SEPTEMBER 19TH, 3:00PM
The second that Jolie saw in Aaron's hands the frilly, pastel blouse, three sizes too large for her but just his size, she knew she had to get out. She was now running through the open outdoors of Al Fresca Plaza, dodging monsters here and there, daring to push a couple out of her way as she went. Even these things were less frightening than her former fiancé at the moment.
"JOLIE!" called her ex-"man" from Weber's Garments. She didn't even turn around to see whether he was being mobbed by zombies. She just didn't care anymore.
"JOLIE!" called her best friend Rachel, who was struggling to survive a few feet away from her. She was indeed being mobbed, and needed help now.
Jolie scooped up a small wooden fragment of a fence and ran to her same-sex soulmate.
Rachel warned her before that she should be careful of her feelings, engage a man out of love, not out of pity. And the smart, sassy Chinese woman fell exactly into that pitfall when she first met Aaron Swoop.
She remembered it well. They were both at Flexin', which was also in Al Fresca; she was doing the treadmill while he was benching ten pound dumbbells. Between sets the "man" had been watching her, her legs, her arms, her hips, as she worked the unending rubber track. Aaron gaped and gawked until he stumbled on a small life cycle and literally fell head over heels. Though Jolie saw through the nearby window's reflection that the guy was eyeballing her, and thought for an instant about running off the treadmill and out the electric doors, she instead gave into her compassionate side and helped the poor sap.
"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, to the fumbling figure on the floor.
"Yeah…I'll be okay as soon as I find my feet…" he gazed directly into her eyes, "and my heart."
Despite this trite, awkward line, Jolie fell hard. It had been at least eighteen months since she even had had a date, let alone gotten any further with a man. Although she was a real striver, an overachiever with her job as a chemist for Parasol—a subsidiary of the infamous Umbrella Corporation—she was also a sucker for goofy guys and nincompoops, people who could take her mind off of her intense work and take her away into their own foolish worlds.
Aaron was perfect for this part.
The "man" was only twenty—eight years younger than her!—but he was an up-and-coming entrepreneur, along with his best friend Burt Thompson. They were starting up their own science/technology-and-other-articles compilation website, called Yes, it was as much a ripoff of Digg as Scour or Aimster/Madster was of Napster, but it couldn't hurt to get in on that action; little kids, basically, were making millions and putting hardworking doctors, teachers, lawyers etc to shame in terms of salaries. Jolie remembered doing tennis camp as a teen, not searching for venture capital for a dotcom. But Burt and Aaron, despite their drab, schmoe-ish appearances, were about to take the internet universe by storm.
And so, as Jolie would put it, inspiring Rachel's eyes to roll, Aaron had "Swooped" her off her feet. Days later Rachel gave in too, to Burt when Jolie introduced them; and now they were a fine pair of cradle-robbing women.
But Jolie began to wonder, not long into her relationship, as to whether she had made a good choice. Aaron could be a bit too goofy at times, and not looking out for her and their bond at large. Even literally, sometimes, he was not looking.
She remembered one time, on the way to a double-date at Chris' Fine Foods in the Food Court, how she was going on about what schools they should send their future children to—there were some nice private institutions just outside of Willamette—and he was busy focusing on the image of a woman on a Casual Gals poster. Just staring away, his eyes oozing loserish looks as he admired the picture's figure. With a real flesh-and-blood woman at his side, this guy was admiring a representation that did not exist in his reality. It was as pitiful as worshipping a character in a video game and wishing that she were your wife.
When the foursome set into the restaurant, they stood a while at the wine bar before sitting down. Burt knew Chris Hines at the counter, and that was cool because he managed to get them a discount on a nice bottle of Royal, a good year to boot. Well, three out of the four were going to swill the import; Aaron would be happy over one the end with his orange juice instead. Chris went on an on a little about how taxes in Willamette were being raised for small businesses, and how establishment owners such as himself and Josh Mannings Sr. and Jr., over at Josh's Jewels in Paradise, were really starting to feel it financially. Of course, entrepreneurs like Burt and Aaron didn't have to deal with this trifling matter, so they listened and lended sympathy, but not empathy.
Then along came another couple of guys, who crashed in on the four's tete-a-tete.
"Excuse us, ladies, gents," said the taller of the two as he pardoned his way to the bar, wearing rough-looking flannel that emasculated Burt's quasi-Hawaiian shirt. "That Royal looks real nice…think I'll have a glass as well."
"Oh, it's a great year," commented Rachel. "You should definitely try."
"Yeah, I like to fancy myself a bit of a drink every now and then," the man replied, completely disregarding poor Burt. It wasn't as if the entrepreneur could really do anything, physically, anyway; it wasn't as if he ever won a fight in which he participated. "My name's Brian…Brian Reynolds." He extended his hand.
"Ohh…Rachel," the woman responded. She took his hand into hers, but then said, quickly and loyally, "I'm here with my boyfriend Burt." She could be stunned and stymied, but she was no ho.
"I see. Hello, Burt…Brian," the man said to Rachel's guy, affably enough.
Reynolds, huh? Rachel thought to herself as Burt and Brian began to talk and compete. Part of what drew me to Burt was the fact that he shared the same name as my dream man…the Boogie Nights Stroker Ace himself. But this guy also shares Stroker's name…and he's manly like him, not scrawny like my little toddler Thompson over there.
"Yeah, I'm into wine too," said a voice behind Jolie a couple of feet away. She turned to view Brian's incoming companion, a small gnomish guy with his hair obscured by what looked like a giant black sock. "My name's Todd Mendell." He extended his pudgy hand towards the young woman.
"Aaron Swoop," Jolie's man interposed, standing between the two. "We're just here to have a quick drink, then sit down."
"Aaron…" Jolie started, placing a firm hand on her boyfriend's forearm. This wasn't necessary; they were all just talking.
"I see," said Todd, glancing over at Aaron's OJ. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of your, eh, Vitamin C there."
Jolie fixed a flushed look of contempt at her "man." "Tell me, Todd," she said to the newcoming, miniature person, "what do you do…?" Meanwhile, Aaron shook his head, flustered, and returned to his drink.
As Jolie spoke with the guy, learning about his blue-collar exploits, she thought to herself. Hmm, Mendell…named like that scientist with the genetics. I wonder what the size of this guy's Punnett Squares must be.
A few more excruciating minutes later, and the interloping pair of strangers were ready to set off on their way. They were gentlemen enough not to ask for numbers…not that Burt and Aaron could do something to prevent it, if it came about.
"This was a good wine, Rachel," Brian said.
"Yes…an import, and it's very, ah…" the woman let her breath and her breasts rise as she inhaled a second, "…smooth."
Brian took all this in, triumphantly. He then turned and gave a hearty handshake to Burt, which almost broke the man's hand. Stepping away from the bar, he tapped Aaron's shoulder and pointed to the floor. "Dropped your straw, boss." He motioned for Todd to come along, and the minuscule Igor obeyed.
As Aaron picked up the plastic implement from the ground, which he let slip from his drink while watching his woman talk to that dinky dwarf, Jolie recalled the reason her boyfriend wasn't "drinking" drinking with them.
It was a small party between friends, just a few weeks back—Labor Day weekend. The four were there, and just a few more; Aaron had a few glasses of Boston in him and was feeling a bit more than jovial. The calm before the storm was when he walked up to her and whispered, soft yet slurred:
"You must be named Jolie 'cause you're sexy like Angelina."
In the course of the next minute there was the progression of the pacing…and then the skipping…and then the leaping around.
"JO-LIE!!! YOU'RE AN-GEL-INA JO-LIE!!! I'M DATING AN-GEL-INA JO-LIE!!!"
Burt and Rachel tried to suppress the boy's jocose tirade, but it was to no avail.
"DON'T YOU SEE?! YOU'RE AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE! YOU'RE AN ANGEL IN A JOLIE! YOU'RE ANGEL-IN-A-JO-LIE!!! WOO!!"
He grabbed Burt's perpetual hat off his head and shoved it over his own eyes.
"WOO!!"
Aaron then threw the cap back to his buddy, grabbed a lampshade, and donned that instead.
"WOO!!"
And on and on.
And now said "Angelina" was coursing through Al Fresca, whapping an undead woman in the head with the piece of fence, grabbing her best friend by the hand and running towards a turned over bench.
"Look," Jolie pointed, to a throng of zombies before them. "We can clothesline 'em with this…come on."
Rachel nodded, and each woman picked up an end of the wooden furniture. With a throaty double yell, they ran towards the crowd before them and miraculously knocked them all over with the brute force of the bench.
"Aaron's bicycle is still over there," Jolie shouted, over the voicing of vampiric zombies. "We can both get on and speed things up a bit."
"Are you crazy? We can't both fit on that thing…"
"Rachel, I'll ride the handlebars; Aaron always did that with me before. You can sit on the seat. Hurry!"
As Jolie raced toward the bicycle, not checking on her friend if she was actually following right behind, she remembered how much Aaron cherished the pedaled transport.
"It's 18 speeds of justice!" he would say to anybody who asked, which was generally nobody. But he volunteered it to somebody that time at Chris', another guy who came to chat at the bar with the four…well, really two of the four, anyway. "My most prized possession—it'll take your bike down in seconds flat."
"I…I wasn't referring to that kind of bike," replied his kind-of-fauxhawked leatherbound conversant. "I meant the kind that has engines…not the kind that has…heh…speeds."
Jolie ignored her fiance's idiocy and concentrated on the next newcomer. He posed a bit, and she wondered if his last name, Styles, was just part of that pose—I mean, come on, she thought, the last time I heard of a guy named 'Styles' was in Teen Wolf. And that was make-pretend.
But Brett seemed nice. Laid back, with his "uh-huhs" that Aaron could never emulate, even with any sort of latent adolescence, which he desperately required.
"So…what are you boys looking for…here?" Jolie ventured, in her best vamp voice.
"Eh…Jonathan and I are fixin' to get ourselves a couple a those juicy steaks this place touts about. Word is that the cuts here, at this 'Chris,' are better'n those at Ruth's Chris."
Aaron thought his head would explode. What the hell did this lowlife know about Ruth's Chris?
Not that the "man" knew anything himself anyway…being the vegan that he was.
"Ahh…my fiancé, he doesn't eat meat," said Jolie.
"Well, that's something," huffed Brett. "You gotta get some protein on those bones at some point, boy! Puts hair on your chest."
"My chest is just fine, thank you," Aaron replied. Brett didn't say anything at first, noticing instead in his peripherals that Jolie could use some chest enhancement herself, while the bird his buddy was talking to didn't need any such boost to the bust. Ahh, Brett Styles, you're ever the wingman…
"Uh huh," he said a moment later, finally. "Well, old Jonny boy and myself better get to sittin' down…my stomach is growlin' up at me somethin' fierce."
"Yeah…that's what happens when you want to trip a trip to the meat market," Aaron said under his breath, out of the biker's earshot but within that of his betrothed.
Jolie spun around and punched him in the shoulder. "Ahh…what?!"
"Act your age and not your intelligence quotient," she snapped. "Brett was cool and fun…which is more than I can say for you right now."
Aaron opened his mouth to talk back, but he was cut off by the brewing beef between the other two men nearby.
"I don't know a lot about spackling and welding and crap because I'm not some backwards blue collar like you, alright?" spat Burt, heatedly.
"All guys who consider themselves 'men' know how to do simple things like that, Burty," Jonathan shot back. "It's so easy, your little prepubescent playmate over there with the straw could do it."
"Hey, leave my buddy Aaron out of this."
"Boys!" Rachel interrupted, placing a hand on each man's collarbone.
"It's nothing to get worked up about, honey," said Jonathan quickly. "We know each other from way back…just playin' around a bit, is all." He gave Burt a sly grin, which the other man sheepishly tried to copy, and failed to do. Burt did know Jonathan from a while back, but the latter was always trying to block the former during times out with the ladies. Jonathan didn't give a care about Rachel—though she was kind of a nice, curvy drink of water—he just wanted to break 'em for his old acquaintance. Besides, he'd had his eye on Lady Laurent for a while, and knew Brett probably did too…even though Alyssa never did so much as flirt with either of them and always spoke of wanting to marry a writer.
"Well, at least I don't go around wearing stuff from the local Army/Navy, Jonathan," said Burt. "You have a matching field jacket for that camouflage t-shirt?...you could probably get a decent discount, being the buzzcut bum that you are."
"The military runs strong in our family, son," replied Jonathan, even though he never even enlisted, much less registered. "And speaking of family…at least I'm not the son of a rabid anti-video-game-attorney-jackass…Burt Thompson."
"Alright, alright…" was all Burt could say as Jonathan stood there a moment longer, drinking in his imminent victory. Burt tried his hardest but could come up with nothing else to say; the other man had him. Jonathan nodded for Brett to come along, and the two went to sit down by the window.
"He's just a big goofball, Jonathan is," Burt said to his woman. Rachel watched as the two man's men went over to their table, and looked lustily at the fatigue-frocked one with whom Burt lost the argument.
"Right," Rachel said vacantly.
Burt looked at his girlfriend for a few seconds, insecure and unsure of what to say next. Then, finally: "Why don't we go sit down, ourselves?"
"…Sounds kosher to me, Burt. Let's go. Jolie?" Rachel looked over to her best friend, in an attempt to wave her over to the tables…but it looked like the Chinese chemist had her hands full with yet another admirer, much to Mr. Swoop's chagrin.
"Ahh…I can't let you ladies sit down just yet," said the silky, suave, snappy dresser standing between the fiancés over on the end. "It's custom, where I come from, to, ah…knock back a few more, as you Americans say, before setting down to eat."
"Is that right, Carlo?" asked Jolie, flashing the starriest look in the universe to the latest Chris' guest.
"It's Carlito. And yesss…" the dapper man continued, absorbing the hapless woman's attention with his warm, irresistible allure, "we Santa Cabezans like to drink. Sometimes all we do is drink, and drink, and drink…so many discarded flasks of vino growing in number…"
Jolie was speechless. Now this was a man.
An instant of euphoric Elysium existed in the woman's mind as she imagined this Latino interloper—which in some reality should be her Latin lover—caring and caressing her, his hands coursing the scape of her skin, her eyes engaged with hers over the course of an overnight. Their bodies communicating, consuming…
"Sounds like you guys hit the bottle pretty hard," Aaron cut in, completely killing Jolie's reverie.
"Well, we moderate it with…other activities," returned the debonair foreigner. "Some drink, but then some dance…a cruise around the village or into the city in my… chariot…and some things in between." Carlito conveyed a furtive glance to Jolie that instantly melted her through.
"Do you…do you have a…ride…here?" she could barely manage, even in her best throaty voice.
"I do, Jolie. A lavish cherry convertible, vast and voluminous…enough space to do…certain things, inside. We Keyeses don't skimp on such…details."
"W-wow."
"It's smooth and sleek, the best ride you'd ever take. I'd suggest you come try sometime…though I know you are…previously engaged."
"It's noth…oh…yeah…"
Aaron again was about to combust spontaneously…but something about this swinger in particular made him pause. Though he was pretty skinny, and not too imposing in size, something about this Carlito made him come off like a real threat. But he couldn't put his childish finger on what it was.
"The name again is Carlito…Carlito Keyes," the man said, the spiciest glint in his eye. He then leaned in close to whisper in Jolie's ear—for once, not someone soft and slurred, as she was used to. "I'm all about the drive, with the ladies…my…automobile…drives long and hard. My friends don't call me…'Car Keys'…for nothing."
"Ohhhh…" Jolie whispered back, her eyes shut, her mouth pursed as if ready to devour his lips passionately.
At last, to Aaron's divine release, Rachel strolled over to extinguish the situation. "Jolie…I think we should be sitting down by about now."
The addressed woman continued to stare into Carlito's sepia ocean of iris, like the victim of a vampire with an unbreakable gaze. Rachel almost had to literally pull her friend away from the situation to get her to sit down. As Jolie was led away by her familiars, she looked back at the charming, polished operator who succeeded in seducing her. She decided that she would stalk all of Willamette to find that convertible, once she got out range of Aaron, by now her reprehensible…friend/boy.
"Thanks, Rachel," said Aaron to the other woman, rather shakily. "I-I'll getcha back." He uttered this last phrase just as any overweight survivor would to a brazen photojournalist hours later—the same empty, ineffective promise incapable of ever being fulfilled.
"Don't worry about it," said Rachel. "Let's just…sit down." She looked again at Jonathan, and thought of Brian as well, as she retired to the table alongside Burt.
It was on one sunny afternoon in late September, the 19th to be exact, that Jolie and her best friend decided to go shopping in Al Fresca Plaza. They both agreed on Weber's Garments as their favorite place to go; after all, it started with a "W" like "Wu" and it kind of rhymed, at least vowel-wise, with "Decker."
"Oh look, there's that Riverfield Jewelry place," Rachel said as the two worked their way through so many warm-blooded, healthy humans. "Didn't Aaron get your ring there?"
"Yes…sigh yes he did." Riverfield was known to be the bottom of the barrel in terms of that particular kind of ware in Willamette. The virtual jeweler's row in Entrance Plaza was far superior—Marriage Makers and the Manning place in Paradise were alright as well, still better than Riverfield. Aaron was a gazillionaire in the making, but wasn't good to his girl the way he should have been. Jolie pursed her lips in contempt at the mere thought of it.
Did she really want to become Jolie Wu-Swoop?
"Come on, Aaron, put that down."
"No. Burt, I kind of like this…I've kind of…been into it, lately." Aaron held the large blouse in his unhairy hands with some degree of affection. Yep, female clothing just fit so…comfortably on his frame, as of late.
"You know, if the girls came in here right this second…"
"The girls? Come on, Burt, you know they're more Entrancers than Al Frescans. I mean, yeah, this might be their favorite store, but the chances of them coming he…
GASP
"Umm…"
Four female eyes set stares of surprise upon two very unfortunate young men who were about to become single once again—as almost always.
"Jolie…I can explain…"
No words came from the woman's mouth at first. She just stood there, trying to process the image before her, partly wishing her brain hadn't engaged it in the first place.
"This isn't what it looks like…" attempted Aaron, once more with increased pathetic feeling.
"And what is it supposed to look like, Aaron?" Jolie finally gushed out. She was beyond aghast. "What is this supposed to be?"
"I…I…"
Burt stood by, looking at his best friend to try and find some way to save him, to escort him back to a security area of safe relationshiphood. But Aaron was beyond saving.
"AAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
Suddenly all four exes-to-be shot glances towards the outdoors. Burt ran over and took a couple of steps outside to see some shoppers collapsing and writhing on the ground, and other…figures…spilling over the rooftops of the stores, plopping and dropping in, their flesh bizarre shades of gray, puce, and other unpleasant hues.
"What the hell is this?" the guy thought aloud to himself. He took in the sight a bit longer, then dashed back in. "Guys…something's going on out there…something really wrong. We might need to get out of here, real quick…"
"Uh-uh, no way," Rachel cut in, as other Weber's shoppers sprinted past her in fright. "Jolie's settling this with Aaron, right here, right now.
"And you and I, mister, have a few words of our own to discuss as well. I don't suppose you were here to look at a few blouses and skirts yourself…?"
In the ensuing moments, tens, then hundreds of unlucky Willamettans lost their lives…and two overgrown boys lost their girlfriends. Not because they were dead, but because they were done with their wayward relations.
"Jolie, you can't do this! We're going to get married!" squeaked Aaron.
"Were going to get married…till I came to what little sense I had to go out with you in the first place." Jolie was having trouble relating her rejoinders over the milling of undead and the screams of nearly-dead…but she was going to say everything she needed to say, and end this now.
"You know, you…you don't know what you'll be missing," Aaron whined. "I would have lavished you with all sorts of gifts, and love…"
"You wouldn't have loved me as much as, say, that girl in the Casual Gals poster."
"What?"
"Nothing."
Aaron was exasperated, and threw his hands up in frustration as other, disembodied hands flopped into the air outside.
By this point, Rachel had broken up with Burt, and was heading for the threshold out to Al Fresca, despite the masses of monsters around them. Anything would be better, less horrifying, than staying in that store with two hermaphrodites trying on women's wear. Jolie went over to her friend at the doorway.
"You know, this is no great loss. No loss at all," kvetched Aaron with the last of his argumentative strength. "You only wanted me for my money anyways…and you were bad in bed."
"Bad in bed? Look, Aaron, as far as I'm concerned, between myself, any future girlfriends you may have—which is highly doubtful—and your other past girlfriend—which was inflatable—you can remember me as the woman who didn't fake it."
Aaron just looked at his now former girlfriend.
"Goodbye. Let's go." Jolie pumped her friend's shoulder with her hand as she stepped over a corpse to go outside. Rachel most willingly followed, despite unmanly protests from behind her.
Jolie was now jogging away from the broken bicycle by the wall, and looking desperately for her friend who was not following behind her as she thought. 18 speeds my ass, she thought as the image of the simple vehicle breaking apart just as she sat down upon it. The thing must have taken some damage from all the monster melee around her.
"Rachel? Rachel?"
Jolie snapped her head to the left, then the right. Finally she saw her friend underneath a tree, near the doors to Entrance Plaza. She was warding off a few monsters with her hands alone, pushing and shoving as best she could.
"RACHEL!"
Out of the corner of her eye Jolie spied a giant blue parasol. Wrenching it from the ground, she charged at the carcasses crowding her BFF. As she plowed through them, knocking them to the ground but not "killing" them, something in the back of her mind wryly piped up: Hmm, if my manager saw me right now holding this big blue thing, he'd probably nominate me for mascot of the company.
"Jolie! Oh…thank you." The two embraced quickly, as they always did after a crisis had just passed. It was a real Philo's Photos moment. "Let's get inside."
"Right. Sorry to have left you a second."
"You're here now, Jol," Rachel replied as she held the door for her friend, knocking aside another creature as she did so. "That's what matters."
The two ran through more monsters indoors as they tried to find a suitable store for safety and sustenance, till this all blew over, hopefully.
"Let's try upstairs," said Rachel, running towards an escalator.
"No—I thought that downstairs might have more—RACHEL!"
Suddenly a zombie swung at the white woman from behind, the decayed hand striking her across the back of the head. Rachel fell straight down.
"RA-RACHEL!"
The woman was far from dead, but very dazed. She didn't get up, but rather crawled a foot or so, so frightened was she.
"DON'T WORRY, I'M COMING!" Jolie paced towards her friend, looking around her for some kind of weapon of opportunity. All she could see nearby was a discarded bag of potato chips.
More zombies came to join the pair as the seconds passed. It was starting to become stifling in here.
"Jolie…" Rachel was still on all fours, too scared to get up. Somehow she maneuvered herself onto an escalator track, and was beginning to become drawn upward by the conveyance, away from her friend.
"RACHEL! NO!"
At this point, too many monsters impeded Jolie's efforts to save her friend. Tens were clawing and scratching in her direction, and there was no way she could get through. She had to retreat.
"No…no…Rachel…"
Looking forlornly one last time at the woman she might have loved—had she not been inclined towards men—Jolie set her head down in defeat and started to run the other way.
Instants later, she found one of her other favorite stores, Gramma's Kids, and dropped to her knees slowly and melodramatically, her hand to her face as she did so. She loved the place before because she was that much of an overachiever; while people about to marry were thinking of prospective future children, she was already planning for her coming grandchildren. But no such issue would come from any union between her and Aaron now.
As she cried out her corneas, Jolie thought fondly and regretfully of Rachel. She should have tried to do more…but there were so many monsters out there…they probably got to her by now…oh Rachel…
Jolie tried to block out thoughts of her friend as she stared emptily at a stuffed bear nearby, which was vacantly looking back, an inanimate companion in this smothering new world of animated undead.
EPILOGUE
Huh, thought Jonathan as she paced through Wonderland, looking for some weapons and supplies while Brett was off looking for Alyssa in Paradise Plaza. He hadn't found any firearms around or anything of that sort just yet. What a maroon that Burt Thompson is…trying to think he's all cool and what not. He'll never be hip with the parents he has…that video game lawyer especially. When will that moron ever quit? What an effed-up family that is.
Jonathan jumped up some stairs nearby, passing Lovely Fashion House on his right. He couldn't help but look inside as he watched an overweight man and a gross, metric ton of a…woman (?) were making out.
Forget the zombies…this was the most disgusting thing Jonathan had seen all day.
"Excuse me," he cut in. "Just wanted to let you all know…about the situation outside."
"Oh, we're aware, hon," said the sort-of-woman, who appeared to be some sort of mall cop. "We're just gettin' in a bit of extra…intimacy time…if you'll excuse us…er…" She sounded as if she were fishing for a name to call him by.
"Jonathan," the young survivalist said, turning to leave.
A beat passed as more disgusting making out occurred. Then:
"Wait…sir."
The young man spun back around at the sound of the other man's voice. He was no longer being absorbed into the she-behemoth's maw.
"What's your name…your full name, if I may ask?"
"I'm…Jonathan, Jonathan Picardsen."
The other two looked at one another in astonishment.
"It's him, Nathan," the female said.
"Yes…after so many years. Jo, I…can't believe it."
The pair reflected relieved looks at one another, then hugged heartily.
"Umm…what's going on here?" Jonathan asked, feeling as if he were on the outside of some inside joke.
The female set her sunglassed gaze upon the young man. "We've finally found you…you've finally come back to us…Jonathan."
"Jonathan? Why are you saying my name like that? It's pronounced Jonathan."
"You would think that, wouldn't you," the other man, Nathan, said, chuckling a bit to himself. "We named you after ourselves, but decided we couldn't support you so we had to…sign the papers and everything. We gave you over to the Picardsens at such a young age...I guess we forgot to tell them about the whole pronunciation thing. But no, you're our Jonathan alright, standing right here before us…who would've thought it? Especially at a time like this?!"
Up until this point, Jonathan was always under the impression that he was a natural, biological Picardsen. This certainly seemed to add to the nightmare that he must have been having right now…it was that bizarre, so much more than any monster he had recently previously encountered.
"Come on, Jonathan," said the corpulent cop before him, with open, enormous arms, "…give your old mother a big kiss!"
As he stood there, Jonathan thought to himself that, had he had a shotgun or something like that on him right now, he would have sooner put that to his mouth.