Chapter 2 - The Good Life?
(...an office building...twelve years later...)
People are sitting at desks. No surprise, there. Some of these people are on the phone, while others type away on computers. Such is the life of a processing company. One of the cogs in this living, breathing machine is Tim Turner. He checks over a number of papers at his desk. If the look on the young man's face is anything to go by, they seem to be a bit confusing.
An older man walks by the desk and spots Tim's bewilderment.
"Hey, there, Turner. How goes it?"
"Not so good, Mr. Hamilton. I've been over these reports for the last couple hours and I can't make heads or tails of them."
"Well, it's not so difficult. They're just your basic APS reports. Been doing these for years."
"Yeah, but...it's like they've somehow gotten harder."
"It's no problem. Whatever can't be done here, you'll have plenty of time to work on it at home. Carry on."
Tim slouches in his chair. "Great", he states, lifelessly. The APS reports were never a big deal for him; analyze the progress (if any) in the documents, make sure everything adds up. What he wouldn't give for a break, right now. His attention shifts to the window on the far wall to his left.
(...a classroom...)
About thirty high school students sit at their desks. The ones that are still awake chatter about whatever topic strikes them as worthy. Unsurprisingly, school is not among the topics.
The sound of chalk scraping against the chalkboard gains their attention and ceases the chatter. It manages to rouse the sleepers, as well. The noise is also uncomfortable to the young woman doing the scraping.
She stops and looks at the stick. "I've got to get quieter chalk."
In the upper right hand corner of the board reads 'Mrs. Turner'. The dark-haired woman moves away from the board to reveal the words 'Edgar Allan Poe'.
"Now, who can tell me about Edgar Allan Poe?"
One of the students - something of a cute-but-flighty type - raises her hand. "Um, he was this guy who, like, wrote these really dark stories."
"That's...right. Poe's literary taste ran toward the macabre with such stories as 'The Tell-tale Heart' and 'The Cask of Amontillado'. Now, open your books to page 322. 'The Raven' is, perhaps, Poe's most-known work."
The students open their books.
The woman adjusts her glasses. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping as of some gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door..."
Mrs. Turner continues to read from her text. She and a few of the students seem to be getting into it. The rest are sleeping or too bored to care. This didn't matter very much to her; she was dedicated to shaping young minds, even if a fraction out of 30 were allowing it to happen.
Teaching isn't the most glamorous of professions, a theory that the salary can uphold, but it is one where a difference can be made. Some of these students could change the world as doctors, lawyers, police officers and even teachers, while others might end up still confused as to the meaning of 'macabre'.
Having finished the poem, Mrs. Turner puts the book down.
"Now, who can tell me what, if anything, the Raven represented to the protagonist?"
(...a house...many hours later...)
A girl of about fourteen walks through the beautifully appointed dwelling. She makes her way down the stairs and into the living room.
"Uhhhh. Where could they be?", she groaned to no one in particular.
She tucks a lock of dirty blonde hair behind her ear before crouching to the floor. She lifts up the flap of the couch. Nothing but dust bunnies and loose change.
The girl stands back up and sees what looks like a shadow rushing away. She follows it to a closet. Her hand reaches out and grabs the doorknob.
"Got you now."
The sound of another door opening gets her attention.
The girl rushes to greet the person. "Hello, Mr. Turner." The smile on her face, the sugar in her voice; Eddie Haskell couldn't have done better.
"Hello, Ashley."
"How have you been?"
Tim drops his briefcase. "Exhausted."
"That's too bad." The blonde looks over to the still-open front door. "Hello, Mrs. Turner."
The brunette woman walks in and sets her briefcase on the couch. She embraces her husband. "Hey, stranger."
"Hey, stranger's wife." She closes the door with her foot.
As they kiss, two kids - a dark-haired boy and a brown-haired girl - run out. "Mommy, Daddy--euwwww!"
The adults crouch down and hug their children. "Thomas. Violet. Did you have fun with Ashley, today?"
The boy speaks up. "Well, we--"
Ashley steps in front of him. "We were playing a game of hide and seek." ...or, rather, 'search and destroy'. Dear Ashley had the children do the dishes. When she checked on their progress, they splashed her with water. Sure, she had managed to dry off, but it still made her upset. The last half-hour or so was basically Ashley looking for the children. Unfortunately for her, they were masters at 'hide and seek'.
"Hide and seek, huh? Sounds like fun", exclaims Mrs. Turner.
"I think it might be time for you to head on home, Ashley."
"Certainly, Mr. Turner." The girl doesn't seem to move. She clears her throat.
"Oh, right." The man pulls out his wallet and hands the girl a ten dollar bill. She eyes the bill elatedly. "Have a nice day." With a salute, Ashley walks out of the house.
"Mommy, Daddy, Ashley made us do the dishes", Thomas stated.
"We got some water on her and she got really mad at us."
The man takes off his coat. "Oh, you kids."
"Don't you believe us?", Violet pleads, on the verge of crying.
"Sure, we do." As Tim walks to the closet, he stubs his foot on his briefcase. He yelps and picks it up.
"Oh, that reminds me: I have papers to grade."
"And these reports need to be looked over."
The adults grab their briefcases and head off in different directions.
"Get to your room, you two. Dinner will be ready...momentarily."
The children walk up the stairs sadly. The door closes.
(...Thomas and Violet's bedroom...)
As one would expect, the room bears the markings of two eight-year-olds having to share their living space. Comic books, dolls, stuffed animals, action figures. The one unusual feature is a clear hamster cage sitting on a dresser. In it are two hamsters milling about; one pink and one green.
Thomas trudges in, followed by Violet. The kids crawl onto their beds and lie down.
The hamsters look to each other.
"Ready, Cosmo?"
"Ready, Wanda."
With a flash, the hamsters become fairies, floating in the air. They take notice of their weary charges.
Wanda flies closer to the floor. "Oh, what's the matter, kids?"
Violet sits up. "Our babysitter. She's mean."
"Yeah. She made us wash the dishes. They weren't even dirty!"
"Where were you?"
"Well, you see, there was something really urgent that needed to be taken care of."
"More urgent than helping us?", Thomas inquires.
Wanda was understandably reluctant to tell their godchildren why she and her husband weren't there for them. It was no accident that they ended up together. The truth was that she and Cosmo missed Timmy dearly. They couldn't always watch over him; eventually, they would have to be re-assigned to new children.
The pink-haired fairy knew deep down that Timmy would follow his heart and find the right girl...and that they would, one day, have children. For years, the two of them were bounced from godchild to godchild, each one meaner than the last. Though it seemed selfish to want this (something she wasn't very proud of), she would hope that Timmy's children would be in need of fairy godparents.
Then, six months ago, a girl named Ashley came by selling candy for a school fund raiser. Tim ended up with eight dollars of peanut butter bars and she got a steady after-school gig. Not a bad trade-off. Unfortunately, the longer she was at it, the more it became about the cash. Terrorize the kids when they didn't do what she said, make nice with the adults - like two sides of the same coin. She'd have quite a future as an actress. This was the opportunity Wanda was looking for. An old friend of hers from the Fairy Academy made sure that she and Cosmo would watch over the two of them.
The urgency was to make sure that the files on the new assignment were kept safe; it seems more than a little suspicious that the same godparents would watch over a boy and, later, his children.
In spite of the machinations done to attain this, Cosmo and Wanda loved Thomas and Violet as much as Timmy, if not more.
Wanda's expression changes from nervous to one of gentle concern.
"Oh, sweetie, there was just something that had to be taken care of."
Cosmo floats beside his wife. "But everything's all right now...isn't it?"
"Everything's great." She turns back to the children. "I know what would cheer you up."
"Granting some wishes?", the kids replied together.
"Yeah!"