Chapter 4
"That was sloppy as hell Curtis!" a shadowed shape barks. The light fixture swings back and forth above James, making it difficult to see. James glares at the shadowed figure, and crosses his arms across his chest.
"I wasn't expecting that damn son of a-"
"No excuses Curtis! You should have killed her on the spot, instead of attempting to take advantage of her! Now you have a court case on your hands!" the shadowed figure raises a cigarette to his mouth, puffing in the toxic smoke.
"Why worry, that colored man will get the blame," James leans back lazily in his wooden chair, a smug grin stretching across his face. The shadow raises from his seat, revealing his true height of 6'4".
"Not with that bastard Collins on the case. He's the best damn P.I. in New York!"
"What the hell do you expect me to do then?" James shoots back. A horrid face suddenly appears from within the shadows. His cold, black eyes peer from beneath a long, diagonal scar. James almost falls backwards in his chair, the sight sending an eerie chill up his spine.
"Kill 'em, and make no mistakes," the man says this in a way that makes it seem he is asking James to fetch him some milk, which makes the demand all the more sinister. James rises from his seat, and bows his head obediently in response.
"As you wish," with that being said, James disappears into the shadows.
•••
John opens the door to the Town Hall to be greeted by many groups of people. He shudders slightly, hating the presence of the repulsive parasites. Despite his longing for loneliness, the sound of upbeat music lures him into a world of his own, taking away his slight phobia. John scans the crowd of various faces, some laughing, some talking, and others neutral. He looks until his hazel eyes rest on a pair of dark green ones. He holds the gaze, wondering why those stunning emerald were here. He felt a certain longing, but hatred toward these precious gems.
"John, are you alright?" John looks to see a look of concern plastered across Atticus's face. John clears his throat slightly, and forces a slight grin.
"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking," John grins slightly as his hand creeps up to the back of his head to scratch it casually. Atticus exhales slightly while grabbing two bottled cokes from a nearby table. He hands one to John while popping the top off of his own.
"Stop thinking for once, and do what you do best," Atticus grins slightly, and John flashes a dangerous glance towards his companion. John's eyes narrow as Atticus begins sipping at his coke. John shrugs and pops the top off of his own coke. "Hey, we've got a volunteer here!" John looks up to see Atticus remove cupped hands from his mouth, and a luminescent spotlight glide over to settle over Atticus and John. Atticus gestures casually towards John, "What do you say folks? You want to hear John sing?" A series of cheers erupts through the building. Though it had been a long time, almost everyone in Maycomb remembers the great set of pipes gifted to John Lee Collins. John shakes his head frantically while backing away slowly, each step he takes the spotlight follows tauntingly. For a moment, he thinks he is getting away, but a group of familiar faces push him back towards the stage. He sighs heavily and looks at Atticus.
"Alright… What do I sing?" he says, his voice low.
"Anything," John nods slightly, handing his coke to Atticus. He then wonders up a clear isle to the stage. Cheers surround him as he makes his way to the stage, and they silence when he steps onto the flat platform. The musicians stare expectantly at John, waiting to hear the song title. "It's something I wrote a while back. Add music where you wish," the musicians nod as Johns turns to face the audience. The room is completely silent as he lifts the microphone off the stand and holds it a couple of inches from his lips. As he opens his mouth a glorious voice of an angel echoes across the room, flowing at a slow, jazzy, tempo.
"They… Say… That a dream, is your way out. A dream… is a place… that your mind calls home."
The bass echoes John's sliding vocals, accompanied by the low, saddened sounds of the sax. John pauses, allowing the instruments to adjust.
"He was… a man… of many voices… Voices… that showed… what the naked eye can't see. But his eyes, overlooked the ways of man…"
John's eyes scan over the crowd as he takes a deep breath with expertise.
"Then she, came along, and stole his heart. Then she, tranced him, into another man… A girl, an image, of her very father… The mother, went away, to never return…"
John watches as several females raise a dainty hand to their mouths, sustaining a gasp of surprise. John pauses struggling to keep his composure. The front doors slam shut as a feminine shape disappears into the streets. John stares, squinting his eyes, trying to identify the shape. The instruments, behind him, continue to play, beckoning him to continue.
"They say… That a dream… Is your way out. A dream… is a place… that your mind calls home. He lost his mind, over his… lost… heart. His daughter, stood by still, and brought… it… back… Now she, was the wind that blew across his skin, on a blue, bright blue sky, and she, was the light of his life…"
John pauses, once more, his heart fluttering with anticipation. As he sang, he slowly began to pick up tempo, causing the musicians to follow in pursuit.
"Her smile, shone from a million miles. Her smile… Attracted… A demon's attention… That demon, brought her, to an unknown alley. That, demon, who struck fear, into her eyes…"
John's eyes begin to water slightly, as the story continues to unravel. He struggles, still, to keep his composure, but manages to pull through.
"What happened next John?" a voice booms over the music. John shakes his head, having not realized he had paused for longer than he had intended. He quickly regains himself, and lifts the microphone once more to his lips.
"The man, ran so hard, with tears flowing down his face… That man, with his gun, lifted and aimed… That demon, with a smile, struck… her… down… That… demon… His laugh… That man… His sadness… That girl… Her eyes…"
John slowly lowers the microphone as he finishes the song, and outstretches his arm, ending the sorrowful music. Applause fills the air, and some even yelled for more. John neither bowed, nor shook his head. He simply stood there in a saddened daze. Tears slowly streamed down his face, as he stared blankly into the distance.
Atticus stands, clapping absently in response to John's song. He watches as his companion stands on the stage, unmoving. It takes him a while for John to tip his hat, and replace the microphone. People continue clapping in praise as he removes himself from the stage, and begins walking back toward Atticus. As John drew closer, Atticus could've swore he saw tears falling down his face. At seeing this Atticus knew something, other than the case at hand, had happened, something bad.
John walks through the crowd silently, and uses the back of his hand to wipe away his tears. As he walks he exhales deeply and blinks away a vivid image of his past.
"Shall we go little Johnny?" Atticus's voice sounds in John's ears. Normally he would've have asked Atticus not to call him that, since that is not his name in any way, but he simply grinned absently at his companion, and began walking towards the door. Without further word, Atticus follows John through the door, placing the unfinished cokes on a waste table on his way out. John pauses on the Town Hall steps, looking to his left. He looks to see someone turn the corner, and stares at the retreating form grimly. He sighs as Atticus stands beside him, and then walks down the stairs. "Some song you sang John, quite a story to it," Atticus says, trying to break the silence. John glances slightly at Atticus, his lips forming into a slight frown. "It was so realistic. Are you sure you picked the right career? Most singers can't make their songs seem so real," Atticus says cheerily. John stops abruptly, causing Atticus to get several paces ahead of him. John's head lowers, causing his Fedora to shadow his facial expression. Atticus stares at John with narrowed eyes.
"It seems so real because it was Atty," John's voice sounds almost broken, something that is foreign to Atticus. He has never seen John in such a state ever. Atticus remembers when they were but young men, and how John was always the one trying to get Atticus to go to the newest Jazz Bar. John lifts his head to reveal a sight most disturbing to Atticus. His eyes are mournful, and his cheeks drained of all color. He looks as if he is on the brink of tears, and he probably is. "What… What do you mean John?" Atticus asks, very concerned for his long-time friend. John quickly shakes his head, and walks past him. They are in front of the house by now, and John is walking straight for his rental car. Atticus speed walks after him, and finds himself standing between John and the car. "No way John, you are not leaving tonight! What on Earth happened to you to make you so upset?" Atticus's face seems his age for once. His wrinkles more definite as his concern become more and more prominate. John opens his mouth, but hesitates. His eyes shift downward towards his polished shoes. Atticus simply caresses John with his left arm, and leads him towards the porch. John allows himself to sink onto the porch swing as Atticus resorts to leaning his buttocks against the porch railing. John stares down at his palms, and sighs heavily.
"You remember Alice?" John asks absently. Atticus simply nods in response as John's eyes shift upward.
"Yeah, how could I forget her!" he replies.
"Well we got married," as John speaks his fingers turn a silver wedding band over and over on his ring finger. "At first, we were happy, foolishly thinking we would never be separated. Within a year, we had a little girl. She was beautiful…" John smiles a ghostly smile. "We had named her Callie Ann Collins. As you can probably figure, the three of us remained happy, for seven years in fact. Then Alice began gradually leaving and returning in several month intervals. I began to suspect her of having an affair, but I knew she was too good for that."
"Naturally, due to her mother's absence, Callie took more of a liking to me. We spent so much time together, but I knew she would soon need her mother more than I," John pauses as Atticus shifts his feet.
"One day, Alice had returned on Callie's tenth birthday, but instead of celebrating, she went straight to packing. Callie, that day, was at school, so she never saw her mother leave. All I remember is Alice telling me she was leaving for a while, and possibly wouldn't return. I tried to discover why, but she wouldn't tell me," John stares absently at his hands, and allows himself to take a slight breather. Atticus opens his mouth to apologize, but he closes it, thinking better of himself. "During the following year, I found myself beginning a complete mess. The only place I had a straight head at was work. At home, nothing seemed to make sense to me. I rarely talked, even to Callie. I just couldn't understand why Alice had left me or us for that matter."
"Callie tried to cheer me up by saying her mother would come back, but I knew better. Two years after Alice left, I had learned to suck it up, for Callie's sake. Months…" John pauses, almost choking on his words.
"Months later, I was assigned a case. The suspect had raped and murdered six women, undetected. I slowly became obsessed with this case, and within two weeks, I found him," John pauses once more. Atticus cups his hand on his chin, thoughtfully.
"Did you arrest him?" Atticus asks. John's eyes shift upward for the first time in the whole conversation, staring directly at Atticus for a moment.
"He had Callie, and was holding a gun to her head. I tried to reason with him, but he could've… Could've cared less. He was using her as a warning to me, not to pursue him ever again…" tears were streaming down John's face.
"I remember raising my gun, and seeing Callie's fearful eyes. She struggled to release herself from his grasp, but it was too late. I watched as he shot her. It was a clean wound, entering through her left temple, and out through her right. I tried to kill him…" John's head sinks into his palms, as he bursts into uncontrollable sobs. "Then her eyes… It was all I could do to close them…"
"I'm sorry John. My God, no one should have to go through that," Atticus says comfortingly. He moves to sit next to John, but John stands abruptly, resting his palms on the porch railing. He stares blankly at the night sky, saying nothing further. "Come on; let's turn in for the night. You've got to go back tomorrow right?" Atticus says quickly, changing the subject. John simply just nods, and turns to follow Atticus into the house.