Chapter 2.4a
September 19th 1990
2:26am
Stirring, slowly rolling over and allowing her eyes to flicker open, Tiffany took in her surroundings. Moonlight cascading in through the open curtains and covering the far wall of the room in a rich glow. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, remember where she was, but seconds were all it took, the memories racing back. The events of the past twenty four hours passing as a blur, only now becoming clear as she let her mind wander, the cogs whirring as she began to think. Slowly, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the plaster badly damaged as her eyes followed a lone crack, running from one corner and along the heavy uneven finish, finally ending as it reached the centre of the room before disappearing abruptly behind the filthy light fitting suspended high above the vast space beneath. As she lay and focused on the light, she noticed something in the distance. A noise, from inside the apartment? Yes. It had to be. A groaning noise, creeping through the darkness, snaking down the hall and slithering between the narrow gaps in the doorway, just audible as it floated into the room and crackled around the four small walls. Digging her elbows into the soft mattress, Tiffany pushed herself up and cocked her head to one side. What was it? Was it Gabriella? Then a thought slammed home, panic filling her as the answer hit home like a ton of bricks. Johnny, the guy from earlier in the evening. Gabriella hadn't said too much about him, but from what Tiffany witnessed, he was her pimp alright. The last time they had seen Johnny though, he'd been limping towards East Garfield Boulevard, blood streaming from the knife wound in the back of his leg. Make no mistake, if this was Johnny, then shit was about to well and truly hit the fan and Tiffany knew it. Sitting bolt upright and swinging her legs over the side of the surprisingly comfortable bed, Tiffany stood and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, slipping her arms down the sleeves as she pulled the fur lined leather up her back and, using her foot, felt in the darkness, finding and sliding her panties across the stained carpet and towards her. Pulling them up, the thin material not offering the best of coverage but doing the job as best they could, Tiffany slowly and silently crept towards the door, tip toeing as she grabbed the handle and slowly twisted, pulling the door towards her. As it opened, the dim light from the semi open door down the hall calmly worked its way towards her room and covered her in a faint orange glow. Looking over her shoulder, back into the room and spying the rest of her clothes, Tiffany briefly considered getting dressed and making a run for it, quickly thinking better of it and stepping into the hall and taking small steps towards the door up ahead. The groans began to get louder as she approached the flickering light, the tense atmosphere dissipating as the pleasure hidden within washed over Tiffany and instantly set her mind at ease, the weight lifting from her shoulders at once as she slowly and silently glided towards the dimly lit room, allowing her eyes to peer through the crack between the door and the frame. The scene that greeted her filled her with an energy she had longed for since the night Chucky had died, as Gabriella threw her head back and groaned once more, louder, deeper as she straddled the man beneath her, wrapping her legs around his naked waist as he sat upon the edge of the bed and flung his arms around her, clawing at the skin of her back as he sank his finger nails in and gasped in delirious glee. The room danced in the shadows as the candles littered across every available surface flickered manically, casting the room into an eternal glow of tranquillity as the couple kissed and romped on the edge of the bed. Clothes were strewn across the floor as were various sex toys and lubricants, two sets of handcuffs, a vibrator and the largest bottle of vodka Tiffany had ever seen taking pride of place on the small, bedside table as the groans grew louder, Gabriella lowering her head as she rapidly thrust her pelvis into the man's groin and allowed her lips to take on a snarling look, leaning in and grabbing his chin with her free hand, kissing him passionately as he grabbed her neck from behind and held her there. If there was one thing Tiffany found alarming, it was the fact that the 'client' of Gabriella's didn't look like your average, seedy, sex crazed maniac. He looked professional, smart, the kind of guy that wouldn't give you the steam from his piss if you approached him in the street. But now, seeing him coiling himself around Gabriella as their hands met and he flipped her all at once onto her back, Tiffany felt ever so slightly turned on. It had been a long time since Chucky and, well... It wasn't for lack of offers, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not with things as they were. Finding her attention drawn, for a second, away from the events unfolding in the next room, Tiffany edged closer still, pressing her cheek up against the gap in the door and drinking in the view. As Gabriella laid on her back, legs open with only the tiniest of thongs to preserve what modesty remained, she reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the vodka, taking a huge mouthful before sitting up, her lover now knelt in front of her, hands on his waist as he waited, the anticipation most probably killing him as Garbiella now crawled across the bed on all fours. Swallowing the mouthful of vodka, she shook her head as her long dark hair coming to a rest along her shoulders and down her back, flashing a smile reserved for only the craziest of nights as she lifted the bottle once more and took yet another mouthful, holding the alcohol in her mouth as she placed the bottle on the floor beside the bed, turning quickly back to her man and grabbing his now erect penis, slowly and erotically sliding her lips over the end and down the shaft, the mouthful of vodka adding extra sensation as the man removed his glasses and threw them to the floor, lifting his hands to support the back of his head as he groaned. Slowly at first, Gabriella worked her lips along his length, her hand springing up and beginning to gently massage the base and up towards the tip as she very slowly worked her head back and forth, quickly... Slowly. Gently... Roughly. Tiffany found herself unable to see the wide grin crossing the guys face as he too rocked back and forth on his knees as Gabriella sucked and played, her eyes never once leaving his face as he allowed a hand to drop, running his fingers through her hair before she very carefully allowed her lips to slide free, kneeling up and opening her mouth to reveal the vodka, not a drop spilt. Her hand still playing rigorously with his erection, she leaned in and pulled him close, their tongues entwining once more as they kissed deep and long, the taste of the alcohol at first taking her 'client' by surprise as he gradually settled into it and pushed back, his hands now dropping to Gabriella's waist as one very tenderly started to play with her clitoris, the other coming from behind and landing with a satisfying smack on her ass. Unable to stand it a second longer, Gabriella threw herself forward and manoeuvred him inside her once more, one leg at a time flung around his waist as she felt him penetrate her, the muscles inside contracting with every pulse, her bare breasts pressed firm up against his well toned chest as their lips wrote an enchanting story of animal lust. Wrapping his arms around her, the man suddenly threw her to the bed, Gabriella landing on her back, legs open, as the man reached down the side of the bed and grabbed the vodka, bringing it up to shoulder height and playfully tilting it above her face, Gabriella now licking her lips as she squirmed around the bed, her breast bouncing with every movement, hands playing feverishly, one with herself, the other with her man. Tiffany had never seen such a beautiful body on a woman, but Gabriella really was working it for this guy, if it was all an act then she deserved an Oscar, at the very least a Golden Globe. Leaning over her, his thick head of mousey hair almost obscuring his vision as the sweat formed on his brow, the guy started to pour the vodka over Gabriella's face, her moans of delight increasing in volume as her tongue licked violently, the man beginning to laugh slightly as he did, proceeding to do so until the bottle eventually ran empty, the bedding beneath them now sodden as he threw the bottle to the floor and lowered himself atop her once more, flicking the thin material of her underwear to one side as he slowly entered her for the third time, gasps heard from Gabriella as she felt him swell inside her once more. All Tiffany could see now was the stranger's backside moving slowly up and down, Gabriella's calf muscles standing to attention as they folded around his waistline and gripped him tight, the rhythm picking up as he went deeper with every thrust, the screams picking up also as they both began to make more and more noise. By the looks of it, this was the business end of the 'meeting' and to tell the truth, Tiffany was kind of disappointed. The ecstasy escaping the confines of the poorly decorated room as both Gabriella and her man allowed themselves to be caught in the throes of passion served only to remind her what she'd been missing these last couple of years as she found herself unable to look away, Gabriella now held down by the wrists as the man groaned louder, longer, lifting his head as he finally spoke.
"JESUS I'M GONNA CUM!" He groaned through gritted teeth as he threw his head back and worked harder, faster, releasing one of Gabriella's wrists as he instantly reached down and started playing with her, all the while thrusting deeper every time.
"GO FOR IT BABY!" Gabriella replied as she closed her eyes and dug the back of her head into the pillows beneath.
The screams emanating from the bedroom had become unbearable now, the sheer volume enough to cause discomfort for Tiffany as she stood on her tip toes, trying anything to get a better view as the pair embraced with a kiss once more, the mystery man leaning in, their bodies meeting, the act of love taking over as the sweat ran across their bodies and they climaxed, their lips locked together and creating a muffled cry of pleasure as they both ejaculated before finally grounding to a halt, Gabriella's partner flopping to her side, his back tensing as he flinched at the touch of the cold, vodka laden sheets.
Without saying another word, the mystery man sat upright, the sweat dripping from his face as he threw his legs over the side of the bed frame and immediately stood, grabbing his various garments of clothing from the floor around him. Still panting, her lip trembling still from the waves of pleasure, Gabriella sat up and pulled the damp sheets around her body, holding them there as she spoke.
"Don't tell me you have to go now!?" She seemed disappointed, the undercurrent of displeasure leaping from her lips.
"Gabriella." The man turned as he pulled the crisp white shirt over his back and started buttoning up, his face lifting to give her his full attention. "You know the score. I can't be late, not again."
"You're not going to tell her then?" Gabriella frowned as she sank back against the headboard.
"It's..." He paused, his shirt fully buttoned as he leant forward and pulled up his pants, hooking the clasp and fastening the belt around his waist. He held his hand out in a calming motion and continued. "You know how it is. It's not the right time. Besides which, we've only known each other what? Two weeks?"
"Two weeks tomorrow baby." Gabriella smirked as she ran her eyes over his body, examining every inch as he pulled on his suit jacket and searched the floor of the filthy bedroom for his spectacles.
"Exactly, only two weeks." He replied as he fished a fistful of crumpled notes from his jacket pocket. "Eight years of marriage is a hell of a lot to throw away over two weeks of..."
"OF what?" Gabriella interrupted. "Fun? Sex? Lust? Happiness? I can make you happy Max. It might only be two weeks to you, but it's been the best two weeks of my life."
Stepping toward the bed and leaning over, the handful of money held towards Gabriella, he looked into her eyes and kissed her as she sulked.
"If it's been so good you'll not be wanting this then am I right?"
Instantly, Gabriella's hand shot out, grabbing the money and yanking it, the wads of cash still gripped firmly in his hand as he refused to let go.
"Give it time." Max whispered as he slowly released his grip, his lips landing on hers as they kissed once more, Gabriella flashing her smile as they parted, Max standing upright and turning to leave the room.
"What about..." Gabriella called after him, her voice causing him to pause and turn towards her. "You know..."
"God dammit." He hissed through clenched teeth, turning back and digging his hands into the other pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a small plastic bag, the brown powder resting inside making Gabriella's eyes dilate in delight. Shaking his head, he tossed the small see through bag onto the bed, Gabriella diving after it, sitting upright once more as she ran her eyes over the contents, turning to her side and opening the top drawer of her bedside table. Tiffany was amazed at the various equipment on display, rubber tubing, needles, syringes, lighters, spoons stained a disgusting shade of brown. Without hesitating, Gabriella opened the bag and poured some of the contents onto the metal spoon now sat in her hand, dropping the bag before reaching under the bed and pulling a bottle of water from nowhere.
"Jesus, do you have to do that now?" Max seemed disgusted. "Can't even wait till I'm gone?"
"You can make your own way out yeah?" Gabriella spoke, autopilot kicking in as she refused to even acknowledge her lover from just minutes before.
Without saying a word he spun on the spot, made for the door, Tiffany noticing and stepping back quickly, quietly as she once more pulled her leather jacket around her naked body, the darkness of the shadows obscuring her from sight. As Max emerged from the room he stopped, pausing to turn back to Gabriella and shake his head in disbelief before pushing the door a little further to and making his way down the corridor, straight past Tiffany and towards the front door of the apartment, stopping to slip on his shoes before pulling open the door and stepping out into the cold, dark early morning moonlight of Washington Park. Hearing the door click behind him, Tiffany gingerly stepped forward from the shadows and crept to the crack in the door frame once more, the view greeting her differing slightly now as Gabriella sat in a frenzy, the lighter held under the spoon, the water mixed with the brown powder Tiffany had already correctly guessed to be heroin bubbling in the dirty cutlery as Gabriella quickly extinguished the flame and threw the lighter to the floor. Snatching a syringe and a cotton ball from the drawer of her bedside table, she now set to work, using the cotton ball as filter as she sucked the now dissolved mixture into the syringe and attached the needle, flicking it slightly with her finger nail and depressing the plunger a tiny amount, the mixture ejected from the end of the needle satisfying Gabriella immensely as she placed the syringe on the dirty bed sheets and tied the rubber tubing just above the elbow of her left arm, pulling tightly and gripping the tubing between her teeth as she held the arm out straight, smacking the surface of the skin until a sufficient vein revealed itself. Within thirty seconds she had what she wanted and reached over for the syringe, delicately sliding the point of the needle into the skin and depressing the plunger. Tiffany knew what was coming. She'd seen it before, experience getting the better of her as she started to count quietly.
'1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9...'
And she was gone, Gabriella's body flopping backwards as her eyes rolled up into her skull, her arms crashing to her sides, one over the edge of the bed, the needle still protruding deep from within her vein as her body went limp, the momentum of the arm moving causing the syringe to fall free, a slight rattle as the apparatus rolled across the filthy floor and under the bed, Gabriella now sat in the soft flicker of the room full of candles as Tiffany pulled open the door and got the best view she'd had all night, the words of Officer Harry Marsh echoing around her head.
'Not just a hooker. An addict!'
Tiffany turned to leave, closing the door to as she did so, but not without casting one more glance of Gabriella's comatose body and smiling broadly.
'Sort her out a fix and she'll get this guy to you'
7:45am
Pushing open the heavy double doors, the bright blue paint reflecting in the large, double glazed windows of the building with a nauseating effect, the two men laughed and exchanged pleasantries as they entered the locker room. Crossing the empty space, the two men opened their respective lockers, withdrawing their blue smocks and sliding them on before quickly placing their personal possessions within the lockers and slamming the door closed with a thud and a click, the locks inside each door activating as the men twisted their keys and returned them to their pockets. Standing at 6' 3", James turned and spoke to his colleague, his lips curling into a smile as he relayed his tale from the night previous.
"So then Bush decided he wasn't bowling for shit and took his sorry ass home." James laughed. "Best thing in the end, I figure McGuire would've tore him a new ass hole if he'd carried on running his mouth like that."
"Jesus." Don replied as he buttoned his smock, his head flicking up as he cast his glance towards his friend. "Tell me again, why does the interesting shit happen when I'm not there?"
"I dunno man, but you have to make it next week." James crossed the room and pulled open the next set of double doors, the corridor on the other side stretching on forever, the walls littered with pictures of toys. Good Guy dolls in various trademark attire, fire engines, police uniforms, dolls houses.
"Yeah?" Don asked, passing through the door as James held it open, finally finishing the buttons of his work clothes and placing one hand in his pocket, the other shooting to his face and pushing his large round glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. "And why might that be?" He asked James, his shadow up ahead almost blocking out the light.
"Well you didn't hear this." James turned his head, his whole body in fact as he walked. "But from what I understand, Gary's got a stripper booked for Mike's fortieth down at the bar."
"No shit." Don exclaimed, his smaller, wiry figure following on behind, his face cracking into a grin as he spoke. "Mikey's turning forty huh?"
"Yep." James turned to face forward once more, another set of doors up ahead easily cast aside as he threw them open, the huge open floor of the Play Pals factory suddenly sparking into life as the two men stepped through and into the noisy environment.
Stopping, the two men turned their heads, taking in their surroundings, as though for the very first time, the twenty two years of joint service saying otherwise. In the distance conveyor belts moved noisily along, machinery whirred overhead as probes dropped from above and stitched the red hair onto the dolls heads. The construction chamber sitting atop a set of rollers was hard at work, never relenting as the dolls approached, held firm by their heavy wooden bases. Once inside, the arms automatically retrieved arms and legs, plunging them into the chamber and affixing them to the, until recent, blank torsos. Further down the line were another set of rollers, leading down into a separate department where the final line f production carefully dressed each doll and inserted the voice cassettes, giving them a quick test before boxing them and sending them along the line to be boxed and prepared for shipping. Make no mistake, the shop floor was buzzing with life this morning as the two friends made their way to their usual stations to find the duty manager calling to them as he raced across a designated safe route.
"Yo." The call echoed throughout the humongous space, causing James and Don to spin on the spot, confusion etched into their faces.
"What the fuck's this?" James asked Don, his eyes never leaving the onrushing colleague.
"Fucked if I know." Don replied in an instant, his eyes too never straying.
"Calm down Pete." James chuckled as the duty manager neared the two men, holding up his hands in a calming manner as Pete came to a standstill. The string vest laying exposed beneath the open smock, the hard hat held on his head by Pete's free hand, the other hand gripping a clipboard, Pete panted and gasped as he stopped, his belly ceasing to bounce as he did so.
"You guys..." Pete gasped for air. "You ain't down here today."
"What?" Don asked, bewilderment evident in his tone.
"Says who?" James' face turned serious as he asked.
Doubled over, Pete took a deep breath and stood upright, his fist shooting over his shoulder, a thumb extended in a pointing motion.
"I got my orders from Mattson." Pete answered. "Told me to send two guys upstairs. Some kinda special job."
"What kind of job?" Don asked, curious.
"No idea." Pete replied quickly, his breathing pattern now back to normal. "He just asked for two guys that could put a doll together."
"Is that so?" James allowed his eyes to wander slightly as he tried to think what could be waiting upstairs. Suddenly the air was cut, the rumbling noise of the production line pierced by the high pitched whistle from the gantry up above. As one, the three men each looked immediately upwards, the smug figure of Max Mattson waving to them from above. The charcoal grey suit, the crisp white shirt and bright red tie, Mattson wasn't much of a favourite among the people on the shop floor. Once one of them, it seemed the delusions of grandeur had finally gotten to his head as he kicked every one of his former co-workers in the face as he made his way up the career ladder in place at Play Pals Toys. Thinking of himself as some kind of executive, the rest of the factory knew the truth. He was basically a floor runner for Sullivan, one of the directors, who had seemingly chosen Mattson at random to fill the position left by the last poor guy. Rumours had it that Mattson had dirt on Sullivan, but that didn't sit well with some people. Sullivan was no pushover, if he knew you had dirt on him the last thing he'd do is give you a raise and a company car. It'd be the dungeons, working for a pittance and constantly being reminded of exactly who was in charge.
"Gentlemen." Mattson shouted from his elevated position, overseeing the factory ticking over like clockwork. "Shall we?" He stepped to the side and held his hand out, the three men following his gesture and finding their eyes falling on the wrought iron steps in the far corner of the room.
"Your funeral gentlemen." Pete waved them off as he turned his back and returned to his position over at the other end of the shop floor. Walking slowly, Mattson walking parallel with them overhead, the two men quietly spoke.
"What you think this is all about?" James asked through gritted teeth, his lips barely moving.
"No idea." Don responded in the same manner as they reached the foot of the steps, beginning to climb one at a time. "Fucker looks like shit. Like he's not even been to bed. Take my advice man, don't give this fucker a reason."
"I wasn't planning on doing." James spat, the top of the steps now coming into view, Mattson awaiting them with a rather large, smug grin.
"This way fellas." He snapped as he spun and began to walk on ahead, crossing the gantry and approaching a door to the offices.
"So Max..." James asked, his years of working alongside his new supervisor surely counting for something.
"It's Mr Mattson." The response was sharp and barbed, spat through venomous teeth. Those years obviously counting for fuck all.
"So Mr Mattson..." James began again. "What's all this about?"
"We have special job for you two." Max spoke as they came to the door leading from the factory floor, stopping and swiping his security card through the reader as the door clicked open.
"What might that be?" Don asked, intrigued.
"You'll see." Max replied as he marched them down yet another corridor. Pictures of Play Pals' flagship product, the Good Guy, once more littering the walls.
At the end of the corridor, the two men were not in the least surprised to find yet another door, this time bearing the sign 'PROTOTYPE LAB' and yet another card reader as Max once more scanned his card and pulled the door open, tearing through as James and Don followed on behind. They found the room on the other side of the door to be partitioned by a wall with a huge window, the space on the other side occupied by manual machinery, workbenches, doll parts and computers, the rich, blue walls of the lab contrasting with the more sombre white and burgundy of the observation room the men now found themselves stood in. In the distance of the lab sat a black bag, the manila label hanging from the opening almost seductively as James noticed it.
"What's all this about?" He asked concerned. "What's in the bag?"
Folding his arms across his chest, Mattson turned to his two workers and smiled an accomplished smile.
"That, gentlemen, is your job for today." He coolly answered.
"What you mean?" Don asked.
"Well..." Mattson leaned forward and opened the door to the lab, stepping inside and crossing the floor as James and Don followed once more. In no time at all they reached the workbench and Mattson ripped open the bag, reaching inside and pulling a charred Good Guy head from inside, placing it on the workbench and reaching inside the bag once more to fish out the dolls voice cassette, dropping it beside the burned out head and turning to face them, crossing his arms alowly as he leaned against the bench. "This is your job today. Examine this voice cassette, give it a good listening to, make sure nothing's been overdubbed, erased, re-recorded, anything like that."
"Okay." James seemed wary. "And what's the deal with the head?"
"That just needs a clean up." Mattson lifted his hand and looked at his wrist, the watch revealing itself from beneath the cuff of his shirt. "Better look alive too gentlemen. Mr Sullivan's due in a couple of hours, and he wants this episode finally putting to bed."
"I don't get it." Don said, his eyes flicking from James, to Mattson, to the doll head. "What episode."
"Let's just say this is a need to know basis my friends." Mattson stood upright and began to walk towards the door. "And right now, you don't need to know a fucking thing."
Stunned, the two workmates stood silently, watching as Mattson passed through the doorway, stopping to close the door, but not before imparting some words of wisdom upon his underlings.
"Get to work, and don't let me down. This is your heads gentlemen. Not mine."
Without saying another word, Mattson closed the glass door and left the room on the other side of the glass, returning to the corridors of power and no doubt a nice cushy office.
"Well..." Don turned to James and grabbed the cassette. "Let's get to it. This might still work, not as badly damaged as that head you're gonna have to clean."
"Why did I know I'd get that job?" James laughed as he grabbed the head and tossed it from hand to hand, his eyes scanning the surface of the workbench for something to perhaps clean the burnt rubber from the metal surface, finally finding a scalpel. "What you reckon this is?"
"My own opinion?" Don turned to make sure nobody was listening in. "This is that doll from the news."
"Get outta here." James gasped, stopping to look at the charred head closer. The lone eye staring straight back at him, brilliant blue and surrounded by a plethora of sheer whiteness. The rubber skin had been melted beyond repair, the tufts of red hair embedded in.
"Straight up man. It was on the news the other day. That woman, you know her that got the kid taken away?" James nodded, his mouth agape as he once more looked at the head. "They found her fucking nuts man. Sent her to the fucking nut house. But what else could she expect?"
"Put that in there and see what it says." James pointed with his free hand to the banks of computers on the far wall, the cassette player sitting dead centre.
Following James' gaze, Don crossed the floor and inserted the partially melted cassette into the deck and pressed it closed, hitting the rewind button and finding the tape almost already rewound.
"Either this cassette's fucked, or it never even got played once." He stated to his colleague as he pressed play. Suddenly the room lit up as the voice crackled through the speakers, the tape slowly playing through the state of the art equipment on offer.
"Hi... I'm Sonny... And I'm your friend to the end..." The cute voice boomed from the speakers before continuing. "I like to be hugged... Hey... Wanna play? Hi... I'm Sonny... And I'm your friend to the end... Hey... Wanna play? Hi... I'm Sonny... And I'm your friend to the end... Hey... Wanna play? Hi... I'm Sonny..."
"Jesus..." Don shut off the tape player. "You think we have to check the whole of this thing? It goes on forever. I've already played it more than the kid that had it."
"I dunno man..." James seemed concerned once more as he took his glasses and wiped them on the tail of his smock. "Mattson'll be pissed if he finds out you didn't."
"But seriously, what's he expecting us to find?" Don laughed.
"I haven't a fucking clue man." James replied. "But better safe than sorry."
"Yeah I guess." Don smiled as he pressed the play button once more. "Hey... Why do we always get the shitty jobs?"
"Because that's the way it is I guess..." James smiled before turning back to the charred head, digging the miniature spade in behind the dolls one remaining eye, levering it forward and allowing it to drop to the surface of the workbench.
Laughing, he turned back to Don, the tape playing the same shit over and over, only at a much lower volume.
"Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger I guess."
9:37am
Turning key in the lock, Joanne Simpson turned and opened her bag, dropping the key inside before walking along the front of the house and making her way to the car, the red Ford station wagon purring on the driveway as her husband Phil sat behind the wheel, the engine ticking over as the couple prepared to make their way into town. Pulling open the door and sliding inside, Joanne dropped her bag to the floor and kicked it into the foot well, reaching over her shoulder and grabbing the seat belt. As she pulled the belt across her chest and inserted it into the housing with a 'click', she looked up to her left and into Phil's eyes, offering a smile as he returned her stare.
"Thank you." She softly spoke.
"For what?" He looked puzzled.
"For this." She lifted her head and looked through the windscreen, the house before them feeling empty recently, the coldness spreading from room to room with every passing day. Kyle was all well and good, but they knew full well she had other plans. Shipped from foster home to foster home on what was nearly a bi-monthly basis, she had made her aspirations known the second she arrived. She was going it alone next year and there was nobody could stop her, no matter how much they wanted to help.
"Look." Phil followed her gaze and let his eyes wander over the hose also. "I'm not promising anything. Grace says we can help this kid then we'll do our best. But we know this isn't what we want full term."
"I know." Joanne whispered as she turned to face him once more.
"I mean come on Joanne." He laughed a little. "When we started doing this, it was more or less for brownie points. Since we started, all we seem to be getting is everybody else's cast offs."
Closing her eyes and resting her head against the passenger window, Joanne exhaled deeply as Phil released the hand brake, the car beginning to roll gently down the driveway before coming to a rest in the middle of the barren street. Applying the brake and throwing the car into first gear, he then gave the engine some gas and the vehicle began to pull away from the kerb and towards the end of the street, the highway into town signalled at the very first junction. They'd only been driving two minutes, when Joanne suddenly spoke, not a whisper this time, more of a confident tone in her approach.
"Why do you insist on calling these kids cast offs?" She asked innocently, her burgundy sweater irritating her neck slightly, the broach on the neck pulling unevenly to one side.
"God dammit, not this again." Phil slammed the palm of his hand into the steering wheel, Joanne flinching slightly as he did so.
"It's just every time." She retorted. "I'm not saying anything, but these children need a home. We're doing a good thing here Phil and I know that deep down they appreciate it, no matter they're attitudes."
"I'm not saying it as though I don't give a rat's ass about them Joanne." Phil turned to her as he worked his way through the morning traffic.
"I know you're not." Joanne rested her head against the window once more.
"It's just you know..." Phil carried on, his eyes constantly flicking from side to side, the road ahead receiving the majority of his attention. "When we started doing all this, it was with the intention of getting our own child Joanne! 'Our own' child. Adoption, not fostering. But what do we get? Every time. Fostering here, fostering there. Every time we mention adopting it's the brush off."
"You're not saying anything I haven't thought myself." Joanne turned to him and spoke.
"It just gets..." He struggled for the word. "... Irritating I guess."
"So what are you saying? Your heart isn't in this anymore?" Joanne seemed unsurprised.
"No, not at all." Phil answered, signalling quickly before changing lanes, swinging the car into the upcoming turn.
"Well that's how it sounds."
"Well it's not how I intend it to sound." He backed down a touch, straightening the car, the atmosphere beginning to get heated.
"So...?" Joanne returned her eyes to the road ahead.
"So what?" Phil replied.
"Is this why you've been like this all week?" She asked.
"Like what?" Phil's eyes widened, shock in his tone.
"Ever since Grace called about this boy, you've been moping, short tempered." Joanne's voice began to raise. "Is this really an environment for bringing any child into?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Phil shot back.
"It just seems your mind's already made up. I mean you haven't even asked his name. Aren't you interested?" Joanne's voice sounded strained and hoarse.
"Of course I am, it's just you know... Things at work, then this. Then all plans of adopting seem to be going out the window. I mean face it Joanne, we're not getting any younger. How long until they pull the plug entirely? Then it'll be "Nope, sorry, you're too old for adoption, you're almost at retirement age." Then what huh?"
"Look." Joanne's hands immediately raised in front of her, an effort to calm the volatile atmosphere inside the station wagon. "Whatever happens, happens. We both knew this when we agreed to the fostering plan."
"I know." Phil sighed. "I'm sorry honey, I just don't seem to be able to take this shit as well as you do. Look at you."
He reached over and placed his index finger underneath her chin, lifting her head towards him as he smiled.
"His name's Andy." Joanne whispered, her voice cracking as a tear rolled down her cheek.
"Andy?" Phil smiled wider. "He sounds great."
"He's been through the ringer by the sounds of things." A concerned, yet relieved look crossed Joanne's face.
"Yeah?" Phil asked, his eyes still monitoring the road as he drove. "How so?"
"I don't know exactly, Grace wouldn't go into detail." Joanne flicked the hair from her face. "Said she'd fill us in when we got there."
"She didn't say anything at all?" Phil asked as they approached the turn off for midtown.
"She told me he was about eight years old. Some traumatic event from a while back, his mother's been taken into custody."
"Prison?" Phil asked, already having misgivings about this 'Andy' kid.
"No, psychiatric treatment from what I could make out." Joanne answered, turning to see Phil breathe a sigh of relief.
"I don't know which is worse. A convict or a psychopath." Phil laughed.
"He'll be fine." Joanne spoke softly once more. "I know he will, we can help him."
"Well I hope so." A tone of uncertainty rippled through Phil's words, and Joanne knew how sceptical he was already. Quickly, she tried to change the subject, the last thing she needed was Phil making his mind up prematurely.
"What do you think to Kyle?" She asked, her voice sounding perkier.
"What is there to think?" Phil asked with a chuckle. "She goes out without telling us, comes in whenever she wants, doesn't listen to a damn word we say and I swear to god she's smoking in that room of hers."
"Oh cut her some slack Phil." Joanne laughed. "You're telling me you were the perfect child? You were never rebellious?"
"Not 'that' rebellious." He laughed.
"She's okay." Joanne reached forward and played with the radio, the stations tuning in slightly before tuning out almost instantly.
"She's no trouble." Phil answered back, his tone becoming serious. "It's just the attitude I find hard to put up with. That'd been me at that age, I'd have gotten the belt from my old man."
Still fiddling with the dials of the radio, Joanne sat back and held up her hands in frustration.
"I thought you'd fixed this." She asked.
"So did I." Phil reached over and tried the dials, his brow furrowing as the stations sparked up before suddenly disappearing again.
"Just leave it." Joanne reached over and turned the radio off, the lights dying as she twisted the knob.
"Well, I can't deal with it now honey. Bit hard with driving and all."
"I know." She suddenly sat forward and motioned. "Go this way!"
"What?" Phil asked in alarm.
"Trust me." Joanne said. "There's road works up ahead, we can cut through here."
"But it's an industrial estate." Phil asked as he signalled, waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass before turning into the industrial estate, factories and warehouses in every direction.
"Trust me." Joanne confidently spoke. "Hang a left right down at the bottom and it brings you out near the centre."
"I hope so." Phil's eyes narrowed as the car hurtled through the estate, wagons, flatbeds and juggernauts a blur as they raced past the small ford.
"Look at the size of that place!" Joanne gestured, pointing through her window, the corrugated silver and blue factory buried deep in the huge parking lot, cars as far as the eye could see.
"Play Pals?" Phil asked without so much as a second glance.
"Is that what it is?" Joanne asked as her eyes stayed fixed on the building, smoke unfurling from the chimney stack.
"Yep. The amount of things we have from that place, I figure I should retire and buy stock." Phil laughed.
As the car sped past the entrance, Joanne found it impossible to look away, her eyes unable to leave the gargantuan facility, the intimidating presence sending a shudder through her shoulders as she felt a coldness creep over her body.
"Not be long honey." Phil grabbed her knee as the car slowed at the bottom of the estate, coming to a halt at the junction. Jumping at the touch of her husband, Joanne turned, her attention snapping from the factory as she flashed him a reassuring smile before returning her eyes to the factory. Slowly Phil pulled away from the junction, swinging the car to the left as Joanne's eyes followed the factory, now disappearing behind the couple as the car picked up speed and headed towards the crisis centre. The silence broken as Phil spoke again.
"Almost there." He said, his attitude now oozing with positivity. "With a bit of luck, you, me, Kyle and Andy will be having fun by the end of the day."