Chapter 1: The Letter
Some stories are about friends. Some are about deeper relationships. Others are about events and times. Stories help us relive times that have passed or times that will never be. They act as an extension and canvas to our imaginations. They evoke feelings of happiness and sadness. They make us laugh, they make us cry, they make our hearts freeze with anticipation.
It is the mark of a good writer that they are able to do these. To meld and shape their words into a running string of art, subtly adding pieces to the story here and there, all in one uninterrupted, mellifluous flow.
This particular story is not about normal life, rather, it is about what small things can do to change your normal life. How one, utterly insignificant object; one long lost, forgotten letter, can send someone's life in an entirely new direction. To meet new people, make new friends, see new sights, find new loves and move one step closer to the matured human being that has spent their life well, to the fullest.
This story is about all those things. But mostly, it's about a boy. Fourteen years of age and separated from his biological father. The boy didn't mind, until he found a letter. This is the story of how he found it, why he found it and what happened afterward.
Linda Flynn-Fletcher awoke groggily to the sounds of merry thumping and laughter. Amid the merry cacophony came the chatter of an animal. This prompted more laughter and Linda heard the jubilant voice of her only son chatting merrily to the platypus. She smiled, they were always active, always fun-loving and always… furry?
Linda opened her eyes and reached her hands up. There was another chatter and she quickly pulled Perry off her face. She spit some hair out of her mouth and coughed in an annoyed fashion; "Perry!" she cried. The platypus chattered again and she set him down on the ground, glancing at the alarm clock as she did so. This was slightly annoying, they had woken her up at seven o'clock. But, then again, they always woke up a seven o'clock.
She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes profusely. She heard a groan next to her and looked over lovingly to her husband, Lawrence. The quiet British antique dealer lay sound asleep in the bed, a sprouting mop of blankets, arms, legs and fabric disjointedly covering his sleep-softened body. She looked over at him and smiled.
For a brief second she was overcome with nostalgia. She could so vividly remember those sunlit mornings. She had been young, she had been carefree, she had been childless, they had been a couple. Every morning she would wake up to find his untidy, yet silk-smooth, hair in her face, a bright, flaming, blood red clashing with her own soft orange. But he was gone and he was never coming back.
She could picture his face, rain-streaked and dark, silhouetted in the dark wooden doorway of this very house. She had been scared, she had been young. Tearfully, she had held a week old Phineas, wrapped in his favorite blue blanket, in her arms. She had softly cried as he had looked into her eyes and told her he was leaving, that it was important, that he would be back. But he had never come back.
She looked up from the palm of her hands and into the crisp colors of the room around her, the dark images of an inky black street lines with waxy-yellow glowing lamps being replaced with greens and blues and reds and yellows. She lifted her darkly lidded eyes from her hands and stood up from the bed, stretching. This was here, this was now. She was happy.
Linda softly lifted her aging, but still radiantly beautiful, body from the bed, leaving an imprint upon the thin, faded and worn bed-sheets. She lifted it quietly, so as not to wake Lawrence, and walked over to the shower. She needed a shower. Not physically, but mentally. She needed to clear her head, it was too full.
She enveloped herself in the steam, wrapping it around her like a cloak. It washed, it cleansed, it soaked, it calmed. She needed calm. She needed to forget. The steam helped her to forget. The steam washed all her pains away, all her chronic, mental pains.
Breakfast. Time to return to the monotonous, predictable, regular rhythm of normal life. Normal. What was ever normal? She made her way out of her room. No day was ever the same as the previous. All had twists and turns in unexpected directions. All were unique. Normal. What was normal? Normal was providing her children with a mother, feeding them breakfast, helping them mature and grow, being the best mother she could be. Normal was being the best wife she could be. A woman to love and be loved.
And so she would. "Hey, Ferb! Ready to end the summer with a bang?" she heard Phineas exclaim as she entered the kitchen. She loved him dearly. He was her son and her husband's son in so many ways. In almost everything he did she could see his father working in him, in his bright blue eyes and his fiery red hair. She was so proud of Phineas, proudest a mother could be.
"Hey boys!" she laughed. It was usual. But it was loving. And she would never stop greeting the unstoppable pair in this same way until the day her heart stopped. It was a way to show them she loved them, a way to show that she cared, a way to remind them both that she was their mother. "What are your plans for the day?" she asked jovially, eyeing their empty plates interestedly.
"Well Ferb and I wanted to end the summer with a bang; you know, before school starts tomorrow. We were wondering if we could throw a concert and party in the backyard, may we?" he asked, grinning goofily.
Ah! How could she resist him? "Oh! What imaginations you boys have! Why not?" Phineas grinned in thanks and he and Ferb rushed out the backdoor. How much he reminded her of Frederick. She smiled softly and turned back to cleaning the dishes.
Phineas rushed out the back, Ferb closely in tow. He laughed and bowled himself over on the grass, rolling until he made it to the tree, Ferb sitting casually next to him with a text book entitled '101 Scientific Ways to Teach Your Platypus Tricks.' Phineas squinted at the cover for a second than rolled himself right side up. "Hey, Ferb! Good book?" he asked.
Ferb looked over the book and blinked at him. Phineas blinked back and shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know what we should do for the concert either. Maybe Isabella has some ideas," he suggested.
"Watcha doin'?"
Phineas turned and grinned. "Hey Isabella. You know how it's the last day of summer vacation?"
Isabella turned a mild shade of pink and batted her eyelashes at Phineas endearingly. "Yeah, and I also know that there's a dance coming up…"
Phineas' eyes widened and he turned to Ferb, grinning wildly. "That's it! That's what's missing! Dancing! Ferb, I know what we're going to do today!" he exclaimed.
Isabella sighed audibly but the sigh was quickly turned into a gasp as she was hauled along in the wake of Phineas, her hand squarely clenched in his. "Ok, Isabella, you and the Fireside Girls set up the stage here. Ferb will direct the lighting-" he pointed to where Ferb was already guiding a truck into the backyard, "-Buford and Baljeet can work on the catering-" as if on cue the duo walked into the gate and said a polite hello to Ferb, who nodded in their direction, "-I'll work on the dance floor and Django and Irving can work on the music." Phineas blinked around, "I think that's everyone, you got that Isabella?"
But Isabella hadn't, she was swooning to no end and quickly snapped out of her trance at Phineas' voice. "What, huh? Oh, yeah yeah! I got it," she grinned awkwardly. As Phineas left she breathed a sigh of relief and whipped out her phone. "Gretchen, it's Isabella…"
"Hey, Ferb!" Phineas called, "you got enough wiring up there?"
Ferb gave him the thumbs up and intently turned back to his work. Phineas smiled serenely and swayed over to the dance floor, currently a large section of grass. Phineas blinked at it. How was he going to model it? He lifted up his fingers and examined the grass, he was going to need some tiles. And some cement. And some jib board.
He pulled out his cellphone and grabbed a shovel. As he dialed the number he made a mark around the outside of the grass and began dividing it. "Hey, Frank! It's Phineas! Phineas Flynn. Yeah, look, I need a favor. Can you get me one hundred and thirty four multicolor graphene manipulated tiles? You can? Great! See ya!"he hung up and wiped some sweat off his brow. It had been awhile since he'd had to use a shovel, shame the power-tools were out.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't here Isabella approach. "Hey, Phineas! We finished the stage!" Isabella pointed over to where a fully built stage now sat. The rest of the Fireside Girls behind her cheered and Isabella grinned.
Phineas turned quickly and clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now, do you girls think you could deliver these invitations and put up these posters?"
"Sure, Phineas. We can definitely do that."
"Oh, actually, Isabella, I could use some help with this. Do you think you could?"
"Sure!" she bounded over happily to his side and stood beaming at him, sunlight shining from her every pore.
Phineas sat down on the grass and grinned. Isabella walked over with lemonade and was followed by Buford and Baljeet. Phineas smiled at them all. "Hey! Great job, guys! We're almost finished."
"Hey, Ferb! We good to go?" he called up to his step-brother, who was, at that moment, dangling above the stage, suspended by a helicopter. He gave the thumbs-up and cut the cord that was binding him to the helicopter, landing expertly on the stage. Phineas and the rest clapped and Ferb bowed low.
Everyone grinned and Phineas sat up, holding a remote. "Excellent. Ok, Ferb, let's powered it up." He and Ferb both simultaneously clicked the buttons on their remotes. Their was a humming sound and the various stage lights began to flicker before pumping out bright, dazzling beams of light full blast.
Ferb shielded his eyes and watched as the rest started up. The electronic audial equipment hummed and the air around it began to crackle with an electric buzz, making Ferb's hair stand up on end. Phineas laughed and continued watching everything else, scrutinizingly inspecting it, his gaze seeming to x-ray the equipment.
Phineas looked over the checklist, shouting over the crackling and music that had just started up. "Lights, check; music-" he rubbed his head and winced, "-check; stage, check; dance floor…" he looked over to the dance floor. It was silent and unmoving. Puzzled, Phineas walked over and lightly kicked the command console for the dance floor. Immediately, there was a grinding, fizzling noise and a small wisp of smoke issued from under the dance floor.
Phineas, in surprise, leapt back, staring wildly at the dance floor and almost landing in Isabella's arms. Ferb clicked another button on the remote and immediately the music stopped, the lights faded and the crackling subsided. Phineas jumped forward of Isabella, blushing slightly, but quickly brushed himself off and regained his composure before walking over to inspect the machine in the newly re-instituted calm.
Phineas knelt down in front of it and carefully pulled the backplate off the console. Some more smoke and steam issued forth and he leaned back. He blinked, wishing the surprise off his face, and pulled his torch out of his pocket to inspect the inside. Everything was there, the CPU, the motherboard, the RAM, the hard-drive, the processors… everything, everything except… "The power coupling unit," Phineas whispered, half to himself.
The gang, excluding Ferb, Baljeet and Irving looked surprised. "The what-now?" Buford asked gruffly. He didn't need to say it, everyone else's look said it. Irving smacked his forehead making a loud 'crack!' that broke the silence.
Phineas turned to face them, comprehension on his face. "The power-coupling unit, PCU. I got a call to pick it up this morning from the post office but I forgot. Without it the power won't feed reliably to the dance floor and control panel… hence-" he gestured at the fried console. "Darn, I'd better go get it than," he sighed, "you guys fix the dance floor, I'll get the PCU."
Everyone nodded and Phineas walked over to the garage where he hopped on his bike and was off down the early afternoon sunlit street, toward the post office. Isabella looked slightly exaggerated, "Why can't he be that understanding about our relationship or my feelings?" she asked in a frustrated tone. Ferb stifled a giggle by disguising it as a sniff. Isabella glared at him.
"Come on, we'd better get this dance floor fixed up before Phineas gets back." Isabella turned her glare towards Irving and he raised his hands, as if to shield himself, "Hey, I'm just saying." Ferb scooted over to the console and out of Isabella's reach, Irving followed suit. Isabella grumbled a bit and walked over too.
Phineas had never been a biker. Not a professional, not even an amateur. He barely saw it as a sport. Sure, he liked it as a recreational activity and he had used it in more than a few of his projects, but biking as a sport had never, ever been his thing. He didn't like power biking long distances and had never adapted his body to being able to.
Something he was regretting now, as he puffed along the sidewalk, under the shade of the towering skyscrapers, past people on their daily duties toward the post office. It was then, as he rounded the second to last corner, that Phineas decided something: he was never, ever going to take biking up as a sport in school, or anywhere else for that matter. Though maybe it was time he got fitter.
He wheezed once more, gaining the stares of several more passers-by, stand-operators and the like. He couldn't do it, he had to slow down. Just a hundred meters to the post office and he was giving up. No! He wasn't giving up. He pressed down hard on the pedal and shot the bike forward again. His lungs burned, his shoulders ached, his muscles were sore.
You can do, you can do it, he told himself. He hadn't even realized he was already in front of the post office. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, his lungs were going to burst. He gasped and leapt off his bike and slumped on the ground, trying to catch his breath.
It was then, as he stared at the leather shoes and sandals that passed him by, that he noticed what he was in front of. He would have smacked himself in the forehead and laughed, but he was too pooped. He sat up and gingerly extracted the bike chain from his pocket, looping it around his bike and making sure to fasten it properly.
He stood up and stretched. He was feeling much better. He looked around, at the concrete sidewalk stretched out along either side of the main road, at the various shrubs and exotic trees the Fireside Girls had planted, at the refreshing, cool shadows the skyscrapers gave. It was nice. Phineas was feeling like Phineas again.
As he entered the post office he was greeted by the smells of fresh paper and ink. He gagged for a second then caught his breath and walked up to the old, vulture-like lady at the counter. "May I help you?" she asked, turning her sharp, beady eyes upon him in a look that gave the impression that she didn't want to help at all.
Phineas tried his best not to be intimidated and smiled kindly up at her. "Yes, I'm here to collect mail. Uh, under 'Flynn' I think. 'F-l-y-n-n.'" The old lady gave him a once-over and hopped off her chair.
"Very well," she croaked and shuffled off to the back of the office. It was only then that Phineas noticed she was a good six or seven inches shorter than him. He goggled in surprise. How did the old lady manage to make herself so… tall?
She returned a few minutes later carrying a brown paper package and a letter. "That'll be fifty cents sir," she droned, hoisting herself back onto her perch on the stool again where she could peer down at him, as if he was some piece of food she suspected was moldy.
Phineas blinked in surprise and looked back and forth between her and the letter. "Excuse me, but I don't think that letter's mine."
"Flynn, right?" Phineas nodded. The old lady inspected the letter again, "It's yours," she said. Phineas looked surprised but handed over the fifty cents and took the package and letter. He closed one eye and peered at the letter, it almost appeared as if he was straining. The lady leaned over her desk, her tightly buttoned red and white shirt catching and whining against the desk, and looked, with a mixture of curiosity, concern and perplexity, at Phineas. "You alright?"
Phineas took a moment to register this. "Huh?" he asked, confused.
"Are you alright?"
Phineas distractedly nodded, never tearing his gaze from the letter; 82 Maple Road it was addressed. "Yeah… yeah. It's just that I can't understand why this would be here and not in my mailbox." The lady nodded serenely, squinting over her sharp, half-moon spectacles.
"You're the first person to request anything under the name 'Flynn' in years," she told him.
Phineas looked surprised. "How long, exactly?"
She shrugged uninterestedly and kept filing through her paperwork, taking a minute to answer. "Longer than I've been here, I can tell you that."
Phineas gasped, he was assuming, judging by her age, that she had worked here a very long time. He was about to ask the lady something else when, as if she had read his mind, she spoke, "Will there be anything else, sir?" she asked, clearly implying that, if there was something else, there shouldn't be. Phineas clamped his mouth shut and made his way out the doorway, the lady's horribly judgmental scrutiny following him all the way.
Even as he hopped on his bike he could feel her gaze on his neck, as if someone were shining a black light on it; it felt hot and sore. All the way, as he biked home, he couldn't shake the feeling that the old lady was watching him… with her mind or actual eyes he wasn't sure. Man, that lady was creepy! he thought. It was then that he made another decision, he was never, ever going back to that post-office.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that, even as he pulled up the driveway, the joyous calls of his friends floating to him over the fence, he didn't notice anything, the letter was stuck in his mind, as if it had been burned there with a hot brand. He didn't notice Isabella smile at him, Ferb give the slightest indication that he was concerned, something only Phineas could detect; Irving take a picture with a blinding flash, Blajeet reach for and take the PCU, Buford gaze somberly at him and Django raise and eyebrow.
It was as if he was living in slow motion, or, more accurately, as if everyone else was in slow motion. He walked through the backyard, into the cool house and up the stairs to his room, Isabella's worried frown escaping him. iThe letter, the letter…/i he could see it, in his mind and his hand. He hadn't seen a return address.
He closed the door and drew the blinds, switching on his desk-lamp. He lifted up the letter, tightly clutched in his hand. It was shaking violently, was a pale, sickly white and was slick with cold sweat. Phineas didn't know why, but this letter made him uneasy, it was very ominous.
Phineas sat at his desk, with the blinds drawn the room was dark and musty, the single reading lamp he had on a solitary beacon of warmth. He coughed slightly and took out a letter-opener. Gingerly, his hands still shaking, his tore the letter open and looked inside.
A slightly brown and faded piece of paper fell out and fluttered lightly onto his desk. Phineas unfolded it and looked hard. His jaw almost dropped, there, on the paper, in a loopy all-over-the-place handwriting so like his own, were the words iLinda, my darling…/i
He dropped the letter and recoiled from his desk, knocking over the reading lamp in the process. The room became suddenly dark. He felt as if he was suffocating. He didn't register the knocking or the subwoofer dance beat emanating from outside. He simply collapsed on his bed and lay there.
He could have lain there for hours, days, years… the door creaked open and Phineas heard a scuffling noise followed by soft footsteps. The door closed again and Phineas heard his brother's bed depress as someone lay down in it. Phineas didn't turn around and when it became clear that he wasn't going to talk Ferb coughed and spoke up. "You missed the party," he stated unemotionally, though, for Phineas, the emotion was plainly clear. Ferb never spoke, it was a sign. He was dearly worried for his step-brother but knew boundaries. "Perry's already back"
Phineas didn't make a move or a sound. Ferb rolled over and made no more sound. Phineas thought he'd try to get to sleep.
A/N - Sorry for the delay, this is my first story in real time. Hope the content makes up for the delay, enjoy!
I was gonna put what's actually in the letter but I decided to push it till next chapter a) because I'm not sure how I'll write it and b) because I like suspense and doing it this way occurred to me while I was writing it - it just seemed better.
Characters: Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh
Story: Me
P.S. I really hope this doesn't seem rushed, I'm suffering from a bad case of writer's block and this is helping.
*Update* - I've combined chapters 1 & 2, hope you don't mind.
