Real-world story 'The Talk'

[Kuja]

A sudden idea and a spontaneous write. In much the same vein as my The Scars We See, the Scars We Don't story.



The Talk

Tom took one last gulp of the lukewarm water and grimaced as it went down. A moment later, he clicked save and switched the computer off. Standing and stretching, he heard a few pops and realized that he'd been sitting on his butt way too long. It was pitch black outside. He yawned, grabbed his glass, and started down the hall.

He heard the front door open and close. "You're late," he said loudly.

"Sorry," a timid voice called back.

Tom hesitated. Something about her voice was wrong. He set the empty glass down on the hallway table and went straight to the foyer where she was pulling her shoes off. As soon as he walked up, she looked away. "I'll just go to bed now."

He reached out and caught her chin, then turned her head around to look him in the face. She refused to meet his eyes as he reached up and gently traced the black mark on the right side of her face. A moment later, he dropped his arms and reached for his cell phone. "Go take a shower and go to bed," he said tonelessly.

"Wait! It's not like that-"

He turned and held up a hand, fingers splayed. "First time, you told me you tripped on the sidewalk. I believed you. Second time, you told me it was the door. Believed you there, too. Third time, you said it was an accident. I didn't believe that, but I let it go. Fourth time, you told me he didn't mean it. Remember what I said would happen if a fifth time came around?"

She nodded glumly. "Yes."

He pointed. "Shower. Bed. And erase his number from your voicemail." He opened the closet and reached for his leather jacket.

"Wait! You're not going to hurt him are you?"

"No," he replied as he pulled the front door open. "Now lock everything. And I mean everything. Got it?"

She nodded and he stepped out, closing the door behind him as he hit the speed dial on his cell. As it began ringing, he heard the locks slide closed. "Hello?" he voice said.

"Benny, it's Tom. Are you busy?"

"Oh yeah, you know, level nine and all. What's up?"

"I need you to meet me in the school lot in fifteen minutes. Can you?"

"Yeah, sure, what's up?"

"I'll tell you there. Wear your hat. Later." He hung up and made another call.

"Yeah?"

"Jim. You're not doing anything, are you?"

"Just having a beer. Work was hell today."

"Jim, do you still have the Monster?"

A long pause, followed by a careful "Yes."

"Do you still have those bean bags you can fire with it?"

An even longer pause. "Yeah," he said, voice expecting an answer.

"I need you to meet me and Ben in the school lot fifteen minutes from now. Load it up with one and bring it."

"This is about your sister, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there."

-------------------------------------

The parking lot was deserted, lit only by the yellow-orange light poles. Ben had beaten him there, parking across three spaces and leaning up against his pickup as if he hadn't a care in the world. Tom parked and got out as Benny tilted his genuine state trooper hat back and offered a mock salute. "Okay, want to spill the beans?" he asked.

"Jim'll be here any second. I'll tell you both."

Benny fished his cigarette lighter out of his pocket and lit up. "Whatever you want, bud."

A few moments later, headlights flashed as a black car pulled into the lot and made a beeline for the pair. Jim didn't even bother parking in a spot; he stopped in the lane and got out, then went around to the trunk.

"Got a surprise, Jimbo?" Ben asked. Jim didn't reply as he opened the trunk and retrieved a glossy pump-action shotgun. Benny suddenly stood up straight and pushed away from his truck. "Whoa, whoa, Jimmy boy, uh, Tom, what's going on here?"

"It's Paul," Jim replied as he walked over.

"Paul?"

"Paul," Tom confirmed. "That bastard's been beating on my sister again."

"Can't she just dump him?"

"She is," he said firmly. "We're going to make sure he gets the message."

"What, with a shotgun?"

"It's loaded with nonlethal rounds," Jim said. "And I'm not going to point it at him."

"Right," Tom agreed. "It's just background. That's what you're coming for, too."

"So we're not going to beat the crap out of him?" Ben asked, visibly relaxing.

"No. We're going to talk."

"Talk," Benny repeated.

"Talk."

"We'll take my car," Jim said. "He won't recognize it."

-------------------------

The pounding on the door went through his head and he sat up with a grunt. Reaching out, he turned the clock towards him and looked at it with bleary eyes. "The fuck is coming over now?" he mumbled as he sat up.

He yawned as he made his way towards the door, nearly tripping over the edge of his couch. "Yeah, yeah," he said in response to more pounding. When he got to the door, he looked through the peephole at an unfamiliar face not much older than his sporting a goatee. "What do you want?"

"Sorry to bother you this late sir, are you Mister Paul Rizzo?"

"Yeah, is something wrong?"

"I just want to ask a couple questions, sir."

"Fine," he sighed. He undid the locks and was starting to pull the door open when suddenly it blasted open and he felt himself being tackled.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," a voice kept repeating near his ear. He had no problem doing it, as the barrel of a shotgun suddenly filled his vision. A moment later he was being hauled into his living room and he heard the locks being slid shut. He suddenly realized that he recognized the man holding the shotgun and he felt his guts clench. He was roughly set down into his couch. After the passing of a moment, he saw Tom hauling a chair into the room and sitting a few feet away.

Tom saw Paul's hands shaking and imagined what he was looking at. Tom was 5'10", about as tall as Paul and broader. Benny was six foot four and weighed more than two fifty; moreover, he had been a football lineman in high school and was built like a rock. Jim was only five feet, six inches tall and thin, but the shotgun he called the Monster made up for a lot.

"Now," he said softly, careful to keep his voice under control, "we are going to talk. I like it when people talk their problems out, don't you?" Paul nodded briskly. "Good." He suddenly smelled smoke and realized that Benny had lit one up. "Something has recently come to my attention," he continued. "I've noticed that my sister seems to be unusually…accident-prone when she's in your company. Would you agree with that?"

Another brisk nod.

"Good. I'm glad that's the case. "Because I'd be really, really upset if someone had been getting physical with her. I'd probably even feel like getting violent. But that wouldn't solve much. That's why it's good for people to talk things out, don't you agree?" Nod. "Right. Now, I love my sister and you know, I don't like seeing her coming home bruised. So even if it is just bad luck, I think you and her should stay far, far apart. That way she won't keep having these 'accidents'. In fact, I think it would be best if the two of you never saw each other or spoke to each other again. Is that alright with you?"

Nod.

"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement. See what you can accomplish when you calmly talk things out instead of getting angry and lashing out at someone? Now," he added, leaning closer. "I'm going to tell you this for your own good, Paul. The next time you get with a woman, you be very careful around her. I decided to let you off easy. The next time, you might not be this lucky. Get my drift?"

Nod.

"Alright then." He stood. "We'll be going. Get a good night's sleep, Paul."

As Tom turned to walk out, Benny leaned forward and made a show of putting out his cigarette by pinching it between two fingers. "See you 'round," he said easily as he followed Tom out. Jim said nothing, only drummed his fingers on his gun's stock before turning to follow. After they had let themselves out, Paul took a deep breath and shuddered. He decided that maybe it was time to follow his cousin's advice and see a doctor.

This had just been too close for comfort.

[Lindar]

*puzzled* see a doctor?*puzzles and will hva eto re-read it*

[Ford Prefect]

I'm pretty sure he's referring to some sort of psychriatrist and his problems with anger or somesuch.

[Kuja]

I'm pretty sure he's referring to some sort of psychriatrist and his problems with anger or somesuch.

Precisely.

[Ace Pace]

I like it, and more then just the whole controlling anger aspect.

[Dalton]

Short but intriguing. I like it.

[Kuja]

Would anyone like to see more short stories like this one?

[Ford Prefect]

I would not say no!

[Lindar]

Would anyone like to see more short stories like this one?

sure... hit me

[Ghost Rider]

Would anyone like to see more short stories like this one?

It's good stuff, sure go ahead.