""He ran off", they said. He had started speaking in tongue and made threatening gestures, so they thought he was dangerous." Jack said with absolute disdain. He was, of course, talking about Grubber's parents. He had spoken to them that day and was now relaying what had happened to Alice over the phone.
Alice cleared her throat. "So are you saying that Grubber possibly has an undiagnosed mental illness triggered by his accident? And his parents are against that somehow…?"
Jack grunted an affirmative. "I think they're also embellishing everything. That speaking in tongue bullshit is obviously untrue. He can't speak at all. He communicates through raspberries. But nevertheless, they refused to appear in court as witnesses. Actually, they showed me the door when I asked."
"Well, I think Sanford's parents were also either stretching the truth or flat out lying. I spoke to his sister, and she told me that they make him out to be even more worse than he actually is. And she agreed to be a witness in court."
"Good," was the reply.
"Okay, uh, I guess I'll go and talk to Arturo's father. In prison." Alice said, glancing at her suitcase.
"Fine. I will find Ace's parents, then." And then Jack hung up.
Alice turned the key in the ignition and strapped on her seatbelt. She pulled out of the mall parking lot and turned down a side road leading to Townsville Prison.
Jack, meanwhile, got into his own car and headed for the last known address of the Copular family.
As soon as he had seen the address on a form he already felt dread growing in his stomach. The street was not in a good neighbourhood, to say the least. It was basically the Citiesville of Townsville, to say the least.
As he pulled up outside the house, he felt actual pity for Ace. Any child would turn to a life of crime if this was the kind of environment they were born into.
The yard was overrun with weeds, which also sprouted through the cracks of the rotting wooden porch. The windows were dusty and the paint on the walls was chipped and peeling. Just like every other damn house on the street. In the rain however, it looked more dismal.
As Jack got out of his car and ran up the path he nearly stumbled after his foot got caught on a piece of concrete that was jutting out of the ground. When he reached the porch, he carefully stepped over the second step, as it was broken in the middle, like something heavy had landed on it and snapped it in half.
There was no need to knock on the door, a green-skinned person with dark eyes and messy, knotted hair was already there, watching Jack through slitted eyes. The person sized him up, looked him in the eyes and said with a raspy voice, "what's that piece of shit done this time?"
"I beg your pardon?" Jack asked.
"Yous police, right?"
"Truant officer."
The person rolled their eyes and exclaimed "aw, fuck!" They turned into the house and shouted "Apriiiil! The bastards has sent CPS or some shit on our asses!"
"Fuck's sake!" A more feminine sounding voice called back.
"Whaddya want? He ain't here anymore!" The man turned his attention back to Jack.
"I know he's not there, but I have to talk to you about him. He's been accused of murder."
"Hah, really? Who'd he off?"
It took Jack a second to realise that he was asking who had been killed. "A man named Brian Kendall. It's been all over the news."
"Hear that, April? Our good-for-nothin' whatever he is finally did somethin' with his life! Hah!" The man yelled sarcastically over his shoulder, then turning to Jack.
"I came here to ask if you and your wife would be willing to appear in court to defend…"
"Like hell we would," the man interrupted. "He was a bloody wimp, always whinin', always bitchin' and cryin'. He was always hangin' on us for attention or some shit, even though we gave him plenty. He was the worst Christmas present I ever got, and my old man used to give me empty fuckin' beer cans. Him fucking off was the best thing he ever did, and he's done nothin' to deserve is helpin' him. Ain't that right, April?"
Jack was disgusted. He grabbed the man by his shirt and lifted him up as high as he could.
"You listen to me. You and your wife disgust me. You have abused and mistreated your son and you practically pat yourselves on the back for it. He runs away and you don't care. He is going on trial for murdering someone and you still don't care. The only reason your asses aren't in jail for child abuse is because no one else cares. That's it. You mistreated a child for all his life. You don't deserve to be a free man and woman. Your son deserved better than you."
The man spit in his face.
Jack let go of him to wipe it off and the man took the opportunity to wrench himself out of his grasp.
"Fuck you! You don't know who you're talkin' to!" The man marched back inside and slammed the door, and that was the end of that.
The prison felt comparatively lighter and nicer than the police station, Alice thought. Probably because the people here weren't as cruel and unreasonable. The prisoners she saw on the drive up were actually having conversations with the guards and seemed to enjoy it. Well, seemed to. But it was a nice chance from police officers throwing their weight around.
Arturo de la Guerra, known to everyone as Macho, sat on the opposite side of a sheet of glass, holding the telephone.
"My son is a good boy," he was saying. "He would never murder someone. Never."
Alice nodded, and scribbled something down on a piece of paper. "How was he in school?"
Macho shrugged. "He was okay. He wasn't great, he just did his work."
Alice made an "mmhm" noise, but the question of why his son was on the streets at the age of twelve with no adult supervision couldn't be avoided. So she asked.
"His Mami, my partner, she passed before we immigrated. My son, he doesn't even remember her." Macho's face fell as he said this.
Alice gave a sympathetic expression. "Has your son displayed any temper problems, or violent outbursts?"
"No. Not once that I can remember."
Alice brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Would you be allowed to appear in court as a witness?"
Macho was all too eager to agree.
Later, Alice found herself talking to one of the guards while she waited for the prison warden to approve Macho's appearing in court.
"He's an alright dude." The guard said about Macho. "Actually, most people are. But yeah, you still gotta watch yourself here. There are some pretty fucked up individuals, and they like to travel in packs. One dude tried to stab another one in the eyes with a fork. The Gangreen Gang ain't gonna survive five minutes in here."
Alice nodded. "Is Macho, you know, trustworthy?"
"Yeah, one of the more honest guys in here. Just made some dumb mistakes. And he really loves his son, you know. Talks about him all the time."
Just then, the prison warden showed up.
"Right, Miss Halcyon, you've got approval. Luckily Macho's one of our more docile inmates, so not much need for extra precautions, but still be careful. Just be in touch with the court dates and we'll send him over for you."
"Thank you so much." Alice said as she shook his hand. "This'll ready help my case."
Back in Townsville, the Powerpuff Girls played in their bedroom. Buttercup crashed her toy cars into each other, Blossom carefully stacked her books atop one another to create towers, and Bubbles lay on her side of the bed, hugging Octi close to her as she stared out at the rain drizzling down the window pane. They played without enjoyment or interest.
Everytime she blinked, Bubbles saw the same scene over and over again: the body lying on its back, throat half-gone, congealed blood in a dark pool.
The Professor had told the girls that he had scheduled for them to visit a therapist, so they could talk to him about the whole incident. The appointment was set for tomorrow at ten o'clock.
Bubbles still felt so numb. She had spoken very little over the last few days. She didn't know if she could bring herself to talk to a therapist; she had trouble trying to discuss it with her sisters. It all seemed like a weird lucid dream that she hoped to wake up from.
What if the therapist just didn't understand what she was feeling? What if she didn't say anything to him at all? How would he react? Would he still try to help her if he didn't understand?
Bubbles squeezed Octi closer to her chest and listened to the sounds of Buttercup's metal toy cars clinking together, and the rain falling softly outside.
