Was Edward not from Canada, then? If not, where was he from? Why was he hiding? Did he have a criminal record? Was he some sort of foreign ex-con who forged a visa or distributed illegal substances or, God forbid, committed homicide? Was he wanted by the government? Or, perhaps, was she only being rather over-sensitive to a Freudian slip?
Too many questions—and not enough tea. Victoria told herself, while clonking up the metal stairs that led to her apartment complex. Go brew a cup now, before I completely explode. And do have a less daytime-television-like approach to all this Edward business, m'dear…be sensible, think with reason…but, first things first, agreed? Make tea.
Victoria rummaged around in her carpetbag, her favorite one with the Oriental pictures of coiled-up snakes and dragons, and found her keys. She pushed door open wide (the door shrieked a blood-curdling 'creak!', which made her shudder as though an entire forest-full of insects skittered up her legs) to the pitch-black apartment.
Her hand grabbed and groped in the darkness for the light switch, then—
Switch-clock-buzz
Victoria flipped on the electrical switch. The apartment's absurdly little living room brightened up. Eyes watering a bit from the sudden burst of white-hot light, Victoria stumbled inside. A litter of novels and pamphlets were scattered on the floor. The room's only window was layered with dirt, thickly, like a sort of grimy cake icing. And a vase with wilted flowers (now rotted into a light brown) sat depressingly on the broken fireplace's mantlepiece.
Truth be told, Miss Victoria Emerson was a straight-forward slob. No doubts about that.
After dropping her bag aside somewhere, Victoria meandered almost drunkenly over to the fairy-sized kitchen.
The kitchen was crammed with metal pots, cracked pans, shiny plastic glad-wear… A nice pile of neatly peeled and shiny wet potatoes sat in the sink, along with a few half-full SILK MILK containers.
Victoria's migraine suddenly gave her skull a fierce sting. Grumbling and hissing about it, she rubbed her thudding temple—eventually, resolving to fix it away with a dose of trusty aspirin.
"If I were an aspirin…" Our young lady mumbled as she turned around, surveying her medicine cabinet in the bathroom near the kitchen, "…Where would I be?"
After finding the aspirin and brewing a good, steaming, luxuriant cup of earl grey… Victoria sat down heavily in her sofa, curling in quilts splattered with multicolored food stains … and pretended to relax.
She didn't sleep in bed, because that was mostly used as a sloppy desk for her IPITEA paperwork—Now, usually, she'd lay down on her sofa and read away until the wee hours of the morning—getting whatever shut-eye possible before the alarm clock rang. Insomnia just gave more opportunities to finish reading (and re-reading) her tall piles of library books. Not such a big deal. Victoria kind of liked it.
Aspirin and tea. Victoria lifted up the chipped teacup and clattering aspirin bottle, and acknowledged them like they were beloved friends. Good ol' buddies, you are… And they were. Every time she got a crack-skull migraine or a volcanic spurt of anger…aspirin and tea were a sure-fire cure.
Absentmindedly Victoria stirred her tea in circles, while her thoughts also mixed and swirled into other thoughts. She quietly mused, while slurping down an itsy-bitsy sip of earl grey, and savored its calming flavor on her tastebuds.
…Well, honestly, it isn't like Edward's the Creature from the Black Lagoon… A man with possible traumatizing childhood experiences, yes, and currently living in humble circumstances (immensely humble, in fact, he and Ken Boggs were barely gathering enough cash to pay off their rent). But nothing…eye-poppingly extreme about him, no way.
Ed Hands was a good person, silent as death, but still a very nice and decent and normal.
However, that made it all the more surreal to imagine Edward as a…thief or an ex-con or a runaway or a Russian spy…or something really malignant like they'd show on 60 Minutes or America's Most Wanted…It actually made Victoria chuckle a little to picture Edward's wide-eyed, innocent and tragic baby face on the television with a large red 'ARMED AND DANGEROUS' on the bottom of the screen.
Then, she sobered up, realizing that wasn't all that funny…and, if her worst suspicions were true, that might just be the case…
"What're you watching?"
Lucy walked into the hotel apartment's living room wearing her periwinkle-blue, and comfortably baggy, pajamas. A massive scarlet teddy bear dangled from her arm…and every time Lucy Walters made a move, the plush teddy jiggled and wiggled round in her armpit.
"Just crap" Bobby said.
Brow crinkling into a frown, Lucy turned to see her brother sprawled over the couch. Why wasn't Bobby worried about Edward?Why was Bobby so sleepy and relaxed? Why?
"Why?"
"Because I feel like watching crap."
Lucy scowled…but, nonetheless, sat her rear down on the cushy brown armchair next to where Bobby was on the couch. He switched the channel to some mind-numbing car chase scene from one of those cheesy and almost fascist 70s cop shows—the bullets popping and slinging back and forth on the screen.
Uncle Frank yelled from the kitchen, "C'mon, now. Let's stop watching the TV and come and play a nice board game. You'll—"
Both Bobby and Lucy shouted back, without bothering to look away from the screen, "No thanks, Frank…!"
Despite Auntie Jillian's wishes…Frank allowed the kids to stay out of bed, gobble down on the leftover chocolate and vanilla batter from the Christmas cake, watch television to their heart's content, and then play some board games to further pass the time away. Technically, really only Uncle Frank wanted to play board games…the children had developed a strong distaste for it…because Frank always won.
Lucy got tired with the gunfights and the commercials for breakfast cereal…and plus, television's hypnotic flicker made her eyeballs start to get sticky and hot. She whined a little and sniffed and tugged at the great big teddy bear, and hopped off the couch…
Shuffling like a zombie over to the kitchen, Lucy put her teddy bear on the kitchen's countertop, and slunk down into one of kitchen stools. Lucy didn't have to struggle to climb the stool—because, truth be told, she getting pretty tall for a kid of eleven. 'Growing like a garden weed', everyone said and she was.
Lucy sighed, softly scratched her nose—she seriously considered eating more chocolate cake batter—and eventually glanced over to Uncle Frank—or, at least, the back of the newspaper Frank was reading; it was just like staring at a massive gray paper wall.
"Frank…Hmm, mm?" The little girl said, her mouth producing spluttering, dull words—because her mind was too deep in thought to articulate well.
The uncle muttered out an uninterested, "Yes, dear one?" He still kept his face and, in fact, whole body covered by flimsy newspaper.
"Why is Aunt Jill over at Ken's?"
Uncle Frank's blood got ice cold, and his heartbeat became fast and hasty. While lowering the paper slowly, death-like colorlessness flushed into his cheeks. "Because she's gotta work things out, honey, all the grown-ups have to discuss…grown-up things with Edward."
"But why aren't you over there…?"
Frank actually had to think about this. Mind being too nerve-wracked and altogether frazzled to think fast, but…he eventually folded the newspaper into a neat little wrinkled square—he knotted his hands primly together and cleared his throat.
"Lucy, we couldn't just leave you two in a hotel room all by yourselves. Urban City isn't your nice home back in Suburbia, dear." Uncle Frank smiled down at the girl, and patted her on the head, "Besides, I've never been brilliant at 'working things out'…"
Lucy actually smirked at her uncle; and then, the smirk switched to a mocking grin. Uncle Frank—though maybe a bit timid and soft-hearted—was almost criminally expert when it came down to solving puzzles, game-show answers, and those ridiculously dramatic soap-opera murder mysteries. Not to mention the board games. He was lying—big time—and Lucy was on his tail about it.
"I dunno, you're good at working out who killed Professor Plum." She gave a very clever glance over to the Clue gameboard stuffed in with their traveling suitcases.
Uncle Frank, despite himself, chuckled and nodded his head. "I'm flattered. But my brainpower only extends so far. You see, games are easy—they've got lots of boundaries. Life, though, that's got more mess to it. I just don't understand some of the stuff in it sometimes."
"…stuff like Edward?" She asked, her grin waned and then totally disappeared.
His smile went away just as briskly as Lucy's did. Something grave and cheerless took residence in his eyes, making them glaze-over quite eerily with worry.
"Sure… stuff like Edward." Uncle Frank's voice was hollow and disturbingly wary. "But don't worry about old Edward, okay, Luce-caboose?"
"I'm not worried about him," Lucy said, as she moved her brown eyes alone the pale tiles of the countertop. She almost could feel her nose growing an inch or two, the lie was so obvious. "He's fine. Eddie's perfectly fine…"
"Oh, yes, of course he is, Lucy." Frank answered huskily, feeling his throat become sand dry. He was probably saying it more to encourage himself, than to encourage Lucy.
Bobby switched the volume down a few notches in the other room—and he, himself, had quieted down to a graveyard-esque silence—a tell-tale sign that he was listening in.
And, suddenly, Uncle Frank broke out in a grin that made his features look frighteningly happy. He was looking down to his wristwatch and tapping its glass dial with his index finger.
The relief in his eyes meant …it became clear to Lucy…that it was now bedtime. "Enough about that, now." Uncle Frank said in a calmness that sent shivers up Lucy's spine. "Why, will you look at the clock, it's way past ten, now. Come on, to bed."
Lucy felt her stomach become spicily upset, watery, and sourly warm…just like it is before you are ill all over the floor. Bedtime, already? The day had went by as quick as a blink of the eye, it seem like. And, Lucy couldn't be able to make herself sleep—practically, sick with worry—literally actually, she was physically unwell when she knew the mechanical man was in big trouble with her parents.
Nonetheless Lucy picked up her ruby jewel-colored stuffed animal, and allowed Uncle Frank to tuck her in the extraordinarily comfy hotel extra-bed, in the other room, and though everything was cushy and pleasant under the smooth blankets as she coiled up in the fetal position … Lucy still didn't sleep one wink.
Frank scuffled into the hotel apartment kitchen, with his hands deep in his pockets, and feeling miserably exhausted with the day—and also miserably exhausted with life in general. Really, he was so sick and tired of seeing poor Lucy all wrought up about that Edward. Sick and tired of it, completely.
"So, you tucked her in?" Bobby's voice was gentle yet very precise, like he was stopping himself from screaming his lungs out.
"Yes." Uncle Frank murmured out at last.
"Oh, that's good."
Bobby had his hand down a huge, silvery-yellow, and immoderately greasy bag of potato chips—the young man munched and munched the chips, making a loud crack-smunch-crack noise when he chewed them. Finally he swallowed a huge wad of moist chew down his throat…and stared at Frank, just stared.
This time Bobby's voice was practically quivering, while he offered the bag out, "Want one?"
"No thanks, Bobby, but that's very kind of you." Frank almost chuckled, but didn't because it would have taken up too much energy. Anyway, the man didn't truly know if he had 'chuckle' left inside him…he felt like a large tube had just sucked it all out.
Bobby nodded at the polished floor, while his unwashed hair gleamed with grease in the florescent-lights of the hotel kitchen.
The sunshiny, bubbly voice of the TV newscaster gabbled on obliviously in the background, giving the setting in the kitchen an eerie feeling, 'Hello, and Merry Christmas, everyone! There may not be snow here this year in Urban City, but that doesn't stop the festivities and the merry-making over in the—'
Frank plucked up the romote control from the couch's cushions, then pressed the 'MUTE' button. Only the image of an insanely cheerful TV newscaster stayed, babbling along in an unsettling topic about some holiday goings-on.
Bobby and Uncle Frank exchanged a look…and at first, it was brief, but then it just stuck. And they stared at each other, in absolute silence, for a long time.
Raising his eyebrows up high, thick lines streaking across his forehead, Bobby finally croaked out, "How long d'you think before the cops'll get involved?"
"Bobby," Frank breathed and huffed, trying to collect whatever reasoning left in his mind, "I honestly don't think he is…or, at least, I don't think things will come down to that. Not down to the cops…"
There was an odd pause, as Bobby angrily broke his gaze with his uncle, gloomily dropping his eyes down to the glimmering-white tiles of the kitchen floor. The teen rolled up the slick bag of chips, and tossed it over the countertop…in a way that Frank thought was supposed to be aggressive. Yet it only came across as weak and childish.
"What," Bobby growled frustratedly, "if they do come down to that? Frank, please, come on, at least fucking think about it. We're all in it—the whole family, even Lucy…" Bobby's voice ran thin as his hands began to have small tremors, "We all knew Edward was here."
Frank spluttered out, "Oh, no, no." And he put one hesitant hand on his nephew, and patted his shoulder, awkwardly, "Hey, Bobby…come on, don't think like that. I bet soon thing's will all—"
Bobby Walters' hands scrunched up into tight fists, and his face adopted a reddish color. Bobby hated it when his family belittled his concerns…and he knew he wasn't just being jittery. This was very serious. "Look, Frank—"
"Bobby, I honestly don't know what'll happen. Let's just hope for the best…" Frank only felt pleading was the way to get the message across, no matter how uncourageous it felt, "There's nothing else we can do about it, anyway. Here, just watch some TV..."
And Frank sat down and watched TV, and Bobby sat alone in the kitchen. Commercials and the Christmas-themed sitcoms flashed by on the screen, but Frank and Bobby never actually paid attention to anything on it; so they only stared.
Ding…dong.
Lying the couch in the soft light of the television, Bobby and Frank were dead asleep; their heads wilted to one side and drool flooded out their mouths. It was nearing one in the morning…and all the good television programs had long since aired.
Lucy was awake, though. She hadn't had a moment of sleep the entire night.
Ding…Dong. Ding dong.
Tumbling out of the bed sheets, Lucy scrambled to apartment living room, her stuffed animal dragging along behind her. She gave a sharp and disgusted look at her brother and uncle for not waking up… and walked over to the door.
Lifting herself up on her tip-toes, squinting one brown eye, Lucy peered through the tiny peek-hole.
A pallid face with two shining ink black eyes, with a ruffled mess of dark hair—
Lucy's hands immediately covered her mouth, muffling a huge gasp. For a whole minute, she didn't stir. She stood there like stone.
"Edward…?" She said to herself, jumping at the latch and opening the door.
Without a moment to think about it, Lucy scurried up to Edward and gave him a colossal bear hug…making him topple backwards a bit from the impact, the little girl practically squeezed his stomach so tight that his lungs couldn't breathe.
"Hello, Lucy."
"Hey, Eddie…!" Lucy smiled, detaching her arms from his waist.
Edward smiled and, wheezing slightly, caught his breath. The smile didn't last very long, and it died with quite the miserable, depressing twitch…when he was discouraged Edward twitched, the little girl had noticed. It's a nasty quirk Edward had.
The little girl peeked up at the towering and frighteningly shadowy man. With his hunched shoulders and stringy hair drooping over his eyes…Ed looked like a modern Grim Reaper in a jacket and jeans. Pale as Dracula. Joyless as death itself—he was a terrifying spectacle.
The little girl frowned. She stretched out her little hand and held onto his, and pulled him kindly into the apartment. Most of the time, Edward was rather cheerful in his own timid way—but, when he wasn't, you could not stop having some pity for him.
"Come on in, Eddie," Lucy tried her utmost to be friendly and warm. It became difficult to do so, when she saw Bobby and Frank—still sleeping—on the couch. "Be quiet, though, they're sleeping like logs over there. Edward…hey, Eddie?"
Lucy patted his hand, compassionately, a few times—but she could help but shudder a little when she felt how cold he was. Eddie was frigid as a corpse that'd been left in the coffin. Freezing cold and shaking like crazy.
"…yes, Lucy?" Edward replied. The two puppy-dog eyes blinked slowly, like they'd pour out large, rolling tears at any moment. His voice was only barely above a wary murmur.
Lucy tilted her head a bit, staring up at the uncommonly gentle man. "Is anything wrong, Eddie?"
A stupid question. And Edward decided not to respond.
The mechanical man slid down into one of the kitchen stools, and his glassy black eyes goggled out into the blue. The little girl, by instinct, sat next to him and watched him for a little while—Edward didn't seem to be entirely aware of her presence. In an act good-will, Lucy offered him her teddy bear. Ed smiled very hesitantly, his mouth twitched like wild, and he politely refused it. After insisting many times and telling him most truthfully that Mr. Teddy helped…the little girl persuaded Edward to cuddle the plushy scarlet teddy bear.
Like Lucy said, Mr. Teddy was actually marvelously helpful. Edward buried his head in the teddy bear's fuzzy stomach, and sighed out at last.
"Eddie, really, what's wrong? I can help, I think."…and Lucy added mentally, I hope.
The whole reason why Edward came in the first place was to talk with Lucy about "what was wrong", but, naturally, he couldn't find the words—he had all those somber feelings stored up somewhere inside—but words had never came easily for Edward S. Hands. So, he kept quiet.
Too quiet. Even for Eddie.
"Eddie," Lucy pushed on, "What's wrong…?"
Gulping down a lump in his throat, he brought his face up from the bear's fuzz. "Lots of things." The mechanical man dropped his head again, and kept it there, as though it was too heavy to hold up.
With a grave tone of voice, she added, "Like what?"
Ed looked into the shadows of the hotel apartment. Lifting his head up slightly from the stuffed animal...Ed blinked delicately a few times. A slow groan echoed from his throat.
Lucy practically knew the answer already, "Was it because of your friends?"
Edward nodded, coal- black eyes shimmering like sequins...
"I thought so." She grumbled, licking her lips. "Eddie," Putting a small hand on his sharp shoulder, Lucy smiled though it looked sad, almost silly… "You know, it's not your fault that they went nuts like that…I don't…I don't think they really want to make you so sad. Victoria's nice. She's a lot like Kenny, you know, she has a temper, that's for sure. Daddy calls people like her short fuses—Kennedy's just the same; he's a shot fuse, too—"
Lucy's words of encouragement were well meant, but, frankly, they did nothing to help Edward feel better. And this puzzled him. When someone is good enough to help you, shouldn't you be happy…or, at the least, comforted? He just didn't understand himself sometimes.
Voice low and solemn, the man said, "But… they fight all the time."
"And they look pretty scary when they do." The girl shook her head sadly, "Kenny looked like he was going to blow a gasket, huh? All over nothing, too!"
Edward covered his face with his hands, and nodded. He felt like everything inside was being ripped and crushed. After what seemed to be a millennium, he took his hands away from his face, and looked to Lucy seriously, "I don't know what I should do…"
"Well, is she your friend? Isn't she your friend, Ed?" Lucy looked straight at the robotic man, put on a very strict and stern voice but still a caring undertone was there. For a moment, she vaguely resembled her mother.
He said yes, anxious to hear what she had to say.
"... It might scare her a little," Lucy admitted but tried to make her voice very soft and understanding, so it wouldn't sound so bad, "But I was scared when I first met you, too. And now I love you to death and so does everyone else… she'll have to love you, anyway, because you're friends. Friends should love each other no matter what."
Edward felt like he was floating up like a balloon. Hearing Lucy say all that made him feel dizzy and strange.
Then Uncle Frank woke up—when he saw Edward sitting in the kitchen with a gigantic teddy bear in his arms and Lucy leaning on the robotic man's stiff shoulder… the old guy practically had a heart attack.
Ed sat, a look of forlorn elegance on his face, and stared into the oblivion. Lucy, who was still next to him, began to drift in and out of sleep, flutter her eyelids, bob her tiny head, and mumble incoherient words of ...perhaps... comfort to Edward.
Uncle Frank had one hand on his balding head, wildly scratching the gleaming skin—and the other hand held the telephone to his ear.
Frank's eyes gazed at Edward in a strange hybrid, perhaps a mongrel, feeling of pity mixed with utter and absolute terror.
"I called you guys as quick as possible. Well, yeah," The Uncle said into the phone, his voice calm and sluggish. But his eyes were aflame with worry. "He's here. Yeah, Edward's here with us." He listened to Molly gabble a little, and he replied, "No." He listened some more, "Yes."
Molly said something on the other line—and Uncle Frank listened to her—plainly considering what she was gibbering about…
…And a very dignified frown was starting to swell up on Frank's face…
"Let me just ask him, Molly. Edward? Did you go and tell your friend Victoria about…" At the last few words, grew weak and whispery. He was a little confused on how to navigate past this question; "Did you… happen to…?"
Still glaring off at nothing, Ed answered meekly. "I didn't."
The uncle breathed out an elated sigh of relief, and spoke to the phone. "Don't worry, Molly, he didn't. Yeah, thank goodness…thank goodness!"
Continuing to be quiet as a dormouse, Edward listened to every single word Frank said.
"I had no idea he ran away from you guys, but I knew something was up, you know?" The Uncle said into the phone, and pacing back and forth in the kitchen.
Frank stopped pacing, all of a sudden, and turned his heels to look at Edward. Frank's eyes scanned the mechanical man up and down, very carefully, as though checking for something. "The guy looks scared, Molly." He looked away from the man slouching on the kitchen stool, "The kid just seems a little downtrodden—"
Frank nodded his head, very seriously, while listening to the squeaky sound coming across the phone.
"Maybe it'll be best if he just stays around here? Well…I can tell he wanted to be with Lucy and Bobby, you know how he is with them. Let Edward have a little room to breathe; allow the situation to just…uh, sink in."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence on the other end. And then Molly said something, and, of course, Frank listened to her. And finally, "Yes, I'll watch him." Very sensibly, Frank consented. "Don't you worry about it, I'll have both eyes on him like a hawk, Molly."
This chapter is the product of a giant sugar high. This is what happens when you mix coffee, Triple Skinny coffee, a Wonka bar, a tiny pack of sweet n' low, sour skittles, and the biggest dose of 7-UP and Pepsi mankind has ever seen. Ahhh yes, sugar...for kids who can't afford heroin. Hehe…just kidding, there. But Wonka bars are lethal. I just had one. I swear to GOD, Wonka Industries puts pot in their candy… hehe...haha-hehe...
Chef13 THANK YOU FOR POINTING OUT THE UNCLE FRANK INCONSISTANCY! You mentioned it quite a long time ago, but I see what you mean now— the Walter family would not leave their children ALONE in a bustling and, like all urban areas, somewhat dangerous place. Seriously, chef13…what would become of me if I didn't have you? I guess it'd pretty sad.
All of you, THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME ABOUT THE 'AUTHOR NOTE' INCIDENT. I had no idea Author's Notes were 'illegal' here…Christ, I'm stupid…but truth be told, I only skimmed the 'TERMS of AGREEMENT'. (slaps my hand) Bad Sally!…But, still…Holy crapping cow, that was a close one, wasn't it, fellas/girlies? I certainly wouldn't have wanted another 'Number 31' erase-a-fantastic-story-by-accident/on purpose thing again.
Regarding my next (and also final)chapter—I am currently editing and re-writing it. It will be a long chapter, since I will need to tie the story up wholly, neatly, and believably. My suspicion is that it will take awhile to finish, but I will work hard on it. Success is 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration. Wish me luck.
Love to all for your undying patience. All you guys are unbelievably helpful and kind. So, thanks again.