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Great Writing - Home > For Kids > Mocking Bird Night part 2.1
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For Children
| print friendly version | |
| Mocking Bird Night part 2.1 | |
| By TomtomKent | ||||
| 04 April 2007 | ||||
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Second part of the first short adventure. Previously on Mocking Bird Nights: Once upon a time Mark Bird was the child mascot of the young detectives known around the world as The Six Spies. Ten years later and Mark is fifteen and angry. The spies have long since disbanded, and the adventures long forgotten. When his father is killed, and his sister comatose Mak has to move to America, where he met his half sister, Cherry Mocking... Point Hollow is one of six small towns that surround the lake of Hallow. They are in a cold wilderness of tall pine trees and misty mornings. They are old towns, and their roots are deep in the surrounding hills (each a hairs breadth from being an official mountain) where tin was once mined. These days the towns are shrinking in on themselves, the mines have closed, stores are struggling to survive as convenience shops open out of town, traditional industry is in decline, but the Service industry is rising. Two purpose built call centres are hiding out in the woods, to handle all the telephone and media needs of global corporations. And overlooking the lonely tip of the lake is the Wolf Bane Foundation Building. From your window on the sixth floor I can see most of the lake, silver and green beneath the morning mist. The WBF is set back from the lake, angled back into the rock itself, with a screen of trees blending it into the background. Without them the WBF would be an eye sore, all sheer white walls, and tinted glass, and modern swooping curves, but with them the edges are softened, the walls shimmering back into the mist. The window takes up the vast majority of the wall, with a thin blind that can drawn at night, but stealing as much natural light as possible in the day. The nurses pushed your bed as close to the window as they dared, so we could sit, looking at you framed by the hills and the clouds and the horizon, rather than pastel coloured walls and mandatory notices. You seem far less fragile than you did back in the UK. Your cheeks are showing more colour, your chest rises and falls as you breathe on your own. Sometimes, for the barest second your eyes flutter beneath your eyelids. Though they never open. Mum works in the offices in the sub basement, as a clerical manager, but she spends as much time as she can sitting here, talking to you. Every hour, like clockwork a nurse pokes her head through the door, and does something or other technical to the silver and chrome gubbins that surround your bed. They are the sort of sterile white machines that have the occasional blinking LED and a something that goes “BEEP!” The air is clean and temperature controlled, tasting of disinfectant and smelling slightly of vinegar. My first morning in the USA, I hitched a lift in with Mum as she came to work, and sat here. I couldn’t think of anything to say or type, so I just plugged in a CD player, and set it up to play through that Mix CD you always kept in the car. Some time before lunch the door crept open and Cherry tried to sneak in. “Hey.” She whispered. “Hey,” I said. “Talk normally, Wendy can listen.” “Hey Wendy.” Cherry amended, to her eternal credit. “You ok?” “I think so.” I replied, stretching knots out of my muscles. “They are giving her a sleeping drug that sometimes wakes people from a coma.” “The nurses told you that?” “No.” I waved at the chart. “It’s part of their standard procedures, the risks of side effects are normally minimal. Mum signed the agreement forms.” “Er, ok. So... Want to see the parade?” “Parade?” I wasn’t sure what she meant. “The Football team parades before the Summer Nights Game Week starts.” She grinned. “It’s a local tradition, lots of music, lots of beer, a friendly rivalry with the schools from around the lake.” “Isn’t it the holidays?” “Yeah, but you have to keep them out of trouble if they are too old for camp!” She grinned. “Come on!” I looked down at you, wondered if I should leave you. You were peaceful and still as always. Cherry put her hand on my shoulder. “Just an hour, to stretch your legs. We can be back here this afternoon.” “We?” I had not expected that. I’m losing my touch. “Yeah. I want to get to know you Wendy. I think Mark here can tell me all about you.” She bent over and kissed you on the fore head. “Later Sis.” She called, and dragged me complainingly into town. The shops that hadn’t drowned beneath the big-name superstores had strung bunting between themselves, and a band was swinging away over a Public Address system that squealed in complaint at high notes. Cherry had my arm in a vice like grip, and was half dancing, half walking as she wove her way through the crowd. “Let me tell you about some of the townsfolk.” She offered. “Nah, let me tell you, and you tell me if I’m right.” I suggested it as I needed the practice. “Deal!” She conceded. I stood there, in the middle of the high street, and let the world roll past. The air was filled with laughter and chatter. A lot of people who had not seen enough of each other in a long time. There were a lot of men of all ages, wearing their old class rings. Members of the football team from years gone by, mostly hanging around the Hardware Store, where a huge charcoal barbeque had been set up. A jolly fellow in an apron and rolled up shirt sleeves was cooking racks of ribs and steaks as thick as the phone book. The crowd were mostly pawing over a tall boy, thin but muscular, more of a runner than a body builder. He wore a school jacket with obvious pride, and was shy enough to stare at his feet every few seconds when one of his elders or betters gave an exaggerated compliment to him. Now and again his eyes flicked up to see where Cherry was. “Wow.” I said. “Your boyfriend is on the football team?” “I don’t have one!” Cherry declared too quickly. I met the boys gaze. He saw me, saw who I was with, and blushed brightly. “You will in a few seconds.” I told Cherry, and marched as directly as a crooked leg would allow to the boy. He was either the star player or the captain. No one else got quite as much attention from the sporting brotherhood. Not unless his dads ribs really were as good as they smelt. But life was hardly ever that unfair. I saw a gap in the crowd open, and I ducked in, grabbing the boys hand tightly. “Hello there. My name is Mark Bird, new in town, but so very pleased to meet you. Cherry says you are the guy to bet on scoring the first points of the game.” I grinned. “I’m not sure about that...” The boy began, but one of the old guard would not have it. “I am! The boy is Dynamite son! If he doesn’t score the first points I’m going to lose my faith in the whole goddamned world.” “Still, it is nice to know. So, when id the first game?” “Tonight.” The boy said. “It’s tonight.” “Great. I’ll make sure Cherry is there. You were going to ask her out weren’t you?” “I.. How did you know that?” He demanded his temper shortening by the second. “She says yes.” I cut in. “She would love to go out for dinner. After the game. You can walk her home.” “I can? Shouldn’t she be saying that?” “Yeah!” Cherry had turned crimson, and was gripping my arm tight enough to cut my circulation. “Well?” I prompted Cherry. “You can take me out after the game. Dinner would be good. But keep your hands to yourself or I will knock you flat!” She rushed through the sentence too quickly. “Joe?” “Er, sure.” The boy agreed. “Tonight.” His face cracked into a relieved smile. “I was going to ask...” “Good.” I smiled at the rest of the crowd. “Now gentlemen, would it be correct to say that,” I pointed at the man behind the barbeque, “you sir were a State Trooper, or Deputy to the Sheriff until the summer of last year, when you were forced to take medical retirement due to a writs injury?” “Yes.” Joe’s dad answered, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?” “Ah, and you,” I turned to the loud fellow who had spoken for Joe a few seconds before. “You work in a bakery, own a dog, and go duck hunting on weekends, yes?” “Yes.” He too looked less than impressed. “Is this a trick?” “Yes.” I smiled. “A bloody good trick. You,” I turned to the next guy. “You are a second hand car salesman, who goes fishing at the weekends, and.. And... Yes! You play the banjo! Brilliant! I have never met a banjo player before! Well, not one who was any good!” I saw something else behind his eyes, the faintest phantom of a smug smirk. “A Banjo playing, car selling Mayor. With a wife half his age! How brilliant is that?” “Well, I think it’s pretty brilliant to be me.” The mayor admitted. His friends all guffawed at that, but one of them was drunk, and one of them was faking it. “Know anything else about me?” “Yes.” I admitted. “I would guess that is your Bentley parked outside over there that is about to get a parking ticket.” I lied. It was not a guess, and the fact that one of the deputies was taking great pleasure in slapping the ticket on the wind screen said a lot about the Mayors popularity with his civil servants. I filed that nugget away as the Mayor let out a torrent of swear words and waddled off to assail the poor deputy. “Ok.” Cherry grinned at me. “I’m impressed. How do you know all that stuff about people?” “I watch them.” I whispered back. “Show me more of the town.” “Seriously, how did you know Joe liked me?” “How could you not know?” I countered, then I let her drag me away to see more of the town. “It’s called cold reading.” I told her, as we walked around the square, and down the tree lined avenue. “It’s what a lot of sham psychics use. Some of it is reading body language, some of it is observation, some deduction and a lot of research. Most of those guys owned their own shops with web sites. Or adverts in the local news, or articles in the paper, I mean, it’s not a huge town. I knew who most of them were, and a lot of the basics before I arrived here, the rest I pieced together as I watched them.” “So it was a trick!” Cherry gave me a disappointed look. “Sure was. I thought it was a good one.” I told her. She grinned, we walked. Joe’s dads barbeque ribs realy were as good as they smelt. Life can be unfair. “So is that what you did in the six spies?” She asked. “Some of it.” I admitted, as we sat on a bench and watched the water. “Some of it I learnt later. I taught myself. It’s kind of a hobby.” I grinned. “I always wanted to be in the police. To make detective.” “You could have.” Cherry made it sound like an absolute truth. “Can you teach me?” “Can you teach me to Free Run?” I smiled. “If we mixed our skills we could pretty much be super heroes.” “Sounds good. Hey, wait a second. You were the six spies!” “Yes.” “There were only five of you!” “Yeah. Nathan, Wendy, Nadia, George, and me.” I hate it when they ask this. “And the Sixth Spy?” “Crypto the Dog.” “The Dog?” “The Dog. Crypto, as in Cryptology, puzzles and codes...” “The Dog was real? I mean there actually was a dog?” “There were two in real life. Nelly kind of took liberties with the truth on that matter. The dogs were both German Shepherds, they were named after comic book characters with copy write protection, and one of them bit me three times. They belonged to George.” “Oh.” Cherry shook her head. “So you just hung around and what? Trouble found you?” “Adventure always seemed to land in our laps.” I admitted. Just before we heard the screams. I craned my head and looked behind us. A girl was falling from the roof of one of the closed shops. Her long hair billowed around her, her silk blouse and white trousers caught the sunlight, and cast a halo of light around her. Seeing her, there, in that first spilt microsecond as she hung in the air, she was more angelic, more beautiful than any artist could capture in paint. Then time moved, the illusion shattered, and she became a crumpled mess on the floor. Paper was scattering out into the wind behind her. Six sheets of pastel coloured letter paper, dancing in the wind. They floated away into the wider world, as a crowd rushed to be around her. Two, no three people were screaming for an ambulance, a lot more were just screaming. I sat and watched the crowd. Then I saw the paper, caught in the limbs of a bush next to the steps. With out a word I hobbled to the steps, delved into my coat pockets to find some gloves. A pair of plain cotton gloves were always in my inside pockets. I slipped them on and grabbed the note paper. A letter, typed on a computer, printed on a home printer. Maybe laser jet, as the letters were so clear. I read the letter, swore, and read it again. Cherry was at my side. I let the words sink in: I have seen how you look at him. I have seen how you treat him. He does not deserve those words. You are better than you let yourself be. I can help you change. Trust me. “What’s that?” She whispered. “Bad news.” I told her. “We need to see the Sherriff.” “Because it’s a letter?” “Because it’s a motive.” The words tasted like ashes.
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