Chapter 5 - Taking Shots
(...Ron's bedroom...early Sunday morning...)
The blonde teen turns quite a bit in his bed. Despite his rather ludicrous laundry list of fears, he usually had no problems sleeping.
His eyes open suddenly. He could swear he hears something. His hand reaches to the night table and turns on the lamp. The brightness causes Rufus to groan and hide his eyes.
Ron sits up. The most unusual thing greets his sight. It's just Kim, standing at his door. He does a double take as he realizes...wait, 'just Kim'? If that wasn't strange enough, she stares at him with a hungry look in her eyes. Also, for some reason, she's wearing her cheerleading outfit.
"Hey, KP."
The redhead smiles. "Ronnie, Ronnie, he's the man, if he can't do 'em, no one can." The chant was delivered in a slow and breathy manner.
Kim cartwheels over to the bed. Nothing too out of the ordinary about that. Cheerleaders do these things all the time... At that moment, Ron noticed that something was missing from Kim's routine. Something that causes his eyes to goggle.
He gulps hard. "Wow, that must be some breeze you're feeling."
She says nothing as she climbs onto his bed, much in the way a cat would corner a mouse. "So, uh, what brings you here?" Ron backs away nervously.
"You."
He bumps against the headboard. Kim notices his fearful, deer-in-the-headlights expression.
She stops crawling and looks at him. Her face distorts. She wouldn't dare...the puppy dog pout. "What's wrong, Ronnie? Don't you like me anymore?"
"Well, I...that is to say..."
"Don't you want me here?"
As scared of Kim's all-too-forward nature as he was, Ron had to admit that a part of him was enjoying this...a part that grew with each passing moment.
The redhead resumes movement. In the midst of her crawl, her hand lands on the...part.
"Oh, Ronnie! You do want me here!" Her jubilation is short-lived, though. "Why would you lie to me?"
"KP, I just want to sleep, all right? I just want to dream."
She crawls next to him, her lips next to his ear. "You don't have to worry about that", she says, barely above a whisper. She nibbles on his ear like a bunny would a carrot.
Ron bolts up. He hits the light. No one else is here. Rufus is resting peacefully at the foot of the bed, bless his little heart.
He could swear that Kim was in here just now. Ah, the power of dreams.
His eyes fix on a peculiar marking on his bedsheets. He's tempted to feel the marking...and does. It's moist.
"Oh, man, I hope that's sweat."
There was a rather embarrassing problem that Ron managed to overcome at the age of five, so he could effectively rule out urine.
(...the Possible kitchen...a few hours later...)
Given the many missions she was on, it was a rare and happy moment when Kim could sit down Sunday morning for a quiet breakfast with the family. Well, not truly quiet.
A mild explosion from the backyard shatters the tranquil mood.
"Sorry." Another experiment courtesy of Jim and Tim.
Seemingly unfazed by the noise, Mrs. Dr. Possible sets down two plates of eggs, toast and bacon.
"I think you're spoiling those two." Kim takes a piece of toast.
"Kimmie, it's just a jet propulsion prototype."
Mr. Dr. Possible leans back a bit. "I remember making one of my own at that age. Sure, it worked, but the rose garden? History. Mom was furious."
"Uh-huh." Kim digs into her eggs. She notices a news bite on the front page of the paper. 'Local real-estate agent taken from her home'.
She takes the paper and opens it to the corresponding page. 'Real estate agent Sally Mankey, 54, was abducted from her home early Saturday morning. Authorities found no leads and the woman is believed to be dead.'
Kim sighs heavily.
Her mother notices this. "Is something wrong, honey?"
"Yes, there is."
(...outside the Mankey home...about an hour later...)
Kim walks down the street. It dawns on her that, in all the time she was crushing on Josh, she had never been to his place. She knew little, if anything, about the young man who, once upon a time, was her world.
As she got closer to the house, she wasn't sure of the exact purpose of the visit. Was she to offer condolences, or would that seem insensitive and possibly premature; the article said 'believed to be dead'. A number of other things spun around in her mind: why would whoever took Sally want her? Why was there no ransom note? Does she have any enemies?
She decided it best to keep these things to herself. There's no reason to subject Josh to further misery.
She rings the doorbell. The door opens. Behind it is...not Josh, that's for sure.
"May I help you?" Lila.
"Yes. I'd like to see Josh."
"Come in."
(...the living room...)
Kim sits on the couch. She glances around. Pictures of the once-happy family decorate the room.
"Hey, Kim." The redhead is broken out of her empathy. She turns around.
Josh stands at the foot of the stairs. He walks over and sits in the chair.
Many moments of awkward silence. "I'm very sorry about what's happened."
"Don't worry. I'm just...trying to adjust."
"Do you mind if I have a look around?"
"Go ahead. I'm not sure what you'll find."
Kim heads up the stairs and whips out the Kimmunicator. She turns it on.
"Hey, Wade."
"What's up, Kim?"
"We have a serious sitch here. Can you do a thermal scan?"
"Already on it."
The device emits a beam. Kim peers into the many rooms. Nothing. As she finishes her analysis of Mrs. Mankey's room, another realization hit her: 'early Saturday morning'. There's a good chance the trail may have already gone cold.
(...outside the Mankey home...ten minutes later...)
Kim stands before Josh, looking somewhat defeated.
"I'm sorry, Josh. I couldn't find anything."
"That's all right, Kim. You did your best."
"Yeah, but somehow, that's not good enough." She takes a breath. "I only wish there was something I could do to help."
He puts his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure you'll think of something."
She walks away.
(...the Stoppable basement...twenty minutes later...)
Ron stands at the washing machine. His mother wanted to get the laundry done, but, given his little...outburst, he was forced to take care of this himself.
"I hope I used enough fabric softener."
He thinks back to early this morning.
'That was very weird. Like my brain was trying to tell me something. As long as I can avoid Kim for a while - like a month or two - I'll be fine.'
The rumbling of the washer becomes somewhat loud. Despite this, Ron can barely hear someone over it. He runs halfway up the stairs.
"What?"
"Your friend Kimberly is on the phone."
"Great." He bites his tongue. He slowly heads up the stairs.
(...the kitchen...)
He picks up the phone next to the basement door.
"Uh, hey, KP. What's up? No, I haven't read the news. I usually just skip to the comics." The expression on Ron's face sours. "Oh. Oh, man. That's horrible. I don't know what I'd do without my mom."
At that moment, she walks by. "Oh, Ronald, thank you for doing the laundry." She hugs him.
"It's no problem."
"I have to wonder, though: why were you so insistent on doing it yourself?"
Ron swallows a little. "You know, I, uh, just thought I should help out around the house more." He grins nervously.
"Okay, then." She walks away. He wipes sweat from his brow.
(...an office building...that night...)
The setting sun turns the sky into a lovely shade of crimson. A youthful man in a suit sits at a desk. He flips through several papers. Working on a Sunday? A ridiculous notion, to be sure, but there were some jobs that needed to be taken care of...sometimes because the person wasn't smart enough to weasel out of it.
In the case of the man at the desk, he was there because he wanted to be. A buzz from the P.A. system cuts through the air.
"Will you be requiring anything else, Mr. Denny?"
"Thanks, no, Trudie. I'll be fine."
Albert Denny. For nearly a year, he'd been trying to rid Toronto of illegal and/or unnecessary businesses. The documents on his desk were instrumental in deciding which businesses would be investigated, shut down or left alone.
(...the streets of Toronto...)
Sally, with Sheila close behind, makes her way through the crowd.
"How will we know where to go?" Sally totes a guitar case.
"We'll know. For some reason, Denny works Sundays."
The women stop at an abandoned building.
"Denny works here?"
Sheila rolls her eyes. "No. There." She points to the office building next door.
"No time like the present, I guess."
(...a room...minutes later...)
Sally looks about the dusty enclosure. A pigeon rests in the corner, lightly cooing.
"Oh. Hey, there. I bet you miss your family, too."
"Hey, Eliza Doolittle. You wanna get this done or what?"
"Fine, fine." Sally glances out the window...and sees Denny working at his desk.
She puts the case on the ground and opens it. She takes out a fancy rifle, the kind that celebrities use to shoot big horn elk.
Sally looks through the eyepiece. Denny is in her sights. She places her finger to the trigger. Her finger squeezes it ever so slightly. Sheila peers over her shoulder.
The older woman notices. "You know, I work much better without an audience."
Sheila fumes. "Whatever. I wouldn't want to draw any attention." The sarcasm tide is especially high, today.
"Oh, heavens no. We can't have that." Sally smirks a bit as she aims the gun.
She squeezes the trigger. A bullet pierces the window. Denny goes down.
"Got him."
"Good." She jerks a thumb. "Let's get lost."
Sally puts the gun in the guitar case and follows the younger woman down the stairs. The strange thing is, despite what's happened, Sally seems...euphoric, almost like she's done something good.