Fate
Chapter Three
Slappy parked her car outside the building and glanced at the address. This was the right place, and behind those sliding glass doors was her new ward, a young boy who'd only heard of her through birthday cards she wrongly believed his mother had given him. With one last breath she left the car and slowly approached the building, taking baby steps towards the front door. The squirrel felt like no time had passed until she was standing at the front desk, but the clock hanging on the wall said differently. She almost keeled over when she learned it had taken fifteen minutes to walk about half a yard. "Can I help you?" a perky blond asked, slowly tearing herself away from her computer to look at the squirrel.
"Yeah, I'm here for Skippy Squirrel." She explained, doing her best to sound calm. The grey squirrel had decided on the drive over that she wanted to make a good impression on her nephew, one that didn't involve nervous shaking or fearful glances. Luckily she was a seasoned cartoon heroine, which meant she could easily portray relaxed and tranquil, even if under the surface she was racked with fear herself. It just took a few deep breaths and a constant reminder that this was important, not only for her but for her nephew as well.
"Oh, you must be his aunt." She exclaimed. Slappy would've made some sarcastic remark about her intelligent insight or gifted abilities of perception but felt that insulting the people she was picking a kid up from might not be in her best judgment. Instead Slappy did the unthinkable and held her tongue, a feat that no one would ever believe possible. "Head down the hall and enter the fourth door on your left." She pointed to the hall with her pen and went back to the computer, no doubt trying to solve world hunger before her lunch break.
"Yeah, thanks." Slappy said, though she remained firmly in place before the desk for another few seconds. The blond looked back up at her, scratched her head, and resumed typing. The grey squirrel took in what had to be the hundredth deep breath she'd taken that day and began the next trek of her unnecessarily long journey. Luckily it didn't take nearly as long to walk down the hall as it had for her in the parking lot. The fourth door on the left, though no different than the third or second, had a much more frightening weight about it. She brought her fist up to the door and prepared to knock, finding that it was harder than she'd imagined. She knocked, her heart mere seconds away from pulling a wild take and jumping out of her chest, and took a step back. A few seconds later a woman in a grey suit opened it, a warm smile on her face. Slappy had worked in Hollywood long enough to know when someone was acting and everything about this woman screamed rehearsed. The squirrel did have to give her credit for the performance though as it did look genuine for a second. It even managed to relax her, as if she was on some set in Burbank filming another cartoon.
"Oh, you must be Skippy's aunt?"
"What gave it away, the bushy tail or the fur?" she asked, finding that being in the presence of a fellow actress had restored her to her usual self.
"Both," The woman gleefully answered, not breaking her charade of happiness. Slappy pegged her as the type of person that had a calendar filled with pictures of cats and rainbows, unable to be brought down by anything life could throw at her. "Come in and have a seat Miss Squirrel and we'll discuss your arrangements." She stepped out of the door frame and held her arm out towards the chair that rested before her desk. Slappy walked past her and sat down, discomfort washing over her. It was practically torture to see the woman sit down in a plush leather chair while she was regulated to a lumpy wooden one. She was reminded of what it felt like to be called down to the studio executives back at Warner Brothers, the sense that you were going to be lectured on some misdeed you'd committed tearing at every one of your nerves. "So you said you wanted to look after Skippy until we could find a foster home for him, yes?"
"Uh . . . yeah, is that alright?" the squirrel asked, unsure as to why her approval mattered.
"Oh yes, it happens more often than you'd think, though most of the time the child and adult usually bond and stay together after we've found the family. It's touching, certainly, but a wee bit annoying." She held up her right hand and scrunched the tip of her index finger and thumb close together, the universal sign of a smidge.
"Well, I ain't the parenting type so ya don't have ta worry about that happening."
"Oh, that's what they all say." She waved her hand in the air to dismiss the notion.
"Oh, really?" the squirrel mocked, immediately scolding herself for not keeping a tighter grip on her behavior. This woman was overly cheery, but who's to say she wouldn't get angry and deem the squirrel unfit to take care of a child. It was bad enough Slappy thought she was unable to look after something so helpless, she didn't need a stranger thinking it too. "How long do you expect it'll be before ya find a family for the kid?" she asked, wishing it hadn't sounded like she was eager to ditch the kid, despite that being exactly how she felt.
"Well there's no set time limit or –"
"Ballpark it for me," Slappy interrupted, too nervous to keep up the polite charade.
The woman's act waivered for a brief moment, but in the blink of an eye she regained her composure and chipper attitude. Slappy could tell the woman was starting to realize just how much of a hurry she was in to get rid of the kid. The woman laced her fingers together and laid her hands on the desk, leaning forward. It was quite a successful metamorphisis, changing from being as harmless as a snail to as frightening as a lion. If being a social worker didn't pan out then this woman needed to go into the film industry, she obviously had the skills for it. "For a human kid of Skippy's age it's roughly two to three weeks, but for a 'toon it's usually a bit longer. I'd say a month, maybe a month and a half. Keep in mind though this is just a guess and that we can't say for certain Skippy will get adopted that quickly." Slappy nodded, her stomach dropping when she learned she'd be playing role model for double the time she'd expected. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
"No . . . no, I was just curious."
The woman pulled open a desk drawer and grabbed a folder. "I need you to sign this paper saying Skippy will be your ward until a permanent solution can be reached." She handed the paper and a pen to the squirrel. In the number of years she'd been an actress Slappy had instinctually learned to never sign something without first reading over it, which she spent a good ten minutes doing. Content, the squirrel brought the tip of the pen to the bottom of the page. "Miss Squirrel, I strongly hope you're aware of the responsibilities that come with having a kid. I know you may feel responsible for him now, but make sure you keep his best interest in mind, even if that means leaving him in an orphanage for a while." Slappy nodded, trying to imagine which fate was worse. With all the hope and courage she could muster Slappy signed her name and handed it back over.
"So now what?" she asked.
"Now you meet your new ward. Would you like me to bring him down here or would you like to come with me to meet him?"
"Lead the way." Slappy said, almost shaking with nervousness. She tried to calm herself by pushing out the negative worries and forcing in only positives. Maybe the kid wasn't as bad as she thought he was, maybe he was one of those independent types and wanted to be left alone for a little while? And just because she and her sister never got along didn't mean Skippy would immediately hate her. There were too many uncertainties to believe they were all going to be bad and that's what she continued to tell herself as she followed the woman through the hallways, the fright refusing to be numbed.
Skippy stood outside the room as a janitor swept up the glass and plastic from his destructive little outburst. His forehead was pressed against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. The euphoria he'd achieved from swinging that mallet was being replaced by his returning headache, and his depression was back, evidently getting stronger in its absence. He wasn't sure what scared him more: how inescapable his depression seemed or the odd sense of familiarity he'd developed with it, like it was right where he belonged. Pushing that nightmare away for future reference, Skippy instead focused on the real world, the one that hadn't crumbled with the death of a single person. Currently that meant reflecting on the suspicion that had been sent his way. People had asked him questions about the scene in his room, but he was able to sell an "I have no idea" answer. They were forced to believe him solely on the basis that the only thing he could've used to smash the television was the untouched chair underneath it, too large and heavy for him to even move, let alone slam into a television over and over. He had still received a few unsavory little glances and his ears burned as they whispered his name, but he'd still gotten away with it, which was all the really mattered.
He wasn't entirely sure getting off scot-free was a good thing though. It worried him to learn that violence had brought him such peace, and that something was urging him to continue. It felt like he was being pulled apart from the inside. On the winning side was common sense, preaching how it would do nothing to help the situation. Unfortunately the other half, praising him for his work on the T.V. and encouraging him to retry and perfect his methods, was growing harder to ignore. He wondered how long it'd be before he could no longer deny it, and what would happen when that day came. "Skippy, is everything okay?" Linda had asked, no doubt wondering why he was standing in the hall. The answer he wanted to give was obviously not the one she needed to hear, and that was what led him to his next in a long series of lies.
"Yeah, the T.V. in my room broke and the janitor's in there cleaning it up." He pressed off the wall and turned to face the woman, immediately spotting the grey squirrel standing behind her. He did his best to not look too frightened, but he could feel his jaw trying to fall to the floor and his eyes go wide, like headlights had flashed on in front of him. What really had him speechless was how similar she resembled his mother, the only difference being her fur color and tacky green hat and matching umbrella. She was such a perfect carbon copy that for a moment he thought he was seeing her ghost, a sure sign that his grief had progressed into complete madness. Luckily he regained what little common sense he believed he had left and came to the obvious conclusion that this was his aunt and temporary guardian. The boy could sense the nervousness that radiated off her, as visible as breath in winter. "Hello," he greeted, feeling the same anxiety.
"Hey," she replied.
"Skippy, this is your aunt Slappy." Linda explained, breaking the silence that had fallen. Skippy bit his tongue to keep from making some snide comment about how he'd already deduced that.
"I think the kid got that." Slappy remarked. The young squirrel glanced at her, wondering if she'd read his mind or if she was usually that tactless. He remained silent and compared her to the memory of the cartoon he'd seen. She was shorter and the curve of her hips had disappeared but nothing else had changed, not even the purse draped over her shoulder. Skippy could tell she was inspecting him just as much and it made him nervous, so much so that he felt the urge to escape her analytical eyes. He turned around and peeked into the room to get one last look at his handiwork before he left, a strange sense of pride washing over him as he witnessed the janitor sweeping bits of glass into a dustpan. Slappy, a fan of destruction and her curiosity piqued, wanted to have a look at the television herself. She walked around her nephew, careful not to bump or touch him in the slightest.
The television, its screen broken and shattered, was covered in bumps and welts. Having used countless mallets over the past few decades Slappy could instantly recognize its work, but while she could tell what tool was used she could not figure out exactly how. Skippy, only ten years old and having not attended a school like Acme Loo, should not have been able to grab one from hammerspace like an archtoon could. However, the signs pointed to him, from the amateurish and random placement of his hits to how the top of the television, obviously too high for him, went unscathed. She wanted to ask how he'd pulled it off, but decided it'd make for a better conversation if it was just between them on the car ride back to her home. Plus it would be a nice way to kill the silence that would no doubt fill the car during the two hour drive.
Linda, ever the cheerful person, continued to stand in the center of the hall. "Well, you two are free to go whenever you'd like. It was nice meeting you Skippy, I just wish it was under better circumstances." She held out her hand and Skippy, out of guilt for both yelling at her and breaking the television, shook it. "And Miss Squirrel?"
"Yeah?" Slappy answered, her eyes still glued on what she had labeled evidence of the impossible. She turned when no reply followed and was surprised to find the woman invading her personal space by quite a bit.
"I sincerely hope you made the right choice today. Skippy is in a very fragile place and he needs support, otherwise he may be as lost as his mother." She whispered all of this and took a step back. Both squirrels stared at her in confusion, Skippy wondering just what she had said about him and Slappy wondering where this seriousness vanished to when she was done with it.
You and me both. Slappy nodded and Linda left, no doubt back to her office to wait for the next unfortunate soul she'd be breaking horrid news to. Skippy felt nervous being left with the aunt he'd exchanged a total of one word with, but to his relief Slappy wasn't looking at him. That relief disappeared when he looked over to her, frightened to see her peering once again into his room. She took her eyes from his crime scene and looked down at him, suspicion visible in her eyes. Skippy, not a fan of the way she was staring at him, abruptly started walking down the hall, getting in distance before she could ask him questions he didn't have the answers to. This was obviously a temporary solution, buying him an extra few seconds. She would probably ask him about the television on the car ride back to Burbank, and short from jumping out of the vehicle there was no way he could avoid answering. He used those seconds to work on a story that painted him as a stupid and innocent kid.
If she was as smart and cunning as her cartoons had painted her then it wouldn't be long before she found out he was lying, but he wanted to get a few more sights etched into his brain before she returned him to that room. Slappy was both stunned and proud at his quick getaway, now seeing more than a bit of herself in the kid. She caught up with him in the parking lot, where he waited to see if she'd point out which car belonged to her or if she'd drag him back into the building and save the money on gas later. She tipped her head to the luxurious little vehicle that was practically glowing in the sunlight, the one that looked like it belonged to some rich teenager and not an older woman. He had wrongly assumed she'd driven one of the more rust-covered models, not the shiny red Viper that was horrendously parked and taking up two spaces. Skippy held back his surprise and marched to the car, jumping inside. "In a hurry, huh?" she asked.
"You'd be too if you were stuck here for three days." He answered, relieved to find that her first question wasn't about the television. Maybe he'd overestimated his aunt? Perhaps she wasn't as smart as he'd originally assumed, or maybe she was just being practical. He was small and well-behaved, most of the time anyway. Anyone who knew him would jump to his defense and vouch for him if his character was ever questioned. The problem was Slappy didn't know him, nothing outside of his name and age anyway. She was uninhibited and could think practically which usually meant trouble for whoever committed a crime. He blew that thought off, certain he was just overthinking it, and leaned his head back onto the leather seat. Slappy reversed the car and glanced over her shoulder as she backed out of the parking lot.
"Ready to head to Burbank, Skip-o?"
"Don't call me Skip-o," he replied, unable to hide his detest at the nickname. The young squirrel closed his eyes, intent on sleeping the entire ride away. Slappy had no intention of keeping him for very long and he had no desire to speak or interact with her for that short amount of time, including the time they'd be trapped in the vehicle. Why waste time getting to know someone you'll only know for a month anyway? And it wasn't like she deserved to get to know him now, only after they were forced to meet. The boy didn't expect sleep to come easy, but the car seat was much more comfortable than the couch, and even with the wind blowing in his face he managed to doze off quickly, leaving Slappy to gather her own thoughts in peace.
The grey squirrel looked over at him, trying to picture how something so small and innocent looking could have torn apart the television with such fierce blows. Was this even the first thing he took a mallet to or was it just the most recent? Skippy's capabilities should have made her turn the car around, but it did the exact opposite. Slappy became more and more relaxed at the thought of looking after an archtoon, actually beginning to feel a connection with the kid. Who better to teach him how to control himself and utilize his true potential than her, a well-seasoned cartoon veteran? Finding something in common somehow managed to change her entire outlook on the situation, and as she pulled onto the highway she glanced at the soundly sleeping squirrel with a newfound ease. Despite that, Slappy could tell Linda was right. This was a very critical situation and screwing up meant more than just failing herself. Skippy was a grieving child whose emotions could easily get the better of him. That was bad enough without adding in the unnatural talents he possessed, but those made it a whole other ball game.
Slappy drove down the highway in silence, nervously glancing at her nephew every few minutes from the corner of her eyes. It was obvious from his appearance that he hadn't done much for the past few days except for sleeping and crying. His fur was unkempt and tangled in several places, his tail had lost its poof, and she could almost see his ribcage under the fur, which probably explained the constant rumbling from his stomach. She vowed to make him eat at the next food joint she saw, even if it was under his constant protest. Anything was better than staring at this pile of bones and fur clumped up in the seat beside her. Slappy may have just met him, but seeing her nephew in such a bad state was still a hard sight.
Skippy began to stir, stretching and yawning as he awoke. "We there?" he asked between a yawn, rubbing at his eyes and stretching his arms skyward.
"Not yet Skip . . . kid, were still lookin' at an hour 'til we get home." Skippy mumbled something under his breath, probably about how it wasn't his home they were driving to. Slappy sighed, hoping he wasn't going to remain as bitter and predictable during his entire stay with her. He pressed his elbow against the door and rested his head in his hand, watching the scenery as it sped by. The older squirrel began debating on whether to confront him on the television yet, knowing that it would it be a great waste of time. No doubt it would provide her a few minutes of amusing denials from him about how he was only a kid and didn't have the abilities to pull it off. "So that television back in the room, the one that was smashed up," Skippy tensed up at the mention of the smashed electronic, unintentionally confirming her suspicions. "How'd you do it?"
"Me?" he replied in a genuinely astounded tone, clearly surprised to learn that she'd figured it out. Had he managed to keep it up Slappy might've believed she was mistaken about him, but he lost it when he began acting innocent. "But did you see it? It was nothing but smithereens!" he explained unconvincingly, turning from the window and looking over at her. The direct eye contact was as uncomfortable as they both imagined it would be, immediately starting to stare forward at the long stretch of road instead of each other. "I'm just a kid, how could I have done something like that?" Slappy could sense joy in his voice, shallowly hidden underneath the feigned shock and awe routine.
"Careful kid, your pride in your work is giving you away." She explained, chuckling a bit. Skippy hadn't expected such a reaction and was caught off-guard, wondering what she found funny. She obviously knew what he had done, but for some reason she didn't seem to mind. She hadn't turned around to take him back to that cell of a room, which was surprising enough without the sense that he wasn't the only one feeling proud of his actions. "I know mallets Skippy, and that was definitely the work of one."
"Where could I have gotten a mallet?" he asked, certain he'd win the argument if he continued asking questions she couldn't provide logical answers to. Despite being dangerously close to correctly guessing what'd happened, there was no way Slappy could honestly believe he had found a mallet, let alone pull it from behind his back. Sure, she could easily have done it herself, but he was just a child, incapable of performing such a feat on his own. Skippy slowly felt a building pain in his right palm and looked to see what the cause was, finding his fingers clenched tightly in fear and digging into the center of his hand. He uncurled his fingers and started scratching at the leather seat to keep it occupied, the wind whipping at the car providing a cover to the noise.
Slappy shook her head, disappointed in his poor acting skills. "What's say we stop and get some food, huh? We need to talk about how we're going to get this under control." Slappy pulled onto the closest off-ramp before Skippy could even form an answer, cutting off a few cars that started honking as they passed by. Slappy instinctively lifted her left hand to them, ready to extend her finger and flick them off. She stopped after remembering the presence of a young and impressionable boy sitting beside her, who had already shown his violent side. Her fist reluctantly turned into a wave of apology as the cars continued to honk, one even giving her the gesture she had originally wanted to use as it passed them by. She pretended not to notice and glanced at Skippy, hoping he hadn't seen it or, if he had, wouldn't question the meaning behind it.
Unfortunately the young squirrel was returning it right back at the man, evoking a strange mix of laughter and disapproval from the grey squirrel. Slappy tried not to laugh, but it broke through her resistance and left her in a small fit of hysterics. Her left hand dropped from the air and returned to the wheel, steading her grip before they got into an accident. His jaw dropped when he heard her laugh, how similar it was to his mother's own laughter. Without warning his eyes started to water, tears on the verge of spilling. He furiously rubbed at them, not wanting Slappy to notice. He had cried in front of enough people for his lifetime, and her pity would only make him angrier. "Stop," he said, crossing his arms and turning back to the window of the car. Slappy's laugher died, along with a bit of her joy, and she continued searching for a place to stop and eat.
A/N: Alright, let's keep the ball rolling.