Chapter 8

Three months before the fight.

Friday evening

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"I'm not going." Kit stated softly as he sat in Baloo's big chair. His hands were gripping the armrests and he was slouched over, his young body was too small to fill Papa Bear's second favorite seat; his favorite being the pilot's seat on the Seaduck which had not moved from its tied spot next to the dock outside for the past week.

"Kit. Please. Not now." Ms. Cunningham pleaded as she exhaled and closed her eyes. She rubbed the temples of her head with the pointer and middle finger of both hands in an effort to alleviate some of the stress she was contending with.

"NO!" Kit rebelliously demanded as he jumped up, turned toward Ms. Cunningham, stomped his right foot forward, gnashed his teeth, gripped his left hand in a fist at his side and pointed down with his right as it was raised in front of him; assertive and frustrated anger etched upon his face. "I'm staying here! It's seems like whenever something happens around here everyone starts adding another page to the 'Cloudkicker Rule Book' and I'm sick of it! At least when I was on my own, I could go where I wanted and do what I pleased!"

Kit couldn't vocalize his numerous irritations, but he had grown tired of constantly being dragged all over Cape Suzette from one government office after the other as well as back and forth between Ms. Cunningham's apartment and Higher for Hire and repeatedly being told to "watch Molly" in miniature babysitting sessions while Ms. Cunningham would disappear behind yet another door or approach yet another counter and talk about God knows what with God knows who for God knows why. It had been a week and a day since Baloo had fallen into a coma and over that time Kit had had his whole life turned upside down once again. Ms. Cunningham had taken him home with her and Molly the first night which, although it was annoying that he could not go to what he considered home, did not really bother him all things considered at the time. But then came Friday morning, school, and Friday night, and then the weekend which would be full of the aforementioned nonstop errands but without the break of school to offer the respite of normalcy. Kit questioned why he had not been permitted to engage in his normal social activities, escaping away to the Jungle Aces Clubhouse whenever he wanted just to name one; when he was not on the clock and getting paid, of course. He had even offered to take Molly with him, but to Kit's confusion and frustration, Ms. Cunningham would not allow it for some reason, despite the fact that she was much busier as compared to normal, even by her wild standards. He had considered just taking Molly and going there after school without any prior word; perhaps he should have, especially today. He had been cooperative. He had been patient. He, a former pirate and vagabond, had damn near been a full-on uniformed Junior Woodchuck doing his daily dutiful good deed. But he had not seen his Papa Bear, slept in his own bed, or had any time alone to recharge and digest all that had happened in the past week, and he had had enough.

Ms. Cunningham spat back with a face and tone which expressed that she was more than willing to play Kit's game and that she would aggressively pursue victory without mercy. "Oh really? Was this when you were eating out of trash cans, sleeping under bridges, and hiding from orphan hunters? Or was this before or after some pervert-bum spread your legs?" Ms. Cunningham knew well that it was every kid's right to throw a fit every now and then, and Kit was more than entitled to his, but right now, she did not care. For all the extra effort she was putting in and all the extra stress she was suffering for this little bastard, he had struck a nerve, and although she didn't know it yet, she would soon regret her wounding retort. The bills were starting to come in, no packages had shipped since Baloo had been injured, she was having to call customers and refer them to competitors, and she had no idea for how long this was going to last or how long she could hold out financially with little to no income. Not only was her business not making money, but it was starting to cost her money due to inoperation. The company monetary reserves were quickly dwindling as she moved monies around to budget for an extended period of shutdown, funds from the government funded Workman's Compensation Program would not come in until the start of the next month and would only be a fraction of what the business normally brought in, she was struggling to find ways to budget funds to feed herself and two young mouths as well as make rent for her apartment and the business's mortgage payment on the money she had and the small government pittance she would receive each month from here on out, no one had answered her ad for a temporary replacement pilot, maintaining Molly's sense of security and stability was becoming more and more difficult by the day as her meals were starting to grow smaller and smaller with food rationing, and now Rebecca had just inherited an additional – and apparently ungrateful – brat to take care of. With everything on her mind, the last thing she needed to deal with was this little shit's temper-tantrum.

Molly was playing with a wooden toy train set that Ms. Cunningham had found at a garage sale. The vibrant paint had a few scratches and showed evidence of having been loved by children in the past but for all intents and purposes it might as well have been brand new. Lucy, Molly's beloved doll, was seated on one of the cars and was enjoying the ride. Molly's imagination was envisioning deep forested valleys and tall rugged mountainous landscapes that reached high into the crystal blue skies and above the clouds with serene scenic views and her locomotive charging ever onward though long dark tunnels and across high bridges that closed the gap between deep canyons and foothills that echoed with wild ancient memory when suddenly the sounds of shouting and argument pulled her from her journey and forced her to return to the here and now. She looked on from across the room; Mom and Kit were fighting about something fierce. She had become cold and started to shake with fear as the business erupted into a battlefield; she felt as though she was in trouble and was frantically searching her mind for what crime she had committed even though her only trespass was the operation of a pretend steam engine without a license.

Kit fell silent although his face belied the fact that he might as well have just taken a dagger to his side and as his wounded trust and pride bled freely, in a sudden nightmarish instant, he was nine and a half years old again. He was out and on his own in a world much larger and unknown to him, learning day by day how to carve a life for himself out of the crowded, cramped, and deplorably filthy Hooverville where he and many others laid their heads at night and by picking up whatever jobs an air-hobo could get his hands on that day. He was out on the streets for a living, he had nothing, he was cold, he was starving, and tonight due to a mob making another run on yet another bank, he had been forced to take the long way back to the small dirt floor and sheet metal shack he called home. He had not seen it coming, how could he? He was but a child just old enough for the third grade and was ignorant of what evil desires lurk in the recesses of the mind. Kit heard movement from behind him and shortly after, he had become trapped in the corner of a back alley by a beast seeking to sate his hunger on Kit's innocence. He threw him against the building and pressed his beer gut belly against Kit's back and pinned him against the terracotta brick wall. Kit fought with all his strength and will to get away, but his futile struggle earned him only the sound of malicious guttural laughter, a yank of his hair, and the slam of his forehead into the brick wall. And as he was lifted off the ground, a small stream of blood started to trickle down past his eyes and across his dazed face. He heard the tearing of fabric from around his waist followed immediately by the grip of large filthy hands; each one seeking a different goal. One quickly covered his mouth so that he could not scream while the other continued by lifting up and ripping off his shirt to fondle his chest before continuing its hunt down and over his bellybutton, searching every inch of him like an explorer seeking a new land to plunder. And when it had found what was between his legs it squeezed its prize, painfully claiming it as its own. He urinated involuntarily from sheer terror as the excruciating sensation spread up his spine and through the entirety of his being; the bright yellow stream flowing in between his assailant's fingers to the wall before puddling beneath his feet. He remembered thinking that it could not possibly get any worse only to immediately be proven wrong by the sudden piercing agony of something warm and throbbing being forced inside of him from behind; it did not take Kit long at all to piece together what it was. He tried to scream only to have his anguished cries from every tight thrust muffled by the putrid hand covering his mouth as he was pushed up and down and up and down again; his legs kicking the open air, his hands against the wall, his bodyweight resting on the instrument of his suffering.

As that disgusting excuse of a man tugged his parts back and forth, breathed down his neck, and carved his way into Kit's innocent little bottom, that night, that horrible night had taught him much about the world. It taught him to always look over his shoulder. It taught him to always have a way out of every situation, but most of all, it taught him to never trust anyone. Kit had thought that over the months he had spent with Baloo and Ms. Cunningham he had found reason to revisit this philosophy and had decided to trust them with certain knowledge about himself that he had never before shared with anyone. How foolish he felt now; he should have kept his walls up. In little more than a fortnight his greatest act of afforded trust had come back to be used against him. Once again, he chastised himself for not heeding the lessons of the past. For just as back on that night after that sicko had finished with him and had left him shivering on the ground, naked and cold, alone and bleeding, dirty and in pain, bruised, gasping for air, and grasping onto the ruined pieces of tattered, torn, and urine-stained cloth that had been his clothes, so too had Ms. Cunningham taken advantage of his trusting vulnerability and wounded him for it. But this time he would not force his eyes shut through the tears and wait for it to be over. This time he could and would fight back.

Kit's blood turned to ice in his veins as he spoke, but the cold snap concealed the rapidly growing inferno which had just been ignited beneath. "I'm not going anywhere with you, and you can't make me!" Kit wasn't sure what he felt more, frustration, anger, or heart ache and upon looking into his sorrowful eyes which were starting to water, Ms. Cunningham wasn't sure either. Kit didn't like to be at odds with those he cared about. Kit didn't like to be angry or mean or fight those he loved, but one thing he learned after that night in the alley and growing up as quickly as he did on the streets and during his time as a pirate was that no one would ever be there for him. No one would ever pick him up, clean him off, and hug him to tell him it would all be alright. He had to pick himself up off the ground, he had to clean himself off, and he had to make everything alright for himself and the only way he could do this was if he stood up for himself and didn't allow people to walk over him. "You don't care about me! All I will ever be to you is a delivery boy and a cheap babysitter! Baloo adopted me, not you! You don't even care that Baloo is in the hospital! Hell, you don't even care about Baloo unless he is making you money! You didn't try to wake him up, you didn't touch him, you wouldn't even go near him and now, you won't even let me or Molly go visit him! This is all your fault! If you hadn't sent him to Thembria, or at least if you had let me go with him, maybe he would be here right now! But all you care about is money!"

"All my fault?! Who do you think called the ambulance for him?!" Ms. Cunningham shot back. Her tone conveying the self-assurance that she had just claimed checkmate in this argument, as if passing legal liability off to the EMTs somehow exonerated her of any wrongdoing in the eyes of a twelve-year-old.

"You did! But that is only because you need a pilot! And now you're filling out forms so that he could still be useful to you as a way to make money off the government!" Ms. Cunningham's eyes widened with surprise that Kit even knew about the Workman's Compensation program. "Do you think that I haven't been watching what you have been doing this past week? It's not hard to read some of your papers and connect the dots. I might only be twelve but I was in charge of planning raids for an entire pirate crew! I'm not stupid!"

Ms. Cunningham was starting to get angry, but she had no idea the pent-up fury she had set off in front of her. "Kit! Stop it! Stop or-"

"Or what?! Are you gonna hit me? Do you wanna hurt me?! Go ahead! You wouldn't be the first! Better yet, get in line! There's a whole fucking pirate crew in prison that would love to have this opportunity!" Kit then took a step closer to Ms. Cunningham and turned his face to the side of the room and lightly tapped his right cheek, "Right here Rebecca! As hard as you can! Show me how much the truth hurts, just like he did!" Kit then looked over to the little girl who had since backed up against the wall and was watching this entire scene unfold. "Molly, look at me! Are you watching?! Look at what your mom does to people who piss her off!"

In the heat of the moment Ms. Cunningham had raised her hand to slap the boy, she had never been so angry; but something made her stop. She stood there with her hand raised in the air, her shock had overtaken her anger like two fires burning together to create one massive blaze to escalate the situation. Kit locked his gaze with hers, he stood there ready to take the hit that they both knew he would not feel. In the middle of the rage, she had paused for what seemed like moments but in reality, was not more than fractions of a second. She was the adult, she was the parent, she was now in charge of raising Kit, and now was not the time to spare the proverbial rod; she would not take such insolence from him or anyone, especially in her business in front of her daughter. With this in mind, she brought her hand across her body and backhanded Kit to the ground as hard as she could, knocking his hat from his head and across the room, releasing all her stress and anger into his cheek and raised her left hand for another blow.

In a bizarre perception of slow motion, she eyed Molly who had been silent since the whole ordeal had started out of the corner of her eye. She was backed against the wall, her honey-colored knees pulled into her chest, her hands at her mouth, tears rolling down her wide-eyed face to combine with snot and saliva, and the bottom of her blue jumper was wet between the legs for an obvious reason. She was visibly shaking with fear at the sight she had just witnessed in front of her, and Ms. Cunningham knew that Kit was to blame for her daughter's terror. She returned her eyes to look at Kit who was picking himself up off the ground. He was breathing hard from the adrenaline and supporting himself with his left arm. He wiped the blood from his mouth onto the right sleeve of his green sweater. Kit had made no effort to block the blow or fight back, not physically, even though he was certainly capable. He then once again met her gaze with a seditious face that begged for another that she was more than ready and willing to provide. Again, before he could get to his feet, he was slapped to the ground, his hands catching himself before his head hit the wood floor. She had her right hand raised again and Kit was waiting for her to strike him a third time. But then she lowered her arm, and took a breath before speaking calmly once again, her eyes staring at Kit, his face turned toward the floor.

"Molly. We're going home. Kit is staying here." Ms. Cunningham left Kit on the ground where he had fallen and started gathering her things but looked about the room once she noticed the absence of little feet not moving about. Kit had picked himself up again and was now squatting in front of Molly who had not moved an inch; they were uttering some things back and forth that she could not make out across the room, or perhaps only Kit was speaking, she could not tell. She didn't have time for this. She had to get Molly home, fed, bathed, and to bed before she could do any of the work she needed to do so that she could catch up on some much-needed rest herself and now, apparently, before any of that, she had to get Molly into some clean dry clothes for the ride home. She could bathe her here, but after everything with Kit, she decided that it was best to let him be to calm down and have some time alone. She would deal with him in the morning. "MOLLY! Let's Go!"

"She doesn't want to go with you." Kit was still squatting in front of Molly, his hand on her shoulder, she was still shaking, only this time her eyes were closed, and she was holding herself more tightly.

"Kit, I've had it with you today and I've about heard enough. Molly. GET! UP!" Ms. Cunningham raised her voice and speed walked across the main floor of Higher for Hire to the wall where Molly was sitting, her heavy and furious footfalls resounding off the wooden floor to echo through the building. When she reached Molly, she furiously pushed Kit to the side, out of the way, and to the ground like he was an old trashcan to his agitation, grabbed Molly's wrist and yanked her up just as she had done many times in the past when she had misbehaved and half-carried, half-dragged her halfway across the room. Only this time, to her surprise, when her mother took a hold of her, Molly started crying uncontrollably and screaming bloody murder, jumping and tugging and kicking and doing anything to get away from her mother; her fight-or-flight response had activated. In a moment of confused shock combined with a kick to the back of her calf, Ms. Cunningham let go and Molly ran to and behind Kit. There she sat, and shook, and cried, just as she had when she was against the wall.

Kit met Ms. Cunningham's furious eyes with a pair of his own. This time he was not just a twelve-year-old boy blowing off steam, this time he was a protector. Just like he protected that little girl aboard the Iron Vulture during Shere Khan's air raid, so now would he protect Molly, even from her own mother if need be. His fury burned on what little dying love he had left for his "Mother"; however, he did not show it. Stern and stalwart was his voice, short and to the point was his message, "You should leave. Now."

Ms. Cunningham analyzed the situation for a moment before giving in. Kit had turned her own daughter against her. But she had trusted him with her before and he was ready to defend her against her own mother which meant that she could still trust him with her safety now.

"Fine. You want her? You got her. But I am calling that phone on my desk first thing in the morning, and you had better pick up!...and if anything happens to my daughter….." Ms. Cunningham threateningly left that sentence open-ended as she picked up her briefcase and backpack and made her way to the door, opened it, stepped just outside the threshold and turned to Kit who was not far behind her. His face was covered in two red marks which she was sure would be bruises by tomorrow morning and a small trail of blood, one hand held a clenched fist, the other held a tight grip on the door in preparation to shut it. "Kit, I hope you don't regret anything you did tonight, because there will be consequences for it tomorrow."

Kit responded without hesitation, "My only regret is not hitting you harder with my bat!" as he remorselessly slammed and locked the door.

-END CHAPTER 8-