4. Heaven Can Wait

The dark halls of Raccoon City High School echoed the clip clop clip clop of footsteps, which broke the silence that pervaded the long endless hallway, lined on both sides with battered and bruised lockers. The school's security guards, Mark Wilkins and his good friend Bob, patrolled the empty halls.

"And then the little bastard bit me," Bob said, holding up his left hand, which was wrapped in medical taping. "I wanted to teach the little punk a lesson but he ran off before I could nab him, and I'm too old to be chasing some half-witted punk teenager."

"Yeah," Mark said. "These kids today, they don't got no respect for nobody. Mah son, you know how he is. He thinks he's a rebel, a real tough guy. Thinks he can jus' do whatevah the hell he wants. Ah try tah teach 'im, tell 'im things, but he won't have it. These kids, they think they know everythin' there is tah know about the world."

"Sometimes I wish they hadn't abolished corporal punishment. I got my lickings back in the day, and if there's any kids that really need it, it's these ones today."

"I guess," Mark said, his thoughts drifting as he scanned the hallways. "I mean, Ah'm not a violent man an' I don' wanna beat mah son, or any child. Ah was in Vietnam, but ah was only there ta' protect mah country, mah family. It's a man's duty tah fight for the country that allows him tah put a roof over his head. But, these kids today don't got no knowledge ah that, what it's like tah be really truly poor, the dehumanization a' beggin' on th' street corner for food. Ah spoilt mah son ah suppose, but ah can't help it. Ah had so lil' growin' up, ah jus' want 'im ta' have everythin' he needs an' most a what he wants. Ah don' got time for 'im either, not even for his momma. But I been plannin' a vacation, jus' the three a' us, so we kin get ta' know each other better. Ya' know? Spend some, quality time, share each other's thoughts a lil'. It'll do us some good, ah think."

"You're a good man Mark, you know that," Bob said, putting his wrapped hand on Mark's shoulder. "And Jerome, he's a good kid. Just got his priorities mixed up a bit, needs to mature some more. I know it'll turn out alright for you. I just know it."

"Thank you Bob, I appreciate your kindness."

Bob and Mark patrolled the hallways for a bit longer until Mark heard a sound.

"You hear somethin'?"

"What is it?"

"Here. Quiet."

Mark unholstered his gun and leaned his body against the lockers, then crept his way towards the door. Cautiously he peered through the door and discerned from the darkness a shadowy figure slithering its way between the desks and towards the back of the classroom. Mark sent hand signals to Bob, communicating he saw one suspect, and instructed him to follow close by. Together the two entered the dark classroom and maneuvered themselves between the desks, both ensuring his footsteps made as little noise as possible. Upon reaching the door, Mark gripped the handle and listened, the sounds of glass clinking against each other. Mark looked at Bob, who was standing with his pistol at the ready, reassuring Mark he would secure the room. Mark then slowly turned the knob to minimize the noise and looked inside. A hooded figure rummaged through the various test tubes, chemicals and other equipment in the cabinets of the thin, claustrophobic room. Mark aimed his gun at the figure's back.

"Don' move."

Startled, the figure dropped a beaker to the floor that shattered upon impact. He struggled to keep hold of the various instruments he was trying to carry in both arms, cradled like a baby.

"Turn around, slowly, an' put those items back where ya' got them from."

The hooded figure did as he was told and raised his arms in the air. Mark instructed him to turn around again and proceeded to search him, ensuring he didn't have any weapons, then grabbed him from the neck and escorted him out of the room after holstering his gun again. Outside Bob saw Mark had taken care of the situation and holstered his firearm.

"What were you doin' in there, boy?" Mark asked.

"Nothin'." The figure asked.

"No doubt trying to steal school property," Bob said angrily. "Probably to sell it for some weed, huh kid? Is that what you were doing?"

The boy didn't answer, and only bowed his head in shame, the hood of his sweater covering his face.

"Who are you anyway?" Bob said as he pulled the hood off the boy's head.

Mark's jaw dropped.

"Jerome, no," Mark said, stunned.

Jerome didn't answer, only frowned.

"Jesus," Bob said.

"Jerome," Mark inquired, loosening his grip from his son. "What in sam hell do ya' think yer doin'! Breakin' inta a chem. Lab an' stealin' school property? What you got ta' say fer yerself, boy?"

"What do you care," Jerome said bitterly.

"Jerome please, ah'm yer father, Ah-"

"This another lecture, pop? You gonna tell me I did bad again?"

Ah've had enough a' your back talk son," Mark said loudly, his voice bellowing high above Jerome's with his increasing frustration. "Yer commitin' a felony, ya' hear? This is serious, son. From here, you kin only get worse."

"What the hell do you know," Jerome said. "You don't even know anything about me. How could you possibly know my future?"

Mark stared angrily at Jerome, uncertain what to do now.

"Mark, what are we going to do about this situation?" Bob asked.

Mark said nothing for awhile, then finally made a decision.

"Ah try tah give ya' everythin' ah can Jerome. Ah thought ah taught you better than this, but apparently ah really don' know enough about you. So ah'm gonna give you the benefit of a hard education on what happens when you go down th' path you currently trekkin'."

"What are you sayin' pop," Jerome said confusedly. "You're gonna turn me in? Your own son?"

"Ah don' know what else ta' do, son," Mark said regretfully. "Maybe if you spend some time in a cold, rough cell, you kin think about what you doin' an' consider yer options."

"You're crazy! I'm your son, dammit!"

"Ah'm sorry Jerome," Mark said, apprehending Jerome.

"Mark," Bob said pleadingly. "There has to be some other way."

"There ain't no other way, Bob. Ah tried, but this is where ah draw the line."

"I can't believe this," Jerome complained.

"Quiet boy," Mark said aggressively. "Yer a criminal now, an' the police will deal with you."

"You're being too tough on the boy," Bob said.

"Maybe it's what he needs, Bob. Ah sure as hell ain't getting' through ta' him."

Mark escorted Jerome out of the room, holding both hands behind his back and gripping his neck tightly. Bob shook his head and sighed, then followed behind.