Jarvis Drive

Jason fidgeted. He hated seeing Doctor Perkins. The couch was too plush, the office smelled like old people, and he had to sit in place for an hour while Doctor Perkins scribbled in his notebook.

“So. Jason. How was school today?”

Jason shrugged a shoulder. “It was okay. I got in a fight again.”

“Oh? What about?”

“Some kids were teasing Miley. I got angry and beat them up.”

“What were they teasing her about?”

“Her—our last name. They say Rockefeller is a rich people’s name. They say we’re the reason everyone else is poor. We’re not that rich, though, so I don’t know why they won’t just leave us alone.”

“I see.” Doctor Perkins scribbled something in his notebook. That was his thing; he said ‘I see’ and then wrote in his notebook. It was really annoying. Jason couldn’t tell if the answer he’d given was the right answer or the wrong answer.

“Are we rich? My parents won’t tell me one way or the other.”

Doctor Perkins chuckled. “I don’t know, Jason. Your parents’ finances are their business, not mine.”

“Oh.”

Doctor Perkins cleared his throat. “So how was your birthday party?”

“It was great!” Just thinking about the party made him wish it was either Saturday again, or that next year’s birthday party was closer. “We had a big party in the back yard. Everyone was there.” He paused. “Except Lisa. She's up visiting her family in Maine. She left her present with me, and said I couldn’t open it until the party, but…”

“…But you wanted her there.” Doctor Perkins finished.

“Yeah. It was a nice present, but I wanted her at my party. I would have even traded my present to have her there.”

“She’ll be back soon, won’t she?”

“She’s supposed to come back tonight.”

“I’m sure you’ll see her soon. Besides, there’s always next year’s party,” Doctor Perkins added, with a touch of hope in his voice. “Nobody is eight forever.”

“I guess.” Jason looked up at the clock. He wanted to be out of this office. Only fifty-five minutes to go.



***



Something about being in Doctor Perkins’ office made Jason feel like he was on fire, but the crisp autumn air washed over him like a tidal wave of cold, refreshing water. He loved this season. The leaves all changed colors and covered up the grass, meaning his parents would have him rake them. He loved to make leaf-piles for Miley to jump in.

Aside from outdoor chores, though, Jason doubted he would have many opportunities to enjoy autumn this year.

“Two weeks, Jason.”

Jason frowned. “Come on mom! That’s not fair! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and let them make fun of her?”

“You’re supposed to go to a teacher, or the principal, and have them handle it. We’ve been over this a hundred times!”

Fuming, Jason crossed his arms over his chest and turned his attention out the window. There would be no negotiating at this point.

“I called the principal. You did quite a number on that Richie boy. His parents are very upset.”

“Good,” Jason grumbled.

“You want to go for three weeks?”

Jason sighed. No, he didn’t want to be grounded for three weeks. That would mean being grounded for Halloween, and missing trick-or-treat would be too much to bear.

“Jason…” His mom sighed. “Jason, I just don’t know what to do with you. This is the third fight this month! Grounding you doesn’t seem to work, taking away television doesn’t work, sending you to bed without dessert doesn’t work…”

Jason blocked her out until his mother’s words became a distant murmur. He would never show it outwardly but he hated making his mom and dad angry. He knew they had better things to be worrying about. He didn’t know exactly what either of them did, save that his dad worked in an office building and his mom worked at a Wal Mart down the street, but they worked long hours and usually looked very tired when they got home. The days of eating together as a family had all but passed; some nights he and Miley would eat with their dad and other nights they would eat with their mom. Most of the time, at least one of their parents was around when they got home from school, but he and Miley had both been supplied with spare house keys for those rare occasions when they had to work overtime.

The arguments were the worst, though. Jason’s parents didn’t argue much, but when they did, he sometimes woke up. He would sneak into the hallway and sit at the top of the stairs, trying to figure out what was going on. They argued in hushed whispers, often pointing out to one another that you’re going to wake the children! Other than that, he could only make out certain words. He could make out the tone clearly enough though, and it was enough to make him afraid. Bobby Wilson’s parents had argued a lot, and had eventually gone to the police and gotten a Dinner-course, which meant that his parents lived in different places and didn’t like each other any more.

He wasn’t really afraid of them getting a Dinner-course, though. His mom and dad always made up afterwards. Eventually, it seemed like they were out of bad things to say to each other, and one of them would say they were sorry. The other would then say no, you’re right, I should be the one apologizing. All words beyond that were quiet and sullen, and they would eventually come into the living room and sit right next to each other and watch TV for a while.

“Are you listening?”

Jason snapped out of his trance. They were on Spool Street. This was where old Bobby Wilson used to live, before his parents got Dinner-coursed and his mom moved back in with her folks and his dad moved to Ashbury. He used to come down this street all the time to play with Bobby.

“I heard you, mom.”

“Good.” She slowed the car and turned onto Jarvis Drive. “Now, let’s get home and have some dinner. Your dad is home tonight.”

Jason looked at his mom. She offered a comforting smile. He smiled back.

Maybe she wasn’t all that bad.



***



The best thing about Lisa was her ideas. She had the best ideas in the world.

One day, she’d come over to play and suggested they set up a ‘mail’ system. This involved connecting the windows of their bedrooms, which faced each other, with a length of string. The string had to be circular, though. That way, they could paper clip notes to the string and wire messages back and forth when one of them was grounded.

So they'd gone into Lisa’s garage, where her dad kept his fishing line, and borrowed a nice long piece. They tied the two ends together and Lisa went up to her room, leaving Jason to scotch-tape the string to a rock and throw it up to Lisa as she leaned out her window. She looped it under the leg of her desk—so the string wouldn’t fall out of her room—and Jason did the same. When it was warm and clear outside, they could talk to each other; when it was raining, snowing, or windy, they could just close the windows.

Jason sat at his bedroom window, staring across the gorge between their rooms, and waited for the lights in her house to come on. She would be home soon—Jason was sure of it.

Unable to wait any more, and bored out of his mind, Jason reached for a pencil and a piece of paper. He could still hear everyone downstairs, and worse yet, the clinking of spoons on bowls as they ate ice cream. He actually felt bad about getting into the fight with Richie Clark. Not because he regretted punching Richie’s fat face in (he’d been wanting to do that for a while), but because doing so had lost him dessert privileges for the night. If he’d known his dad would be home, he probably would have just pushed Richie, or called him a buttfreak, and saved the punch for another time.

“I MISST U,” Jason wrote on the paper. “I WISHD U WER AT MY PARTEE.”

He clipped the paper to the string and checked outside. Lisa’s window was open slightly, the sky was clear, and there was only a slight breeze. He wouldn’t have to worry about his message getting rained on, or blown away for someone else to find (like Richie Clark, whom Jason had ‘forgotten’ to include on his guest list). With the message clipped in place, he gently pulled the top part of the string and watched the message float over to Lisa’s window.

Knock-knock. “Jason?”

It was Miley. She didn’t know about his and Lisa’s mail system, and she didn’t need to know. Knowing Miley, she would run right downstairs and tattle on him.

Jason withdrew from the window and hopped onto his bed, crossing his fingers behind his head. “What?”

“Did you feed my fish?”

Jason rolled his eyes. Those stupid fish of hers, named Harry and Bella after Harry Potter and Twilight respectively. She’d never even seen a Twilight movie, but she always heard the Middle School girls talking about it on the bus, so she named one of the fish Bella.

Frowning, Jason hopped from the bed and swung the door open. Miley stood there in her pajamas, the tight curls of her dark brown hair dangling before her face, wiping a blob of ice cream from her cheek with the heel of her hand. She clutched Mr. Biggles, her favorite teddy bear, with the other. “No, I didn’t feed your stupid fish. You’re supposed to feed them!”

“I know, but I was eating ice cream. You don’t want my fish to starve, do you?”

Jason felt the heat growing in his face. Miley knew it was her responsibility to feed the fish. She’d just come up here to say I know, but I was eating ice cream, which in Miley-ese translated to Nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo, I was eating ice cream and you weren’t!

Miley shrugged and turned to her bedroom. Jason followed her. It wasn’t fair that Miley got to have fish and not take care of them, but Jason couldn’t have a puppy that he would take care of. As she reached the door, Miley spun around. “What do you want? I’m just going to feed them myself.”

“I know,” Jason said, keeping his tone even. “I’m going to watch you, so I know how to do it right.”

“Oh.” Miley opened the door to her room and moved to the fish tank to inspect her companions. Then, she picked up the little container of food next to the aquarium. “You use this stuff, in the yellow can.”

“Can I see that?” Without awaiting a response, Jason plucked the food from Miley’s hand.

“Hey!”

“How you gonna feed your fish now?” Grinning, Jason held the can, high over Miley’s head. Scarlet-faced, Miley pushed him, and then jumped for the can. “I’m gonna go hide your food, so your stupid fish will die and mom and dad won’t ever let you have a pet again!”

“No! Ja-son! Give it back!”

Jason turned on his heel and took off down the hallway. Miley gave chase, squealing in anger. He sprinted down the stairs chanting I’m gonna throw it away, I’m gonna throw it away and listening to Miley—on the verge of tears now—shouting at him to stop.

Miley caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs, just a few steps into the living room. She lunged, wrapping both of her arms around Jason’s hips, and they both nearly went tumbling to the floor.

“Let go of me! Let go—”

Something crashed in the kitchen. Jason and Miley froze. This was no ordinary sound, like a pot falling to the floor. The patio door seemed to explode, sending fragments of wood clattering across the floor. The door, with a freshly broken latch, arced sharply and smashed into the wall, the doorknob leaving a deep hole in the drywall.

“What is this?” Jason’s dad shouted. “Miranda, call the pol—”

A loud crack now—like that of flesh on flesh—resounded into the living room from the kitchen. Jason jumped as his father stumbled backward into the counter and fell to the floor. His mother screamed.

“Jason,” Miley whimpered. She had completely forgotten about the fish container, but her arms were still latched tight around his waist. “What’s—”

Jason pushed his hand over Miley’s mouth. There were strangers in the kitchen.

“Shut up, both of you!” Jason didn’t recognize the voice. “Into the other room!”

“Run! Upstairs!” Jason whispered. He hadn’t wanted the alarm to seep into his voice the way it did, but even he could hear it. Miley did too. As soon as Jason released her, Miley took off toward the dining room.

Jason thought of calling after her, but he couldn’t risk letting the bad men hear him. He followed her. Miley wove between the living room furniture, nearly making it all the way to the dining room. As she went to cut around the sofa, her sock slid on the hardwood floor. She tumbled. Her slender limbs flailed, her tiny hands groping for a handhold. She landed face-first on a small table beside the dining room door.

Jason expected tears, he expected screaming. None came. Miley was still conscious and struggling to get up. She held Mr. Biggles’s foot in a white-knuckle grip. Jason pulled her to her feet. Blood gushed from her nose and mouth. Her eyes trembled, glossy with withheld tears. Even with both hands over the lower portion of her face, blood poured between her fingers and left long, blobby streaks down the front of her shirt.

They entered the dining room. No turning back—the bad men were in the living room now. Jason looked around the room, spotting the closet where they kept the vacuum cleaner. He reached down and pulled the neckline of Miley’s shirt over her nose and mouth. “Go hide in the closet,” he ordered. “Don’t let any blood get on the floor!”

“Jason…” She pulled her hand away and showed Jason. Two tiny teeth sat in her palm.

“Just go!”

He spun her around and she stumbled to the closet in a zig-zag path. Finally, she reached the closet and fumbled the door open, and practically fell inside.

Jason peered around the doorway. There were two bad men. One stood behind his mom, holding his arm around her throat as he dragged her into the living room. The other shoved his dad to the floor and straddled his back.

“Where’s the money?” he growled. “You must have some around here somewhere!”

Jason’s dad shook his head. “We don’t! There’s no money!”

The man adjusted his position, putting his foot on the back of Jason’s dad’s elbow and shifting his weight onto that leg. Taking his wrist, the bad man braced himself and then jerked upward. Jason had just enough time to shut his eyes, but his ears were still open. The tendon's in his father's elbow popped as the arm bent ninety degrees in the wrong direction. Jason’s dad screamed.

“Where’s the money? Cough it up, or we’re raping your wife.”

Jason swallowed hard. Bad things were happening. He needed to do something—but what? The only way to the front door or the patio was through the living room. He could climb out a window, but then he’d be in the back yard, and he’d never been able to make it over the fence.

The man straddling Jason’s dad nodded at his accomplice. His accomplice then turned Jason’s mom around and before she could put her hands up, punched her square in the nose. She gurgled and collapsed to the floor in a heap. The man sprung atop her and punched her four more times, causing her skull to bounce off the hardwood. She lay motionless.

“She’s out. Go find the kids, Chuck.”

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. He slipped away from the door and made a beeline for the closet, opening the door and shutting it as fast as he could.

Miley was there. The front of her shirt was drenched in blood, as was Mr. Biggles. Her whole body trembled.

“Jason…” She mumbled. Her voice sounded dreamy and distant. “My fish are hungry…”

“Shhh,” He said. “Focus, Miley!”

“I have to feed them…”

“It’s okay, Miley. Remember that night you forgot to feed them? They were fine the next morning.”

Hearing this injected new life into Miley’s eyes. She seemed to snap out of it for a moment, long enough to peer through the slats of the closet door. Jason watched a lump ease down her throat. She looked at him and leaned forward, bringing her bloody pointer finger up to her lips in a Sh gesture.

Jason peered through the slat in time to see a pair of denim legs approaching the closet. He froze. Chuck’s boots—a pair of leather motorcycle boots with pointy toes—thundered on the floor like the hooves of a two-legged horse.

He walked along the dining room table and came to a stop in front of the closet. Jason held his breath.

The legs turned, followed the end of the table, and started moving away. As Chuck returned to the living room, Jason exhaled. He looked to Miley again. The adrenaline had worn off and she sat with her head lolling against the wall. Blood trickled from her left ear. Her eyes were on him, but she didn’t seem to be actually looking at him.

“Miley, stay here and stay quiet. I have an idea. I have to get upstairs.”

“Will you feed my fish…?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I'm going to do. I’m going to go feed your fish. You just stay right here and be quiet while I go feed your fish.”

Miley didn’t respond. Quiet as a mouse, Jason slipped out of the closet and crept to the dining room window. He couldn’t get outside the yard, but he could get to other places in the house. The previous summer, Miley had been playing with Mr. Biggles in the window of her bedroom. Something had possessed her to push against the screen as hard as she could, and the screen popped open. Startled, Miley dropped Mr. Biggles. This wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t landed on a limb several feet below, too low to reach from her window but too high for her to reach from the ground. Tears and screaming had commenced.

Luckily, Jason had been outside—with Bobby Wilson, as this was before his parents got Dinner-coursed—and seen the whole thing. In a bid to impress Miley, Bobby climbed the tree and retrieved Mr. Biggles. He was even able to hand the bear through the window to a giggling Miley.

His parents closed the window and told Miley to be careful around the screens. As far as he knew, the screen was still gone. Hopefully, the window had been left unlocked.

Jason eased the glass part up, and then raised the screen, like he’d seen his father do once or twice before. One leg at a time, he climbed out onto the grass at the trunk of the tree, closing the window behind him so the bad men wouldn’t feel the breeze.

He faced the tree, and began to climb. His fingers trembled against the branches. It was all on him: Miley was curled up in the closet, and his parents were in trouble. He couldn’t fail.

He reached the window and, to his elation, found it unlocked. Sliding the glass up, he climbed into Miley’s bedroom and tiptoed out into the hallway and into his own bedroom.

His heart sank. Lisa’s house was dark. They weren’t home yet. Jason would not be defeated so easily, however; he moved to the mail system and pulled his letter back. Unclipping it, he turned his attention to a new letter:



WEERE IN TRUBLE

CALL THE POLEESE



Jason wrote the letter in great big capital letters as legibly as he could, and punctuated the message by underlining CALL THE POLEESE three times. He clipped the message to the string and sent it over to Lisa’s bedroom window.

Nothing to do now but wait.

Jason exited his bedroom and crept to the stairs, like he did when his parents were having arguments. He peered down into the living room.

One of the bad men had his dad propped up against a recliner. His arm was black and blue around the elbow and his head lulled back and forth.

“Look. My name is Rick, okay? I don’t want to do this to your family, but we need money. Judging by this house, you have money. Give it up, and this can all be over.”

Jason turned his attention to his mom. She lay motionless on the living room floor. One of her slippers was missing and her right eye was swollen. A stream of dried blood ran from her nostril to her cheek.

All his parents had to do was stall. If they could stay strong for long enough, Lisa would get the letter and show it to her parents. Her parents might look over here, maybe notice the smashed back door, but they would call the police. Sure, they might get in trouble for the mail system, but Jason was willing to make that sacrifice.

He just needed a little bit—

“Daddy…”

Jason felt the color drain from his face. Chuck, Rick and his dad looked toward the dining room.

“Daddy…I have to feed my fish…”

Jason tensed. He saw Miley’s legs in the dining room door. She still clutched Mr. Biggles tight to her chest. She took a few unsteady steps forward, almost losing her balance in the process.

“Honey…honey, just stay right there, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Go get her,” Rick ordered, before turning back to Jason’s dad. “So we haven’t found the money hidden in here yet, but—oh look! Maybe your daughter knows!”

Rick walked to Miley, grabbed her by the nape of the neck, and led her toward Jason’s father.

Jason felt the pang. That was the only way he could describe it. It was a painful pang that he felt in his stomach, and whenever he felt it, his face grew hot and his fingers started to tremble. It made him feel nauseous and excited all at the same time.

He’d resisted the impulse a few times, but then it ate at him. For days or even weeks afterward, he would go back to that moment in his mind and imagine himself giving in and punching whoever gave him the pang, over and over again, helpless under his furious fists, until they stopped moving. Seeing Richie Clark teasing Miley had given him the pang.

Attack him.

Miley stumbled along, clutching Mr. Biggles—who was now saturated with blood from Miley's face—absent-mindedly obeying Chuck’s directions.

If I fight him, I’ll get into trouble.

“Now,” Rick said. “We have your daughter—”

“Leave…leave my daughter alone!”

Fighting is bad. I have to keep control.

“…We have your daughter. Now: where is the money?”

Chuck shoved Miley.

...Kill him.

He shoved her to the center of the room and stood her in front of their father. She wobbled uneasily.

“She…she needs an ambulance! Let her go! We don’t have any money!”

The leader sighed softly. “Look, you’re making this much harder than it needs to be. I’ll cut you a deal--give us your bank account number, and we’ll be on our way."

“There’s no money!”

The leader nodded to his accomplice, who then kicked the back of Miley’s leg. She collapsed to the floor.

“We’re getting impatient, Mr. Rockefeller. Tell us now or we’re killing your daughter.”

Chuck reached into his pocket. Jason saw the glimmer of a knife.

…KILL. HIM. NOW.

Everything became hazy. Jason lunged down the stairs. He heard himself yelling as he mounted the coffee table and leapt. For a moment he was airborne and in the next, his knees contacted the Chuck’s muscled chest.

The impact sent them both crashing to the floor. Chuck landed underneath Jason, knocking over a lamp and filling the room with a brilliant blue flash as the bulb blew. He felt his knuckles pummeling at the Chuck’s face, and when that didn’t seem to do any good, he leaned forward and got both of his thumbs into his eye sockets and put all his weight onto his arms.

Chuck screamed and flailed underneath him. Jason tried to keep his arms pinned with his shins but one got free. Chuck shoved him, and before Jason could recover, the back of Chuck's hand cracked across his face.

Jason stumbled. Stars danced in front of his eyes. He tripped over the coffee table and sent it onto its side. The sound of the glass shattering was deafening.

Dizzy, he tried to regain his footing, only to watch a boot—leather, with a pointy toe—flash in front of him, drive directly into his stomach. Jason saw red and the breath left his lungs. An enormous hand clamped around his arm and dragged him to his feet.

“My eye!” Chuck cried. “My fuckin’ eye! I’m cutting this little fuck’s head off!”

The knife flashed before his eyes. Jason felt the cold, steel blade press against his neck. Without any air, his muscles refused to respond.

He felt pressure, and a droplet of blood trickling down his neck.

“Freeze!”

Chuck spun. Jason caught a glimpse of someone in the kitchen doorway, someone wearing a blue uniform. As soon as the knife at Jason's neck came into view, there was an ear-shattering bang and Chuck went flying backwards, dragging Jason to the floor with him.

Coughing, Jason turned his attention to Rick. His eyes went wide and he stood up. He lifted the back of his shirt with his left hand and reached around with his right. When his hand came back into view, it was gripping a gun.

Another gunshot. Rick crumpled to the floor.

“This is Unit Five-Thirteen, requesting backup at twenty-two Jarvis Drive, shots fired…”

Jason groaned and sat himself up. His vision was blurry and the world was spinning around his head. The pain in his stomach was excruciating.

One of the police officers moved to his father, who brushed him away. “My daughter! She’s hurt!”

The officer’s partner—Officer Hurley, judging by his nametag, moved to Jason’s side.

“Lay still, son. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

“My mom,” Jason gurgled, coughing specks of blood across his palm.

He could see them now, the blue lights flashing on the drapes. Sirens wailed in the distance. Two more police officers flooded in through the kitchen and raced upstairs, followed by two more, and finally several paramedics pushing stretchers.

Miley was the first to go. They found her at her mother’s side, apparently unaware that she was unconscious. “Tell Jason to give me back my food,” she was mumbling to her mother's limp body. “He won’t give me back my food…”

Next out was Jason’s mother, who regained consciousness after a little help from the paramedics. She immediately panicked and began shouting about Jason and Miley, until the paramedics put a needle in her arm, and she went back to sleep again.

Arm-in-cast, Jason’s father was the next out. He didn’t acknowledge Jason on the way out, but he forgave him—he overheard one of the police officers saying something about ‘being in shock’.

Despite his arguments to the contrary, the police insisted on putting Jason on a stretcher, so he finally consented. They loaded him on, ratcheted the stretcher up, and started for the front door.



* * *



Visitors came and went, but Jason felt detached.

Miley was in the ICU. His mother and father were…somewhere. Jason didn’t even know where he was, just that it was cold and sterile here. He stared at the ceiling.

“Jason…?”

The voice sounded familiar. He turned his head to see Lisa there, her eyes were red and puffy. Her parents lingered at the door, their faces solemn.

“The doctor wanted me to come in…so maybe you’d feel better…”

Jason felt numb. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and his eyes unfocused. He wanted to cry, or say something, but these were just desires. He couldn’t do either. He became distantly aware of Lisa’s hand clutching his.

“They say you’re a hero.”

Jason blinked a few times, and looked to Lisa. He let her face come into focus.

“A hero…?”

Lisa nodded. “Yeah. A hero.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded-up slip of paper. It read:



WERE IN TRUBLE

CALL THE POLEESE



“You’re definitely my hero,” Lisa whispered, her cheeks turning pink.

Jason smiled. He was blushing too.