Before we get started, I just want to take the time to thank azuretears, SpotlessLadyBug, soulful-sin, Chipsie the sleek tabby cat, gary-stu, and Goddess of Unfinished Projects. Thank you all so much for reviewing!
Also, good news! (Or at least what I think is good news). I just finished the rough draft of this story two days ago! Woohoo! Sure, I'm gonna be editing it for a while, but at least it's finished! Hooray!
Bad news also though; as of this point, according to my computer I still haven't "accepted the guidelines" and all that claptrap. Blech!
Anyway, thanks for everything, guys! Now, without further ado, let's get this show on the road!
Disclaimer: I don't own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.
"Never! Absolutely not! A thousand times no!" Mr. Herriman roared.
"What do you mean no? Why? Just why the hell not?" Frankie yelled right back as she angrily paced back in forth in front of his desk.
It had been at least an hour since they returned from the police station and the heartbreaking fiasco that had occurred there. Once Mac was taken away and Frankie and Bloo had been finally subdued, Mr. Herriman had to use all his skills of argument and rhetoric to convince a furious chief of police not to arrest the duo or press any charges against them. After a good half-hour of expert but frantic persuading by the imaginary rabbit, the chief finally agreed to let both of them off the hook with just a warning, while attributing the disruption they caused due to a "temporary bout of hysteria-induced insanity," as Mr. Herriman so nicely put it.
Of course, however, after narrowly dodging that bullet, once they got home Mr. Herriman gave the pair of miscreants a stern lecture on the importance of obeying the law, doing as one's told, etc. After a good telling-off, an absolutely heartbroken Bloo had immediately trodden off to some corner of the house to sulk and bemoan the fate of his creator and best friend.
Frankie, however, wasn't quite finished. Once the harsh rebuking was over, she immediately suggested a "proposition" to the rabbit about a possible course of action they could take due to the recent course of events. Mr. Herriman, however, had immediately struck down Frankie's "suggestion," a decision that had led directly to the scream session that they had been having for about the last fifteen minutes.
"Miss Frances, please! I know you greatly wish to do so, but just because you want to do so doesn't mean-"
"Don't say it!" Frankie growled, pointing a finger at him. "Don't you dare say "it doesn't mean it's for the best." Don't say it because it's not true! I can do it! We're the only ones he has left, and you as well as anyone else know it! I -"
"Miss. Frances, you will not be adopting Master Mac, and that's final!" Mr. Herriman bellowed and slammed his tightly clenched fists hard upon his desk. Despite the ferocity of his blunt refusal however, Frankie simply refused to take "no" for an answer.
"But why not?" she demand with a hiss. "You keeping telling me no, no, no, like some goddamn broken record, but you won't give me one damn reason why you're so right and I'm so wrong!"
Mr. Herriman sighed heavily as he sat back in his chair. "Please, Miss Frances. Believe me, I miss the boy as much as you do. But you unfortunately are just a twenty-two-year-old girl, barely out of college, with a full-time occupation and not so much as a suitor! How do you expect to prove to be a suitable guardian for an eight-year-old child when-"
"That's it? THAT'S IT? ARRRGGH!" Frankie yelled in her skyrocketing frustration. "What the hell? Just because I have a job and I don't have a boyfriend means I can't do jack shit?"
"Miss Frances, watch your language!" Mr. Herriman reprimanded her sharply. "I just-"
"No, not until you listen up!" Frankie growled, shaking her head furiously. "In case you haven't heard, we're not living in the twenties anymore! I don't need a boyfriend right now! I'm getting along just fine on my own without a man! And what the hell do you mean about my job? Listen pal, if Mac gets in trouble while he's at "home" while I'm still busy at "work," I think we'd be able to manage because we'd both be in the same damn house!" she involuntarily screamed.
"Miss Frances-" Mr. Herriman tried to object.
"This place would be perfect for Mac!" Frankie continued. "We can easily spare a room near mine, I'd have absolutely no trouble putting food on the table for him everyday because I already do it daily for a hundred imaginary friends, he'd have Bloo and plenty of other playmates, I'm here almost ALL the time, and I have a steady income to boot!"
Before the rabbit could reply, Frankie jabbed her finger at him angrily. "And dammit, don't you say this all depends on my job here! What are you going to do about it? Fire me? Well news flash Peter Cottontail, you can't! This is my home too! I've lived here for nineteen years and my grandmother is your creator! You're not going to kick me out just to prove your point!" she yelled, quivering with barely-restrained rage at this point.
Mr. Herriman groaned exasperatedly before countering. "Miss Frances, I never said a word about terminating you employment here! Please, there's no need to jump to such ridiculous assumptions! Now you may have argued your point well, but you must remember, I'm not the one who made the final decision about what was to become of Master Mac. The local officials very specifically dictated to us that they thought it would be best if we gave up the child to the care of an orphanage, until he is adopted by a proper family. And, if we wish to fulfill our simple obligations as law-abiding citizens-"
"Hold on! A proper family?" Frankie yelled in disbelief. "He doesn't need to by adopted by some other family! Bloo's his family! I'm his family! Grandma, Wilt, Ed, Coco, only God knows how much everyone here cares for Mac! He doesn't need a new family, he already has one right here!"
"Maybe, Miss Frances, but the local officials have made it extremely clear what they think is best for Master Mac! To repeat myself, I-"
"Yeah, but-"
"Believe me, young lady," Mr. Herriman said sternly, wagging a finger at her. "If they had it entirely their way, you would be locked up like a common criminal at this very moment! For goodness sake, I had to promise the chief of police that I wouldn't tell you where Master Mac was taken so none of us would have to suffer through the same spectacle we just witnessed a few hours ago! Miss Frances, do you have any idea how close you were to-"
"I don't care! I don't care!" Frankie protested fiercely. "I can prove my case, I'll show them that I'm just fine for Mac!"
"Miss Frances, the law has specifically told us what it thought the best course of action was for the child! Why-"
"Screw what they say!" Frankie screamed in protest and angrily stomped her foot.
"Miss Frances I'm sorry, but my answer is still no!" Mr. Herriman yelled. "I won't-"
"Yeah, but-"
"He can't-"
"Yes he can-"
"It's wouldn't be-"
"Yes it would!"
"Social Services specifically told us that-"
"I don't care! I'll-"
The girl's infuriating stubbornness finally proved too much to bear, and finally wore his patience to shreds. Fully at the end of his wits, the severely aggravated Mr. Herriman banged his fists upon the desk again, and without even looking at her, he bellowed,
"Miss Frances, this is a house for imaginary friends! We don't just let in every child that is orphaned by a car accident!"
Much to his genuine surprise, Frankie failed to respond with a fierce comeback, or any reply at all for that matter. Only when he heard her sniffle did he look up again. The young woman just stood there in front of his desk, with arms hanging limply by her sides, mouth agape and eyes widened in shock and utter disbelief at what she had just heard.
"Y-you didn't…you did not just say…" she struggled to force the words out as her eyes welled up with tears. It took only a moment for the mortified Mr. Herriman to realize his enormous tactical blunder.
"Oh dear, oh dear! Miss Frances, I'm so sorry!" he apologized, quickly softening his tone. "You know I didn't mean-"
"Fuck you."
Mr. Herriman gasped in shock at the harsh reply.
"Excuse me?" he inquired with an angry growl.
"You heard me!" Frankie snapped. "Is that it? Is that the way we do things now?" Frankie suddenly reached up and pulled back her long red hair that always dangled untidily up front. Jabbing angrily with her finger, she pointed to the long, thin scar located just under where her hairline began.
"Do I have to leave now because of this? Huh? Do you want me to just quit and get out of here because of what happened when I was three? Is that it? Is that the way we do things here? WELL?"
"Miss Frances, I didn't-"
"Fuck you!" Frankie sobbed hoarsely. "Fuck you and all your fucking rules!"
With this final defiant cry she turned around and raced out of the room. Mr. Herriman slumped in his chair with a frustrated groan. Grumbling something incomprehensible under his breath, he reached under his desk to pull out a small glass and a large bottle of carrot juice. Maybe a drink would help settle his nerves.
Wilt knew quite well that it was impolite to listen in on other people's conversions, but to be honest the lanky imaginary friend couldn't help it. After hearing the tragic news about Mac from an almost inconsolable Bloo, he was determined to gather as much information as he could about the shocking situation as it developed. Plus of course, it was pretty easy to hear the screamfest that was going on in Mr. Herriman's office. He probably could have stood in the dining room and still have heard every word of the fierce argument.
Now, as he stood outside the ornate office doors, Wilt was completely stunned by what he had just heard. Did Frankie really blatantly curse her employer right to his face? And Mr. Herriman! Did he really say what he thought he heard him say? Even though he knew very well that Frankie-
Before the gangly imaginary friend could get a thought further, the doors suddenly burst open and Frankie came rushing out. Event though she was covering her face, it was almost immediately clear that she was crying, much to his alarm.
"Frankie?" he asked concernedly and struggled to keep up with her as she scrambled over to the main staircase. "Frankie, are you-"
"Just leave me alone!" the girl snarled. Before he could get another word in, she pushed him aside and darted up the stairs to her room, all the while trying to hide the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
Wilt paused while he watched her disappear upstairs, which was quickly followed by the angry slam of a door that reverberated throughout the house. Rather than be deterred by her earlier refusal however, the lanky imaginary friend simply remained at the bottom of the staircase, waiting patiently. After what he deemed a sufficient amount of time had passed, he took a deep breath and finally began to make his way up the stairs.
True, Frankie had just blatantly told him right to his face she didn't want to deal with a single other soul. But he knew her far better than that to know when she was lying. She didn't need to be alone; what she needed more than anything was someone else to comfort her, someone whose shoulder she could cry on, someone to provide her with some sort of solace in the midst of so much tragedy.
Actually, what Frankie needed him more than ever, a glaring truth that was all too clear as he finally made it to her bedroom door.
"Frankie?" he asked gently as he peeked his head into her room. It was dark, as all the lights had been turned out and all the curtains were shut to better suit the girl's sullen mood. However, despite this, it wasn't difficult to make out the somber caretaker lying facedown on her bed, lying sprawled out on top of the sheets with her head buried deep into one of her pillows. Although she tried to muffle it, Wilt easily made out the sounds of her hysterical sobbing.
"Frankie?" he asked apprehensively again softly as he opened the door a little more, allowing himself to slide cautiously into the room. Frankie looked up, turned her head around, and stared blankly at the tall imaginary fried through puffy, red, tearstained eyes.
"Um…sorry for barging in," Wilt said quietly, being the supernaturally polite imaginary friend and compulsive apologizer that he was. "I just-"
Before he could get any further, Frankie sat up in her bed and wordlessly reached out with her arms towards him, unable to utter anything more than a slight whimper. Instantly recognizing the distress gesture, Wilt settled down on the bed and immediately she latched on to him tightly and burst out crying anew.
No, "crying" didn't do justice to describe the stricken girl. She was an absolute wreck, and bawled uncontrollably like an infant who had lost its mother as she buried her face in his shoulder. Wilt quickly wrapped his long, skinny arm around Frankie and began to gently rock back and forth with her in his embrace, just the way he knew she liked it.
"It's n-not fair, it's j-j-just not fair." She sniffled. Wilt nodded sympathetically as he hugged the miserable girl closer.
"It's okay, Frankie, it's okay." He tried to reassure her.
"I don't even know where...he said…he said that…I can't …and that we don't…forgot that I…" Frankie managed to moan out between ragged sobs as she drenched his shoulder with her tears.
"Shhhh,….I know Frankie, I heard him…I know." Wilt just whispered morosely. He knew exactly what the hysterical girl was talking about.
A little too well, in fact.
(Nineteen years earlier…)
The tall, lanky imaginary friend cut a curious figure as he somberly sauntered down the nearly empty, God-forsaken icy road. Wilt shivered violently as the freezing January night blasted him with another arctic breeze before plodding onwards to nowhere in particular.
As much as he hated to admit it, the bitter cold, the crushing loneliness of it all, absolutely none of this was new to Wilt. Quite the contrary, he had become all too well accustomed to these and a plethora of other miserable experiences for longer than he cared to think about. Dumpsters served as his bedding and shelter, with nothing to fend off the cold but some old newspaper. Scrounging about in the garbage for any edible morsels served as his only means of sustenance. Then of course there was the fact that he was chased on a near daily basis by every dog, overprotective mother, or any other jackass who didn't like the looks of the tall, red creature that sauntered about in a dismal fashion.
Alas, such was the fate of the abandoned imaginary friend. Wilt stopped and braced himself as another howling wind came by and chilled him to the bone. As his teeth chattered violently, the lanky friend paused a moment to bemoan his fate.
As absolutely nightmarish as his life had become, what else did he have? There was absolutely no point in returning back home to Jordan; he had begrudgingly come to grips with the horrifically ugly truth longer ago than he cared to remember. As an imaginary friend, he had been created for a purpose, and one than he had absolutely failed to uphold at that sole critical moment when it absolutely mattered the most.
From then on, the guilt-stricken creature had since been wandering the roads as little more than a freakish vagabond with no other recourse. He couldn't return to Jordan and his family, for what use would he have for him now as a broken shell of a friend who could never come through for his creator when he was most needed? Wilt's heart practically ached with the horrific shame he had been carrying for so long. It was just as he had decided when he first fled home; Jordan would have no need for a broken failure of an imaginary friend, or any other child for that matter. Wilt felt he was just as useful to anyone as the stub of is left arm was as useful in picking anything up.
"Augh!" he cried as his basketball shoes lost traction on a patch of black ice, abruptly interrupting his lament. With a yell of dismay he flipped up into the air and came down hard on the hard, cold pavement, probably badly bruising his back.
The lanky imaginary friend moaned sadly as he just lay there stretched out on the road, showing no sign of wanting to get up again. No, this was it. End of the line. What was the point? What was the purpose of continuing to live through this hellish existence of cold and hunger, forever separated by the person he as an imaginary friend had cared about more than anything else in the whole world, and still failed in the very end?
There was none. He knew his time had come. God had no purpose left for him in the world. If this living nightmare was all the he had to look forward to for the rest of his life, then he might as well just lie back and let the freezing cold end it now before-
Wilt shot upright as the sound of screeching brakes shattered his suicidal thoughts. What was that? Did someone hit a patch of black ice?
The unpleasant answer came to him an instant later with the sounds of a horrific crash down the road and around the corner. Even though it was night, there was still at least enough moonlight available to allow Wilt to spot the rapidly growing spiral of black smoke on the horizon.
His all-too-compassionate soul immediately got the best of him and before he knew it, he was sprinting down the barren road, pumping his legs as fast as he could, his ragged gasps of breath appearing in the cold winter weather, his own woes temporarily forgotten.
Wilt's heart sank as he skidded onto the scene and looked on the appalling sight that lay before him. He peered down through the gigantic opening in the metal road barrier at the upturned station wagon that lay a few yards bellow him. After flipping a few times, it had finally slammed to a sudden halt when it hit a few trees. Now, a rapidly growing fire near the front belched pitch-black smoke into the sky, announcing to the world that a few new souls had been harvested from the earth. From the dead silence that came from the car, aside from the crackle of the ever-consuming engine flames, he guessed that its occupants had not survived the crash.
More pain and suffering. It was all just too much for Wilt to bear. He turned around, gripping his stomach and feeling like he wanted to vomit-
"Huh?" he grunted in astonishment as a peculiar noise caught his attention. He paused and listened carefully; he could've sworn that he just heard…
There it was again. To an imaginary friend like himself, the sound was unmistakable, no matter how faint it was.
It was the cry of a distressed child.
"Hold on, I'm coming!" he hollered hoarsely. Regardless of the danger, the tall imaginary friend boldly leapt off the road and skidded down the hill towards the flaming wreckage. Once he glided to a halt, Wilt bent down to peer frantically through the back windows.
"Hello? Hello! Is anyone-"
He was suddenly interrupted by a small explosion that erupted near the front. Now the terrified screams that sounded from the car became louder than ever, as the car suddenly began to fill up with black smoke. Wilt was running out of time, fast. With strength born of desperation, he stood up and with one kick with his oversized basketball shoe, he shattered one of the windows into pieces. Once he had an opening, he dropped to his knees and began to reach about madly inside the back of the car, regardless of the glass that scratched and cut his arm or the smoke that poured out and stung his one good eye.
The trapped child's wailing, which moments before had been almost deafening, had now come to a sudden halt. However, Wilt had no time to worry about this as he finally felt his hand come in contact with the buckle of a toddler seat.
"C'mon, just hold on! Just a little bit more, please!" he pleaded to the silent unknown child who lay trapped inside the tomb of twisted metal and flames. After madly fumbling with the buckle for a few seconds, he finally felt it come open with a snap. But even more so to his great relief, once the buckle came undone he immediately felt a pair of tiny hands clasp on to his arm.
"Okay, just hold on! It's okay, you'll be fine!" he yelled as he carefully withdrew the child from the car. After a few moments, his arm was pulled completely free of the wreckage. Without a second thought Wilt hugged his precious bundle to him tightly and leapt away from the burning wreckage. A moment later, a large explosion ripped through the upturned vehicle, engulfing most of it completely in flames.
From his position in the snow, Wilt starred blankly at the horrible sight for a few moments, stunned by how close he came to losing his life. No, wait, how close they came to losing their lives. Snapping out of it, he finally took a good look at whose life he had had just saved from a fiery end.
He glanced down and found that he was clutching a little girl, probably no older than three years old. As he looked her over the first thing that stood out immediately was the girl's bright fiery-red hair done up in little pigtails, almost the same shade as his own fur. She was dressed in a shirt, purple skirt, and a tiny hooded green sweater that remained unzipped. However, that did nothing to aid her with the violent chills that now made her body shake. It wasn't exactly the cold that was affecting her. From the way she had gone completely silent since he pulled her out and now darted her eyes about frantically and yet seeing nothing, it was clear to Wilt that she had passed into a state of shock over the sudden turn of events. It didn't even seem like she had noticed the tall, mysterious imaginary friend who held on to her at this very moment.
"Hi." Wilt said softly, hoping not to frighten the stunned little girl. Immediately the frightened little creature looked up at the lanky, furry beast that held her with his one arm. Wilt flashed her in a warm, disarming smile, so as not to scare her.
"You okay?" he asked again in the same gentle tone. Lifting up a badly shaking arm, the little girl pointed dumbly to her forehead. Immediately Wilt noticed the growing stream of blood that dripped from a large cut she had received during the crash.
"Oh no! Oh, wait, sorry! It's okay! It's alright." Wilt continued. "Let me fix that up for you, okay? Um, uh….oh!" With a couple quick movements, Wilt gingerly transferred the silent little girl into his stubby left arm, allowing him to remove the wristband on his right arm with his teeth. Stretching it out a bit, the resourceful imaginary friend placed it around the child's head, making sure it covered up her injury as a makeshift bandage.
"Better now?" he asked calmly. The little girl stared blankly at him for a few moments. Finally however, with a tiny sob, she stretched out her arms and enveloped Wilt in a hug, gripping onto him tightly. As she finally snapped out of her shock and began to bawl loudly into his fur, Wilt embraced her tightly and began to gently cradle her in his arm.
"Shhhh, it's okay. You're all right now." he said gently."It's all over, you don't-"
"Hey! Hey you! Hey!" someone cried frantically from above. Wilt glanced up and noticed someone standing up on the road, silhouetted by the headlights of their nearby parked car.
"HELLLLLOOO!" the person yelled, cupping their hands around their mouth. Are you alright down there?"
Wilt glanced at the little redheaded girl that cried loudly in his arm and smiled weakly up at the mysterious stranger.
"Yeah." He replied. "I think she's going to be okay..."
Anyway, thanks for all your support, everyone! Reviews are very much welcome!