It was not long after Jackson had recounted every single detail of his island experience that Jackson drifted off to a dreamless steady, sleep (Morgan, an uneasy sleeper, did in fact dream). It was only when the bright, bizarre sunlight beat itself into the room did the two wake, energized and ready for the day ahead. Sort of.
The truth was that on the island, every day was more or less certain. There was only a finite amount of combinations which made the day either good or bad. A good day would be one with enough food and water. A bad day would be the drama or the weather. Either way, Jackson knew of the possibilities that faced him. But now the possibilities were endless. And not in an optimistic, happy-go-getting attitude, but the dark, pessimistic one he ever so preferred when it came to these endless possibilities.
Jackson turned over and looked at the clock, only 8 he thought, and began his morning routine. Well, he resumed his old one since his latest routine involved a latrine, a cold "shower," and a lack of a mirror.
After his morning rituals, he walked down two flights of stairs quietly and saw Morgan eating cereal at the counter in her pajamas. But last night, when they fell asleep next to each other, she was not wearing pajamas but normal clothing. He looked at her oddly before she pointed to her mother getting something from the refrigerator. In anyone's eyes, it would have looked weird if Morgan had come downstairs in the clothing she was wearing the previous day and even weirder that they slept next to each other.
Jackson nodded at her as Mrs. Carlyle went out of her way to make him feel comfortable and secure. While he was eating breakfast, and Morgan was ignoring him by reading the newspaper, a barely audible knock banged on the front door. Morgan, engrossed in some old newspapers in a case file, and Mrs. Carlyle, on the phone with her seer, basically encouraged Jackson to answer the door by completely ignoring the door.
He walked straight from the kitchen to front door, expecting an eager salesman or a sweet Christian pamphlet woman. What he did not expect were two average looking police detectives, one rather old and the other new—just promoted maybe.
"Are you Cody Jackson?"
"Yes." His reply was short and curt.
"We have some questions for you. Can we come in?" said the older detective.
"Oh, err…" he turned his head, about to ask if they could, before he saw Mrs. Carlyle nearly running to the door.
"Cody, who's at the door?" she said pleasantly until her pleasant composure dropped at the sight of the two. She tried to recover her rudeness, but she, unlike her daughter, could not control her emotions so easily. In a smaller voice, she whispered, "Can I help you with something?"
"Yes, ma'am," the younger one said. "We were just asking if we could come in and ask a few questions." The polite manner in which he spoke told Cody he had not been a detective for very long.
In a forced smile she said, "Well if it's only a few questions, certainly this can be handled out on the porch, don't you think?" She said it in such a sweet manner, but her words were anything but sweet.
The younger one glanced at his partner as he hesitated. "Okay, then," he said uncomfortably.
"Excellent. And since he is under 18, I think it is appropriate that I am here while you question him. Don't you think?" Her eyes gleamed innocence.
The younger one nodded curtly as the older man snickered to himself over her subtle manipulation.
"Mr. Jackson, may I call you Cody?" A nod. "Can you tell us where you were on the night of the eighth?"
"In my old neighborhood. I was visiting friends."
"Do you know Leo Curtis?" Another nod. "Did you see him that night?" Another nod, now an uncomfortable one with a slight pause. "What were you doing with him when—?"
And to Jackson's surprise the older detective silent for most of this ordeal interrupted his inferior. "Matt, this is pointless. Get to the point, we're detectives not lawyers. Did you know Leo Curits was stabbed that night? More importantly, did you see it?"
"Yes."
"Can you describe it for us?"
After a brief moment of hesitation, he responded. "I was visiting old friends, excited that I could go to another country on this trip. I told them all about it. No one was happy about it, but Leo stood up for me. A fight broke out, I tried to stop it, someone pulled out a knife, and Leo was stabbed. I called 911, and he told me to leave so I wouldn't get in trouble once the ambulance was right down the block. That's all that really happened. I really can't describe it any clearer than that."
The younger one looked up with slight glee. "Did you see what kind of knife it was that stabbed him? Was it this?" He opened a police case file and pointed to a small pocketknife.
"Actually, it was."
"Did you see who stabbed him?"
"No, but I know who was there."
The younger one smiled excitedly. "Would you be willing to testify in court?"
Cody sighed and stared at the floor. "Will there be a jury?"
The younger one's face fell. "Why is that important?"
A moment of silence. The older one cleared his throat appropriately and grunted, "Because this kid has been in court before and he does not want the jury to discard his information just because of who he is and if it's for nothing he's screwed. Or… he wants leverage."
The police and the adult continued to speak.
Cody Jackson continued his staring contest with the floor. He was contemplating what he could, wondering what kind of leverage he could bargain for—and what the hell they were talking about. As he discovered his answer, a cold voice intruded his thoughts.
"That will not be necessary. He needn't leverage. He doesn't need to testify in court unless he is being prosecuted. He can give you the information, but unless you can get dirt he's not committing himself to something any larger. If you have any more questions, please call the house number." Though Percy didn't utter a word to leave, his tone was clear enough.
Jackson, now out of his trance, nodded his head. It was probably for the best that he didn't go about it that way. He easily slipped into the morning room while his savior spoke to Mrs. C. Morgan, gathering her binders hurriedly. The folders, filled with newspaper clippings, looked complicated and secretive. It was the same type of folder the younger policeman showed him a ten minutes earlier. The cover said JACKSON.
"So, where do you want to go today? We could go to the mall—which wouldn't be too much fun for you, but still you need clothes that haven't been picked up by a mom, and an eccentric one at that." He didn't respond.
"Well, we could go ride bikes, do something by the beach… but maybe not, err… How about this new guitar store in Burbank? A bit of a drive, but worth it since you haven't a decent one." His stare felt penetrative and pensive.
"I mean, tonight, we are going to Nathan's house for the feast that will end all feasts, but still…" Her eyes avoided him, as though she knew what he was thinking without hearing it.
A moment passed, so she repeated herself. "So, what do you want to do today? Cody?" In a cracked voice, "Jackson?"
He responded, "I think I want you to show me the file you have on my mother and tell me where my mother is, Morgan."
Thanks for reading, please review and post theories!
