Disclaimer: This story and all of its related ideas, including Molly Gabrielle Stoppable, are mine. KP and all of it's related ideas including, but not limited to, the characters, concepts, artwork, and logos belong to Disney. You know that for a fact because if it were up to us, Season 4 would've started by now.
A/N: Many thanks goes again to Robert, my one and only invisible beta. Great work, Rob! Also, muchas gracias and a grande-sized Chimurrito combo goes to the future reviewers of this story. Thank you in advance.
And now, chapter 2.
October 31st: Take II
by 3VAD127
Part II: Of Blades and Men
Finally, Ron's dad stepped forward. "Son," he said, "Molly's blind."
Ron took a sharp breath. Blind? What a terrible way to go through life; never able to see the kaleidoscopic view of colors that was a rainbow, never having a chance to look at the flowers blooming in spring or the laugher dance in the eyes of your best friend. What a miserable existence.
But Molly had known darkness all her life. To have it stripped away might leave her feeling bare; almost like when he himself had passed out, and his blanket was ebbing away in a flash of light. And besides, her senses of smell, touch, taste, and especially hearing had been amplified because of her blindness. There were ups to this, weren't there?
He sighed sadly and gazed at Molly. Her hazy blue eyes stared off into the distance, and her pudgy hands curled around his red hockey jersey. Her small mouth molded into a crumpled frown, as if she could feel the doubt and despair that lingered in his heart. He gave her a lopsided grin and held her small hand to his cheek.
Another gurgling noise sounded from Molly's throat. Almost like she was trying to piece together letters and sounds into a word to fit what she felt.
Ron gently rubbed her hand over his face, having her touch his nose, hair, and ears. "Ron," he said softly.
"Won." Molly's face crinkled, as if she was trying to think. She pulled away from Ron's hold and gently touched his nose, hair, and ears in the same order. "Won," she repeated.
Ron smiled. "Ron," he said. "Rrrrr."
"Ron. Rrrrr!" She laughed excitedly and clapped her hands. "Ron!" She stuck her hands onto his face again and explored with her fingers. Around his eyes, over his cheeks, around his neck. She even paused briefly when she touched his assortment of freckles. Even though they were only skin blemishes and didn't stick out at all, Ron had a feeling she knew they were there.
Molly giggled, touching his ears and freckles. "Ron." She knew him now; apparently, his ears were his most prominent feature of identification.
Ron blushed a deep red. I hope they don't stick out too much. He sighed, but was suddenly hit by a stroke of genius.
"Ron," he said, running her hands over his face.
"Ron," she repeated obediently.
"Molly." He took her small hand and ran it over her own face. He touched her nose and ears and wispy blonde hair, finally completing the circuit at her lips. "Molly," he repeated.
Molly looked confused, as if she didn't quite know what to do about this new idea.
Ron repeated the process. "Ron," he said, running her small fingers over his face. "Molly." Her own face this time. "Ron. Molly."
All the while, Molly's little face worked up emotions; Ron could see glimpses of her inner battle to understand what was being taught to her.
Ron dropped her hand. Molly tentatively touched Ron's ear. "Ron?" she whispered.
"Ron." A word of encouragement and affirmation.
"Molly." She sounded more confident this time as she touched her own ear.
"Yes!" Ron exclaimed. "Good girl!" He gave her a kiss on the nose.
"Yes!" Molly repeated loudly. She touched her nose. "Molly!" She touched Ron's. "Ron!"
"Yes!" Ron spun her around in a circle, basking in her delighted fits of laughter. He touched her nose.
Mrs. Stoppable finally spoke up. "I-I'm just glad we could give her a good home," she said. "The poor girl—!" Barbara sniffed, then went on, "Her mother died in childbirth, and when her father learned she was blind, he disowned her." Another sniff. "She was first sent to the orphanage in her hometown, but they didn't know what to do with her. She was born in Norway, you know, so she hadn't quite figured out the entire language yet. Her father taught her a little English before he left, but that's about it. They started teaching her in the Norwegian orphanage, but when she didn't respond to letters and numbers, that's when they figured out why her dad had dropped her off on their doorstep."
Norway. Ron shuddered. He didn't know why, but that country always gave him the creeps. Almost like he had been there before, in another dimension, and something terrible had happened...
... he didn't even want to think about it. And poor Molly! To be disowned by your own father simply because you were disabled. That was not fair.
Ah, but life isn't fair, now is it, Ronald? A dark voice echoed through his mind. Consider... oh, I don't know... yours
Ron snorted. Stupid... stupid... doubts. Molly. His sister. Norway. Blind. And nothing, nothing was ever going to change that. Ever. No matter what he thought, he would always love her. It was obligatory on his part.
He stroked her ivory cheek. "Why? Why would someone do something like that?"
Don sighed. "Son, sometimes people don't know how to act around others who are... different than them. They just don't know what to do, so they either ignore them, or they treat them badly. I guess it makes them feel better so they don't have to think about the other's disability."
Mr. Stoppable took Molly from Ron's arms and ran his hand through her soft, whitish hair. "I'm just glad we could provide her with a home."
Ron's thumbs twiddled, not really sure what else to do with them. "Hmm," he said softly.
Molly giggled and ran her hands over Don's face. "R—" she suddenly stopped. Her nose crinkled, and her face looked confused.
"Dad?" Don offered.
"Dad?" she repeated. She gently traced his nose, cheek, and his glasses.
"Dad."
"Dad." She laughed excitedly.
"Wow; she really learns quickly," Ron noted.
Don nodded. "Mm-hmm. She's exceptionally smart for her age."
Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that 'cause she's yours now."
His dad chuckled. "Well, maybe a little." He held her tighter, smoothing Molly's pink shirt. He outlined the small purple heart on her chest, then said, "But seriously, Ronald, she's a brilliant little thing."
Ron grinned. "I know. It must run in the family."
"Good thing, too, because without it, your old man would be lost!"
Ron chuckled. "Ha ha, very funny." He rubbed his eyes; it felt like thousands of little specks of sand had embedded themselves in his eyelids. Is it really that late? He glanced at the clock. One fifteen. He yawned, then ran a hand through his straggly blonde hair.
His mother noted this. "It's getting late, Ronald," she said. "I think you'd better get to bed."
Molly suddenly sighed, then stretched her little arms out in a wide yawn.
"I think we all need to get to bed," Barbara amended.
"Yeah," Ron said tiredly. "Good idea." He hugged his mom and kissed her on the cheek. "'Night, Mom." He ran his finger across Molly's cheek and touched her nose; his signal. That was how Molly knew him. "Good night, Molly," he said softly.
"'Nigh nigh, Won," Molly said with a lisp. She waved at Ron with a closed-fisted hand. She stuck her thumb in her mouth, and her eyelids drooped wearily.
"OK, Baby," Don said softly, "it's time for you to go to bed." He grasped under her lightly and stepped up the stairs to the second floor.
Ron smiled. "That's right, Molly. 'Nigh nigh." He rubbed his eyes once more and followed Mr. Stoppable up the stairs to his room.
When Ron entered his room, Rufus jumped from his shoulder and scampered off across the floor. He snuggled under Ron's bed covers and was asleep in an instant.
Ron yawned. That looks like a great idea, Rufus. He sleepily pulled off his shirt and pants and slipped into a pair of red- and white-plaid pajama bottoms. He sighed, then wearily slapped at the light switch by the door. He had barely crawled into bed beside Rufus before he was out like a light.
Ø
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
It was so simple, yet so complex; the balance of the universe hung on a single strand of thread that was just this: the breath of life.
But there were so many levels to this. It wasn't just breathing; to those who chose to seek, and who looked for the right path to take, one could find a special... something. That "something" not even Monkey Fist knew. All he did know was that it slowed his heart rate and brought him on the path to meditation.
And right now, that's all he wanted.
Lord Montgomery Fiske, a.k.a. Monkey Fist, sat alone in the small passenger bay of his jet. He had ditched the ugly banana-shaped one for a more this-century design with sleek lines and graceful curvatures. It was fast, too. Really fast. Fast enough to get him to Middleton by Halloween night.
He grinned, his yellowish fangs glistening in the dim light of the cabin. Right on time.
Ø
Brrriiiiiiinng!
Middleton High's final school bell ran shrilly against the chilly October air. Masses of students rushed out of the building, bursting through the double doors to their freedom. Most juniors and seniors ran off in their clunky cars to some after-school hangout with their respective clicks, while the freshmen and sophomores loitered in the parking lot, awaiting their ride's arrival. Groups of guys and girls could be seen dotting the parking lot asphalt like flies on a windshield.
Well, at least that's what Ron thought of them. Flies, so blissfully unaware of the surrounding mayhem unfolding right in front of their faces. Free to fly around doing whatever they wished, feasting on excrement, until they die suddenly and pitifully, squashed on the windshield of an eighteen-wheeler.
He shook his head. What was up with him? He normally didn't think like this! People couldn't be compared to flies! They had worth, just like he did. So, what happened to his usually-optimistic outlook?
He sniffed the air. It smelled of sulfur and just a hint of mold. He crinkled his nose. Nasty. And it was usually so pleasant this time of year! The air filled with the crisp scent of fall, the multicolored leaves silently drooping from their holds on the branches, then suddenly floating down to the soft, browning grass beneath. Kids chattering of fall break, and teachers lounging around school like the king of the world.
But no. Rotten eggs and, well, whatever mold smelled like.
Rufus poked his head from Ron's khaki pants pocket, his whiskers swishing back and forth in rhythm with Ron's steady walking. He, too, sniffed the air, then pinched his nose shut as if smelling something spoiled. "Bleck!"
Kim Possible walked beside him, her soft hand wrapped in his. She had kept silent ever since they had left the building; she knew sometimes Ron just wanted time to think.
But now she decided to speak up.
"What's up, Ron?" she asked. "You seem a little... off." Her auburn hair blended perfectly with her forest green sweater and cream-colored scarf and hat. She gazed at him with her round emerald eyes.
Ron sighed, tugging at his own sweater—maroon. Kim had insisted. "I honestly don't know, KP," he said. "It just... feels funny, you know? Like there's something in the air."
Kim sniffed. "I don't smell anything."
"Well, I did. And it smells like trouble." Rufus scampered up to Ron's right shoulder where he could be seen by both of the teens. He eagerly nodded his agreement.
Kim sighed, shifting the weight of her backpack so she could scratch Rufus's head. He arched his back like a cat and sighed contentedly.
"Or maybe I'm going crazy." Ron suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked around the parking lot suspiciously.
Kim laughed. "I think you are crazy."
"Oh, I already knew that," Ron said. "But to prove that, you can just call me... Captain Jardinière!"
Kim snorted. "Oh?"
"Yes, in fact!" Ron puffed out his chest.
Kim placed her hand on her mouth, desperately trying to hold back laughter.
Ron, unfortunately, noticed; his balloon of confidence deflated as suddenly as it had gained. "What? What's so funny? Jardinière means crazy or mentally ill, right? Right?"
Kim let out a loud laugh, unable to hold much back anymore. She let go of his hand and walked to his scooter, which was a few paces away. She giggled, then turned around and said, "Sure thing, Captain Flowerpot. Whatever you say!" She laughed again, flipping her red hair aside to make way for her helmet. Rufus followed after her, putting on his own mole rat-sized helmet and hopping into the Fearless Ferret basket attached to the front.
Ron's face burned. I should've paid more attention in English class today. He sighed, scuffled to his blue scooter and revved it up, taking off in the direction of Kim's house.
Ø
Ron pulled up to the Possible homestead in record time. He parked on the curb, setting his helmet on the seat and placing Rufus on his shoulder. Kim did the same, capturing his hand in hers and strolling up the front walk. He followed her obediently.
The redhead turned the knob and walked in; her parents were home.
"Kimmie-cub!" Mr. Dr. Possible's voice rose from the kitchen. "How was school?"
"Fine, Dad," she said, releasing Ron's hand and grabbing an apple from a basket on the counter. She took a bite of the green fruit, then said, "Ron and I just have a lot of preparing to do tonight before trick-or-treating."
Ron nodded. "Yeah," he said. "And I need to pick up Molly from home; I promised Mom and Dad I'd take care of her tonight." He had told Kim earlier that day about Molly, and she had been excited to see the new addition to the family; albeit a little surprised (then angry) that Ron's parents adopted without telling him first. He insisted it was OK and she was overreacting. She calmed down, but still fumed a little over the prospect.
The Drs. Possible, however, didn't know. James lowered the Examiner from his vigilant gaze and fixed his stare on Ron, who had seated himself at the kitchen table. "Oh?" he said with a cocked eyebrow.
Ron nodded, his mouth full of a peach he had snagged from the fruit basket. He swallowed, then said, "Yeah. Mom and Dad adopted a new little girl. They always wanted another kid, and she's had a really bad family life, so it's our chance to do something good for her. At least," he took another bite, "that's what Dad said." Peach juice streamed down the sides of his mouth. He swiped it away with the back of his hand.
Another cocked eyebrow from Mr. Possible. He raised his newspaper again, shielding his facial expressions from the teens.
"Well," he said, his voice muffled behind the Examiner, "I hope they're happy."
"Oh, they are," Ron assured him. But you're not, are you? Curse that voice. Die. Die and burn in... well, whatever. Molly was happy, Mom and Dad were happy, and that's all that mattered.
He took another bite of the sweet fruit in his hand. Imported straight from Georgia; the best kind. It was juicy and sweet, yet it had a little twang at the end that ran down his throat in warm torrents of flavor. It was good. He swallowed, savoring the delicious aftertaste. Not an ounce of sugar added. Now that was amazing.
He turned the peach over in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the thin fuzz that covered the fruit. Why couldn't life be like a peach? Soft and gentle on the outside, sweet and tangy on the inside.
Ron sighed. Only in an ideal world. This most definitely wasn't one of those.
"Hey, Captain Flowerpot," Kim sang. Her voice tinkled across the air like a thousand tiny wind chimes, only adding to Ron's fruit-induced stupor.
"Hmm?" He mumbled uncomprehendingly.
"We need to get ready."
"For what?" He still stared at the peach in his hand.
"Uh, Halloween?" Kim was a bit concerned.
"That's nice." What a lovely peach.
Kim folded her arms. "Ron, the neighbors called our house today. They claimed they saw a giant, fire-breathing beaver rampaging our home and eating our supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."
"Great; that's exactly what I would have said."
Kim shook her head. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with icy-cold water, and dumped it on Ron's head. He yelped, accidentally dropping his peach onto the floor.
"Gah! What was that for?" He shook out his hands, flinging drops of water over the Examiner, Kim's dad, and the table. Never once did Mr. Possible flinch. Not even when Kim said their supply of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches was gone.
"For not paying attention."
Ron spied his beloved fruit lying on the floor. He gasped. "My peach!" He scrambled for the fruit, taking it gently in his hands and picking the solitary strands of dust off of its half-eaten flesh. He sat down on the chair, fully engaged in his peach.
Kim sighed. "You're doing it again!"
And again, Ron did nothing but slave away at getting his wonderful peach spot-free and fit to eat.
Kim leaned against the counter, watching him. Apparently, the peach was OK now, as Ron took a bite of it promptly. The look of utter delight on his face was priceless.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. Ron finally finished off the peach, holding the grooved seed in his hand. He looked at it forlornly, as if he believed it would come back if he stared at it enough.
When it didn't, he glanced at Kim, then the seed, then at Kim again. The redhead walked up to Ron and placed a hand on his shoulder. She may have thought he was crazy, but that didn't mean she didn't support him.
Ron looked at Kim, his big brown orbs drilling into her. He held the seed between two cupped hands, as if he held a treasure far greater than gold or silver. His fingers gently caressed its bumpy sides.
"It looks like a brain," he said.
Kim slapped her forehead. Yup; that's Ron for ya.
"How... prophetic, Ron," she said gently. "Now come on." She eased him out of the kitchen chair and plucked the peach seed from his grasp.
Ron gasped. "Hey!" he said. "My peach!"
Kim led him to the backyard. "Here," she said, making a hole in the middle of the yard with her hands. She pulled up the roots of the grass, placing the seed in the hole. Ron looked on intently like a preschooler on their first field trip.
Kim covered the hole with a mound of dirt and grass. "Now when spring comes," she said, "we'll have a nice, big peach tree. And you can come over and eat peaches whenever you want!"
"Yeah!" Ron jumped up and thrust a fist in the air.
"Yeah!" Rufus echoed. He had left for a brief period during the "Great Peach Debate," but had soon returned when he sensed the teens leaving for the yard. He scampered up Ron's arm and plopped on his shoulder.
"That's awesome!" Ron continued. "Just think, Rufus! Peaches whenever we want!" He let out a whoop and ran around the Possible yard like a madman, his mole rat clinging to his maroon sweater for dear life.
Kim giggled behind her hand. Just like a kid.
Ø
Later that night, Kim and Ron had gotten into their respective costumes. Ron toted Molly behind him, holding her hand and leading her in the right direction. She followed him obediently, as if she knew he wouldn't lead her astray. Kim and Molly had met, and Kim told her her name and let Molly feel her face. The toddler had giggled and clapped her hands excitedly, much like she did with Ron.
And tonight, all she did was giggle. Molly was dressed as a princess, her sparkly blue gown setting off her sapphire eyes. Her wisps of blonde curls were subdued under a plastic rhinestone tiara, and on her feet were little purple slippers with fluffs of white on the tops. She bounced around as if she could sense the excitement and electricity in the air.
The trio had already hit Middleton and Upperton and were on their way to Lowerton. Molly had charmed every house they had been to, and so excessive candy had been given to them. Not that they were complaining, of course. Crunchie Bars, Snicker-Squigglies, Sugar Puppies, and Whistle Pops overflowed Kim's, Ron's, and Molly's baskets. The plastic jack-o-lanterns were full to the brim with sugary goodness.
But, of course, there was always trading to be done.
Ron tipped his cowboy hat at a kid dressed as a washing machine. "Hey, kid," he said, "whatchoo got?"
The ten-year-old and his posse of household appliances approached Ron cautiously. The kid peered into his own jack-o-lantern, then said, "I've got Peachie-O's, Caramel-Peanut Bars, and Chewy Nougat Galore. That I'm willing to trade, of course." He glanced at Ron. "What do you got, Cowboy?"
"Hmm..." Ron scratched his chin as if deciphering the most important decision in his life. "I'll trade you... five Whistle Pops for a bag of Peachie-O's."
"You shoot high, Pard," the boy said mock-Western style. "How 'bout you give me four Whistle Pops—" he and his friends whispered to one another, each one nodding their agreement, "—and a Sugar Puppy for each one of my pals." Washing Machine Boy crossed his arms; Toaster, Blender, and Dryer did the same.
"You've got yourself a mighty handsome trade," Ron said. He shook the boy's hand enthusiastically and handed him the candy booty. He eagerly grabbed the bag of Peachie-O's from the boy's hand.
Kim and Molly had stood to the side as Kim gazed, intrigued, at the exchange going on between Ron and Washer Boy.
The blonde cowboy returned triumphantly like he had just won a great battle. He pulled open the bag and popped a donut-shaped ring into his mouth. It was peach-flavored, orange and pink, and was covered with sugar.
"Want one?" Ron said, his mouth full of the gel-like O. He extended his bag of fruity goodness towards Kim.
"Uh, thanks, but no thanks, Ron," she said. "I've got plenty."
Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself." Another Peachie-O plunged to the depths of a black hole—Ron's stomach. "More for me."
Molly scrunched up her face and let out a soft whine. She suddenly dropped Kim's hand and ran for Ron. She tilted unsteadily as she bolted across the short amount of pavement to her big brother.
Ron dropped the bag of O's in surprise and grabbed up Molly before she could fall. He set his and Molly's buckets of candy down on the street. A single, stray tear had inched its way out of the corner of Molly's eye.
"What's the matter, Molly?" Ron asked. He gently traced her cheek and put his finger on her nose. She grabbed it and held it to her chest.
Don't ever leave me, Ron.
Never. A reassuring hug and kiss.
Molly's face gently subsided into a soft smile. She was OK now; he was here. He was her guardian angel.
Ron dropped the toddler to the ground and set the plastic bucket of candy into her hands. She smiled again and eagerly toddled off in the direction of the sidewalk. A few trees stood in a small grass strip between the asphalt and the sidewalk.
"Be careful, Molly!" Ron called. "Don't go too far."
Kim smiled affectionately at her BF. "Nice moves, Ron," she said.
Ron looked confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean with Molly. She practically idolizes you! You say her name, and she flips out."
Ron cocked a smile. "Well, I wouldn't say idolizes..."
Kim snorted. "I would." She rested her head on his leather-clad shoulder. His leather vest covered a checkered shirt, and cowhide chaps and jeans adorned his legs. A pair of authentic cowboy boots, and gun holsters complete with fake pistols completed the ensemble.
That really is a cool costume, Kim thought.
Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the clear night. Kim jerked her head around, startled. Someone was in trouble. She needed to help. The bold redhead tried to move off in the direction of the scream, but a hand on her shoulder held her back.
Ron held Kim's shoulder, his features twisted into an emotion she'd never seen before. Kim gasped. The look on his face said it all.
Molly.
Ø
Monkey Fist and his legion of monkey minions hopped down the streets of Lowerton, weaving from child to child. The best thing about being a monkey man on Halloween is that everyone thought you were just a really big kid in a really freaky costume. Yay; more advantage for him.
When the kid-packed streets had become too much to handle, he resorted to using back alleys and jumping from shadow to shadow. He worked his way through the maze of streets and side roads, using only his instincts. He avoided the water collecting in small puddles on the ground and leaking from the eaves of the houses, dodging the dripping menaces like a professional paintballer.
And finally, after what seemed like forever, his finely-tuned hearing could pick up faint traces of the cheerleader's voice. And where the cheerleader was, so was Stoppable. He picked up the pace, not bothering to look back to see if his minions were keeping up. He swung from drainpipes and jumped off of trashcans and boxes piled in the alleys.
So captured was his attention that he failed to notice a small toddler with blue eyes and purple shoes making her way towards the sidewalk where he now stood. She tripped on the cement curb, but caught herself on the soft grass. She awkwardly stepped over the curb and brushed off her hands, relieving them of grass. The toddler stopped.
Monkey Fist took notice. Now, what do we have here? He gazed at the small child; one of thousands dressed up on this very night. It could be anyone...
He hunched over and stared into her non-blinking eyes. The hairy Englishman squinted. He didn't know what, but somehow, this girl seemed familiar...
"Be careful, Molly!" Stoppable's voice. "Don't go too far." It was obvious he was talking about the blonde-haired little girl in front of him.
Slowly, a wicked grin spread across Monte Fiske's features. How convenient.
Ø
Ron and Kim bolted to where they had heard the scream come from. Ron led the way, jumping over the curb and running swiftly down a dark alley filled with musty boxes and old crates. Kim followed closely behind him.
Ron suddenly slid to a stop, his cowboy boots spraying water across the cement, eyes wide with fear. Kim froze, noticing a hunched figure emerge from the back alley. She instinctively clenched her fists.
Monkey Fist, Kim thought bitterly. Figures.
The monkey man held the child with his left hand, his right helping him along the ground. Molly didn't struggle or cry, but her eyes were filled with terror. She whimpered softly, tugging on the villain's arm. He squeezed her tighter, and she let out a soft wail. Tears welled in her eyes.
Ron's hand clenched in anger. "What do you think you're doing, Monkey Butt?" he spat.
Monkey Fist gave a malicious chuckle. "I'd be careful if I were you, Stoppable," he said. "We wouldn't want this—" he gestured to Molly, "—little angel to, ahem, come across foul play."
"Are you blackmailing me?" Ron's voice shook.
A sickening grin twisted across the Englishman's face. "Maybe."
Ron narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?" He clenched his fists, and Kim swore she saw a sliver of blue electricity dance across his knuckles.
Monkey Fist held up his right hand. "What do you think I want?"
"The Lotus Blade."
Monkey Fist nodded. "Yes. You're getting pretty good at this."
"Maybe I wouldn't if you actually got the Lotus Blade and kept it for once."
Fist growled. "I suggest you keep your comments to yourself," he snarled. "No good will come of it."
Ron eyed the monkey ninjas. He could take 'em. Save the Blade and Molly. It was a win/win situation. He gave a confident smirk and charged, his hands stretched outward in a palm strike.
The monkeys scattered, but Ron managed to catch one on his palm. The simian's jaw folded with a resounding crunch, and he flew into the wall, taking out another comrade. Both were out.
Ron spun around, catching a ninja in the solar plexus with his heel. He spun into a sweep kick and knocked more monkeys off their feet. He jumped into a backflip, lashing out with his feet into a scissor kick ending in a roundhouse. More monkeys were down.
Ron backed up, surveying his situation. More simian ninjas clad in black swept his way. Like a swarm of flies.
"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Stoppable," Monkey Fist said threateningly. "That move will cost you." He reached for Molly, and she let out a scream. She thrashed against his arm, kicking and biting.
Kim gasped and jumped back into the shadows of the overhanging roofs. She sneaked around to the back of Monkey Fist and lashed out with a well-placed kick to the head. Fiske gave a small gasp, then fell face forwards on the hard pavement. His grip loosened on Molly, and she ran from the unconscious body to Kim. Kim moved to intercept the toddler, catching her in a tight hug. She stroked Molly's blonde hair just below her tiara. Kim held her above her own pink poof—the tutu. She bounced Molly on her hip as the youngster clung tightly to Kim's pink leotard. Molly could tell Ron was in trouble as small, salty tears ran down her ivory cheeks. She buried her head in Kim's shoulder, wetting Kim's outfit.
The teen patted Molly's back. "It's OK, Molly," she whispered, "it's OK. Ron will be all right." She gazed at her BF, busily engaged in battle with the hoards of monkey ninjas. She caught her breath. It wouldn't take much for her to help him...
... no. This was his battle. Right now, it was her duty to take care of Molly. Kim gave one last look at Ron before she scampered off down the dark alley, dodging the translucent puddles of water at her feet.
Ø
Kim walked slowly to where she and Ron had left their candy buckets. She picked up Molly's and handed it to her. They had enough candy for one night, and with the dark cloud of despair hovering over their heads, the night seemed to have lost its luster. The one-year-old sniffed and wiped away a small tear, then gripped the jack-o-lantern with both hands. Kim lowered Molly to the ground and got down on her knees. She looked into the toddler's bright blue eyes, then said, "I-I know you're scared, Molly. I am, too. But Ron's going to be OK; he's fought these guys before. He always wins." Kim hugged her tightly. "Always." She whispered the last word, more for her own self-assurance than Molly's.
She wiped a tear away. Wasn't Halloween supposed to be a night of fun? Of dressing up in absurd costumes and hanging out with your best friend, getting candy from complete strangers? OK, maybe not that last part, but it certainly was supposed to be fun. But not anymore. Not without Ron.
Another tear. They flowed freely now, and she let them. Molly held tightly to Kim's hand, not wanting to ever let go.
He would be OK. Kim had said so. Kim was good; Ron liked Kim. If Ron liked Kim, she must be good because Ron was good. It was the way things worked. If Ron didn't like something, it was automatically dubbed evil in her one-year-old mind.
Molly turned her head to the side. Her world may have been dark, but her ears were full of sounds that filled her brain with colorful pictures and wonderful scenes. But right now, she heard the soft sniff of Kim's crying. Crying was bad; Ron didn't like it at all. She had to make Kim stop.
The quiet sobs painted a bleak picture of terror and sadness. Even though it wasn't raining, Molly could almost feel precipitation falling on their little group. It was as if the world had gotten a dark blanket thrown over the sun. She had never seen the sun, but she had felt it. It was warm and inviting; tonight was mournful and dreary. Tonight was not good; Ron would not be pleased.
"I-I don't even know why I'm all... messed up like this," Kim sniffed. "H-he's been on missions before; he can handle himself. I know it. Bu-but Molly—" Kim took a haggard breath, "—there were so many!" Another soft shudder.
Molly wrapped her pudgy arms around Kim's legs, still holding onto her plastic jack-o-lantern. Kim smiled and bent down, giving her an adequate chest-to-chest hug. "I know it, Molly," Kim whispered. "He'll come back."
Kim and Molly stood in the dark street of Lowerton, holding each other.
Ø
Kim couldn't guess how long she had stood there. Her legs cramped, her back hurt, and her eyes were red with crying. But none of that mattered. Ron still hadn't come back.
She was leaning against a tree, Molly right beside her, when she thought she spotted a movement out of the corner of her eye. Could...?
No. It was her imagination. She settled back against the tree and held her candy bucket tightly to her chest, her legs folded beneath her. Ron was OK. Of course he was. He was good like that.
Another movement. This time, the silhouette jumped from shadow to shadow. Kim stood up, frightened by the movement. She slid into a fighting stance and held her ground.
"Come out and fight like a man!" she shouted to the silhouette. The slouched posture and easygoing gait were familiar to her. Too familiar...
She cocked an eyebrow. "Show yourself," she said, a little more quietly this time.
The shadow held up its hands and moved from the darkened alley into the moonlit sidewalk. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Splotched assortment of freckles.
Kim gasped. Ron! "Ron!" she squealed, running to him. He caught her in his arms, holding her tightly. "You made it."
"Of course," he whispered, voice hoarse. He was covered in cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. "I'll always make it. For you," he said, kissing her hair.
"Ron!" A familiar voice pierced through the night air. Molly came running towards him, arms outstretched. Ron let go of Kim to receive her in his embrace.
"Hey, Molly!" he said. "How are you?"
The little girl bobbed her head, too excited to speak.
"Ron," Kim said softly. He looked at her, still holding Molly. "How... how did you get away?"
Ron shrugged. "I dunno. It wasn't me. It was like it was someone else, working through me. You saw how many ninja were out there." He shuddered. "I couldn't have done it on my own." Another shrug. "I'm just lucky, I guess."
Kim smiled. "I guess." She joined him and Molly in the hug. "Then I must be pretty lucky, too, to have a boyfriend as totally badical as you."
Ron blushed. "Well..."
Molly nodded. "Yes!"
Kim winked at Ron. "And she's pretty lucky to have an awesome big brother."
"I couldn't do it without you, KP."
Kim gave a soft smile. He was always so humble.
"Hey, look!" Ron exclaimed. The dark clouds that had haunted the night moved away, displaying a breathtaking view. A thousand diamonds spread across a velvety-soft night sky, each pinpoint of light clearer and starker than any he had seen before. It's beautiful.
Kim nodded her agreement. Yes; beautiful.
And nothing, not even rampaging, fire-breathing beavers that stole peanut butter and jelly sandwiches could ruin that moment.
A/N: Phew! Finally done. I hope you guys liked this story. It took me a while to complete, so it'd better! LOL, just kidding.
But seriously, a review would be kindly appreciated. Thanks for reading, and look out for more stories from my "Take II" series. Happy Halloween!
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