in the bottom of the hearth. On top was a small folded piece of paper. The man took it gently and unfolded it.

Scrolled across the top of the paper was his son’s name. The man looked at the rest of the paper. It was a spelling test. On almost all of the numbers there was a large red ‘X’. At the bottom there was a score. 5/20. Under the score was a small note from Miss Allen. “Jimmy, please come in and see me after school tomorrow to talk about your grade.” The man sighed, folded the note again and stuck it in his pocket. He continued to stack the firewood.

“Here, Daddy.” Jessica handed him a lit, green candle.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” The man took the candle from his daughter’s hands. Tipping the candle slightly he let the green wax drip onto the logs. Then he let the flame lick the topmost log. Within seconds the brown log leapt to life. The flames danced around, devouring the other logs as it went. Instantly the room filled with a glowing light. A peaceful warmth floated through the air. Jessica could feel the warmth on her cheeks and nose.

“Oh, Daddy, it’s so warm!” Jessica looked up at her father. “The fire wasn’t as warm this morning when Mommy started it. Why is it warmer now?”

“It’s because this fire was built with pure love.”

“Mommy doesn’t love us?” Sudden confusion and pain welled up inside of Jessica.

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all, darling.” The man rushed over and scooped Jessica up just as he had done earlier. “Mother loves you just as much as I do.”

“Then why wasn’t her fire built with love like this one?” Jessica looked bewildered.

The man pondered the question for a moment. Then he proceeded slowly. “Her fire was built with a different kind of love. She did it because she cares about her family and wants them to stay warm. Our fire was built because we love each other and want to enjoy the flames. Does that make sense?”

Jessica turned his words over in her mind again and again. “I think so. That makes more sense now.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you. Your mother and I both love you, don’t you ever forget that.” The man kissed the top of her head and held her tight. “How about that hot cocoa now?”

“Oh yes! I want hot cocoa!” Jessica smiled brightly again.

“Oh good, so do I. Let’s go into the kitchen and fill the kettle with water.”

He placed Jessica on the floor gently. Then he grabbed her hand and lead her into the kitchen. Placing her on the counter, he kissed her forehead again. Then reaching behind her he pulled the kettle off of the shelf on which it sat. Jessica grabbed the kettle and set it on her lap. She watched as her father filled a cup up with water. She lifted the lid off the kettle so he could pour the water in. He filled two more cups after the first. Then he lifted the kettle off her little lap and set it down on the counter next to her. He turned his back to her and she grabbed around his neck. Placing his hands under her little bottom he pushed her farther up his back to a more comfortable position. Then he turned and grabbed the kettle with one hand, making sure to keep his other hand on her so she wouldn’t slide. As he tip-toed back into the sitting room they heard a noise coming from the second floor.

“Uh-oh, someone heard us,” Jessica whispered into her father’s ear. “Now what?”

“Let’s see who it is.” He set the kettle down and tip-toed back a few steps to the bottom of the stairs. They both looked up to see who they disturbed. “Hello?” The man called in a whisper.

“Hello, Dad.” A soft voice whispered back.

“Oh, it’s you. Come join us.” With a free hand the man motioned for his son to join them.

Jimmy rubbed his tired eyes the whole way down the stairs. When he reached his father and sister he hugged his father’s legs and patted his sister on her lower back. “What are you doing?”

“We’re having hot cocoa,” Jessica whispered down at her brother. “Just like we used to when we were little.”

“Oh really? That sounds great! Did you already start the fire?” Jimmy looked excited.

“Sorry, sport, we did. Next time you can help us,” the children’s father whispered.

“Oh, it’s alright.” Jimmy walked into the sitting room and took a seat on the flowery sofa.

Jessica slid off her father’s back and climbed up next to her brother. The two children sat and watched as their father placed the kettle in the fire. After he hung it just right so the spout was pointing straight to the back of the fireplace, he turned and sat by his two children. Jessica climbed over her father’s lap to put him in the middle.

“Why do you face the spout towards the back of the fireplace, Dad?” Jimmy asked.

“That’s so it will echo out of the house and let the whole city know that I love my family.” Then he wrapped his arms around his children.

“A whistle says all of that?” Jessica asked.

“Not just any whistle. Only the whistle from that kettle says that,” The man explained to the children. “That kettle was given to me by my father, and it was given to him by his father. It’s been handed down since your great-great-great-great grandfather made it. He was a copper smith and made that when he got married so he could make his family warm drinks in the winter time.”

The children listened with fascination. The warm fire glow shined in their eyes as they stared at their father. Shadows danced across the walls all around them.

“Dad, will you read us one of your stories?” Jimmy asked.

“Oh yes, Daddy, please?” Jessica whispered intently at her father.

“One of my stories? Don’t you like Charles Dickens?” The man asked his children, looking from one to the other.

“No, Dad, we like your stories. We like your’s the best.” Jimmy climbed off the couch and ran to the bookshelf.

“Yeah, Daddy, your’s are the best!” Jessica hopped up and followed her brother.

They both looked at the different colored books on the shelf. The red, green, and blue spines lined up perfectly with one another. The gold writing on each of the spines told of the stories that they could find within. They ran their small fingers over each one. Finally their fingers met on a red one. Jimmy being the taller of the two pulled the book off of the shelf. Jessica ran over and hopped back up onto the couch.

“This one, Dad.” Jimmy handed him the red, leather bound book.

“Which one in here?” The man pulled his children closer to him.

“I want you to read Twin Troubles. That one makes me laugh. Jimmy was a silly little baby,” Jessica giggled.

“Well I want to hear about the fire in the barn! I like that one the best.” Jimmy looked up at his father with an innocent grin.

The man chuckled. “Well let’s pick just one. How about this one?” He opened to a page near the middle.

Both pairs of young eyes lit up when they read the title. The calligraphy was extraordinary on this page. Gold letters adorned the top and bottom of the paper.

The Silver Box

By: The Riddler

 

“This is perfect for Christmas time, Daddy!” Jessica squealed.

“Yes, it is. It was written the year you two were born.” The Riddler flipped the page. Then he began reading.

The fire in the hearth dimmed slightly as the story wore on.

“The door closed behind the couple. The cold night air swirled around her head as it met with the heat from inside. Her heart ached as the memories of her late husband swelled up inside her.

“Mrs. Thompson let her tears fall over the silver box., the last gift her beloved husband would give to her. She peered out of the frost covered window and watched as the Jones walked hand in hand into the night.”

The Riddler looked down at his two children. Jimmy’s face was somber and sad. His eyes sparkled with crystal tears. Jessica wiped her eyes clear of the glass drops that formed on her eyelashes. Each looked up at their father with a sincere smile eating at the heavy darkness that ate their hearts.

“I love that story, Daddy.” Jessica lay her head down on her father’s arm, letting small tears fall onto his sleeve. “You’re a good writer.”

“Thank you.” The Riddler stroked Jessica’s cheeks, wiping away her tears.

“I love it, too, Dad. Why did you write it?” James sat up against the arm of the couch and gazed at his father.

“I wrote it because I felt that others should learn too. What fun is learning something if you can’t share it?” The Riddler smiled at his son.

“I wouldn’t share it. I would want to be smarter than everyone else!” James grinned.

“Well by sharing what you know, you become smarter.”

“How so?” Jessica chimed in.

“Well you see, when you share what you know, you’re proving that you truly understand it. While others are just learning it, you’re mastering it. Then, once you have mastered that bit of knowledge, you can move onto the next thing,” The Riddler explained to his two children.

“Oh I see how that works. I want to be as smart as you someday, Daddy.” Jessica gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Do you think I’ll ever be that smart?”

“Of course you will, Jessica! Both of you will! There’s no doubt in the world!” The Riddler said exuberantly.

“What about Jimmy? His grades aren’t very good,” Jessica pointed out.

“No, Jimmy’s grades are just fine. He is smart. We all know that.”

Jimmy sighed and hung his head.

The whistle blew in the fireplace. It echoed through the house. Ringing in the still, winter air. Steam rose out of the kettle’s curvy spout.

“Oh look! It’s done!” Jessica squealed. “Can I have the first cup?”

“Yes, if you want.” The Riddler closed the book and set it down on the oak end table. “You two run and get the mugs and the hot cocoa powder.”

The two children jumped up and scurried to the kitchen. The Riddler pulled the chrome bar on which the kettle hung from off over the orange flames. As he let the heat from the kettle leave, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“Isn’t it a little bit too late to make hot cocoa?” a smooth female voice said.

The Riddler turned around to see his wife. He let his eyes run over her. After taking in all of her that he could, he stepped forward and embraced her.

“Tom,” The Riddler’s wife sighed. “Why are you up so late?”

“The twins can be very persuasive,” said Tom as he kissed his wife.

“Mommy!” squealed Jessica as she set down the mugs she was carrying. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist.

The twins’ mother turned around and placed her hands on her hips. “Hello you two.” Despite her stern look, her voice was as sweet as honey. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Dad and Jessica were already making hot cocoa when I woke up,” Jimmy explained. “I couldn’t let them waste all that hot cocoa.”

“He’s right,” stated Tom.

“Daddy came home late and told me we could have some hot cocoa,” Jessica explained her part of the story.

“She’s right,” Tom stated again. “I came in late and I decided the cold weather deserves hot cocoa. Then they convinced me to read to them while the kettle was in the fire.”

“Oh.” Tom’s wife smiled sweetly. “But it’s straight off to bed as soon as you’ve finished your hot cocoa, you two. Understood?”

“Yes,” said the twins.

“Are you going to join us?” Jimmy asked his mother.

“Of course, I can’t let the hot cocoa go to waste,” she teased. As she ruffled Jimmy’s hair, she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Jessica went back into the kitchen to collect a mug for her mother. When she came back, her father poured the steaming water into a mug for her and scooped out some brown powder. He mixed it together and sipped some off of the top.

“Perfect!” He exclaimed as he handed his daughter the blue mug.

Jessica took it and sipped some. She smiled a large, sweet smile at her family.

Tom poured some more hot water into another mug. He stirred some brown powder into it. Again he took a sip and exclaimed “Perfect!” As he handed the mug to his son, he smiled warmly.

Jimmy took the mug and sipped from it as his sister had done right before. He looked up at his family and smiled uncontrollably. Without looking away, he sipped some more.

Again, Tom poured some water into a mug, mixed in the brown cocoa powder, sipped it and declared “Perfect!” He handed the mug over to his wife.

With her lips touching the side of her mug, the lady of the house smiled sincerely and lovingly at her family.

Tom poured his own hot cocoa, tasted it, but this time instead of declaring its perfection, he sighed. “When was the last time we drank hot cocoa as a family?”

No one could remember. It had been so long ago. Life had become hectic for all of them. The Riddler continuously worked on his stories. When he wasn’t in his office, he was out at the factory trying to earn more money so his family had what they needed to live. He was away so often that the small family rarely had time to sit and converse. The approaching holiday season wasn’t helping to provide quality time for them either. Tom was working twice as much so he could give his children and his wife the best life he could.

The small family sat in a circle in the center of the room, upon the red and gold rug that lay there to cover the cold wood floor. They, in turn, shared story after story with the others. An hour passed and all of them had exhausted their stories. Their mugs set empty in front of them. The flames started to dwindle down.

“It’s off to bed, you two,” Tom told his children. “Your mother told you before.”

The twins groaned in unison, “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Tom said firmly, but lovingly. “Now scoot.”

“Will you tuck me in, Daddy?” Jessica asked as she stood up.

“Yes, I will.”

“Me too?” yawned Jimmy.

“You too,” answered Tom. “Now get going. I’ll be up in a moment.”

The twins hugged their parents goodnight. They headed for the stairs, yawning as they dragged their small, tired feet.

Tom looked at his wife’s shadowed face. It still radiated beauty even in the growing darkness. “Mary,” Tom whispered. “Look at this. I found it while I built the fire.” He pulled the folded test out of his pocket. Without unfolding it, he held it out for Mary to take.

“What is it?” asked Mary as she took the paper.

“It’s Jimmy’s latest spelling test.”

Mary unfolded it with wide eyes. “I don’t understand. He spelled all of those correctly when we practiced. What do you think happened?”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t know.” The old, oak grandfather clock struck one behind him. “We can ask him about it tomorrow. I’m sure there is a good reason. Maybe he simply got sidetracked.”

“Okay, we’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Mary sighed. “You better go tuck them in.”

Tom nodded and stood up. He offered his hand to his wife. Gently he pulled her up off of the ground. Brushing a strand of dark brown hair out of her face, he kissed her sweetly. “I’ll be up to tuck you in, too, if you would like,” Tom whispered.

Mary couldn’t suppress a small giggle. “I’ll be waiting.”

Tom watched as the love of his life walked up the stairs. Once Mary reached the top, Tom turned to put out the last of the dying orange flames. After placing the red bound book back on the shelf, he gathered the mugs, hot cocoa powder, and the kettle. Leaving the sitting room as clean as he found it, the Riddler put the things in his arms away in the kitchen. Before heading up the stairs, he checked to make sure all the doors were locked. Then slowly he followed his family up the stairs.

 

The following morning, as the sun rose, the Riddler woke to the sound of the telephone. Only semi-conscious, he answered it. “Hello? Davis residence.”

“Hello, is this Tom?” a man asked on the other side of the line.

“Yes, it is. How may I help you?” Tom rubbed his eyes and sat up in his bed.

“This is Mr. Parker from the Parker Publishing Company,” the man explained to Tom.

“Oh,” Tom said in surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve recently read your latest piece of writing. My editors and myself found it intriguing,” Mr. Parker stated. “I would like to meet with you to discuss your options for publication.”

Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Thank you, Mr. Parker! When could I come in and do that?”

“Right away, this morning would be good.” Mr. Parker told Tom. “Is eight o’ clock alright?”

Pulling the gold pocket watch off of the bedside table, Tom checked the time. It read ten minutes before seven. “That is perfect! Thank you sir!”

“You’re welcome. Check in with my receptionist when you arrive.”

“I will be sure to do so. Thank you again Mr. Parker!” Tom exclaimed excitedly.

“Goodbye Mr. Davis,” Mr. Parker hung up.

Trying not to wake Mary, Tom got up and walked on his toes to the wardrobe. Silently, he opened the left side and pulled out a suit. He dressed in the silence. After he was fully clothed, Tom slid out of the room. Once in the hallway, he slipped into his children’s rooms. Jessica slept soundly. Jimmy, however, wasn’t in his bed. Tom went all the way into his son’s room. There was no sign on Jimmy’s presence. Tom didn’t panic, he knew his son was somewhere in the house. Still silent, Tom went downstairs to the kitchen. There he found his missing son.

“Oh there you are,” Tom pointed out. “What are you doing up? School isn’t for another two hours.”

“I heard the telephone ringing. I couldn’t fall back asleep,” Jimmy explained to his father.

“Oh, are you okay? Do you feel ill?” Tom asked his son.

“I feel fine.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

Jimmy didn’t answer. “Who called this morning?”

“Oh, it was a Mr. Parker from a publishing company. He wants to publish my new story. I have a meeting with him in less than an hour.”

“That’s great!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Do you think your story will be published before Christmas?”

Tom looked at his son who was sitting at the kitchen table. “Yes, I think it will be. Say, would you like to go to the meeting with me? I’ll walk you to school afterward.”

“I would love to!” Jimmy jumped up from the table.

“Great! Go get some clothes on and I’ll make you some toast to eat on the way. Hurry along now.”

Jimmy hugged his father as he dashed back upstairs. Within ten minutes, Jimmy was back. He had his school uniform on, his wavy hair combed down, and his books in his bag.

As a caring father, Tom handed his son the toast he had made. Before they left, the Riddler wrote a note and set it on the table. In the note he explained to his wife and daughter that he had a big interview and Jimmy went with him.

They grabbed their jackets and headed out the front door. Hand in hand, the two walked down the front walk. With each step, snow crunched under their feet. A steady rhythm of cold crunches echoed through the still waking streets.

The Riddler reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded test. Handing it down to his son, he sighed. Jimmy looked at the folded piece of paper, and, without unfolding it, he knew what it was. His small heart sank deep in his chest. In silence, he looked up at his father.

Tom looked down into his son’s green eyes. “Care to explain?”

Jimmy looked down at the sparkling snow; he said nothing.

“I don’t understand. Your mother said you could spell everything correctly that morning. What went wrong?”

With a soft sigh Jimmy started to explain. “I didn’t know what to do. They almost hit Jessica. I couldn’t let them, Dad, I couldn’t.”

“Who almost hit Jessica? Why would anyone do that?” asked his father in concern.

“The Blacks. John, Freddy, and Jeffery Black,” Jimmy explained, almost in tears.

“Why? I don’t understand why.”

“Jessica always answers the questions correctly. Teacher loves her. Teacher loves me, too. I always get one hundred percent on my spelling tests. Jessica and I never have to stay in after school like the Blacks do,” stated Jimmy.

“Alright, but why would they want to hurt Jessica?”

“First it was Freddy. He doesn’t like how Jessica and I get to go home without needing to talk to the teacher. Freddy told his brothers that we have never had to stay after. Then during lunch John and Jeffery came up to me while I was eating with Jacob. John told me that he was mad at me and Jessica. I asked him why, we hadn’t done anything wrong to him. Then Jeffery told me that they have to stay after almost everyday, and sometimes teacher comes to their house. They asked me if I have to stay after. I told them no. They asked if Jessica ever has to stay after. I told them no. They told me they didn’t like that. I apologized, but they didn’t want that. I asked them what I could do to make it better and they said that I had to fail all my tests for a month. I told them I wouldn’t do that. They told me they would beat me up if I didn’t. I told them they could try, but they wouldn’t be able to, so they said they would beat up Jessica if I didn’t. I told them they aren’t supposed to beat up girls. They said they didn’t care. Freddy walked over to where Jessica was playing with Laura. He picked up a rock and aimed for her head. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked, so I told them I would fail if they just left Jessica alone. They said they would, but if I told anyone or I passed a test they would beat Jessica up and then me.” Jimmy was in tears by the end of the story.

Tom stopped walking and looked down at his son. “Jimmy, that was very kind of you. I’ll talk to Mr. Black and teacher. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you or your sister.”

Jimmy didn’t respond. He just hugged his father around his waist.

“It’ll be okay. I will make sure it works out. Let’s forget about it for now. Talk to your teacher after school and ask her if you can retake the test. Do your very best on it, and if you wish, you can ask her to keep your score secret,” Tom explained to his boy.

Jimmy nodded as he tried to stop his tears. “Okay, Dad,” he sobbed.

With a gentle stroke, Tom wiped away his son’s tears. “It’s alright. You did what you thought was best, that’s all that matters now.” He took his son’s hand and they walked toward the Parker Publishing Company’s headquarters.

They approached the great gold-framed revolving door. To the left of the entrance, there was a black mass. Upon walking closer, they came to realize that the black mass was a man. The man was slumped down with his back resting on the building’s gray brick wall. He was wearing a black, soot-covered jacket. A rumpled top hat covering his tangled hair. Puffs of white breath appeared from his down-turned face in a steady pattern. Soft snoring could be heard coming from him. The man was fast asleep.

“Why is he sitting there?” Jimmy asked his father as they gazed at the man. “Isn’t he cold?”

“I would imagine he’s freezing,” answered Tom. “He doesn’t seem to be begging for anything. He hasn’t got a sign or a cup. Maybe he’s an immigrant.”

Jimmy bent down to get a closer look at the man. Steadily, Jimmy reached his small hand out toward the man’s head. “Sir?”

“Jimmy, don’t touch him,” Tom ordered his son. “You’ll get soot all over your school clothes.”

Without looking back at his father, Jimmy retracted his hand. His father said no touching, but he didn’t say no speaking to. “Sir?”

The man sat up with a start. Jimmy jumped back in surprise. Gruffly, the man cleared his throat. “Hello, boy. Can I help you?”

Tom stepped up next to Jimmy. “We were wondering the same thing, sir. You look cold and it is well below freezing. Why are you asleep on the street?”

The man looked from Jimmy to Tom and back again, his eyes shifting restlessly, almost as if he was afraid, bewildered even. “I was thrown out by Mr. Park. I have no home, and I never made it to the shelter last night.”

“You look terribly cold, sir. May we help you with anything?” Jimmy leaned closer to his father, but continued to speak with a steady voice.

“No, I’m quite alright. I would like to speak to Mr. Park again,” the man explained.

“Well first you should go get a nice hot cup of cocoa from the local café.” Tom reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet. Tom knew his family was in need of money at that time, but he also knew that helping this man would help him in return. He pulled out two dollar bills. “Here, I would like you to go get cocoa and a doughnut. It is, after all, the season in which everyone should be comfortable and warm.” Tom held out the money to the man.

“Thank you very much!” The man exclaimed as he jumped up. He reached out and took the two dollars from Tom.

Jimmy grinned as he watched the delight in the man’s eyes. “You’re welcome, sir!”

“What is your name? I am Nicholas Adams.”

“I am Thomas, and this is my son Jimmy.”

Jimmy held out his hand to the man. The man took it and shook it gingerly.

“Merry Christmas, Thomas and Jimmy,” the man said merrily as he shook both Tom and Jimmy’s hands.

“Merry Christmas to you too, sir!” Jimmy nearly yelled in delight.

The man watched as Jimmy and Tom walked into the publishing company. With money in hand, the man walked across the street to the nearest coffee shop.

“Dad, that was great! Did you see how happy he was?” Jimmy was overjoyed at being able to spread some happiness to someone else.

“Yes, I saw how happy he was. I just hope that he is able to keep that Christmas cheer up.”

The father and his son continued to talk as they approached the receptionist’s desk in the front. She directed them to the stairs. Mr. Park’s office was on the third floor.

“Now, while I’m in talking to Mr. Park, you can study for your math test,” Tom told his son. “Then, when I am done, I will walk you to school. The interview shouldn’t take too long. They never do. If, however, it does run a little long, I will write a note telling Miss Allen why you are late. Does that sound alright?”

Jimmy nodded as he took a seat on one of the wood chairs that lined the wall adjacent to Mr. Park’s office door. The Riddler sat down next to his son. They waited in silence. Jimmy took out his school book and started to do his math problems. Tom took a brown folder from his briefcase. He skimmed over the story that was inside. Just as he was near the end, Mr. Park’s office door opened.

“Mr. Davis, I’m ready for you,” Mr. Park’s voice boomed in the almost empty room. “Come in.”

The Riddler rose from his seat, gave Jimmy a hopeful smile, then walked straight into the office without looking back. Once in the office, Tom looked around for a moment. Mr. Park followed Tom in and walked behind his desk. After exchanging a handshake, both Mr. Park and Mr. Davis sat down.

“Let’s get right to business. My editors and I have read through your story. We found it intensely intriguing, as I said earlier. By my understanding, however, you already get published by M & R, is that correct?” Mr. Parks didn’t waste anytime.

“Yes, that is correct,” confirmed The Riddler.

“I see, so how long have you been with them?”

“Since I started writing, ten years ago.”

“I see, would you be interested in switching companies?”

“I’m not sure. It would have to be a beneficial switch.”

“I understand. Would it be beneficial if we could pay you more than what you are getting currently?”

“If you could, that would be very beneficial.”

“Excellent. How would ten percent more work out for you?”

Tom pondered that for a moment. Then he looked at Mr. Park.

“Okay, we can make it twenty-five percent more,” Mr. Park wagered.

“Twenty-five would be great, but I am currently in the process of having M & R publish one of my other stories,” Tom explained.

“I see, well we can arrange for you to switch right after the publishing. When do you expect the story to be published?”

“This Friday, sir.”

“That works out perfectly. We will have editors re-read your story this week, and you can come in next week to meet with them. Would that work for you?”

The Riddler thought for a moment on this offer. “That would be great, sir.”

“Okay, then it will be final. Here is the contract. It states that you will publish with us and we will pay you. Just a regular contract. Sign here.” Mr. Park pointed to a solid black line at the bottom of the page.

“Thank you.” Tom signed the contract. “May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, go on.” Mr. Park took the signed contract and placed it in a file folder.

“What intrigued you most about my story in comparison to the many other stories you have probably read in making the decision?” The Riddler asked meekly.

“It was your incredible talent. I have never read a story with so much passion, love, and pain; true feelings that everyone feels. Not many authors can make a grown man cry when the hero of the story is crying. It takes an immense amount of talent to do that,” Mr. Park explained to his newest published author.

The Riddler was almost speechless. He had heard, many times, that he had talent, but never had he heard it said as well as Mr. Park had said it. “Thank you, Mr. Park. That means a great deal to me. This means a lot to me.” He pointed to the contract on the desk in the folder.

“Well I’m sure you are well worth it all. You have and will go on to write amazing pieces of literary art. It would be a shame not to have you with us.” Mr. Park stood up and walked to the door.

Tom followed his lead. He, too, rose and walked to the door. As he walked through the now open door, he turned to shake Mr. Park’s hand one last time. “Thank you again, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Just to show how much we trust and appreciate you, you will be receiving your first check shortly. We will have it hand delivered to your house by our personal deliveryman,” said Mr. Park in an extremely professional voice.

“Merry Christmas, sir,” chirped Jimmy.

Mr. Park smiled, but said nothing in return.

Tom gathered his boy and his briefcase as he headed toward the stairs. A smile lit up his face as he walked carefully down the stairs. Humming a little tune, he made his way down the last flight of stairs. As if he had hit a brick wall, Tom stopped dead in his tracks. Smile faded, tune ended, he stared quizzically at the scene that was now in front of him.

Nicholas Adams, the man they had met earlier, was leaning over the receptionist’s desk. Spit flew from his mouth as he screamed at the poor lady. “I want to see Mr. Park now!”

“I’m sorry, you have to schedule an appointment,” stated the receptionist.

“I told you, I need to see him now! He turned down my story and I need to know why!”

“I’m sorry. There isn’t anything I can do for you, Sir.” Despite the terrifying fit that Nicholas was throwing, the receptionist kept her voice even. She leaned back, and shielded her face slightly, so as to avoid the spittle being poured upon her.

“Excuse me, may I be of some assistance?” Tom walked forward and stood facing Nicholas with his back toward the stairs.

Jimmy stayed back near the wall in fear of the brawl that might break out.

“Who do you think you are?” shouted Nicholas.

“I am just a concerned citizen,”declared Tom in an even tone. “Now what is the problem?”

“I need to speak to Mr. Park! He turned down my story and accepted some no good author instead!”

“I see. The receptionist said you need to schedule an appointment,” Tom pointed out.

“I don’t want to wait! He is up there speaking to some sort of loony author by the name of ‘The Riddler!’” Nicholas blew spit into The Riddler’s face.

Nothing came out of Tom’s mouth. He considered telling the raging man that he was The Riddler, but then again he was afraid of violence breaking out. His thoughts were interrupted.

“Dad, aren’t you The Riddler?” Jimmy asked from the corner.

Nicholas’s eyes widened at that bit of information. “Oh, so you’re the no good writer that was accepted over me?”

Tom was at a loss for words. “I’m The Riddler, if that’s what you mean.”

“To think I accepted money from you!” spat Nicholas.

“It was a donation,”chimed Jimmy.

“I’ll be sure to pay you back!”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!”

“Why is that? Because now you’re getting paid by the richest publisher in the state?” Nicholas screamed in disgust.

“No, because it was given in the spirit of Christmas,” Tom explained.

“Excuse us, sir, you’re going to need to leave the building.” Two security guards walked up behind Nicholas on either side.

“I will not leave until I see Mr. Park!” Nicholas spat in their faces as well.

“We will need to escort you out now.” They grabbed his arms. Lifting him almost effortlessly, the security guards carried him toward the door.

“I will pay you back! You can mark my words!” The last shout rang through the entrance hall.

“I am terribly sorry about that,” the receptionist apologized.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s quite alright. No offense taken.” Tom assured the lady.

“Thank you for stepping in, though. It gave me time to call security.”

“You’re welcome. Tell Mr. Park thank you once again from me.”

“I will be sure to do that. Merry Christmas, Sir.”

“You too, ma’am. Come on Jimmy, let’s get you to school now.” Tom waved a farewell to the receptionist and the two security guards.

After they were out of the building and well away from Nicholas’s ears, Jimmy looked up to his father. “Dad, why was he so mad?”

Tom returned the gaze and answered, “because, sometimes an author will want his story to get published, but the publisher won’t like the story. Instead, he will like another’s story.”

“Oh, I see.”Jimmy didn’t say anymore until they reached his school. “What time is it, Dad?”

Pulling out his pocket watch, Tom said, “It’s nine-o-five. You’re only five minutes late. Just explain to Miss Allen that you were with me. If she has any questions she can call me at my office. Don’t forget to talk to your teacher. She’ll understand. I love you, son. Have a good day.”

“You too, have a good day, Dad. I love you, too!” Jimmy hugged his father and headed for the front door of the white school. “Bye Dad!” Jimmy waved back to his father.

“Bye Son!” Tom waved back. “Tell Jessica I love her too! I’ll see you both after school!”

Tom watched as his son walked inside. After a few moments, he turned and walked back up the street toward the old publishing company. Each step he took, he thought about what Mr. Park had said. Immense talent. He had immense talent. As he reached the old company, he opened the door and walked inside. He sighed as he looked around at his home-away-from-home. For the past ten years, he had written in this office. It was going to be hard to leave, but with the pay that he was going to get he wouldn’t need to work two jobs anymore. Immediately, he typed up a note to the CEO’s of M & R publishing, informing them that he wouldn’t be working with them anymore after the book was published. After he put the note in the box to be taken out, The Riddler started to pack up a few of his things.

 

The clock chimed six. Only a dull glow of a lamp shone in The Riddler’s office. Outside, the sun had already set and the darkness was settling in on the town. Through the window The Riddler could see the stars’ and moon’s lights reflecting off of the snow, casting shadows that hardly seemed frightening.

After gathering his papers and putting them in a briefcase, Tom turned the lamp off. Using the nighttime reflections from outside as a light, he found his way to the door. He slid his coat on and placed his hat on his head. Then he headed out the door, making sure to lock it after himself.

Once out on the street, Tom headed home. He walked in silence, his thoughts bouncing through his head. The crowd of Christmas shoppers bustled around him. Cheerful chatter and sounds of the season filled the air around him. Store lights danced across his face as he continued on. He neared the edge of the center of town, and the warm Christmas glowed faded.

Now, only the sound of snow crunching under Tom’s feet filled the air. As he listened to the steady and rhythmic crunch of snow, another set of beats joined his. At first he thought it was simply an echo, then upon a simple test of stopping and seeing if the other beat continued, he realized it was indeed another person. Without moving his feet, Tom turned his head toward the sound of the other beat.

There was nothing. Silence. No sign of anyone walking at all. The snow on the sidewalks was already covered in footprints before Tom walked on them. It was impossible to tell if someone had actually been there.

“Maybe I imagined it,” Tom thought. He continued on towards his house.

Once he reached the front stairs of his home, The Riddler climbed cautiously, not wanting to slip and fall. As he stood and kicked the snow off of his shoes, a snowball hit his front door. He jumped back in surprise.

“Who’s there?” Tom called to the street as he spun around to look for the snowball’s origin.

No sound, just another snowball. Then another, and another. Three snowballs flew at his front door, all from different directions.

“Whoever you are, stop that!” Tom shouted out.

Another snowball flew out from a shadow to his left and hit him directly in the head. It shattered and showered the rest of his body in snowflakes.

Without a word, Tom turned and stormed into his house. Snow fell from him as he took off his coat and hat.

“Why were you yelling, Daddy?” Jessica asked as she came up to give her father a hug.

“Oh, some troublemakers were just throwing snowballs at me and the front door,” Tom explained as he picked up his daughter.

“Why didn’t you throw any back?” Jimmy asked.

“Because, they had poor aim and it wouldn’t have been a fair fight. They would have lost terribly.”

Jimmy and Jessica laughed. Tom joined in as his children giggled intently for a few moments.

“So, what is Mom making for dinner?” Tom headed toward the kitchen.

Jessica and Jimmy followed closely behind.

“I’m making chicken,” Mary answered. “I also made some rolls, and we’ll be eating peas and potatoes.”

“Yum. Is there anything I can do to help?” Tom asked his wife as he kissed her.

“Yes, you can set the table.”

Tom grabbed four plates from the cabinet and set them out on the table, one on each side. Then he grabbed four cups and set them next to the plates. Then the phone rang.

“Jessica, Jimmy, can you two finish setting the table while I answer it?” Tom asked as he walked over to the phone on the wall.

“Yes,” the twins responded in unison.

“Thank you.” Tom walked over and picked up the receiver. “Hello? Tom speaking.”

“I hope you have a Merry Christmas!” The person on the other line then laughed maniacally and hung up.

“That was strange.” Tom went back to helping set the table.

“Who was it?” Mary asked as she carried the chicken to the table.

“I don’t know.”

“What did they say, Dad?” Jimmy asked.

“They said ‘I hope you have a Merry Christmas!’ Then they laughed.”

“Maybe it was Santa!” Jessica exclaimed.

“No. It wasn’t a jolly laugh. It was a mean laugh,” Tom explained.

“Oh,” Jessica sighed.

“Oh well, let’s sit down and eat,” Mary said.

All four sat down at the table. The scent of warm food wafted through the kitchen. Jimmy said a dinnertime prayer, then they all ate. As soon as they all had their food on their plates, both Jimmy and Jessica started telling stories. Nothing but a jumbled mass of chaos could be heard.

“One at a time!” Tom yelled over their voices.

“Me first!” Jessica yelled.

“No! Me! My story is more important!” Jimmy shouted.

“No! Me!” Jessica cried back.

“No!”

“Yes! Ouch! No kicking!”

“No! That hurt!”

“Yes! You hurt me more!”

“Did not!”

“ENOUGH!” Tom shouted at his children. “One at a time! Jimmy you first. Did you talk to your teacher today?”

Jimmy stuck his tongue out at his sister. “Ha! Yes, I did talk to her. I explained to her what happened and she told me I can do it again. She also told me that she is going to call the Blacks’ parents and tell them what happened,” he told his father.

“Well that’s good to hear, Jimmy. I’m glad you talked to her.” Tom patted Jimmy on the head.

“What happened with the Blacks?” Mary asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” answered Tom.

“Alright. Jessica, your turn.”

“Well, today, I was walking home from school with Melissa and this boy, James, came and he put snow all over Melissa’s head! She got so mad. Then James did it to me too! I made a snowball and I threw it right at his face! He got so mad! It was funny,” Jessica said excitedly.

Tom and Mary laughed at their daughter’s story. Then Mary took a turn to tell her family about her day’s events. “I went down to the center, and I bought a few gifts for each of you. This weekend I think we will do our annual pair shopping. That way you two,” she pointed to the twins, “can get gifts for each other and your father and I.” Each of them smiled as they thought of what they could buy.

“That’s excellent, everybody.” Tom smiled at his family. “Today, I had that interview, and it went really well,” explained Tom. “As soon as the story that M&R is publishing is finished, I’m going to be switching to Parker Publishing. They offered me more money. Enough money, in fact, that I will be able to stop working at the general store.”

“That’s great!” Mary exclaimed.

“Does that mean you’ll be able to stay home more?” asked Jessica.

“Yes, it does. I’ll be able to play more games with you two, and read more stories, and help you with your homework more!”

“Great!” Jessica squealed.

“Oh yeah! While Dad and I were at his interview, a man named Nicholas started yelling at the lady there,” Jimmy told his sister and mother.

“Really? What happened?” inquired Jessica.

Before Jimmy could answer, the telephone rang again.

“I’ll answer it, you can tell Mom and Jessica what happened.” Tom got up and went to the phone. “Hello?”

“Are you at home?” the person on the other line asked.

“Well you did call me at my home, but I suppose I could be away from home.” Tom said sarcastically. “Who is this? What do you want?”

“It’s your new worst enemy. I want to pay you back.”

“Nicholas?” Remembering those lines from earlier, Tom instantly thought of Nicholas from the publishing company.

No answer. Just heavy sighing.

“Okay, well I’m sorry, Nicholas, that I got the job. I had no idea it meant so much to you. You can go to M&R publishing, maybe they can help you.”

There was no answer again, just complete silence.

“Good-bye, sir.” Tom hung up and went back to his seat.

“Who was that, Dear?” Mary asked.

“It was Nicholas. He’s still very worked up over today.” Tom picked up his fork and continued to eat in silence.

 

That night, the twins simply worked on their homework, while Mary did some last minute cleaning. Tom worked on some stories. It was very quiet for the most part. An occasional squabble broke out between then twins when one of them wanted to use the other’s school supplies.

The phone rang once more, while Mary made the children bathe.

“Hello? Tom speaking.”

“Sleep well, Riddler.” It was Nicholas again.

“Nicholas, I’m going to need to ask you to stop calling my home. I don’t appreciate it. Please, leave me alone.” He tried to be polite, but had to get the point across.

“Oh, I won’t be calling your home for much longer. I won’t be able to.” Nicholas’s voice was dark and sinister.

“Okay, Nicholas, I don’t care. Please just leave me alone.” Tom hung up. He turned off his lamp, and gathered up his papers and other supplies. Taking them upstairs, he turned off all of the lights, and went straight to bed.

That night, Tom slept uneasily all night. Thoughts of Nicholas’s rage flew through his head. As an author, his creative mind brought about contorted images and harsh words. Lost in his restless dream, Tom took no conscious note of the loud crashes he heard coming from the main floor.

“Tom? Tom! Wake up! I think someone just broke in downstairs!” Mary shook Tom to wake him up. “Tom!”

Startled, Tom sat up dazed. “What is it?”

“I heard loud noises coming from downstairs. I think someone just broke in!” Mary clutched her blankets tightly to her chest.

Tom looked at her. She looked just like a little girl asking her father to check for monsters under her bed. “Honey, I think it was just your imagination. I don’t think we should worry.”

“Please, Tom. Go look.”

Mary’s eyes filled with genuine fear. Tom couldn’t stand to look at her like that. He loved her too much to let something silly–like scary noises–scare her. “Okay, go check on the kids and I’ll go look downstairs. Okay?”

“Okay,” Mary sighed.

They both slid off the bed and walked out to the hallway. Mary went one way to Jimmy’s room first. Tom went the other way toward the stairs.

Tom descended the stairs carefully. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye, at first. After a second look, however, a burning sensation filled Tom’s chest. He continued down the stairs, despite the pain, and went farther into the kitchen. As he walked closer to the cabinet, he was at a loss for breath.

The cabinet was thrown open. All the dishes were smashed on the floor below it. The family mugs that the Davis family used for hot cocoa were dented and crushed. The kettle’s spout was bent, the body was dented, and the handle was twisted and knotted. Tom peered into the open cabinet. There was nothing but a note left in there. Tom grabbed the note and carefully walked over to the table. He leaned on the chair and read the note.

Tom,Just a little something to pay you back. Of course I will count hourly interest. I will be back to pay you the rest. Merry Christmas!

Tom sighed. Tears struck his eyes suddenly. He looked one last time at the broken dishes then headed toward the sitting-room.

Upon entering the sitting-room, The Riddler suffered another burning sensation. The front door was shattered. It appeared to have been hacked apart with a hatchet. The frame stood undamaged, but splinters littered the entry floor. Careful not to step on the scattered splinters, Tom stepped around the large pool of wood. He scanned the room, looking for any signs of destruction. Instantly his eyes caught sight of scattered papers. Those were littering the floor too. Tom walked over and gingerly picked up a sheet of the paper. He read it.

“This book is dedicated to my loving family. May you always be blessed with love from God.” The paper was crumpled and hard to read. The bottom was torn off right below the dedication. Tom knelt down and picked up another paper. This one was a photograph. It was a family portrait they had taken in New York City when the twins were four years-old. It was their first vacation. That portrait was one of the few tangible memories that remained from that time. Now it was destroyed. Pieces of it were missing, and it Tom could barely tell what it was. Despite all the damage, however, the love was still reflected in their eyes.

 

He picked up another sheet that was torn and destroyed. Big pieces of it were missing as well. Tom had a hard time figuring out which of his creations it was a part of. After careful thought and consideration, Tom set all the papers he held–except for the note–back on the floor.

Tears welled in his eyes as Tom walked back upstairs to his family. He found all three terrified, sitting on his bed.

“Well?” Mary looked intently at her husband.

“Someone did break in. We’re going to need to repair a lot, and do quite a bit of cleaning,” reported Tom.

“How bad is it?” inquired Mary.

“Did anything get stolen?” Jimmy asked.

“Nothing was stolen that I know of. We can check again in the morning. Right now we should call the police so they can take care of it.” Tom sat down with them.

“Okay. Jessica, Jimmy, can you please go back to bed?” Mary asked her kids.

“But, Mom, I want to stay up and help,” whined Jimmy.

“Me too, Mommy.” Jessica looked at her mom with a look of innocence in hopes that she would get to stay up.

“No! Now off to bed you two!” Tom said barely below a yell.

“But Dad!” Jimmy shouted back.

“Now!”

“Yes, Sir.” Both twins jumped off the bed and scurried to their rooms.

“They just wanted to help,” Mary told Tom. “You shouldn’t have yelled.”

“I didn’t yell. They need to go to sleep, and we don’t need them under foot while the police are here.” Tom walked over to the wardrobe to pull out some clothes. “Will you please call the police and tell them we have had a break in?”

“Yes, I will.” Mary picked up the phone next to their bed and dialed 911.

 

Minutes later the police arrived.

“Mr. Davis?” an officer called through the open doorframe. “Mr. Davis!”

“Hello. Come on in,” Tom called back from the top of the stairs.

“We got a call about a break in,” explained the officer. He glanced back up at the doorframe then back at the wood pieces at his feet. “Well I can see we got the right house.” He chuckled.

“Yes, this is the right house.” Tom smiled.

“We’ll need to ask some questions, and take a look around. Could you show us the damage?” The officer tried to keep his tone professional, but given the fact that he just walked through a shattered door, he had to smile a bit. “Well, the other damage.”

Tom chuckled a bit, despite the pains he felt in his chest. He walked to stand in the center of the sitting-room. “Here is a bit of the damage.” Tom motioned with his hands around the room.

The officer looked around and carefully picked up one of the sheets of paper. He examined it a bit. “Where did all of the paper come from?”

“It came from my bookshelf. These are the pages of my books that I’ve written. The binding was shredded and the pages were scattered. There were also some picture that were in frames that we kept on the shelves. Those too were destroyed. The frames are broken, and the pictures are ripped apart as well,” explained Tom.

“Oh.” Immediately the officers stepped off of the papers. “I’m sorry. Is there other damage?”

“Well the front-door. It was obliterated. Our wreathe is missing too, I just noticed that. I got all caught up in the hectic chaos of the destruction, I forgot about our wreathe.”

The officer chuckled, “well wreathes do tend to get forgotten.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tom released a chuckle too. “Well, through here, in the kitchen, all of our dishes were smashed.”

The officer looked around and was more careful than he was in the sitting-room. “Was there anything left?”

“Well our cupboards seem to be okay. We’ll need to replace the doors, but other than that, nothing was left,” Tom said a little confused. The officer was standing there looking at it. He could see nothing was left.

Again, the officer chuckled. “That isn’t what I meant. I meant, were there any notes, any writing? Clues to who did this?”

“Oh,” Tom chuckled too. “Yes, there was a note left.” Tom handed the folded paper to the officer.

“Do you know who might have left this?” the officer inquired.

“Well, I do have a good idea as to who it might be.” Tom proceeded to tell the officer about his encounter with Nicholas. About all the telephone calls, about the yelling in the lobby, about everything.

“It does seem like he is the one who did it. Do you by chance know where he lives?” The officer was writing notes on his notepad.

“No, I thought he was homeless,” Tom admitted.

“Oh that’s alright, we can find him.” The officer flipped his notepad shut and headed for the door. “If you have any more break-ins call the department. I’m Officer Young, if you have any questions, or if you see Nicholas, call me.”

“Thank you,” Tom said gratefully. He was glad that they were actually going to take care of things for him. “I will be sure to call you if I need anything more.”

“You’re welcome. Happy holidays, sir,” Officer Young said as he walked out the front door.

After the officer had gone, Tom looked up at the great grandfather clock. It was nearly four o’ clock in the morning. “I can’t let the door be so open,” Tom said to himself. He thought for a minute. It was too early to go to the store and get a new door. Then an idea struck him.

 

About thirty minutes later, there was a front-door where it should be. Granted, it was a bedroom door, it was still a door. It kept the cold out, and it kept the people in, as long as it held up long enough for him to get to the lumber store. Tom smiled at his spontaneous creation. “Excellent,” he muttered to himself.

He went back to the kitchen to retrieve the broom. Tom swept up the mess in the kitchen.

As he swept all that was left of his dishes–and special mugs–he cried. It was silent in the room, so his thoughts got a hold of him.

“How could he do that? Did it mean so much to him that he was willing to destroy my house? What is he going to do next? Should I just give up the job and stay with M&R? Of course, I would still then have to work two jobs, but at least I would still be able to work and so would Nicholas. Poor man, maybe there is something else I can do to help him.” Tom cried more. It was no longer about the memories that were ruined, the hard work that was destroyed. It was about wanting to help a poor man. He didn’t know how to help him, or what would be best, but one thing was for sure: he had to help him.

Once all the dishes were swept up, Tom moved on to the mess of a door that covered his floor. He chuckled at the memory of the expression the officer had when he came in. While he swept, he thought some more, this time not of Nicholas, but of his needs.

The need to protect and provide for his family. The need to have everything organized. The need to feel and give love. Most temporally and right now, the need to clean up the pieces before his children see it.

“I can’t let them see it,” sighed Tom aloud. “It would devastate them. I can’t let that happen.” Again, a tear escaped his eye.

Once all the wood was swept up and put in a neat, but large, pile, The Riddler walked into the sitting-room and got down on his knees. He proceeded to pick up each individual paper in hopes of being able to return the books to their original order. After picking up nearly twenty pages that didn’t fit together, he gave up on that idea. Instead, he simply picked them up and put them in a neat stack. He did, however, separate the photographs from the pages of various stories. Maybe another time he could try to put them back in order, like a puzzle. For now, he set the stacks on the shelves along side the photographs. It was amazing how much less space was taken up when the pages weren’t all bound together.

The grandfather clock struck five. “Has it really been a whole hour?” thought Tom. “I didn’t even notice. Well I might as well try and get some sleep before I have to go to work. I’m going to have a long day ahead of me.” He sighed and headed for bed.

 

Tom only got to sleep for two hours, but it was better than nothing at all. Those two hours, he slept dreamlessly. He awoke in the same position he fell asleep in.

A faint light shone through his window. The sun was barely rising. As the silver light was reflected off of the snow outside, it glittered in and onto Mary’s face. How lovely she looked. How lovely the whole room looked. Everything was gilded with silver. It was hard to imagine the destruction downstairs.

Without a sound, Tom slid out of bed. He got dressed–for the second time that day. Silently, he tip-toed out of his room. Careful not to wake anyone, Tom peeked in Jimmy’s room, then Jessica’s room. Both of them were sound asleep. It was Friday, and their school didn’t start until an hour after normal.

Head starts were nice. Tom wanted to make sure he could get the front-door replaced before his children woke up and saw the splintered pile. He was afraid that Jimmy and Jessica would get scared. Mary and Tom always tried to keep their home as safe as possible for Jessica and Jimmy. It was something that they decided before they had children. Home was a haven, meant to always be warm and safe. Tom wanted to make sure it stayed that way, even when he, himself, wasn’t so sure it was safe.

Without dishes, Tom couldn’t make oatmeal. Instead he simply grabbed the last slice of bread. Then he scrawled out a note explaining where he went. On another piece of paper, he wrote out a short list of things he needed to pick up while he was out front door shopping: dishes, bread, a door, a new wreathe, and chocolate. The chocolate wasn’t really necessary, but he felt it would make for a nice snack while he came up with a plan to help Nicholas.

The front-door proxy couldn’t lock, but it still shut, which was good enough. Tom walked down the snow-covered stairs. He headed up the street, not paying any attention to his surroundings. All he wanted to do was get to the store and get the door and dishes. As he made it into town, he made his way to the general store. Hopefully they were open by now. He figured they were, though.

After a few turns, finally the general store came into view. The owner flipped a sign around in his window to show that the store was open. Tom sighed with relief. He slipped into the empty store and quickly found everything but the door.

“Excuse me, sir, where are your front doors?” Tom asked the owner.

“You came through them. They’re the only doors the public is allowed in, but you’re going to need to pay for those items before you go back through them, ” the general store owner explained.

Tom paused. Confusion crossed his mind. “Oh, no, not those doors!” Tom realized the mistake in his question. “I mean the doors for sale. I need a front door for my house,” Tom chuckled.

“Oh!” The owner also looked less confused. “Those need to be ordered.”

Tom’s stress level rose slightly, and his heart fell even more. “How long would an order for a door take to go through?”

“Well given it is the holiday season, and the demand for products is up, it might take a few days, a week possibly.”

“Okay.” Tom turned the options over in his head. Wait, what options? He didn’t have any options, he needed the door. He could glue the pieces back together, but the door wouldn’t look very door like. No, he would just have to buy the door and wait. “I’ll order one then. I need a standard, brown front door.”

“Great. Could you please fill out this form? We will send it through immediately and we will get the door to you when it is finished. You won’t need to pay until the door comes through,” the owner explained.

Tom set the dishes he found down next to the bread on the counter. Pulling a pen out of his jacket pocket, he proceeded to fill out the form. “Dimensions of the door? I have no idea. I never took the time to measure my door,” thought Tom.

“Excuse me, sir, I don’t know the dimensions of my door. I always thought that doors were standard,” Tom told the owner.

“Oh it’s alright. Just write what year your house was made and we can figure out the dimensions from there,” the owner explained. “Would you like me to total up the rest of your items?”

“Yes, please.” Tom bent over the form again and tried to remember when his house was built. It was his grandfather’s house, and it was passed from father to son from then to now. It must have been close to 100 years ago. Tom put the approximate decade it was built. ‘Wow,’ he thought. ‘I never realized how old my house is. It must be full of memories. Oh that would make an excellent short story!’

“Ten dollars, and fifty-nine cents,” the owner said, interrupting Tom’s thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“Your total is ten dollars and fifty-nine cents,” repeated the owner.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out several dollar bills. He laid a ten dollar bill and a five dollar bill down on the counter. “You can keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir. Have a Merry Christmas, and I will get that door to you as soon as it is done. Have a nice day!”

“You too, thank you!” Tom waved a good-bye and headed toward the exit.

On his way home, Tom saw Officer Young patrolling the street. “Hello, there Officer.”

“Hello, Mr. Davis.”

“I know it’s still soon, but have you found Nicholas yet?” Tom couldn’t help his curiosity.

“No, we haven’t. We are still looking. Have you gotten a new front door?” Officer Young chuckled.

“I just went to the general store to get a new one, but it has to be ordered. For now I just used a bedroom door,” explained Tom.

“Well at least you got the cold to stay out. I hope all goes well, and I am terribly sorry about what happened,” Officer Young said sincerely.

“It’ll be alright. We’ll get it all back in order. Thank you for coming over so early this morning.” Tom was sincerely grateful. Had someone called him that early in the morning, he would have gotten impatient and short tempered. That was one of the many reasons why he wasn’t a police officer.

“You’re very welcome.”

“Well best be on my way. Mary and the children are going to want breakfast, and eating oatmeal out of their hands won’t be very fun. Thank you again. Merry Christmas!” Tom tipped his hat and headed away.

“Merry Christmas to you too!”

 

That night, the Davis family sat around the kitchen table and discussed their daily events. When it came to Tom, he explained about the front-door. “We are going to need to make sure there is something blocking it so it remains shut,” he explained to them.

“Alright,” Mary said. “We can do that.”

“Yeah, we can do it.” Jimmy agreed.

“What will we do when we all leave the house?” Jessica asked. She was always the logical one. Always thinking ahead, always playing worst-case-scenario in her head. She was always prepared.

Tom thought about it for a few moments while he bit into his chocolate. “Well, we are going to need to just trust that God won’t let our house get broken into again. I don’t see when we are going to all be gone at the same time, though.”

“Tomorrow, the ballet,” Jessica prompted.

“Oh yes, of course!” Tom remembered.

“You said your book would be done today and that you could come with us,” Jessica reminded him.

“Tom, did you really finish your book today?” Mary asked for clarification.

“Yes, I did. It will be sent off to the printers tomorrow. I don’t have to go back in until Monday,” reported Tom.

All three of them cheered.

“Yes, I know. So tomorrow we will all go to the ballet and trust in God,” Mary said excitedly.

 

The next evening, Tom and his family gathered up their coats and tickets for the ballet. Just as they were headed out the front door proxy, the telephone rang.

“I’ll answer it,” sighed Tom. He was hoping it was Officer Young with news on Nicholas. “Hello? Tom speaking.”

“Hello, Tom. This is Officer Young. How are you?”

Tom sighed in relief. “I’m doing good. What can I do for you?”

“We haven’t found Nicholas yet, but we did find a lead on him. I wanted to inform you that we will have officers watching your house tonight in case he tries anything,” Officer Young reported in a professional tone.

“Oh that is perfect!” Tom exclaimed. “We are just leaving to go to the ballet. Thank you so much! We were worried about our house,” explained Tom.

“Well that’s just perfect! Well you have fun! We will take care of everything!”

“Thank you! Have a nice evening! Happy holidays!”

“You, too. Bye.”

“Good-bye!” Tom hung the phone up and walked with a spring in his step over to his family. “That was Officer Young. There are going to be officers watching our house so no one can do any more damage.”

They all sighed in unison. “That’s great!”

“Yeah, it is! So now we can go and enjoy the ballet!” Tom opened the door and gestured for all of them to go out.

They climbed into the taxi that they had called earlier. The whole way to the ballet, Jessica sang her favorite pieces of music she was about to hear. Jimmy looked out the window, while Mary and Tom both silently thought about what they could get for their children for Christmas. The ride to the ballet was very calm and peaceful.

The ballet went perfectly. Jessica sat in pure delight as she watched the dancers move to Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker Suite.” Tom watched the ballet, but occasionally he would glance at his family and watch their expressions.

Once the ballet was finished, The Davis family headed out to the lobby of the theater. They were one of the first out. The lobby was close to empty. the only people there were the employees and an officer in the far corner. As the small family approached the door, the officer approached them.

“Mr. Davis?” The officer asked in a hushed tone.

“That’s me.” Tom stepped forward. “How can I help you?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.” The officer looked Tom in the eyes, then looked at the small family. Their faces reflected the pain the officer felt for them.

“What is it?” Tom was hoping that it was, at worst, that their house had been broken into again.

“It’s your house, sir.”

“What happened to the house?” Mary asked.

“Nicholas came again,” the officer explained.

“Did he destroy my bedroom door that I was using for a front door?” Tom let out a small chuckle.

“Yes, but he also destroyed the entire house.”

“I don’t understand,” Mary stated in a terrified voice.

“I’m afraid that before our officers could get to your house to watch, Nicholas got there first. By the time our patrols reached the house, there were flames eating at the roof. I’m very sorry. The fire department put it out as soon as the could,” the officer explained quickly.

“Nicholas burned down our house?” Tom asked in disbelief.

“Yes, sir.” The officer confirmed.

The Davis family got in the taxi as fast as they could. This taxi ride wasn’t nearly as relaxed as the first.

Mary tried her best to stay strong for her children, but the tears fell like rain down her cheeks.

Jessica buried her face in Tom’s arm. Like her mother, she had tears pouring from her eyes.

Jimmy had a hard time keeping his tears in, but he wanted to be strong like his father.

“Can’t we go any faster?” Tom shouted at the driver.

“I’m sorry, sir. I am going the speed limit,” the taxi driver said in a small voice.

“I don’t care! Drive faster!” Tom yelled.

“Sir!” The taxi driver started to defend himself.

“NOW!” Tom’s booming voice filled the air and hung with despair.

The taxi driver started to panic. He was a new driver, and he was taught that the passenger was always right. Pressing his foot harder on the gas, the car leapt forward with a slight lurch.

They rounded a corner. The roads were icy. It all happened in a flash. The tires spun out. Control was lost. The oncoming car’s driver didn’t have time to think. The sound of shattering glass filled the air. Metal grinding on metal sent shivers up everyone’s spines. In an instant it was all over.

No one spoke for the first minute after. The shock and impact had taken their voices away.

Tom looked over at his family. Instantly his heart dropped, his head spun, his eyes welled with tears. “Where’s Jessica?” Tom shouted out.

“What?” Mary was just opening her eyes. “Jessica!”

“Jimmy! Is Jimmy alright?” Tom yelled to his wife. Although yelling wasn’t necessary, his voice seemed to be stuck in that tone.

“I’m okay, Dad,” Jimmy answered in a weak voice.

“Good! Where is Jessica!” Tom looked to the front of the car. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew it was true. He jumped out of the car and ran around to the front. There his eyes beheld the worst sight they could ever dream up.

In the middle of the metal and glass mess lay Jessica. She was sprawled out. Her brown hair was strewn across her face. One hand was clutched tight in a fist, the other lay limp. Blood covered her dress.

Tom fell to his knees. Gently, he placed his hand on her chest. She was still breathing. That was good. Not wanting to pick her up in case it did more damage, Tom sat there helplessly. A large, hard lump formed in his throat. Tears poured from his eyes. Tenderly, Tom brushed the hair off Jessica’s small face. He kept his hand on her face and softly, he rubbed his thumb across her cheek.

“Please, God, please. I beg of you. If there has to be a death tonight, let it be me. Spare her life. She is an innocent child, God. Let me go, not her,” Tom whispered. He looked upward to the sky. “Please, God.”

Mary stepped out of the car. “Jimmy, stay here, please. Tom?” Mary gasped when she saw Jessica laying in the snow. Without a second thought, Mary looked back at Jimmy. “Jimmy, you need to run to the nearest house. Ask them if they can lend you their telephone. Call nine-one-one. Please, Jimmy!”

“Okay, Mom!” Jimmy looked once at the street signs that told them what corner they were located. Taking a mental note, Jimmy bolted across the street.

Tom remained unmoved. He kept his hand on Jessica’s cheek. Mary walked over and knelt next to him. She, too, placed her hand on Jessica. Both cried.

Minutes later, Jimmy returned. He looked at Jessica laying unconscious. No longer could he contain the tears. They came in great heaves. He joined his parents and knelt down next to his sister. “Is she alright?” he sobbed.

Neither of his parents said a word. Tom gave a slight nod, but Mary remained motionless.

No more than five minutes passed when the whine of sirens cut through the air. The ambulance pulled up alongside the wreck. Two police cars followed closely behind. Three medical technicians rushed over to Jessica. Another two ran to check on both drivers.

Carefully, the paramedics picked up Jessica and put her on a stretcher. Another two ambulances arrived and took the drivers away. The Davis family got into the back of the ambulance with Jessica and the paramedics. As the doors shut, Jimmy looked at the neighbors that stared in awe at the mess. He wondered if this mess resembled the one that was now where his house used to stand.

At the hospital, Jessica was immediately taken care of. Three doctors and five nurses looked her over. After what seemed like hours passed, a doctor came out to talk to Tom.

“Mr. Davis?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Tom rushed over to the man that called his name. “How is she?”

“Jessica is going to need an operation,” explained the doctor.

“What for? What sort of operation?” Tom was panicked.

“A simple one. When she was tossed through the glass, some of it got stuck in her skin. There is one piece that is buried quite deeply in her left arm. We will remove it,” the doctor told a frenzied Tom. “First we need you to sign this form.”

“Okay, I’ll sign it. Just please, make sure Jessica is back to her normal self.”

“We will do the best we can do.”

The next morning, Tom awoke to a small voice. “Daddy? Mommy? Where am I?”

Jessica! Tom jumped up and ran over to her bed. “Honey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Tom brushed the top of her head with his hand several times.

“Daddy? Where are we?” Jessica’s voice was weak. Her lungs were weak.

“Oh, Jessica, sweetie. I’m so glad you’re awake.” Tom hugged his daughter lightly and kissed her forehead. “We’re at the hospital. You got terribly hurt, and it was all my fault. I’m very sorry.”

“Hospital? Your fault?” Jessica was very confused.

“Yes, when I told the taxi driver to go faster last night, he lost control and we got into an accident,” explained Tom. The tears came again. The fell onto Jessica’s blankets.

“Is Mommy okay? What about Jimmy?” Jessica felt a slight panic in her.

“They’re okay. A little bruised and shaken up, but they’re okay. They went to stay with a neighbor. They’ll come in and see you later.”

“Okay,” Jessica sighed. Her eyes drifted shut, and her breathing became deep and even. She was asleep again.

“I’m sorry, Jessica. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I wish I could take it back, I wish–.” Tom stopped mid-sentence when he realized Jessica wasn’t breathing anymore. “Jessica!” He shook her lightly. “Jessica! Wake up!”

Nothing.

Tom rushed out to the hallway. “Help! My daughter isn’t breathing! Help!” he called to the nurses and doctor standing there.

The doctor and two nurses came running. They pushed past Tom and into Jessica’s room. Tom stepped inside to watch.

“Please, God. Please. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I only wanted to get home. Please keep her alive. It’s my fault. I should be taken, not her. Please,” Tom pleaded silently. The never ending stream of tears continued to streak his face.

“Mr. Davis, sir, we’re going to need to ask you to step out of the room please.”

One Week Later

 

Tears again rolled down Tom’s cheeks as he laid the small box in the frozen ground.

“Mary, will you say some words, please,” Tom pleaded.

“Yes.” Mary walked up to the hole. She looked down at the box, imagining the lifeless body inside. “Through the years, thick and thin, she was a great inspiration to all of us. Her constant happiness and love was more than anyone I’ve ever met. We will miss her.” Mary stepped back and closed her eyes.

“My turn! I will miss Cinnamon. She was a wonderful cat,” Jessica sighed. Tears rolled down her cheeks as well. “I will never have a cat as good as her. I loved her. Rest well, Cinnamon. I love you.”

Tom looked up at his daughter’s tear stained face. His tears matched her’s, but his weren’t from a broken heart. His came from the pure gratitude he felt toward God. “Thank you, God. Thank you for letting her live. Thank you for giving her to me,” he silently prayed.

“Now I think we should say a prayer, like they do at all funerals,” suggested Jessica.

“Okay, you can say it,” Mary told Jessica.

“No, I want Jimmy to say it. I know Cinnamon would want him to.” Jessica turned to her brother. “Please?”

Rolling his eyes, he agreed to saying the prayer. “Dear God, thank you for letting us have Cinnamon in our lives. She was a great cat. I’m sorry I didn’t treat her as nicely while she was alive, but please guide her cat soul to cat haven. Thank you, God, for letting us have Jessica as well. Thank you for sparing her life. Amen.”

Jessica didn’t say anything. She just let the tears fall from her eyes. Jimmy remained silent as well as he watched her. Tom and Mary both looked at their children. A warm feeling filled all of them.

 

Despite the fact that they no longer had their well furnished home, they still had each other, and that is all that mattered. Christmas wouldn’t have been Christmas if they weren’t all together.

Abnormal Tinker Gym

abnormaltinkergym.wordpress.com

I decided to start a story. Mind you it’s not very good, and it’s all just a very very rough draft, and each post is written well after bedtime, so it basically sucks. It’s all I got in my noggin these days, so sometimes things will be a little weird, and not make too much sense, but hang in there and I think everything should come together in the end…hopefully… =s

Short Story: Black Roses

The golden morning light peeked through my black curtains. My alarm clock rang out shrilly, nearly bursting my eardrums. Blindly, I reached up instinctively and smacked the little chime on top. nstantly the shrill ring ended. More than anything I wanted to just hide under the dark comforter again. September had arrived, the golden sun said so. Out of habit, I rolled out of bed.
My morning routine was oddly natural for me. While the other kids would be getting dragged out of bed, I was doing push-ups. While other kids were groggily climbing into the shower, I was already dressed and ready to go. I had already read my daily thought, eaten breakfast, and was reading through my letters from my pen-pal one last time for extra strength.

Dear Jai,

Hey there! School is about to start here, one week. I’m nervous. I know up at camp they told me that I would be just fine, but I still am scared. I keep reading that book they gave us, and every time is just as funny as the last. I’ve practiced that stuff with the kids here in the neighborhood, and I think I can do it at the new school. I hope I can. Wish me luck!
How are you doing? I hope you’re still holding strong. You’ll make it! You are so amazing! I loved hanging out with you! And I’m really glad you’re my friend! Let’s make it together! Remember step 14.5 (hehe): “Never leave the house with your fly down!” If you remember that, then you will be just fine! Haha!

Love,
Jaysah

P.S. You have my e-mail address right? I think you we should e-mail now that school is back on. That way if we need instant help we can get it. Promise to check your e-mail! I’ll check mine every day, at least three times a day! Love you!

I folded the letter and put it back in the folder where I kept it. Quickly, I turned on the computer. More than anything I wanted to e-mail my friend and tell her that I was about to jump into the “jungle.” If no one else cared, Jaysah would, and she would understand.
As soon as the interface came up I typed a fast e-mail.

Jaysah!

Good luck at your school! Im just headed out to mine! At least you get to go to a new place, I have to go look back at all those old terrifying memories. As if nightmares weren’t bad enough…*sigh* Love you too!

-Jai

I looked at the computer, hoping for a reply instantly. I knew, however, that because of the time difference Jaysah would already be in school. Sighing, I turned off the computer.
As time ticked by without me moving, I decided it was time I face the music. Both of my parents were already gone to work, so I had no one I needed to say good-bye to. As I opened the front door, I slipped on my long coat. With my black bag in hand, my coat on, and my pocket-sized camp manual, I took my first step into the world again.
For my first day, I wanted to walk. I was not about to get on that bus. That was where ninety percent of all my worst nightmares took place. To be awake and on the giant yellow torture chamber would be worse than any of my nightmares.
Reading while I walked, I didn’t pay any attention to others walking too. It was too soon for me to face my peers. Of course, I knew I would have to face them soon, but not yet.
Yet, as I dreaded that feeling of rejection, and of being an outcast, there was a vague feeling of wanting something. Of course, I wanted to fit in for once, but it wasn’t that feeling. I think it was a feeling of wanting to get back at all those bullies, but I couldn’t be sure. I knew I was angry at them all, but I didn’t ever feel the need to kick back.
Whatever the feeling was, it was gone as I approached the child-prison that we all call school. Suddenly I was filled with panic. My hands got clammy, my ears rang, my stomach dropped. Was I really ready to face this again? Only one way to find out, go for it! (They told us that up at camp.)
I opened the door to the already mostly filled school. My ears rushed with excited summer babble. As I let my guard rest, a terrible thing happened.
All the sound seemed to fade just enough for me to hear the dreaded words, “Hey, look! It’s Jai! Hey fag!”
My heart sank. At that moment in time I wanted to run. Run back home. Run back to camp. Run to Jaysah. Run anywhere! I wanted to be anywhere but there. My heart said one thing, while my mind said another. I knew I had to stick it out.
As much as that hurt, I pretended to not have heard it. I continued my walk into the building. That day went like that first moment all the way through. I would walk in or out of a classroom, and there was always a shout to me.
“Hey fag!”
“Dork!”
“Punk!”
“Loser!”
“How was your summer, Freak?”
I barely lasted the day. The final bell rang and I ran. I ran faster than I ever knew I could. My feet pounding on the ground, my ears ringing in agony, my tears pouring like rain, I ran. Finally I made it home. To my haven. No one was there when I walked in. No one was ever there when I walked in.
Straight to my room I sprinted. Slamming my backpack onto the floor, I flopped down onto my bed. I let my tears stain my pillowcase. So many feelings were swimming within me.
Anger toward all those who hurt me.
Sadness from all the names.
Confusion. I thought I could handle it.
Loss of security.
Hope for a better tomorrow.
I cried. I let it out. When my eyes dried enough so that I could see, I went and e-mailed Jaysah. She could help, I knew it!
I typed her the story. I poured out my pain. Then I sent it. Sent feelings no one should feel. I closed my damp eyes.
I concentrated on breathing. In and out, steadily. My heart calmed down. I felt the pain slowly lessen. Once I knew I was again in control, I opened my eyes.
My lungs deflated when I saw the e-mail I had just sent was back with a reply. “Wow! Talk about fast!” I thought to myself.
With no time to waste, I clicked on Jaysah’s name. Her e-mail popped up.

Jai! Please stay strong! Please! You can do it! You grew up! The others didn’t! You know better. You know those are just words! Don’t let them get to you! You’re better than that! I know you are! I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you if you weren’t amazing! You can and will be able to make it! Please, just forget it! Read the manual! Don’t forget what they taught you up at camp! Stay strong! I LOVE YOU!
-Jaysah-

I sighed. I knew it was true. Jaysah was right. My parents didn’t send me to that camp for nothing. It was to help me lift my self-esteem. Give me confidence. I learned that. I could make it. If only life were as easy as camp was.
I didn’t reply to Jaysah, instead I left her message on the screen for comfort. I needed her. Jaysah was my angel of sorts. She kept me going up at camp when I thought I was done. With her by my side I felt that slight twinge of invincibility. As if she had wings, she could lift my spirit and my soul. Oh how I missed her.
That night, I read and reread those words again and again. As was usual I got a lot of homework from my teachers on my first day. I did it all and went straight to bed. I wasn’t in any mood to leave my room, my dark haven.
The next morning, I awoke and followed my normal routine that I picked up from camp. In hopes that school would be better, I walked in with my head held high.
I opened those great doors. Pausing, I waited for the dreaded words. Nothing. I was relieved. I went to my classes as usual. That day was the last day I would ever go to my math class again.
Upon walking in, Kennedy, the largest football player, shouted at me from the other side of the room. He called me names that no one should ever have to hear. I squared my shoulders and marched to my seat. As soon as I sat down, I regretted it. My chair had been filled with water. I could feel it soak through my pants.
“Nervous Fag?” Someone whispered in my ear.
I got up and walked out. No one could stop me. I listened as my peers jeered and hooted. Waiting for a teacher to stop them, I paused at the door for a split second. The teacher said nothing. Without looking back I walked out.
I ran home faster than the day before. My feet knew the way. That night I didn’t e-mail anyone, I didn’t do my homework. I cried. Once my tears ran dry, I pulled out my pocketknife. It was shiny and clean. I rolled up a sleeve.
“This is for you Kennedy!” I screamed silently.
One slit.
“This is for you Nick!”
Two slits.
“This is for you Jennifer!”
Three slits.
“You want me to suffer?”
Four slits.
“I’ll suffer!”
Five slits, six slits, seven slits.
I watched as my shiny knife turned crimson with blood. Each drop of blood for each ounce of pain. A sick feeling ached within me. My arm oozed scarlet drops of my own blood.
“You see, World?” I cried upward. “You see what you’ve done to me? You made me bleed! Are you happy now? Are you!?” My tears poured out onto my arm. They mixed with the blood.
Each drop fell silently to the ground. Each tear ran smoothly into the carpet.
The next morning I awoke where I had been sitting on the carpet. My blood had dried. My tears were gone. Only pain was left, it was always only pain that was left.
I didn’t go to school that day. I couldn’t. It would have been impossible for me to go and face the ridicule again. Twice in a row was enough.
My mom kept sleeping pills in the cabinet in the bathroom. I knew where to find them. Grabbing them out of the bathroom, I popped three into my mouth. One bathroom stop, and I went straight to bed. I slept dreamlessly. No nightmares, no pain. Just sleep.
Friday I awoke, just in time for school. I decided to give it one last shot. One last shot at hope. Out of my normal routine, I got dressed.
I slumped to school that day. I didn’t want to be there more than I had to be. The first bell rang as I walked in. Straight to my physical education class I headed.
I went straight to the locker room and dressed down. At least we were running that day. I could be alone. Me and my music. It would be okay. It was okay until I found out we had a change of plans.
There was a substitute. The big guys ‘persuaded’ the sub to let us play football. As always, I was last to get chosen for a team. Once on a team, however, I simply sat on the side. I closed my eyes and cranked the volume up on my music player. Just me and my music, no one else. I left my mind wander back to Jaysah at camp. How cute she was, how strong she was. How I missed her.
My dream ended. It was yanked mercilessly from my ears.
“What’re you listening to, Fag?”
“Pretty music?”
“Come play, Fag!”
“Come play, Loser!”
Before I knew what was coming I was on my face. Mud clouded my eyes. Grass filled my mouth and nose. Breath was escaping my lungs. Something large was pressing me to the ground.
“Loser! Can’t even defend yourself! Get up! Come on!”
I scrambled to get my arms under me, but it was useless. There was just too much weight on my back. In my desperate struggle to get up, I cried. My tears came without notice.
“Oh the poor baby is crying!”
“Poor baby! Someone get him a bah-bah!”
“Wah-wah! Poor baby!”
“Stop!” I screamed. My voice was weak. “Get off!”
“Poor baby! Wants me to get off!”
Laughing. Cruel, cold laughter.
“Get off!” My lungs burned with pain. My eyes seared with pain from the mud. Aches and pains filled my arms and chest. “Get off!” My cries turned to pleads. “Please! Please!”
“Aw, he said please! How polite!”
More laughter.
Torture. Torment. Hell.
How it happened, I don’t know. In a flash I was up. I was on my feet. Mud still coating my eyes I ran. I ran away from the laughter. It didn’t matter which way I was headed. It was away from the pain, that’s all that mattered.
Once I caught my breath, and cleared my eyes, I ran home. Nothing was going to stop me. No one was going to touch me again. Never would that cruel school watch me suffer again. I made a decision and I wanted to end it all now.
I threw open the front door. Pounded into my room. Instantly I turned on the computer. Anger boiled through me as I waited for it to boot up. My ears ached with the senseless laughter that still burned. With shaky hands I typed out my final e-mail to Jaysah.

Jaysah, I know that you are stronger than me. I wish I was as strong as you, but I can’t take it anymore. I won’t take it anymore. I love you, dear. I love you. Please stay strong. Stay strong for me. You were the only one that ever kept me strong. I wish I could do the same for you. I really wish I could, but I can’t. I love you.
-Jai-

I cried muddy tears. Brown, murky tears rolled down my cheeks. Gosh I was going to miss her. The only good thing left in this horrible place. How I wished I could just be with her, but I couldn’t. It was the end. It was meant to be this way. The world hated me, that’s all I ever knew. Ripping a paper out of my printer I scrolled a message to the world.

I know you won’t care that I’m gone, but I will. I know you never cared when I cried, but I did. You may never know what pain I suffered, but you will now. My computer and journal are filled with your evil acts. Now my tears and blood will stain your souls. Don’t ever forget that you poisoned me with your words. When you look at my grave, don’t put red roses there like you loved me. Put black ones on it. 12 black ones, one for every year you tortured me. Black roses, and poisoned words, that’s all you think I deserved.

Without a second thought, I went to my bed. I stripped off the top mattress. Underneath lay a jet black gun. Here I sit now, with the gun on my lap. In a minute I will stand with it at my head. If you care at all, you will use your evil talent and call for help. Those words you can shoot from your mouth to kill might be able to save a life. Who knows. I sure won’t ever know. It won’t be my life. No one cared then, why should you care now? Good-bye.

That night, Jai’s body was found in his room. His brains on one wall, his blood staining his carpet. Like he said, we will never know if a few kind words could have saved his life. We will never know. It would have been worth a try. Instead he died with cruel laughter ringing in his ears, mud in his eyes.
It’s funny how, looking at his grave, every one cries. They lay black roses on his grave, honoring his wishes. Yet as we mocked and ridiculed him, we all laughed while he was in that dirt. No one honored his wishes when he cried for us to stop. Why is now different? Is it because we finally saw the consequences of our actions? Or maybe we don’t care, but we cry because of tradition.
Think back now, could you have stopped the pain and helped him up? Joined him in his cry for everyone to stop, would that have helped? Who knows? We won’t ever know. For we killed Jai. Good-bye Jai.

Write Away

Okay, so I just posted, and I know that, but I decided that I want to write a book. I don’t know what kind of book, but I want to write a book. So I am going to write a book. I don’t know if I should use my short story (The Riddler) as the base or totally start something new. What do you think?(It’s about an Author who gets sabatoged around Christmas time by some jealous man.) Or I could base it off of my other little story called Black Roses… I’ll post that in a second.

Changed?

Okay, so I just got on here to add stuff, and it looks really different. Is it me or did this change a lot? I think it changed a lot… I hope it did… otherwise I’ll feel like an unobservant dork.

Anyway, I got my new laptop! It’s smexy!! It’s a Dell Studio. The top is midnight blue! I think I’m in love with it! Sorry, N, you’ve been replaced.

I’m almost done with my college classes! I’m so stoked! I can’t wait to be done for a few weeks! Not like next semester will be any more fun or anything, but I’ll be more excited I suppose!

Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming!! I can’t wait! All the cookies baking, all the flu shots, all the runny noses, all the candy! Oh baby could it get any better?!

Just an Update

Yea, I haven’t updated in about two million years. That’s ’cause my mom broke my laptop…again…, I forgot my password to get into here…and I’ve just been doing…other things. =)

Anyway, as an update on me…well I’m still in school…finally about to finish my second semester at UVU! AH! I’M STOKED!! School sucks though…its so boring.

There’s not much else to say. Oh Oh wait, I went to see “Twilight.” For the book it originated from it’s a decent movie. Bella is REALLY lame though. She pretty much has no facial expressions throughout the whole movie. I think her face is made of stone, not Edwards. Jasper was pretty incredible though. The vampires had the best facial expressions. The humans just sucked. Jacob and Billy did pretty good though. Oh and Charlie, he was probably the only human who wasn’t completely retarded. And had the script writers left out all the sexual junk they could have developed the relationship between Granite Face and Edward. I mean it was like they met and the next day they were making out on her bed! I know it’s Hollywood but usually there is a little more before a make out session. Oh and in the book Granite Face falls a lot! She fell ONCE! I was very disappointed. I wanted to see some skinned knees, and some bruises…but no! She’s far too graceful for that! psh. Dumb movie.

hmm…I’m drawing a blank on everything right now. My Nathan and I are all dandy. Except he drooled on me once…which would have been weird if I had been awake to…enjoy…that…but I was out like a burned out lamp in the truck. um…yup.

hum…di…dum…ya know, updating this thing is REALLY hard when I can’t even remember what I ate for dinner last night. hmmm. Oh wait, I’ve just been informed that yesterday was Thanksgiving, which means I had turkey, and all that yummy stuff!

Well when I think of more things to write on here I’ll come update it. It’ll be updated a lot more often as soon as my new laptop gets to my house! =)

More Truth: Part 6

Angela’s attorney received the witness reports of the assaulting. There are no reports of her actually hitting Garison. She did have her binder out and was pointing to various unknown things to the witnesses. Garison replied to her by just laughing and egging her on. After Angela got the tire iron, Garison reportedly jumped out from between the vehicles, proving he wasn’t actually being held there.

The Records: Part 5 of many

Many people commented on Anela’s record on the paper’s site. I want to make a note that her record is clean of any felonies at all, and up until recently, her record was nearly spotless. Garison’s record, however, isn’t nearly as clean. His record contains kidnapping charges, drug dealing and violence. There are newspaper articles that show him as a wanted person. He sold drugs to parents with children. He is not as innocent at all as people would believe. Angela isn’t totally innocent either but her crimes aren’t at all bad. Simple traffic violations. So how can the courts just ignore that?

The Ignorant: Part 4 of Many

There are several comments to the raging battle. Many of them say things such as “hm, mom does meth? beats ex with a tire iron? carries a knife? she’ll WIN the battle! the mom is a loser.” and “I wish my daughter in law would do that to my son so we could win the battle. Maybe the callaway lady could give her lessons.” and “If a man did that to a woman he’d be sent to prison.How did she get off easy?” and “I wonder how she’s out of jail so soon for such a horrible crime.”   So now my question is, How can people be so dang ignorant? I’m very very angry at the newspaper for posting false information and NO information, making this look totally different. Angela needs help. The law is doing nothing but pitying the man, yet he’s the one destroying his daughter’s life. If anyone can stand by and watch Cami get hurt like that then this world really is worse than I imagined and we might as well all just join the ignorant and die. yup.

The Comments: Part 3 of many

These posts are the comments made by outsiders who read the article in the paper.

STEVEUT Wrote:

“Although I don’t agree with assaulting anybody in any way. Something tells me there is more to this story than what we’ve been told in this article. I’ve known people in messy custody battles. What happens if she is being railroaded by the courts and she knows of abuse taking place on her children? What happens if what she did was her motherly instinct taking over and she was trying to protect them in some way. True her actions would hurt more than help the situation. But I can’t see too many other reasons why a woman would do what she did right in front of the police station unless she truly felt justified. I’m not too sure I feel comfortable assuming meth and zanax were the culprits on this one.”

I happen to agree with this very much so. I have seen my share of custody battles, some very messy as this one seems to be. In these certain cases there is always more to it than what meets the eye, or in this case what is reported to the public. Yes, Ms Callaway was not legally justified in her actions, as nobody would be in any similar situation, however, events like this leave me wondering what is really going on. I have seen custody battles turn this bitter only in the case where abuse is involved, And the man that is the source of the abuse is the one with all of the control. So I am led to believe that Ms Callaway is fighting for her child in more ways than one. If you fully research this situation you will find the Mr. Callaway is not a model citizen either, He himself has graced the front page of the Daily Herald some years ago. I do not feel that anyone is justified in passing judgment in this case, as if you just do a little research into the matter you will find there is much more going on beyond the custody battle.