Chapter 14

Three months before the fight.

Saturday morning

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-Part 1-

Ms. Cunningham awoke to the heat of the sun shining through her window and landing upon her face and a minor hangover; she was still holding the Hoop-dee-Ha portrait. She brought her hand to her head immediately regretting skipping dinner. She stretched, looked at the time, and descended into immediate panic. "Twelve thirty?!" She raced over to the phone and dialed the number for Higher for Hire and listened to the ring on the other end, "Common, pickup, pickup!" All she heard was the sound of ringing in her ear before the disconnect of the call timeout. She called once more only to encounter the same outcome.

"Oh, that Kid is dead!" Rebecca ran about the apartment gathering her bag, briefcase, and anything else she would need for the day when she slowed to a stop and buried her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes as a thought occurred to her; her head was pounding and the hangover was clouding her judgment. "I told him that I would call first thing in the morning annnnnnd I never called. I never told him what to do if I didn't call. Maybe they're out swimming or went to the park, or…" Rebecca laughed at and kicked herself for forgetting that Kit does draw a couple paychecks from her. "…maybe they went out to eat?"

Rebecca slowed down, took time to breathe before restarting her day anew. Kit was resourceful and she would get to him when she got to him. In the meantime, she would just get ready like normal and leave once she was ready…and once she had had a shower.

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Rebecca hung her towel on the rack and made her way about her apartment. She checked her bag and briefcase to make sure everything was in order, put the outgoing mail – including the letter about Kit to the Department of Labor – in an external pocket of her backpack, and zipped it up. She made a mental list of errands to run as she got dressed. "Post Office, grocery store, Office for Workman's Compensation, wait, scratch that, it's Saturday. Only the Post Office and the grocery store." Rebecca heard her belly grumble and glanced toward the kitchen. She took a step towards the oven and the black cast iron skillet that sat upon it before considering what the kids were most likely doing. "Kit most likely took Molly out to eat, I think I will do the same…" She rubbed her head, "Lord knows I could use a greasy-cure."

Rebecca picked up the empty wine bottle and disposed of it after noting which kind it was with full intent to purchase another, washed her dirty wine glass, and placed it back in the cupboard. She then gathered her things and looked about her apartment before taking her leave when she saw that the Hoop-dee-Ha frame and photo were still laying on the sofa. She picked it up and placed it back on the mantle above the fireplace looking once more at how happy everyone was, only remorse and reminiscent happiness flowing through her. "I'll fix this Kit" she said to herself looking at the curious smile on his face, and then looking at Baloo and Molly, "…I'll fix it as much as I can."

-END Part 1-

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-Part 2-

Kit and Molly had both been awake since the sun had crested over the horizon and the cliffs that surrounded Cape Suzette. Molly had been sitting with Lucy on the floor by the couch listening to the Saturday morning radio show and playing with some puzzles and her toy train while Kit had gathered their dirty clothes from the bathroom upstairs and washed them in the kitchen sink; a skill he had learned to efficiently and adequately perform during his homeless and pirate days. He didn't know how to start the washing machine and watching Baloo start it every week was always entertaining; he often wondered why they didn't get a new one and one day he finally summoned the courage to ask. Baloo's response was unsurprising, "Naw, it works. Ya just gotta show it some good ole' fashioned tender love and care, that's all." And then Baloo would commence to turning the multiple knobs, flipping switches in the back, cuss at the machine, kick and punch it a few times, and cuss some more because he hurt his hand and foot. "Yeah" Kit would smartly retort "more like tough love!" he would say with a giggle. "Don't ever love me like that!" he sarcastically fired off continuing to laugh. Baloo saw that his boy was laughing and having a good time at his expense but couldn't help but roll his eyes and grimace in response. Eventually though, Baloo always would get the washing machine going.

Kit looked over to the washing machine and dryer. Everything was reminding him of his father which in turn reminded him how absent he was which would then remind him how much he missed him and how he had yet been to visit him. He looked out the window in front of him toward the clothesline out back, making a mental note to grab some clothes pins before venturing there. He had come to find sweat always came out of most fabrics quickly and placed his outfit in the basket on the counter satisfied that it was clean enough for him to wear today and began to soak Molly's jumper, shirt, and panties. As he scrubbed, he couldn't help but wonder if he was getting the job done. Sweat? No problem. Blood, easy, he had certainly washed out his fair share of that. All he had to do was just keep going until there was no more red stuff to squeeze out; though it would sometimes stain. Grass and mud were the same as blood but just green and brown, scrub until no more came out. But pee? This gave him pause. Molly's jumper and panties had dried overnight, and the formally dark spots were now indistinguishable from the rest of the garments. He could not see if anything was coming out. He changed the water and soap and continued. As he scrubbed, he thought back to his past, "Did I ever "have an accident" while on my own? I don't remember ever having one, Nine-year-olds shouldn't have accidents..." Kit's mind wandered for a while before returning to the laundry in his hands.

He stole a gaze at the multiple crisscross stain lines on the inside of his green sweater though the top hole for his neck as he washed Molly's clothes before returning his eyes to the soapy water; a painful reminder of Don Karnage's brutal disciplining methods. And then, out of nowhere he felt a confusing cold and warm feeling. Ms. Cunningham had also seen those multiple crisscross stain lines and she had called the police on him. At the time he had thought that she did not want him around anymore and so sought to lock up the little "criminal" running around her business; she and Baloo had blocked him in and held him down as he had tried to run for his life. At the time Kit had thought he was going to go to prison, after all, he had been a pirate and the law only ever did two things to pirates, lock 'em down, or fry 'em up. He did not know that she had actually called to report a prolonged case of child abuse. He did not figure out until later that she had wanted him to tell his story. And as Baloo held up one of his arms for the police photographer to capture his bare, malnourished, and scarred back and body for evidence, Ms. Cunningham had been right there holding up his other arm. The two of them together holding him on his feet even as they grew weak as he flinched with each flash, his mind involuntarily expecting another lash as he relived his year of hell. She had been so kind to him and had looked out for him and had done her part to ensure that Kit's embodiment of 'The Bogeyman' had been nailed to the wall. She, in that moment, had guarded and fought for Kit and had helped to build such a solid case against Don Karnage that he would be imprisoned for good. So then, Kit wondered, why did she hate him so much now? Why would she take him along with Molly and Baloo on such an amazing vacation only to cast him off like he was nothing? Why would she have included him in Storytime and read that entire book to him that night only to revile him now? He thought he finally had a family and then, here he was two weeks later, the bastard-child-whipping-boy once again.

After about five minutes of contemplating, he figured that both the jumper and the panties were about as clean as he could possibly get them. He put them in the basket, changed the water one final time to wash the little pink shirt and the pig-ties as well and then made his way outside to hang everything up once he had finished. His eyes zoned in on the spot near the clothesline where he and Papa Bear played catch for the first time shortly after Kit had moved in. He didn't really care for baseball, he thought it was rather boring really, which was just as well because Baloo was terrible at it. But the memory put a smile on his face for the simple fact that, at that point, Baloo was just some random adult who was trying to be a good person; not to say that he wasn't in the first place, but Kit had never had anyone just freely and outwardly be good to him before. Kit chuckled at the fact that he had run into Baloo – literally – just days before and then he had taken him in and was just trying to give a kid somewhere he belonged. It had only been a few days after Don Karnage's attack on the city and after Baloo had sacrificed everything he loved in his life to save Kit from mid-air-freefall and certain death. When they were catching and throwing the ball back and forth Kit, for as suspicious as he still was as of yet at that time and skeptical that someone would actually take him in and care about him, could see it in Baloo's eyes and his sad smile. There was a conflict between mourning what he had lost and rejoicing at what he had gained so abruptly. The loss of his plane was undeniably devastating to Baloo as evidenced by the fact that he had been carrying the yoke of the old Seaduck around everywhere he went since the incident had happened, but those feelings were evenly balanced with the revelry of joy at the presence of the new preteen in front of him.

The sun was shining bright and hot, but the wind was dry, icy, and was blowing from the north, another front had blown in like the one a few weeks ago except this one was only cooler temperatures without any thunder or rain. Of all the things that came out of Thembria, which admittedly wasn't much, their greatest export was their cold weather! Over toward the front of the property bobbed the Yellow Seaduck starting its second week of unscheduled forced desuetude. Kit looked to his right and then looked again, he could swear that he saw someone in the pilot's seat, but it was nothing more than him longing for what used to be. "I should probably get my Airfoil out of there" Kit lamented to himself, "I won't be cloud surfing in that thing anytime soon anyways."

Once the clothes were hung, drying and blowing in the wind, Kit stuck his head in the door to check on Molly and, satisfied that she was content and occupied with her radio show and toys, left her to her solitary play and proceeded to the Seaduck, feeling the breeze across his body, the ticklish feeling of the salty bay wind blowing high past his legs, giving him goosebumps and a weird-funny-feeling as he stood there in his blue night shirt and white underwear briefs. But the physical feeling quickly was overshadowed by something else. He opened the door and climbed inside, shutting the door behind him and sealing out the northern air and most of the sounds of the world around him. He sat in his navigator seat, bringing his legs up together into the chair, the bottom of his bare feet touching each other as his hands grasped them as if to perform a butterfly stretch but stopping before leaning forward. He looked around and took in the silence as he bobbed up and down with the floating plane. And then it happened.

He had not been allowed the opportunity to digest and consider and think and understand and mourn all that had happened to the business, to Ms. Cunningham, to Molly, to Baloo, or to himself and his home, nor the implications that it would all have upon everyone and himself. He thought about himself, his friends, and the sharp contrasts between the situations of the Jungle Aces and himself. Never had any of them ever wanted for a family, but he had been denied as such nearly his entire life.

He remembered when he was on his own before his life of piracy when he saw the family of four feasting on a lobster dinner as he looked on from the sidewalk through the window dressed in his filthy rags, beyond exhausted, and sore from having been mugged that day. The self-pity he felt for himself then, he considered, those thoughts were the thoughts of a naïve child. He was done with self-pity, or pity from anyone. He did not want it; he did not need it. Once more the old reruns and movies played in his head. "Why did that kid get to have a family? Why was I doomed to a life alone?!" he had once wondered as he cried himself to sleep that night. He had been much younger then, his back had not yet been torn apart, his legs had not yet been spread, and he was nowhere near the mature person he was now; albeit still only twelve and objectively a child. He remembered how he had wished and begged to God or anyone or anything that was listening for a family, or at least a sibling or twin to play with and cause mischief with; anything or anyone so that he would not be so alone in this life. He remembered that that night he had cried himself to sleep in the pauper shack he called home. "I'm older now. I didn't need anyone then and I don't need anyone now."

Kit returned the plane to silence as he turned things over in his mind. Just a few weeks ago he had been reborn in this very place. Behind him in the back on the bed in the cargo hold he had resolved that, nothing would stop him, nothing would break him, and nothing would get in his way. He had had the correct mantra but had aimed it in the wrong direction.

At this point in his life, he was done. Someone had cared about him, and now he was all but gone by no fault of his own and there would never be another; chiefly because Kit wasn't about to waste any more time or effort on the pursuit of a prospective parent; he was too old for that now.

Only once did someone ever want a six-year-old and even Kit wondered from time to time how the now nine-year-old Timothy was doing where ever he was now. And speaking of, no one ever wanted to adopt a nine-year-old, they were, at the most, six to seven years too old. Kit was twelve, and even though Baloo truly loved him, had a unique set of circumstances not taken place, even he would have shut his door to Kit the first chance he had got.

Kit continued in his thinking. Wildcat, well, he could barely take care of himself, he was a nonfactor. Ms. Cunningham? She may have legal custody of him now, but he was not her son despite what she had said at the hospital. Had she meant it, her actions would have reflected as such all this past week and last night and in her keeping her word to call Higher for Hire this morning. He was right the first time, all he would ever be to her was a Tag-a-long and a source for cheap labor; both business and personal, which brought him to Molly. Molly stood apart from all others. She was…..he cared about her and she was the closest thing to…..well, he couldn't consider her…..he did not rightly know what to classify her as, but he did not want to leave her. And so, as far as adults were concerned, from here on out it was Baloo or no one.

Kit looked over to the empty pilot seat before climbing over into it. He sat there and leaned against the back of the seat as if he could somehow feel Baloo's aura, and there, he closed his eyes and let his heart bleed.

-END Part 2-

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-Part 3-

"I don't know why she hasn't called, but our clothes are done, and I am tired of waiting." Molly's Saturday morning radio shows had all just about ended at eleven in the morning and both their clothes were dry. Kit had returned from the Seaduck and tossed his folded Airfoil into the laundry basket unbeknownst to Molly that he had even been in there for the past twenty minutes. "Molly, did the phone ring while I was outside?"

"I didn't hear it ring." She said as she walked over to Baloo's big chair and climbed onto it, still dressed only in Kit's large white button up shirt.

Kit had done what he had been told but no phone call had come in, not that Kit was surprised at all by this. And at this point he was about to take matters into his own hands. As if he hadn't already been doing that since yesterday when he refused to go home with and was slapped to the ground by Ms. Cunningham anyways.

Kit set Molly's outfit out on the couch where she had been playing all morning and picked up his clothes and started to go upstairs to get dressed himself as well as gather somethings for the day; not that privacy mattered much after last night. "Get dressed Molly, we'll be leaving shortly."

Molly was sitting on the chair and had pulled her legs into her chest and her arms, which were pulled into the shirt, were wrapped around them, the white button-down shirt concealed all parts of her except her head. She looked over to the couch and at her now clean and dry clothes and then blankly back to Kit as he was making his way toward the stairs. "Where are we going?"

Kit turned at the base of the stairs with his clothes in hand, still dressed in his blue shirt and white underwear from last night. "Out. I don't know where your mom is, but she hasn't called and I don't know about you, but I am hungry and there's no more food here."

Molly quickly became caught up in a dyad of emotions. She smiled excitedly to go out to eat for breakfast, but she also noticed that Kit had said 'your mom', she was his mom now too, wasn't she? "Kit?" Kit raised his eyebrows awaiting the question. She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind at the last moment, "Nothing." Kit nodded and continued up the stairs. Once she had heard the door to his room shut, she got up, took the white shirt off and started to dress herself.

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Kit quickly changed and within a moment he had his green sweater, brown cargo pants, and his red and blue navigator hat on. He picked up his wallet and checked to see if what little money he had inside would be enough. He added a couple bucks and then satisfied with what he saw, he put it in his pocket, opened the door, and descended the staircase. "Molly?" he saw the white unbuttoned shirt on the ground. Her clothes had been moved from the couch, but he was sure that she couldn't have gone far.

"In Here!" he heard her say from the bathroom. Kit pushed the door open and saw her standing on the countertop looking in the mirror trying her best to tie her pig-ties around her ears.

"You want some help?" Kit offered to be answered with a frustrated exhale as the little girl's arms fell from her head to hang limp at her side, nodding to him through the mirror. "Thought so" he said as he lifted her from the counter to ground level, "down you go." As soon as Molly landed, he got to work and within seconds he had her looking sharp. "There ya go" he said, smiling and looking at her as she looked at her head and back at him in the reflection, "looks as good as if your mom had done it herself."

There it was again, she thought. Kit was her best friend and she cared about him too much to wait again. "Kit" her voice sounding inquisitive as it was worried, "she's your mom too."

Kit's face became sullen, as if he had briefly known the blissful wonders of paradise only to have had it ripped away from him just as quickly, leaving him alone to silently suffer in the darkness. "If she was then she wouldn't have done this to me." Kit pointed to the abstractly hand shaped bruises on either side of his face while Molly silently looked on, the sight of her mother knocking Kit to the floor replaying behind her eyes with the exaggerated intensity that any six-year-old would picture. "Parents, if they really care about you, if they really love you don't…won't do this to you for telling them the truth. And that is exactly what YOUR mom told me and showed you when she hit me."

"But you called her 'Mom' on vacation." Molly was right, and she knew it. Kit had addressed her as his mom the entire vacation and Ms. Cunningham had treated him just the same as far as Molly could tell and she had been more than happy and willing to share her mother with him. She never thought of him as big brother, she never wanted a brother. But she had always wished that she had a close friend, someone else other than fellow students at school and other than her mom to play with and Kit was everything that she had wished for and more.

"And I was wrong. I wanted her to be my mom so badly." Kit choked down some emotions as he spoke, pushing them down, hiding his face behind a mask like he had done his whole life. "I…I….I've never had a mom before." Images of Baloo's first night in the hospital were conjured up in Kit's mind of when Ms. Cunningham snapped at Kit for the first time. "But I was wrong Molly, all she will ever be to me is my boss. And the only thing I will ever truly be to her is a worker and a cheap babysitter.

Molly's heart sank. A babysitter? Was that all Kit really was to her? Just a hired hand paid to play with and be nice to her when her mom couldn't be around? "Kit?" The little girl became weak in the knees and her eyes watered with disbelief. "You mean, you're working right now?" She thought that he was her friend, her best friend.

Kit looked at Molly with a confused expression, "Well, I uh, I don't, ummm. I'm not getting paid right now if that is what you are asking." Kit's confused face met Molly's disheartened expression as she turned to face him, Kit clearly not expecting to see such a melancholy kid in front of him. "Why are you asking?"

"Because, I thought you were my friend!" She yelled at him though watered eyes as she beat his chest with the bottom of her fists, her blows hardly causing more than a minor increase in his blood flow.

Kit suddenly understood where she was coming from and what she was so upset about. He pulled her in close for a hug and wrapped his arms around her. "I am your best friend, Molly. And don't you forget it!"

Molly inhaled against his shoulder, sniffing her snot back. "You mean it?"

Kit pulled Molly away and with his right pointer finger and a smile made an 'X' mark over the center of his chest before pointing to and touching the center of Molly's, "Cross my heart, and hope to die." Molly made the same motion weakly with her right pointer finger on her chest, bowing her head but still looking at Kit who then added, "Your mama just doesn't like me is all, and not even I know why. Do you think you can ask her the next time you see her?"

Molly just nodded her head up and down wiping her eyes on her left arm as she did so.

"Good" Kit said with a smile "now, let's go find something to eat before we both go crazy!"

-END CHAPTER 14-