"Chapter Eleven - Unfinished Business"
It still read in rusty letters "Stiles Manufacturing" with new words on top baring the name "Martin". Giving a sharp look specifically at the name Martin he opened the gate and walked inside. Police caution tape covered the elevator. Dried blood still crusted the metal floor. Willard walked inside, tearing the tape off. The elevator raised from the main floor.
"It looks like he's been here," Dr. Long observed the torn police tape laying on the cement sidewalk outside the Stiles Estate. "It could have just been some kids playing around," one of the cops commented. "We won't know until we go in there. Lady, you stay here incase he is in there and tries to attempt anything," the lead police officer told Dr. Long and pointed to another officer to stay with her. The group of cops walked up the cement stairs into the dark house. Dr. Long waited.
Willard recollected what he had done to Mr. Martin while standing on top of the blood stained floor.. He smiled all the while. "We got him back Socrates. He'll never hurt you again..." he slowly whispered to the little white rat standing on his shoulder. Walking down the hallway he felt confident in what he was about to do. Finally at the door, which held the office where he had countless times been humiliated, he tried opening it. It was locked. He became impatient. The lock was old and rusted. It wiggled and schreeched when you pulled on it. He placed his brief case on the floor and backed away a few inchs from the door. Quickly he kicked the door handle with all the strength he had. Luckily it broke open.
The floor screeched as the police entered the old dark house. "Let's look upstairs first," one of the cops told the others. Cautiously holding their guns in front of them they made their way up the large staircase. Looking through the rooms they noticed things had been moved about. They entered the bathroom. Willard's hospital bracelet had been torn in half and layed upon his bloody uniform in a small garbage can sitting in the corner of the bathroom. "He's definitly been here," a cop pulled the bracelet out of the basket. "He could still be here. Keep a good look out. Let's check the basement."
The police made their way to the kichen. "Shhh...listen...down there," one of the cops whispered and pointed to the basement door. Noise came echoing from the basement. Cautiously he opened the door and began to walk down the dark stairs. Holding a small flashlight they made their way down the dark steps. "Mr. Stiles!" one of the cops yelled. "Do you feel that around your feet?" a cop holding a gun whispered to the others. "Yeah..." one replied. He slowly moved the flashlight towards the ground. "Their rats! Millions of them!" they all screamed. Attempting to escape they tried running back up the stairs. The door shut with impact by a group of rats pushing at the bottom of it. They were surrounded.
Entering the office brought bad memories to the surface. He remembered how he used to cower down at the presents of his boss, Mr. Martin, who had stolen the business from his father. How he made a fool of him in front of everyone. How he made him hate himself. How he killed Socrates. But now, it has all been changed. Socrates was back. Willard would not let that happen again. He was going to make sure of that. No one will ever hurt him again...
He walked into the main office where he first confronted Mr. Martin. Papers scattered the floor. His picture stating the words "Prudent Agression" was slanted sideway on the wall. Lowering his arm, Socrates crawled onto a chair close by. He stared at the things still standing on Mr. Martin's desk. Pictures of his family, a block of ceramic cheese, a computer, and his name which had been placed exactly in the middle of the desks front. With anger he lifted his arm and pushed everything off the desk causing them to shatter into peices onto the floor. He took deep breaths and held his arm which had still caused him great pain. Somewhat composing himself he sat in the chair under the desk. Grabbing his black bag he opened it pulling out his fathers picture. Standing it on the desk he began to cry. "No one...will ever steal this company from you again...."
He wiped his face and Socrates crawled onto Willard's shoulder. Slightly shaken, he stood up and pulled something small and metal out of his bag. He pulled the picture stating the words "Prudent Agression" off the wall. Lifting the top of the metal object he lit a flame and placed it at the edge of the worded picture. Slowly he placed the picture back onto the wall. Everything around it began to catch on fire. Willard, with Socrates still standing on his shoulder, grabbed his bag and stood back watching the flames consume the room. Smoke devoured the space.
Socrates crawled down his shoulder into his pocket. He began to cough and knew it was time to leave. Looking back he watched as the fire reached the desk now slowly burning his father's picture. Quickly he ran down the hall into the elevator. As the elevator slowly moved down towards the main level the smoke followed. Finally he made it to the exit. He ran through the parking lot towards the front of the building. Exiting the gate he stood back in awe at what was happening to the old building. Thunder echoed through the atmosphere and lightning lit the dark sky. Rain began to pour on the cold damp cement.
"Hey! What's going on over there?!" a man standing across the street yelled. Suddenly lightning hit the words on top of the gate. The impact caused the metal sign of "Martin" to break and fall to the ground. Left on the gate was "Stiles Manufacturing". Willard stood there in satisfaction. The fire had now consumed the whole building. He pulled Socrates out of his pocket and held him in the rain. "Let's go see mom..." he whispered to the small white rat. Now hearing the sound of sirens he placed Socrates back into his pocket and ran.
Dr. Long still waited outside the house for the other policemen's return. Listening to the cop's walky talky inside the car she heard the name "Stiles" and jumped. "Are they talking about the Stiles Manufacturing building?" Dr. Long exclaimed. "Yeah, it's caught on fire," the policewoman sitting in the car with her replied. "Can you take me there?" she yelled ecstatically at the cop. "Fine, just let me call in to the guys we're leaving." the policewoman attempted to contact the others inside the house but recieved no answer. "That's odd..." she said concerned. "Hurry, we don't have much time!" Dr. Long exclaimed. "Alright, I'm sure their fine in there..." the policewoman started up the car and they were on their way.
Willard stopped running once he found the cemetery in which his mother had been buried. He walked up to her grave stone with rain pouring on his head. He sat down his black bag and opened it grabbing his mother's broken picture. Placing it at the foot of the gravestone he began to cry while rain drops rolled down his cheeks. "Mom...we're back to see you," he pulled Socrates out of his pocket and placed atop her grave stone. He stood there for awhile then grabbed Socrates placing him back into his pocket. Turning around he saw police car lights coming down the street. A light flashed in his direction and he bent down out of their view. "Let's go Socrates...By mom...." he whispered and slowly walked off trying not to gather attention.
It still read in rusty letters "Stiles Manufacturing" with new words on top baring the name "Martin". Giving a sharp look specifically at the name Martin he opened the gate and walked inside. Police caution tape covered the elevator. Dried blood still crusted the metal floor. Willard walked inside, tearing the tape off. The elevator raised from the main floor.
"It looks like he's been here," Dr. Long observed the torn police tape laying on the cement sidewalk outside the Stiles Estate. "It could have just been some kids playing around," one of the cops commented. "We won't know until we go in there. Lady, you stay here incase he is in there and tries to attempt anything," the lead police officer told Dr. Long and pointed to another officer to stay with her. The group of cops walked up the cement stairs into the dark house. Dr. Long waited.
Willard recollected what he had done to Mr. Martin while standing on top of the blood stained floor.. He smiled all the while. "We got him back Socrates. He'll never hurt you again..." he slowly whispered to the little white rat standing on his shoulder. Walking down the hallway he felt confident in what he was about to do. Finally at the door, which held the office where he had countless times been humiliated, he tried opening it. It was locked. He became impatient. The lock was old and rusted. It wiggled and schreeched when you pulled on it. He placed his brief case on the floor and backed away a few inchs from the door. Quickly he kicked the door handle with all the strength he had. Luckily it broke open.
The floor screeched as the police entered the old dark house. "Let's look upstairs first," one of the cops told the others. Cautiously holding their guns in front of them they made their way up the large staircase. Looking through the rooms they noticed things had been moved about. They entered the bathroom. Willard's hospital bracelet had been torn in half and layed upon his bloody uniform in a small garbage can sitting in the corner of the bathroom. "He's definitly been here," a cop pulled the bracelet out of the basket. "He could still be here. Keep a good look out. Let's check the basement."
The police made their way to the kichen. "Shhh...listen...down there," one of the cops whispered and pointed to the basement door. Noise came echoing from the basement. Cautiously he opened the door and began to walk down the dark stairs. Holding a small flashlight they made their way down the dark steps. "Mr. Stiles!" one of the cops yelled. "Do you feel that around your feet?" a cop holding a gun whispered to the others. "Yeah..." one replied. He slowly moved the flashlight towards the ground. "Their rats! Millions of them!" they all screamed. Attempting to escape they tried running back up the stairs. The door shut with impact by a group of rats pushing at the bottom of it. They were surrounded.
Entering the office brought bad memories to the surface. He remembered how he used to cower down at the presents of his boss, Mr. Martin, who had stolen the business from his father. How he made a fool of him in front of everyone. How he made him hate himself. How he killed Socrates. But now, it has all been changed. Socrates was back. Willard would not let that happen again. He was going to make sure of that. No one will ever hurt him again...
He walked into the main office where he first confronted Mr. Martin. Papers scattered the floor. His picture stating the words "Prudent Agression" was slanted sideway on the wall. Lowering his arm, Socrates crawled onto a chair close by. He stared at the things still standing on Mr. Martin's desk. Pictures of his family, a block of ceramic cheese, a computer, and his name which had been placed exactly in the middle of the desks front. With anger he lifted his arm and pushed everything off the desk causing them to shatter into peices onto the floor. He took deep breaths and held his arm which had still caused him great pain. Somewhat composing himself he sat in the chair under the desk. Grabbing his black bag he opened it pulling out his fathers picture. Standing it on the desk he began to cry. "No one...will ever steal this company from you again...."
He wiped his face and Socrates crawled onto Willard's shoulder. Slightly shaken, he stood up and pulled something small and metal out of his bag. He pulled the picture stating the words "Prudent Agression" off the wall. Lifting the top of the metal object he lit a flame and placed it at the edge of the worded picture. Slowly he placed the picture back onto the wall. Everything around it began to catch on fire. Willard, with Socrates still standing on his shoulder, grabbed his bag and stood back watching the flames consume the room. Smoke devoured the space.
Socrates crawled down his shoulder into his pocket. He began to cough and knew it was time to leave. Looking back he watched as the fire reached the desk now slowly burning his father's picture. Quickly he ran down the hall into the elevator. As the elevator slowly moved down towards the main level the smoke followed. Finally he made it to the exit. He ran through the parking lot towards the front of the building. Exiting the gate he stood back in awe at what was happening to the old building. Thunder echoed through the atmosphere and lightning lit the dark sky. Rain began to pour on the cold damp cement.
"Hey! What's going on over there?!" a man standing across the street yelled. Suddenly lightning hit the words on top of the gate. The impact caused the metal sign of "Martin" to break and fall to the ground. Left on the gate was "Stiles Manufacturing". Willard stood there in satisfaction. The fire had now consumed the whole building. He pulled Socrates out of his pocket and held him in the rain. "Let's go see mom..." he whispered to the small white rat. Now hearing the sound of sirens he placed Socrates back into his pocket and ran.
Dr. Long still waited outside the house for the other policemen's return. Listening to the cop's walky talky inside the car she heard the name "Stiles" and jumped. "Are they talking about the Stiles Manufacturing building?" Dr. Long exclaimed. "Yeah, it's caught on fire," the policewoman sitting in the car with her replied. "Can you take me there?" she yelled ecstatically at the cop. "Fine, just let me call in to the guys we're leaving." the policewoman attempted to contact the others inside the house but recieved no answer. "That's odd..." she said concerned. "Hurry, we don't have much time!" Dr. Long exclaimed. "Alright, I'm sure their fine in there..." the policewoman started up the car and they were on their way.
Willard stopped running once he found the cemetery in which his mother had been buried. He walked up to her grave stone with rain pouring on his head. He sat down his black bag and opened it grabbing his mother's broken picture. Placing it at the foot of the gravestone he began to cry while rain drops rolled down his cheeks. "Mom...we're back to see you," he pulled Socrates out of his pocket and placed atop her grave stone. He stood there for awhile then grabbed Socrates placing him back into his pocket. Turning around he saw police car lights coming down the street. A light flashed in his direction and he bent down out of their view. "Let's go Socrates...By mom...." he whispered and slowly walked off trying not to gather attention.