My contribution to Jack Week 2009. I wrote this story for an assignment for school with Jack in mind as the main character. So this story was inspired by Jack, written about a character named Jesse Sullivan and then was edited again so that I could submit for Jack Week. So the story is AU but all Jack. Here we go!
"Jack Kelly, I'm gonna kill you!" I screamed at my friend's retreating back. He turned, running backwards, and gave me a lopsided grin, before disappearing around the corner of our school. "Alright, you asked for it," I said to myself. I scooped up two clumps of wet slush and sprinted after Jack.
"Geronimo!" a voice called from above me. I leaped out of the way, just in time to avoid Jack as he hurtled from a tree overhead.
"Jack, you idiot! You could have broken my neck!"
"Ah, Morgan, where's your sense of fun? Besides I wouldn't have actually hit you," Jack said, flashing me another grin.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," I muttered.
"Come on Mor. Anyways, we may as well enjoy the last of this snow. It'll be gone before we know it."
"Well, you still made me miss the bus. Now, I'll have to walk home," I complained.
"It isn't a very long walk. Hey, I'll even walk with you," Jack answered. "And, I'll carry your bag." He reach over and slid my messenger bag off my shoulder. I turned my head and glared at him. Then, I sighed.
"Why can't I stay mad at you Jack Kelly?" I asked.
"Guess I'm just too damn irresistible."
"And soooooo modest."
"Of course," he answered, grinning. We continued to walk in silence until Jack spoke up again. "So you're really not mad at me anymore?" he asked.
"Nope." I said. Jack grinned at me, and I smiled back. Then, without warning he dropped my bag on ground and sprinted away.
"Last one to your house is a rotten egg!" he called over his shoulder. I sighed, grabbed up my bag and ran after my friend.
Five minutes later, I arrived home breathing hard. Jack stood against a tree looking completely relaxed, like he had not a care in the world. "Tired?" he asked.
"You asshole," I muttered.
"Now, now Morgan, watch your language. You shouldn't use words like that in front of your betters."
"So, does that make you my better?" I questioned.
"Hm, I guess it does. Didn't even think about that but now that you mention it…"
"Ha, ha, ha, you are one funny guy."
"Just give up Morgan. There's absolutely no way that you can stay mad at me. You even said so yourself," said Jack. He grabbed my bag from me and meandered toward my front door.
"Hey Jack," I called.
He turned. "What?" he asked.
My snowball hit him right in the nose.
Jack made me make him hot chocolate, "to compensate for hitting him in the face with a snowball," as he put it. I had grumbled about it, but in the end, he had won, as usual. As we sat there holding our steaming mugs I said, "I sure am gonna miss this."
"What?"
"I mean, I'm gonna miss coming in after walking through the snow, drinking hot cocoa and sitting by the fire. Everything is just so cozy inside when there's snow on the ground," I said.
"Well, you would get to enjoy a few more days of it, but you're hightailing it to Washington instead," said Jack.
"Ah Jack, don't be bitter. You know I would rather spend my vacation here. Hey, think of it this way. I'm being kidnapped by my parents and then I'll be held hostage by my cousins," I replied. Jack grinned at this. "And, I'm going to be gone what, four days?"
"True," said Jack. "But I still think it's unfair. You get to go hang with the President while I'm stuck here with Leila and Cindy Lou Who."
I suppressed a groan. Whenever Jack started complaining about something, it was hard to make him stop. "Jack Kelly, stop your whining. Your aunt Leila is the coolest aunt ever. And you know that I envy the fact that you have a sister. I only have an older brother and he's in college. Besides, Cindy is wicked cute. I wish she was my sister."
"She's not cute when you have to live with her," muttered Jack. However, he stopped his complaining and sat in silence.
"Jack, it's not like I'm moving away. I'm only going to be gone for four days! When I get back, I'll be the exact same person as when I left. Okay?"
He sighed. "You're right Morgan. How much can change in four days?" he said, flashing me a lopsided grin. Unfortunately, we were both about to find out just how much could change.
It's kind of embarrassing to say, but I couldn't wait to get back to school. I had ended up having a fairly good time in D.C. but I couldn't wait to see Jack and tell him that I actually had seen the President. When we arrived at school, I quickly piled out of the car, my eyes searching the crowd of students for Jack. I spotted him walking around the side of the school. I ran forward, only to slow as I got a good look at my best friend. He was walking with his shoulders hunched, his head down. Although he was wearing a hat that partially covered his face, I could see a look of intense pain and grief there. It looked as though every step he took hurt him.
"Hey, Jack!" I called. He looked and suddenly the pained look was replaced by a half-hearted smile.
"Hi Morgan," he said.
"You look awful," I said. "What happened to you? You get run over or something?"
He winced, and the pained look appeared in his eyes again. "I, uh I…I fell down the stairs."
I shot him a concerned look. This wasn't the welcome I had expected from my friend. Knowing Jack, he probably would have bragged about how much fun he had had at home, to make me feel guilty about leaving. Then, he would have used my guilt for his own gain. But instead, he was limping along, looking like a runner who has just lost a huge race. "Jack," I began uncertainly. " What's wrong? Did something happen while I was away?"
Suddenly, his demeanor changed. "I'm fine Morgan, really. I just had a bad fall. That's all."
"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked again.
He snapped. "Yes, I'm fine. I told you. Why are you so worried about me?"
"Well, you're acting kind of funny."
"Just stop worrying about me, okay? You don't need to 'mother' me Morgan. I can take care of myself," said Jack. Then, he turned and headed into the school building. I stared after him uneasily. Jack had never snapped at me, ever. He was so easy-going, so fun. At least, he had been before I left.
Jack wasn't at school the next day, or the day after that. But, just when I told myself that if I didn't see him I would head over to his house and hunt him down, he came back to school. When I saw him step into class with a tardy slip in his hand, I breathed sigh of relief. I had been worried sick about him, ever since his strange behavior on Monday. Jack handed the green slip to Mr. O'Malley and limped over to a desk next to mine. He appeared to be in pain, as though every movement hurt.
"Hey Jack," I whispered once he had collapsed into his seat. "Where have you been all week? I was worried about you." Instead of answering, Jack ignored me, pretending to pay attention to Mr. O'Malley's lecture on the structure of mitochondria. So, I tried again. "Jack, what's wrong?" I asked.
He froze, his pencil poised over his notebook. I could see that his hand was shaking. His mouth opened, as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Then, he gave a barely audible sigh and shook his head. "Jack," I whispered, an edge entering my voice. "Look at me. What is wrong?"
"Fine," he whispered, turning his head toward me. I sucked in my breath and recoiled in horror. His face was covered with bruises and cuts. He had one black eye and a bruise on his chin as well as a fat lip. His nose appeared swollen and he had numerous cuts all over his face. A few were even still bleeding.
My hand reached slightly toward his face and then dropped. "Jack, what happened?" I asked.
"I…fell," he answered.
"You fell?" I asked, disbelief creeping into my voice.
Jack nodded, then winced in pain.
"I am going to have a hard time believing that," I said. "It looks like someone took a baseball bat to your head!"
He winced again, as though I had hit the truth right on the nose. "Jack, someone hit you? Oh I'm so sorry, I just can't believe it. I mean, I was only joking about the baseball bat and, oh Jack, I'm sorry." I reached out and grabbed his arm, giving it and encouraging squeeze.
He pulled his arm away. "I told you, I had a really bad fall. No one hit me."
"How do you…" I began but Jack interrupted.
"C'mon, we should we paying attention." He pulled his cap low over his face and began to scribble on his paper.
I just stared at him "Who are you and what have you done with the real Jack Kelly? The one who never pays attention in class, especially science." I said. But he remained still, seemingly totally engrossed in Mr. O'Malley's explanation of mitochondria.
The next few weeks past uneventfully. I continued to harp on Jack about his injuries, begging him to tell me how he had acquired them. Barely a day passed when Jack didn't come to school without some new hurt, if he came to school at all. However, about halfway through the third week Jack surprised me yet again. Although I thought that I couldn't have been more shocked than I was when he showed me his beat-up face, I was wrong. We were sitting together at a table during art class, drawing. I sighed. Jack's drawing was so much better than mine as usual. So told him so.
"No it isn't," he replied.
"Yes it is, " I insisted.
"No it isn't. I'm no good at drawing," answered Jack. "In fact, I'm thinking about dropping art class."
"Jack," I said. "You can't do that. What about your dreams of becoming an artist?"
"Drawing is a waste of time," he replied, his voice a monotone, like that of a broken record. "I should be doing more productive things than scribbling on paper."
On Monday of that third week, Jack and I were walking to science class when I saw our friend Michael. I raised my hand and waved at him, and as I did, Jack flinched, as though I was about to hit him. I froze, my hand still in the air. Then, I slowly, cautiously, brought my hand down. He flinched again. "Jack," I began, about to ask the question I had asked so many other times in the past few weeks. But I stopped myself. Suddenly, I didn't need to ask that question because I knew. I had finally put all the pieces together. "Jack," I started again. "You're being abused, aren't you? Someone is hitting you, and telling you that you're horrible and all sorts of other stuff, right?" I reached out my hand, slowly so he wouldn't be afraid, and touched his cheek. But, at the moment my hand met his face he backed away.
"Come on, let's get to class," Jack said. Then, he turned and practically fled down the hall away from me. I watched him go, a look of intense grief on my face. I couldn't believe that it had taken me so long to put all the pieces together. And, because it had taken me so long, I had caused so much more pain for my friend. I sighed and walked slowly to class.
About halfway through the day, Jack disappeared. I could only assume that he had gone home. So, as soon as school got out, I headed to his house.
When I knocked, his aunt Leila answered. "Hello dear, how have you been? It's been a while since I've seen you, hasn't it?"
"Is Jack here?" I asked. A sad look crossed Leila's face.
"Jack and his sister don't live here anymore."
"Then, where do they live?"
"With their father," answered Leila.
"Their father?! But, I thought he was dead or gone or something," I said.
"Jack never told you about his father, did he?" she asked.
I shook my head, too dumbfounded to speak. "Well," began Leila. "When Jack was very little and his sister Cindy was just a baby, their mother, my sister, left them. Don't ask me why, I don't know. Their father took care of them for a while. Then, he was sent prison for robbing a bank or something like that. Minor charges, but still. So, Jack and Cindy came and lived with me. And that's the way it's been, at least, until a few weeks ago."
"What happened?" I breathed, unable to believe the story I was hearing. This sort of stuff only happened in books!
"Their father, Francis, came back. He had been released from prison. He thanked me for taking such good care of 'his little babies' and carted them off across town to their new home."
"Haven't you tried to call?" I asked.
"Yes, actually. But every time I call, I always either get a busy signal or I get Jack telling me that he is really busy with homework but will come over and visit me soon. But he never comes," said Leila. She looked heartbroken.
"It's not that he doesn't want to come," I declared. "It's that he can't. Both Jack and Cindy are being abused by their father."
"What!?"
"It's true," I said. I then told her about all of the clues I had and how I had finally put everything together. After I finished my story, the two of us headed outside and got into her car. We were going to rescue Jack.
When we got to the house, I couldn't believe my eyes. "Is this really where they live?" I asked.
"Yes," said Leila. "It's a dump, isn't it? I'd never been here before so I had no idea but after what you've told about how Jack and Cindy have been living these past few weeks, it doesn't really surprise me." I nodded. The house was small, with flaking paint and a couple broken windows. The yard was completely over grown and trash littered the ground below one of the windows. The two of us stood there, unable to find the courage to ring the doorbell. Finally, I began walking toward the door. It was the longest walk of my life. I raised my hand and rung the doorbell. I could hear the sound echoing throughout the house. After a long pause a man yanked the door open. I took a step back, horrified and disgusted. The man had long scraggly hair with a beard to match. His cloths were smeared with filth stains and I could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.
"Who are you?" he growled. I opened my mouth to speak but my voice caught in my throat. "Well, are you gonna say anything?" I just stared at him. He reached up and was about to slam the door when he noticed Leila. "What are you doing here?" he snarled at her.
"Nothing," stammered Leila.
"That's what I thought," said the man. "Get out of here. Now."
Leila didn't need to be told twice. She practically sprinted back to the car. I moved much more slowly. As soon as I heard the door slam, I turned back around and headed toward the house.
"Morgan, what are you doing? We must leave."
"I can't just leave Jack here. You saw what that man's like!" I said. Leila didn't move at first. Then, she opened the car door.
"I'm going for the police. Don't do anything drastic," Leila said. I nodded. I heard the car drive away, but didn't turn around. I stepped up to the door and slowly turned the handle, trying not to make any noise. To my relief, it was unlocked and turned smoothly. I opened it just enough for me to step inside the house. I crept down the dark hallway carefully trying not to bump anything. The house was dark and dingy and it smelt very heavily of alcohol. I continued forward until I heard voices coming from a room at the end of the hall. I recognized the first voice immediately. It was the man who had answered the door, who I could only assume was Jack's and Cindy's father.
"You little asshole! I told you not tell anyone where the house was!"
"Dad please, I didn't say anything," answered a voice. A voice that I would know anywhere. My heart caught in my throat as I heard my best friend's voice sounding so weak and helpless. "Please Dad, I didn't say anything, honest," Jack said again.
"Yeah right, you sneaky bastard. I bet you'll have the cops down here next, swarming this place. If you didn't say anything how did Leila know where this house was huh?"
"Leila was here?" said Jack, a bit of hope creeping into his voice.
"Yeah and some little blond girl."
"Morgan," breathed Jack. "Oh no, she shouldn't have come here, I…"
"So you do know the girl. Well, since she came here, there's gonna have to be consequences," said Jack's father. By now, I was at the door, peering in. The room appeared to be a dingy kitchen. I could see Jack, trapped in a corner. His father loomed over him. Thankfully, the big man had his back to me. I continued scanning the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. Then, my eyes fell on the big wooden table that occupied another corner of the room. And, to my horror, chained to the table was Cindy. Her cloths her torn and ragged and I could see that she was extremely thin and sickly. Her entire body was covered with bruises and gashes. As I looked at her, my breath caught in my throat and a small cry of shock left my lips. At the noise, Jack's father turned, and his eyes fell on me.
"So," he said, grinning evilly. "The little bitch decided to come back for a visit."
"Morgan," whispered Jack. Our eyes met. I could see that his face was covered with new bruises. But that wasn't what hurt me the most. It was the look on his face. His eyes were filled with pain, and of all things, guilt.
Jack's father stomped over and grabbed me by the shirt. "Thought you could creep around here and do some snooping before going to the cops huh?" he growled, putting his face close to mine. I turned my head slightly; the alcohol on his breath was nauseating. "I'll show you what we do with spies." Suddenly, he jerked his arm and I went flying, only to land next Cindy, my head hitting the table with a loud crunch. My vision blurred and I had to blink a few times. Cindy held tight to my arm, her face filled with fear. I looked up to see Jack's father rummaging through a cupboard. He grinned and pulled out a revolver. "Old faithful," he whispered to the gun, stroking its barrel. Then he turned to me. "She never misses," he said. He walked over and pointed the revolver at me. I just stared at him, unable to believe what was happening. Suddenly, Jack jumped in front of me, shielding me from his father. I blinked a few more times, things were blurry again. I must have hit my head really hard.
"Dad please," Jack was saying. "It's me. It's your son, Jack Kelly. Don't pull the trigger Dad, please. You're better than that, I know you are. Dad, listen to me, don't do it!" Jack cried. His voice was choked with tears now. "Please," he whispered once more.
The man in front of us stood there, his face impassive. Then, he raised the gun. A shot sounded and my whole world went black.
I opened my eyes, and then shut them again. My mind was unable to process anything. The last thing I remembered was the gun shot. I opened my eyes once more and was shocked to find that I was lying in what was unmistakably a hospital bed. And sitting in a chair next to me was Jack.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I replied, my voice horse.
"You hit your head pretty hard. The doctor said it was a concussion or something," he said.
"So I'm not dead?"
"Nope."
"But, I heard the shot and then everything went black and…"
"Shh, I'll explain. My dad did fire a shot, but he, he shot himself instead of us. Suicide. And you fainted because of your concussion.
"So he's dead?" I asked, shocked. Jack shook his head.
"The bullet didn't hit anything important. He'll live. In prison of course, but… oh Morgan, I'm so sorry that you got hurt. It's all my fault. I would have gone to police weeks ago but Dad said that if I did, he would hurt Cindy, and I…" Jack stopped, unable to continue as tears fell down his cheeks.
"No, Jack, it was never your fault. You were just trying to help Cindy," I said. I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Friends?" I asked.
"Friends," he answered. And, for the first time in weeks, he gave me a lopsided grin.
About a week later, the hospital released me. I couldn't wait to get out. As I stepped outside, I gasped in surprise. It was lightly snowing, despite the fact that it was April. I ran outside, trying to catch a snowflake on my tongue.
"Hey Morgan!" called a voice. I turned, a silly grin on my face.
A snowball hit me right in the nose.