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| Photo by Fernanda Prado on Unsplash |
Last week we brought you Part One of two stories (catch up right here) so this week you get... well, at least one conclusion.
Her Take:
Chapter Three: The Thing
Many years later, when Kevin would drunkenly tell this story to anyone who would listen in his favorite bar, he would make the point to say that he did not stare. He was proud of that.
And it was true, he did not. He fainted.
Fortunately, he had barely stood when his lights went out so rather than collapsing in a dramatic heap, he made a soft ‘blunk’ noise when his posterior met the chair and simply slumped back.
For a moment, he was in a pleasantly dark place in which small dogs didn’t talk in human voices. He liked it there.
As he came back around, he started to register voices.
A man’s voice: “Woah there buddy, we lost you for a second.”
Joyce (grumbling under her breath): “I told him not to stare. It’s so rude.”
The man again: “Hey Toots! Get this man a glass of water!”
Kevin blinked, shook his head, grasped the arms of his chair, and tried to sit up straight.
“Hey, take it easy there tiger, it’s a lot to take in.” It was the man again.
Kevin blinked again and looked around. Two deep brown and perfectly round eyes regarded him from beside his chair. The owner of the eyes, along with two fuzzy ears, and four fluffy paws (one of which was resting in a concerned manner on Kevin’s knee.), looked at him for a moment more and then shouted, “Listen! Where’s that water?? The guy needs some help and I AIN’T GOT THUMBS!!”
Joyce shuffled in with a glass of water and dropped in unceremoniously on Kevin’s desk, sloshing part onto his slacks, the floor, and the concerned, shouty, human-voiced Yorkshire Terrier. She was gone before anyone could respond.
The dog dropped back to all fours, shook the water from his hind leg, and trotted back around Kevin’s desk. It hopped into one of the chairs facing the desk and sat, people-style, with it’s back legs crossed and left-front paw casually on the arm of the chair.
Shakily, Kevin grasped the water glass and tried to take a sip.
“So,” said the dog,”you all under control now? You got your wits about ya?”
Kevin gulped, choked, coughed and finally pulled himself together enough to speak.
“And (cough), you are (cough)...?”
“That’s better. I’m Roy. You’ve been expecting me.”, said the dog.
A mere ten minutes earlier Kevin hadn’t known what to expect, but he had not been expecting Roy, he was sure of that. That’s what he thought, anyway, but what he said was:
“Oh, you’re my 11 o’clock. Did you bring whatever it is I’m supposed to deliver to Phoenix?”
Roy shifted his weight, recrossed his legs, and stared at Kevin for a few seconds, confused.
It was uncomfortable. Kevin watched a thought occur to him.
“Ha-ha! That’s adorable…”, Roy laughed,”Buddy, you don’t get it, do ya? I’m the package you have to deliver. Me. Cute, fluffy, nightmare inducing, little-ol-me.”
“You, er, you’re.. The… thing?”
“I don’t love it when you call me that, Kev, but yes, I suppose, I, as you say, Am.The.Thing.”
Kevin’s brain really tried to take that all in. It did its level best to comprehend that his job was to drive this small talking dog that sounded like a middle-aged refrigerator repairman from his office in small town Wisconsin to Phoenix. Arizona. This dog. A dog that talked. Like people, not like a dog. Not like ‘Here puppy, speak and you’ll get a treat’ but like PEOPLE AND HE WAS STARTING TO UNRAVEL AND THEN-
It went pleasantly dark again.
When he came back around, Roy was still seated in the chair, watching him. It was hard to tell with his fuzzy puppy face, but Kevin sensed that he was started to get frustrated. As if to confirm Kevin’s suspicion, Roy sounded irritated when he spoke again.
‘Listen,” he said, “It’s gonna take us forever to get where we need to go if you keep goin’ beddy-bye like that whenever I talk, so let me just give you the whole deal at once and we’ll TRY to get this over with, ok?”
Kevin croaked,”Ok…” and then took another sip of water. Roy began his story.
“Here’s the deal, my Mom, Mrs. Sullivan-”
‘MRS. SULLIVAN WAS YOUR MOTHER??”, Kevin almost screamed.
“Ok, calm down, I’m adopted, obviously.”, replied Roy, clearly angry at the interruption.
For some reason it made Kevin feel better to hear that, as if that was the most outlandish thing in the story. With that settled, he listened quietly and only felt a tiny but insane.
“Now, like I was sayin’, the Old Broad, my mom, had two things that crazy people shouldn’t get access to: arse loads of money and people who will do anything for an arse load of money…”
Roy went on to explain that when she had become estranged from her only daughter, Natalie, several years ago, Mrs. Sullivan was eaten up with grief. He didn’t know what had caused the rift, he expected Natalie had been justified in cutting ties so he didn’t bear his sister any ill will-
“YOUR SISTER?!?!?”
“I’m not explaining this to you again, Kevin, shut up and let me get this over with.”
-He didn’t bear her any ill will, though he guessed, if she knew about him, Natalie wouldn’t exactly be up to greeting him with open arms. There was a chance that she had no idea he existed and things were going to get real dicey once they got to Phoenix.
The conditions of the Late Mrs. Sullivan’s Will stated that Natalie would be the sole beneficiary of her immense fortune but only if she agreed to take in her little brother, Roy. She had a lot to gain, but very strange and unsettling condition with which to agree. That was Kevin’s job, to make sure that Roy was delivered safely and welcomed into the loving bosom of his only remaining family.
“Huh-huh-huh… bosoms…”, Roy chuckled, pleased with himself.
The room spun just slightly. Kevin gripped the arms of his chair harder, trying to maintain his composure this time.
He took one deep, cleansing breath and said, “Ok, let’s hit the road then.”
(Dear Reader: I'm not sure where, or if, this story will go, but now that Kevin and Roy are in my brain, I have a funny feeling we'll see them again. If you, like me, wonder what will happen on the road to Phoenix, check back here sometimes and we'll see if we can find out.)
His Take:
He gulped hard on his drink as the door slammed shut behind the…...he didn’t know what to call it. No, he thought. It’s not an “it”. It’s a living breathing creature. Just because it was genetically altered does not make it a “thing” that is owned by the person that changed its genetic makeup. At least, that’s what he intended to argue in court. Whether or not the judge agreed with him was another thing all together. He knew he could convince a jury, but getting the judge to let the case go before a jury was the million dollar question.
He had spend close to two years building his case. Countless hours spent in law libraries and science labs. Endless hours on the phone with doctors going over the specific details of what was done, and how they did it. He was so very, very tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of getting body blow after body blow by this case, his client and the world in general. In the last handful of years, he had become Charlie Brown. Constantly getting the football pulled out of the way before he kick it and landing flat on his back. He had had enough. It was time for a change.
He had definitely made up his mind that he wasn’t going back to the city. He was getting a place in the country, sending for his things and then he was going to take a year off, sit on the couch, eat food from Arby’s and watch Password Plus all day. He convinced himself he had earned it. He wondered how “sending for his things” worked. Logistically. It was a very common thing, he had heard people do it a million times on television and the movies. But, who would he call? Would he have to mail a moving company the key to his apartment? Or would the landlord handle all of that? He told himself he didn’t care, he’d figure it out. Bottom line, if you throw enough money at a problem, eventually the problem would either get solved or would go away.
But, he didn’t want to wait for the better part of a year for this to be decided. Days and weeks and months in and out of a courtroom begging a good old boy judge to let him beg twelve people to see things his way. He figured he had a three year battle in front of him, and that was just the legal battle. He would spend his “off hours” being interviewed by people in the media who had no idea what they were even asking him, let alone having an opinion about it at all. It was his time, dammit. He didn’t want to wait any longer and he shouldn’t have to. Nobody decided how he lived his life but him. He downed another drink, took a deep breath, pulled a revolver out of his shoulder holster that was hidden under his jacket and shot the creature dead!
Case closed.
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