Change the World / I'm Not Alone - C.T. Lang (the unexpected everything TXT) 📗

I sound SO smooth. Pathetic.

"Well, tomorrow there's supposed to be an illegal cock fight held by Dana Matherson's uncle."

"Yea, I heard." Man, my voice sounds dead. I can't even clear my throat.

"So, are you going?" Is he for real?

"Um… not to bet." Why can't I talk to him about this? Still, Roy presses on.

"What are you planning to do, Mullet Fingers?" Hearing my chosen name on his tongue sounds so sweet, I just want to ignore the rest of what he said.

"Those poor birds are going to die if I don't do anything." I barely get the words out, cause it feels like there's a fire in my neck. And I'm hoping to God he'll just drop it, because I know if he tells me not to do anything then I'd gladly just l-let those p-poor creatures die. But he's looking at his hands, and thinking very hard.

Roy sighs, and my chest heaves, because it's a horrible sound.

"Let me come with you."

I'm completely shocked.

"No!" Much louder than I wanted it.

"Yes." His voice is steady, thoughtful. He's concentrating.

"No."

"Yes."

"N-no."

"Yes." And I know he's won.

"But…" I'm struggling, "You could get hurt."

"No." His calmness shakes me. "I have a plan."

"What is it?" I demand to know.

"You'll see, if you meet me tomorrow at the woodshed at 8:15."

"AM?"

"No, Mullet. PM."

"Why? The fight starts at 8 o'clock."

"Exactly. It has to last longer than fifteen minutes. We'll have time, trust me. And Mullet Fingers?"

"Yes?" Anything, Roy, I want to say. Thank you.

"Bring some paper, or straw if you can find it. I'll take care of the rest."

And I gulp, but nod. It won't do any good to back out now.

Anything for you, Roy Eberhardt.


Chapter Fifteen: Scripted Interrogation

Beatrice Leep was forced to do one thing she'd never dreamed in her wildest dreams she would do.

She went to the police for help.

The police, who had several times chased after her beloved brother. She was now enlisting them to help her save him.

"Name?" The faintly bored sergeant gave her a quick up-down.

"Breanna Larson." She had no reason to have police calling her home.

"Occupation… err, school?"

"I go to Trace Middle. Eighth grade."

"Of course. Now, what business do you have here, Breanna? Something wrong, another kid bullying you?"

Beatrice firmly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she took advantage of his idiocy.

"Well, no sir. But this is way worse, detective!" She could tell by his uniform he was nowhere near detective, but he was cocky enough to not correct her.

"Well, missy, what seems to be the trouble?"

She couldn't tell him that easily. He'd think she was making trouble. Plus, it would be fun to be interrogated for the first time.

"I… I can't tell you. My cousin said he'd beat me up if I did, and he made me promise! But it's so awful." She stared at her hands in her lap, and clenched a fist to keep from laughing at his confused face.

"Now see here, Breanna, we're the police! If there's something bad going on, you can trust us to help! We'll make sure nobody hurts you."

Wow, thought Beatrice. What a cornball. This was too cute.

"Will I get in trouble for breaking the promise?" One more time, then she'd give it up.

"No, ma'am of course not! You see, Breanna," and here the ignorant copper got down on one knee in front of her chair and talked right to her face-to-face, like a cop in a crime show comforting an abused child, "Breanna, you won't get blamed for what your mean old cousin does, no matter if you did promise. Because you're a good girl, and you're right to come here. Understand?"

I understand you have exceedingly bad breath, Beatrice thought sincerely.

"Oh yes, officer, but… oh, all right, I guess I'll have to tell. After all, I came all the way down here, and it wouldn't be any good just to chicken out now." The young officer nodded eagerly at her.

"You see, my cousin Dana, Dana Matherson, he… he's not the best friend. And our uncle must be a bad influence on him, my mom always says, because he drinks and all… and, well, they have these pet roosters. And I used to go and pet them and all when they were babies. But my mom stopped letting me play with them, she says they're dangerous. And I asked why, because roosters are nice birds and all, and she said," Beatrice lowered her voice here, "And my mom said Dana was making those roosters fight each other! And I never told anybody this." Beatrice would've liked to see the officer's face turn down, instead he listened impassively. So she took it a step further than planned.

"And, well… I went by their shed yesterday, and our uncle and Dana were there, and I was scared and I wanted to go home, but they locked me in." Now the cop's ears pricked up. Beatrice could almost see the wheels turning in his mind: Attemped kidnapping = arrest; and arrest = good for police officer.

"So, Breanna, what happened next?"

Crap, she had to make something up fast.

"Well, I yelled for help, but, nobody came, and…"

"And what?"

"And then I tried to kick it open. And it finally came undone. And I was so scared I ran right here."

He gave her an appraising look, or clearly what was supposed to be an appraising look.

"You kicked the lock open?"

She tried to appear flustered, which was not too hard.

"I must have, because… oh I'm sorry, I forgot! I was so scared because I thought a rooster was gonna kill me! But… I'm okay now, but am I gonna be in trouble? You said I wouldn't!" Now she had him cornered.

"Yes, Miss Larson. I can't punish you for that." Now he was trying to take advantage of her.

"Are you going to go get the roosters?"

He seemed taken aback: here was this teenager was telling him how to do his job.

"Well, we aren't allowed to do that…"

Liar, Beatrice thought fiercely. If only Officer Delinko still worked here instead of this hog-tied villain. He must have taken a bribe from Dana's uncle! The officer showed her out, giving her a pamphlet on the police station protocol. Beatrice considered throwing it in the nearest trash can, but it had phone numbers for all the offices in Southern Florida, so she decided to hold onto it, if only for the sake of playing pranks.

For now, she had to stop her brother from committing suicide all for some roosters.


Chapter Sixteen: Preaching Passion

Roy raced home, running almost as fast as Mullet Fingers. The feeling of the wind through his hair, his pulse beating rapidly, let him know he was alive… he was ALIVE! More alive, at any rate, than he had ever felt. The barefoot kid had that effect on Roy.
"Honey, why do you need my kerosene?"

Damn. What an awkward situation. And yet, perhaps because he was always hanging with Beatrice, he had leafed through her book.

"Church barbecue. Kids only. The youth pastor's idea." It wasn't the lie itself that surprised him, but the easy way it slipped off his tongue. Scary, in fact. His dad shrugged and beckoned him inside for dinner, whereas his mom sounded worried when he related the lie.

"Maybe I'd better give him a call. What do they think they're doing, letting little children start a fire pit? Where's the gospel in that?" Luckily, Roy had started reading the Bible on his own time (more out of guilt than anything).

"Independence. All the famous Bible heroes were children once; even Moses. They gained freedom, faith, and strength from God. We can do the same." This felt weird; preaching to his parents. But his dad looked up from the paper, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're getting something out of this, son. We were getting worried when you got mixed up with that barefoot kid. Glad to see you weeded out the bad apple." Roy dropped his fork; he could feel his face flushing in rage.

"Honey don't use that, it's dirty."

"No he's not!" Oh damn. Of course, his mom was talking about the fork.

Roy was finding it quite hard to breathe.

"Mom I gotta go, uh, homework stuff." He wished he was as good as Bea under pressure. He could feel her eyes on his face, but he didn't dare look up to meet her stare. It was a long moment before she turned back to his dad and Roy was dismissed. Roy took measured steps to the foyer, afraid that they would suspect something. He waited for ten seconds, just breathing in and out, and heard something he never wanted to hear.

"Do you suppose he still thinks highly of the vagrant?"

"I'm sure I don't know, dear."

"Well I just hope all this church will be good for him. I don't trust those Catholics too much."

Roy felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He didn't remember running out the front door, or turning onto the street, or even the shouts of the kids in his neighborhood playing hockey. He just remembered running as fast as he could towards the beach.

He didn't even remember the kerosene.


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"Welcome to Gas-n-Go. What can I do you for?" The slick talk of the cashier, a tall, greasy man, helped Roy's morale a little.
"I need- uh, my dad needs a lighter. He's at work down the street, and…"

"Hold it, kid." The cashier held up a finger.

"C'mon it's the truth!"

"I don't care," he tossed a lighter at Roy, and it clacked on the counter. "Can't smoke a lighter I reckon, so for $1.85 it's yours."

"Yes sir." Roy pulled his lunch money from his buffalo money clip.

"$3.15 is your change. Have a good day." He motioned for Roy to put the lighter away in his backpack. He stowed it away with the pre-cut sheaf of construction paper, paint, nails, and hammer already occupying his bag, and then set off at a fast walk to the hardware store.

"Kid, why do you want kerosene?" Roy wished people would stop asking him that. The hardware clerk seemed a little less tolerant, so Roy put on his best "I'm innocent" look and tried the cook-out line again.

"My church youth group is going to have a teen cook-out tonight, and I'm in charge of hot dogs and hamburgers." Secretly he crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping his face wouldn't give anything away. The clerk considered him for nearly ten seconds, then, without a word, scanned in the kerosene.

"Thanks, sir." Roy made his voice even lower.

"Bye, kid." The tone wasn't demeaning, but his eyes searched Roy's face.

Roy was very happy to take off running once he reached the door, the kerosene safely stowed in his backpack, lighter in his front pocket.

He had never felt so free, so full of purpose.


Chapter Seventeen: Flames of Fury

(Mullet Finger's POV)

I couldn't slow my heartbeat. It felt weird, because sitting on the beach and watching